Post by LIZ SHERMAN on May 15, 2011 20:49:29 GMT 1
ELIZABETH CATHERINE SHERMAN
[/color]of the B.P.R.D. . [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Elizabeth “Liz” Catherine Sherman
»»AGE:[/b] 46; Liz was born April 15th, 1962
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] B.P.R.D. agent
»»SPECIES : [/b] Human
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Good
»»ABILITY: [/b] Liz is what is classified by most, and the B.P.R.D. as a pryokinetic; one possessing the ability of pyrokinesis, which is the ability to control and manifest fire, though she personally dislikes the description. While it may technically fit, it seems like a psychosis, some uncontrollable sickness, rather than something that can be controlled or kept in check, which is something that she has strived for most of her life to do. It is believed by some that her power, as strong as it is, and beyond what is classified as ‘normal’ ranges of pyrokinesis may be an aspect of an entity or presence that dwells inside of her and allows her to channel energy to such extensive degrees, though this is for the most part the speculation of select cultists.
- - -Strength: After extensive practice, meditation, introspection and guidance, Liz has finally gotten to a point where she has more control over her ability than any other point in her life. She can manifest a small flame, such as a handheld torch to light the area around her, or manifest a massive fire that can result in a broad sweeping flame or even eruption. (Capable of destroying several city blocks and all in its wake at its most destructive.) She can also manifest an aura of flames that acts as a deterrent to attack, and to a certain degree, a shield or cocoon to fend off projectile attacks, and with concentration she can create shapes or designs with the flames. One of the naturally occurring benefits of her ability is that anything that she is wearing or holding at the time of an outburst is protected, and she herself is not affected by the fire physically at all.
- - -Drawbacks: Learning to control her ability is something that has taken a lifetime, and there are times even now that the pyrokinesis flares without her will, such as times of extreme emotional distress or when she is in pain; the worse the pain or stronger the emotions, the worse the unconscious attack. Living with the guilt of the death and destruction she has caused in her life from these unwanted uses of her ability has proven as difficult as controlling her ability itself. When the ability sparks of its own accord, triggered by an external force, she can often lapse into unconsciousness or non-responsiveness for minutes to hours at a time, depending on the severity of the attack. These are less common when the power is activated by her own will, but use of the power can leave her feeling fatigued, and with a general weariness and headache, though she does not notice so much anymore as she used to. It has also been discovered that there is no way to sever her ability, to siphon or channel it to someone else or turn it off without causing harm to Liz herself; attempting to do so has put her in a comatose state in the past, confirming that there is some sort of symbiotic relationship between the fire-gift and Liz herself, even if the power itself does come from some sort of external force or entity.
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Blue
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Dark brown / black.
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5’3”
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Selma Blair
»»APPEARANCE: [/b] Liz is what might be called a ‘simple’ beauty; she is not possessed of a porcelain doll face or the ‘ideal’ model-esque build, but she is nonetheless attractive, especially on the occasions when she smiles. She is of a petite stature, barely touching 5’3” which is only amplified when she is surrounded by the lean and tall Abe, or the towering form of Hellboy. She is of a relatively slim build, though she has become more toned in the last few years as she became more actively and solidly involved with the Bureau and underwent their training regimen more thoroughly. She has dark hair which is currently cut in an asymmetrical bob, with slanting bangs that lead to a chin-length bob on her left side. Her eyes are a clear blue, though their particular hue can change with her mood, and she is prone to looking like she has shadows under her eyes that betray when she is not sleeping well, or when she is feeling particularly stressed. Her skin is a lightly tanned hue, which only slowly darkens when she spends time in the sun – perhaps a natural resistance due to her psychic powers.
She dresses casually, generally monochromatic, fluctuating between jewel tones, or greyscale tones depending on her mood, and prefers comfort and functionality over any need for ‘fashion’. One of her latest additions to her wardrobe and one of the few pieces of jewelry that she owns is that of a thick sterling silver choker from which a cross dangles that was a gift from the monks at the abbey that she stayed at before her final return to the B.P.R.D.
»»PERSONALITY: [/b] Liz is easily described by those that do not know her very well as both shy and withdrawn, and while this may be true to a certain extent, there is much more beneath the surface that creates the person that she is. She carries, first and fore most, an incredible amount of guilt for all of the pain and destruction that have occurred because of her inability to control her fire-power. At the age of eleven, after being provoked by the teasing of a group of other children Liz’ power erupted without her willing it to or being able to stop it, which resulted in the deaths of thirty-two people, including her parents, her brother, her dog, her tormentors, and several city blocks were burnt to the ground, and a much larger number of people were injured. This was the worst of the ‘incidents’ as she calls them, but it was not the only one, and she believed for much of her early life that her power was a curse put on her because of her sins. While she may not still hold that particular belief, she believes that she has a great deal to make up for.
Not knowing what it is that made her capable of pyrokinesis is a quiet fear that still plagues her, though it is one of many concerns that she does not voice, out of her own discomfort in discussing the subject, and not wanting to put those around her ill at ease. She has spent the last decade or two of her life trying desperately to control her power, and having finally reached a plateau, she has found herself much more at ease with herself, and much more capable of interacting with those around her now that she does not have as much concern about a harsh word or a flare of temper causing a national disaster. She still tends to keep to those that she already knows, or works with in the B.P.R.D., as she will always worry about harming others, and those in the B.P.R.D. know the warning signs and know what she is capable of. She is very protective of those few close friends that she has, which include most specifically Abe and Red, whom she has known most of her life in her on and off again relationship with B.P.R.D. since the incident that left her an orphan.
Despite her protective nature, and the fact that she cares a great deal for Abe, Red, and his father when he was alive, even those closest to Liz have suffered her fits of temper and frustration. While she tries her best to keep her negative emotions in check, knowing that they are an outlet and ignition button for her ability, there are times when she simply cannot bite her tongue or hold back her anger any further. This happens more often when someone has endangered themselves needlessly, or acts childishly for too long in a row, but at times, she simply gets worn down with having to keep herself in check and keep on top of those around her as well. These fits of temper might result in a small fire, but more than that, these tend to be what will precipitate a self-inflicted exile, or what in the past would be her quitting the Bureau. This has happened at least two dozen times over the years, but inevitably she finds herself returning, both out of the fact that the place is home, and because she feels in her heart that there is nowhere else she would ever really fit, or be welcome. She feels an outcast, and often finds herself wondering why it is that they risk everything to protect the people that a hundred years ago would have (ironically) burnt all of them at the stake, but in the end the genuine and underlying goodness of her nature draws her back to the bureau and the people in it.
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] Martin and Samantha Sherman were Liz’s parents, and her brother James was five years younger than her. They are, or were, an average family as far as she can recall, and outside of the worry that came with her ability that had triggered spontaneously when she was ten. Her parents and brother were all killed when she had a spontaneous eruption of her pyrokinesis at the age of eleven, for which she still feels responsible.
The closest she has to family now are those at the B.P.R.D., particularly Abraham Sapien and Hellboy. And though it is not something that she has told anyone yet, she suspects that she may be pregnant with Red’s child.
»»IDOLS:[/b] Though she probably wouldn’t admit it, Hellboy is one of the people that she admires, in spirit, if not in entirety. He believes in the good of people, and holds steadfast in his desire to help them; it’s more than a duty, it’s what he wants to do, and she respects that, even if there’s a lot of things that she rags on him about the rest of the time.
She admires Abe a great deal, and respects his intelligence and compassion, both of which she feels she merely mimics sometimes, rather than really possessing. He is wise beyond his years (or at least that’s how the saying goes; she’s not entirely sure how old he actually is) and his friendship is a great boon for her.
»»HISTORY: [/b] Liz was born in Kansas City, Kansas on April 15, 1962 to Martin and Samantha whom were still in the newlywed stage of their relationship. They were happy, if not the most financially well off couple, and resided in a small rented house where Liz was raised. She had all ten fingers, all ten toes, two eyes, two ears, one nose and one mouth, and a dimple when she smiled, and howled like nothing else when she was hurt, and there was nothing about her that would have indicated any of the oddity that was destined to surround her later life. She was five when her little brother James was born, and the family moved to a house that they had put a down payment on six months later. The next few years of her life were what one would expect. She went to classes, made friends, fell down and scraped herself, got into a few fights, went to catechism and had her first communion at St. Catherine’s Catholic Church.
It was shortly after her tenth birthday that everything changed. She was on the playground, fell off of the monkey bars, and when she hit the ground, the wood chips under her hands burst into flames. She panicked, as did most everyone else on the playground, before she passed out and the fire died out. There seemed no harm to her outside of the fainting spell, but the whispers of the event followed her, and over the next several weeks there were several other small incidents that left her in tears and distraught, she sought spiritual counsel from her priest in confession, believing the fires to be some portend of her damnation, an early manifestation of hell brought about by her youthful transgressions. Father Thomas did was he could to assuage the young girl’s fears, but he had no real answers for her, and while the outbreaks of fire did seem to be kept in check by prayer and sheer determination, it was barely a year later that Liz’s world would be turned upside down for good. Confronted by a group of children who jeered at her and called her freak, and pushed her down and hurt her, she felt her self-control snap, and she felt the fire burst out of her. She would learn after a two-day coma that the fiery explosion had killed over thirty people in a four block radius, including her family.
Distraught, and near incoherent, she was placed in a psychiatric care facility and kept medicated while her psychiatrists tried to make sense of what it was that the young girl claimed, until a night terror set fire to her room. Fortunately, it was quickly quenched and no other people in the ward were injured, but it was not long after that Liz was brought under the care of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Development. She would spent the next years of her life in the care of the Bureau, where she was raised with the Professor’s other protégé, whom she came to call Red, a nickname which stuck. The Professor spent many years trying to help Liz learn to control her ability, and did his best to convince her that she was not to blame for the deaths and pain, but in both respects he had limited success. Liz left the Bureau when she was of age, retreating to corners of the world where she would be out of the way, but inevitably, she ended up back at the Bureau, with the Professor and Red and Abe and the other agents who had become her only family.
She finally claimed to have left for good, taking sanctuary in a psychiatric unit that the Professor had spent years working with, and seemed to be making progress, and lived there for over a year before she had a relapse and once again erupted, leaving her at a loss. Compelled, by a new agent, and Red’s coercion, she returned once again to the Bureau, claiming it would be only for the weekend, but when the revelation of another plot to end the world arose, combined with the assassination of the man that she had come to love as her own father, she stayed to see the events through. Going with the team to Russia to the tomb of Rasputin, to put an end to the events that brought Red to this world, she was forced to call up a firestorm great enough to save Red, ending up in her own collapse, and she was to learn later that Rasputin used her, to try and convince Hellboy to end the world. All that she knew, was that she passed from the emptiness of unconsciousness to the hollow blackness, dark and achingly silent, an emptiness that seemed like it would never end, until she heard the voice that called her back, that released her from the emptiness. Red’s voice. Saving her, protecting her, like he always had, in his own way.
It was then, that she realized what she had tried to hard to fight, to deny all these years; that she loved him, just as he had loved her. The next months were trying; not only did she have to fight off a new wave of nightmares, but she had to try and find a way to resolve herself to this new development in her life, and deal with the changes of the department in the bureau. Six months after her return from Russia, she took a leave of absence from the bureau and Red, promising him that she would return, but that she needed to find peace, or she would never be able to stay. After a few months she was able to find sanctuary at the Agartha Temple, a legendary temple hidden in the Ural Mountains above the Arctic Circle. She spent two years at the monastery learning how to not only control, but for all intents and purposes, master her ability. Finally she returned to the Bureau where she has remained since, and for the last several years she and Red have been seeing each other, and the unit has become more cohesive as a whole, though there are still stressors and arguments between the core trio, especially where Red’s inability to clean up after himself, or show any signs of maturity at times are involved. In the last few weeks, Liz has begun to suspect that she is pregnant, though she has not yet worked up the courage to take a pregnancy test.
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Mandy
»»GENDER:[/b] Female
»»AGE:[/b] 29
»»TITLE:[/b] It is a part of me. It is mine.
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
It had been an hour or more since she had seen any sign of the footpath that had led her this deep into the forest, but for the most part she was unconcerned. Most times she could find herself moving in the general direction that she needed to be, when she put an effort into it, and if all else failed, she picked a direction and walked until she began to hear the buzz of voices in the back of her mind, brushing and teasing and tickling against her consciousness.
The lack of such intrusions were the main reason for her ventures into the woods, or to the lake, or the cliffs, depending on her mood and how much time she had to spare before she would be needed or missed, whichever came first. Today, she was neither, which she had accepted with a mixture of chagrin, guilt, and relief when she had fled the boarding house her mother ran earlier that morning.
The last few days had been trying for both her and her mother, and if she trusted her self-control any more than she did she would have continued to stick around and try and work through or past it, but she had given up after a near blow up at something as simple as whether to have bacon or sausage for breakfast. The difficulty on her part, at least, rose from the fact that she did not know... exactly what was causing the difficulty, the white elephant of tension that rose between the two the longer that Clarissa's stay extended.
She suspected that it had to do with her, nothing that she could help or her mother, but there was a reason that she felt a twinge every time that she looked in a mirror, and she could only assume that it was the same for when her mother looked at her. She knew that even when they were little, she and her brother had not been identical, besides the obvious difference of gender, but there had been enough similarities to tell without a shadow of a doubt that the two were twins, and now where there was one there should be two. Her father had adjusted, long ago, by necessity as well as choice to look ahead rather than behind, but her mother had, until these recent weeks, not had to confront the ghosts of her past that were now, glaringly obvious. She could not... well, more like chose, not to try and confirm these suspicions and doubts for herself, trying with all her effort to avoid brushing any of the thoughts that bled out from her mother, but it was times like this one that she had just found it a strain that she could not handle any longer.
And so, she had fled, escaping from the house at the first opportunity and let her feet lead the way with little care as to where they would take her, as long as it was... away. She had not bothered with a jacket, she had long since become accustomed to what outsiders might call the constant chill of Forks and the surrounding metropolitan areas. She had never lived anywhere outside of one of the dreariest states in the entire continental United States, and doubted that she'd ever really opt to. Some things, after so long, became routine and comfortable, customary and expected, and to her the gray skies and lukewarm at best weather, even now in the middle of summer, was something of a... security blanket almost. Her sweater would be enough to keep the chill at bay, her tights and legwarmers taking cover of anything that the miniskirt didn't cover, with fingerless gloves to wrap around her palms and heavy and well worn and scuffed combat boots to protect her feet from the worst of what the woods might be able to throw at her, she felt little fear about what nature or the wild might throw her way.
She had barely spared a first thought for any worry over the wildlife, at this point of the year most of the predators that she might have to concern herself about were hibernating, or those that still lurked had far more abundant prey than her, and so as she had left the beaten path behind she had not the least qualm about slipping in one ear bud of her iPod, the other dangled loosely around her neck and over her shoulder on the off chance that the electronic leash otherwise known as a cell phone that was tucked at the small of her back might ring and fuss at her, or that some noise in the forest outside of Forks would call her attention away from the peaceful quiet of her thoughts.
The playlist of the day was, while not necessarily overly original, was one of her favorites, consisting of a series of female 'angst' artist, Morisette, Lavigne, La Roux, DiFranco, Evanescence, and others, serving as soothing background noise as she follows a gradually steeping incline up to a jagged overlook, some five or six feet of a drop off that led to the slowly gurgling stream of water that cut through about a half a dozen turnoffs throughout the woods before slipping away into the mountain crevices at one end, and the lake at the other.
It seemed that she was not the first to have found the overlook in recent hours, she discovered, as she cushions her steps and drops into a quiet crouch, fingers tipped with chipped metallic green polish sliding to press pause on her ipod and pull the earbud from her ear as she surveyed the scene below.
The creature was lean, and lanky, to the point that she couldn't quite tell from this angle if it was an underfed and underdeveloped wolf caught in the lanky in between years, or the more likely option of one of the coyotes that populated the woods, though usually at the outer edges. It's coloration was muted, charcoal and ash and rusted brown, with the obvious exceptions of the glint of white made visible in the seconds between the tearing and ripping motions made at the carcass of the young deer that had been pinned and killed, fairly recently too, by the looks of it, and the still bright splashes of crimson that drifted through the mud and leaves beneath hunter and prey to cloud the water in languid and idle swirls.
The lack of such intrusions were the main reason for her ventures into the woods, or to the lake, or the cliffs, depending on her mood and how much time she had to spare before she would be needed or missed, whichever came first. Today, she was neither, which she had accepted with a mixture of chagrin, guilt, and relief when she had fled the boarding house her mother ran earlier that morning.
The last few days had been trying for both her and her mother, and if she trusted her self-control any more than she did she would have continued to stick around and try and work through or past it, but she had given up after a near blow up at something as simple as whether to have bacon or sausage for breakfast. The difficulty on her part, at least, rose from the fact that she did not know... exactly what was causing the difficulty, the white elephant of tension that rose between the two the longer that Clarissa's stay extended.
She suspected that it had to do with her, nothing that she could help or her mother, but there was a reason that she felt a twinge every time that she looked in a mirror, and she could only assume that it was the same for when her mother looked at her. She knew that even when they were little, she and her brother had not been identical, besides the obvious difference of gender, but there had been enough similarities to tell without a shadow of a doubt that the two were twins, and now where there was one there should be two. Her father had adjusted, long ago, by necessity as well as choice to look ahead rather than behind, but her mother had, until these recent weeks, not had to confront the ghosts of her past that were now, glaringly obvious. She could not... well, more like chose, not to try and confirm these suspicions and doubts for herself, trying with all her effort to avoid brushing any of the thoughts that bled out from her mother, but it was times like this one that she had just found it a strain that she could not handle any longer.
And so, she had fled, escaping from the house at the first opportunity and let her feet lead the way with little care as to where they would take her, as long as it was... away. She had not bothered with a jacket, she had long since become accustomed to what outsiders might call the constant chill of Forks and the surrounding metropolitan areas. She had never lived anywhere outside of one of the dreariest states in the entire continental United States, and doubted that she'd ever really opt to. Some things, after so long, became routine and comfortable, customary and expected, and to her the gray skies and lukewarm at best weather, even now in the middle of summer, was something of a... security blanket almost. Her sweater would be enough to keep the chill at bay, her tights and legwarmers taking cover of anything that the miniskirt didn't cover, with fingerless gloves to wrap around her palms and heavy and well worn and scuffed combat boots to protect her feet from the worst of what the woods might be able to throw at her, she felt little fear about what nature or the wild might throw her way.
She had barely spared a first thought for any worry over the wildlife, at this point of the year most of the predators that she might have to concern herself about were hibernating, or those that still lurked had far more abundant prey than her, and so as she had left the beaten path behind she had not the least qualm about slipping in one ear bud of her iPod, the other dangled loosely around her neck and over her shoulder on the off chance that the electronic leash otherwise known as a cell phone that was tucked at the small of her back might ring and fuss at her, or that some noise in the forest outside of Forks would call her attention away from the peaceful quiet of her thoughts.
The playlist of the day was, while not necessarily overly original, was one of her favorites, consisting of a series of female 'angst' artist, Morisette, Lavigne, La Roux, DiFranco, Evanescence, and others, serving as soothing background noise as she follows a gradually steeping incline up to a jagged overlook, some five or six feet of a drop off that led to the slowly gurgling stream of water that cut through about a half a dozen turnoffs throughout the woods before slipping away into the mountain crevices at one end, and the lake at the other.
It seemed that she was not the first to have found the overlook in recent hours, she discovered, as she cushions her steps and drops into a quiet crouch, fingers tipped with chipped metallic green polish sliding to press pause on her ipod and pull the earbud from her ear as she surveyed the scene below.
The creature was lean, and lanky, to the point that she couldn't quite tell from this angle if it was an underfed and underdeveloped wolf caught in the lanky in between years, or the more likely option of one of the coyotes that populated the woods, though usually at the outer edges. It's coloration was muted, charcoal and ash and rusted brown, with the obvious exceptions of the glint of white made visible in the seconds between the tearing and ripping motions made at the carcass of the young deer that had been pinned and killed, fairly recently too, by the looks of it, and the still bright splashes of crimson that drifted through the mud and leaves beneath hunter and prey to cloud the water in languid and idle swirls.
