Post by Warden Marcoux on Jan 20, 2011 1:41:14 GMT -5
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Clayton Turpentine Hughes
Asylum
~Vitals~
~Name: Clayton Turpentine Hughes
~Title: Hectic Minister (Diplomat)
~Nicknames: Clay, Turp, Stachey
~Age: 37
~Gender: Male
~Race: Mylian
~Planet of Origin: Halta
~Sexuality: Heterosexual (and polyamorous, so there’s plenty of room for YOU in his life, ladies)
~Reputation: Respected as one of the key members of the Hectics (a terrorist group of revolutionaries from Halta), he’s currently on the run to avoid capture by the government of Halta. He’s known as a sort of idealist revolutionary, with a certain “gift” when it comes to negotiation.
~Specialty: Diplomacy, defense, quick getaways
~Reason for Exile: Clayton is currently in hiding after the terrorist attack against the Mylian government led by the Hectics and doctors Maes Hanson and Iris Sealia.
~Former Life: During the early years after the formation of the Hectics, Clayton served as a diplomat between the Hectics and the Mylian government…Then things escalated and diplomats weren’t really necessary anymore, so he used his gifts for defensive purposes.
~In Combat~
~POWERS:
Clayton is able to create a mental field over his ‘territory’ which he dubs the asylum. This sprung about from his own tampering within his skull – lots of long nights thinking about the usefulness of nonviolence and his strong desire to convert others to the practice. Well, his Mylian brain somehow managed to spread these wishes to the external world. Within this area, absolutely no violence or act of malicious intent is permitted to take place. No punching, kicking, pulling of gun triggers, etc., can take place within this zone, which can span anywhere up to fifty square feet. The larger the zone and the more people it contains, the less time Clayton can hold his territory steady for. Also, the strength of the occupants’ desire to commit a harmful act can make maintaining the zone more of a challenge. But challenges are fun.
~Weapons and Equipment: Clayton is armed with a wicked sense of fashion. That’s about it, though. Oh, and a magical flute. But he doesn’t know how to use it, so it’s more or less worthless. But it was a wedding present, and it would be rude to simply throw it out. It’s a nice little charm to wear about his silver chain, don’t you think? …Back again to the wicked sense of fashion…
~Skills: He’s quite good at flying spacecraft – Clayton used to partake in some sick-nasty races back in the day. Additionally, he’s a natural born negotiator, and has a knack for deescalating conflict – even without the use of his ability.
~Former training: Nada. He’s a home-grown hero.
~A Face to Fear~
~Height: 5’11”
~Weight: 170lbs
~Hair Color: Brown
~Hair Style: His head is in a state of sheer chaos (unkempt, in need of a haircut), and is coupled with a ridiculously wide, curled mustache.
~Eye Color: Green
~Play-By: Eugene Hutz
~Clothing Style: Clayton is one for quite eccentric getups, looking something like a mix between a walking collage and a hobo. He surely doesn’t dress his age, and there isn’t much he wouldn’t consider wearing that a five year old wouldn’t find appropriately matched garb. Clayton will also wear a few silver chains around his neck and usually has zippers or chains jangling about his pants.
~Distinguishing Features: There isn’t much about the out-of-place Hectic that wouldn’t cause him to stick out like a sore thumb. The mustache, for one, among other strange positions he’ll warp his beard into. He also sports a silver tooth in the top front of his mouth, and a lovely platinum ear piercing.
~OVERALL APPEARANCE: Two words: Gypsy punk. Clayton looks a bit like that crazy homeless man on the corner of Main Street your mother always told you to avoid - the one with the cardboard sign that usually spat out insane messages about the end of the word (except his cardboard sign would surely spit messages of peace and love – free love, LOTS OF LOVE!). Basically, he looks insane, like some radical anarchist, which is more or less what he is anyway.
~Beneath the Exterior~
~Likes: freedom, Turpie, social justice, Turpie, a nice hat, Turpie, discussion, Turpie, free love, Turpie, and more Turpie
~Dislikes: organization, arguing, hatred, unnecessary violence
~Fears: deep water, not making a difference, the capture/failure of the Hectics, threats to the safety of his family
~Weaknesses: fickle, easily distracted, a tad too idealistic, does not know when to shut his trap
~Strengths: personable, open, patient, easy-going, generally likeable
~Goals: return to the Hectics, take down the Mylian government, own a horse, and most importantly – allow for Turpie to live a long, happy, and prosperous life
~Hobbies: listening to music, singing, studying linguistics, going for walks, giving compliments, random acts of kindness
~OVERALL PERSONALITY:Clayton is a lover, not a fighter. When he has the option, anyway. Sometimes, unfortunate though it may be, people can only be motivated by violence. It’s probably the result of some warped image set into our minds by the media – Let’s not get him started on that now. Point is, Clayton prefers to have all conflicts settled peacefully. He’s a true hippie at heart, though his line of work has caused him to sacrifice a few of his naïve notions, he does have a firm grasp of that idealistic feeling all people are innately good.
He’s everyone’s favorite uncle – a bit too laid back for that father-figure position, but still a wacked-out member of the family. Clayton loves a good joke, especially if it’s dirty – and then he’ll be the first to half-heartedly reprimand the teller for offending the ladies in the room. After all, Clayton does adore the ladies. It’s what broke up his marriage, isn’t it? Too many ladies. But there’s so much love in that awkwardly-clad body of his for just one woman. He’s got to share the love.
But of course, so so SO much of his love is dedicated to his dear daughter Turpie! Speaking of Turpie - Have you seen her latest photo? You have? Well, take another look anyway. She’s adorable, isn’t she?
~Rap and History~
~Mother: Tiff Hughes
~Father: Mel Hughes
~Siblings: Hannah Hughes
~Other relations: Monica Wilson (ex-wife), Turpie Hughes (daughter)
~Companions: The Hectics, the doctors Maes Hanson and Iris Sealia
~Wanted for: Terrorism
~OVERALL HISTORY:
Up until his teenage years, Clayton Turpentine Hughes was a fairly normal child – with the exception of that odd middle name of his. He enjoyed climbing trees, playing in the dirt, and telling outlandish stories. But most of all he enjoyed a nice daily chat with the homeless street-people of Angeneheim, the capital city of Halta (that was before the government eradicated the gypsy population, of course).
But by his teenage years, the true rebel in Clayton started to emerge. He had a need. A need…FOR SPEED. The eccentric Mylian saved for four years to get enough cash for a space craft. Damn. Those were good times. Three wins for third place, five for second, and a solid fourteen first place slots - ladies drooling at the sight of the mustachioed male in his shining silver ship. If racing wasn’t Clayton’s thing, he didn’t know what was.
But prison wasn’t much his thing at all. That’s where he ended up at 19, thrown into a dark cell after he was caught flashing past a Mylian military post. Five years in prison hardly suited a traffic violation, in his opinion. Besides, it’s not like they have the speed limits posted out there. Oh well. There he was anyway, in a prison surrounded by criminals. The hippie barely fit in with this crowd, and he faced his fair share of beatings for it – thus that shining false tooth in the front of his smile.
Still, no matter the consequences he wouldn’t fight back. Never raise a fist to thy brother, never. Night after night sitting in his cell, thinking about the importance of non-violence, the power of peace, ahimsa! Well, his yearnings paid off. Soon he discovered he could MAKE his company comply with his wishes. Step into my territory, boys. Let’s talk things out. Silence the violence, not our voices.
But then, for every violent criminal, there was one like Clayton – some poor sap who got the short end of the stick for a pretty harmless crime. This country was real backward, he knew, but the stories these guys could tell…Laurdian immigrant – 12 years for ogling a Mylian diplomat. 14 year old kid – 2 years for jaywalking. What was this? What was this place coming to?
By 24 Clayton made it out of the slammer, though still a heavily-monitored target of government spies. He fell into what Parliament would label a flock of terrorists in the underground. Well, that was fine. Clayton just desired justice…He was the speaker for the group, flying into conferences, spouting out the newly-formed mob’s desires, informing the government of their rationale and the consequences of noncompliance. Of course, this was all discussed in a peaceful, non-violent manner, avoiding the backward use of bullets via his power of asylum.
Well, the government didn’t comply…And so the revenge of the newly-dubbed Hectics commenced. Attacks, rallies, they did it all and then some. Sock it to the man, this was what they got for bringing down the working-class hero!
It was around this time Clayton met Monica Wilson, a then Hectic-sympathizer with a heart that compared his own in size. A perfect match, really. It was hardly a surprise when the duo wed a year later, when Clayton was 29. And the two were happy for a time, especially when their dear Turpie was born (Though Clayton forced the name a bit. It’s cute, isn’t it? Daddy’s little girl!).
But Clayton has this thing about keeping it in his pants, dedicating his love to one woman and one woman only. That’s tough stuff. There are so many beautiful, amazing, sweet, caring, wonderful women out there! In the end Monica got a tad fed up, and the two divorced. Still, they remain good friends…Very, very good friends. The divorce was actually a tad senseless, except to prevent Clayton’s inklings for others to be labeled adulterous. Well, that and the fact Clayton wasn’t so fond of the government keeping tabs on two of his favorite ladies. Oh, the challenges one faces when sharing company with an enemy of the state!
And so here we are, eight years later. Clayton a focal figure of the Hectics, Turpie growing more and more with each passing day, Monica sending pictures of their boisterous little girl at regular intervals. The success of that wonderful attack on the capital still bubbling away in the back of Asylum’s animated brain. But for now, he had to depart his backward yet beloved Halta. On to new and interesting things! Clayton did like to travel…
~Writing Sample~
So, their little mission was complete – and what’s more dubbed a success for the Hectics. Wonderful news. Great news! Even Iggy had to be happy about that, and Iggy was rarely happy about anything. But at least she didn’t snap out some angry crack as Clayton offered a celebratory clap on her back. Yes. Everyone was in high spirits.
But over the next few days the reports came in from the Hectic’s satellite cells. Kills. Men lost. Nothing was worse than that. Clayton hated bloodshed, especially innocent bloodshed. And all of his men were innocents, just fighting for the cause of freedom and social justice, after all! What could possibly be the crime in that?
At first they planned to wait it out, using Clayton’s asylum as a haven for their members. But he couldn’t keep his territory up forever, and the coverage wouldn’t protect all of his fellow Hectics. No, it was clear: The Hectics were on the run. The government was after all of them, and they would seek the anarchists out one by one if they had to. After all, they had their twisted methods. Spies. Spies everywhere. The Parliament had a utopia in mind, and capital-bombing rebels clearly didn’t fit in.
“Looks like the Hectics are on the run, Maes. You two should get lost for a bit too…We’re all spreading out as far as we can go. We’ll be in touch when things clear up – reconvene somewhere – no sense in worrying ‘bout it now, really.” Clayton said with a nonchalant wave. Somehow he managed to keep his cool even when the world as he knew it was crumbling about them.
Maes and Iris both nodded, turning to collect their things and set out for safer territory. Oh, poor Iris! Clayton caught her by the arm, eyes lined with dramatic concern. “Don’t worry, ‘Lia. It’ll all work out fine.”
Data cut in, hardly enthused. “-Turp, I’m not worried –“
“Oh, it’s alright,” Clayton cooed, pulling the small doctor into his chest and holding her there tenderly. “I’ll check up on you. Make sure you’re being properly cared for wherever you end up.” He felt Iris struggle to push herself away and immediately spread out his asylum. “Don’t fight it. I know it’s hard.”
“Turp, I’m going to kill you.” The blind doctor noted as she was forced to give in and rest against the Hectic’s eccentrically-clad torso.
“Shhhhh,” Clayton cooed. “There there. I know it’s hard…But really, Iris. Those statements aren’t becoming of such a pretty lady as yourself. Foul words make us foul, remember that.” Turp grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, as though teaching the girl the secret to life itself. “But if we speak beautifully…” The mustachioed male gave a heavy, knowing nod.
Maes did not seem all to impressed with the speech. “Clayton, we have to go.”
He let Iris loose with a silver smile, watching as the two doctors headed for their little hideaway to gather their belongings. “I know, I know…Adieu mon cher médecins! Soyez en sécurité.”
“We don’t speak fucking French.” The mumble traveled back to Clayton’s ears with ease, a soft chuckle edging forth from his throat. Oh, kids.
