Post by Dean Archer on Oct 10, 2011 0:25:54 GMT -5
| [atrb=style, background-color: #003f87; border-top: 6px solid #003F87; border-bottom: 6px solid #003F87; border-right: 6px solid #003F87; border-left: 6px solid #003F87; opacity: 0.85; -moz-opacity: 0.85;][atrb=border,3,true][atrb=bordercolor,ffffff,true][bg=003F87][atrb=width,490,true][atrb=height,330,true][atrb=cellpadding,10,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true] Dean Archer    NAME. Dean Ulysses Archer AGE. 24 GENDER. Male GROUP. Military OCCUPATION. State Alchemist, First Lieutenant PERSONALITY. Witty and quick, his mouth tends to get him into all kinds of trouble. Dean is a self-made loner, cutting himself off from most people by plain instinct. Ever since his first foster home, Dean has had trust issues. It takes a lot for him to let someone into his life, and being certified as a "Walking Weapon" of the state didn't help matters. Despite his solo mindset though, he does feel the need to help people, especially women. He is extremely chivalrous, almost to the point of chauvinism. He tends to get in over his head when a girl gets in trouble. Dean is a smart-ass to a great many people. He never really knows when to tun it off, and it always comes back to bite him in the ass. Not that he can't handle trouble when it comes around. To say that Dean is quiet is an understatement though. He generally keeps to himself despite his mouth, only piping up when he feels the need to or when he's spoken to. He travels alone, a choice he doesn't think about too often. He keeps himself busy when he isn't working, keeping his body in shape and tinkering away at his rusty, ramshackle motorcycle and his automail forearm. He has dabbled in a little of everything martial arts-wise, but he has a knack for Akido. Dean never went to collage, but he still has a healthy thirst for knowledge and he has the attitude that if there is something he needs to know and doesn't know it, he will find it out. Dean, at heart, is a gentleman. He hates it when anybody gets hurt or is in trouble, but when it's a woman, watch out. His chivalry makes him vulnerable to be manipulated by the opposite sex. Which is to say that he can be a little blindsided by a pretty face, but hey, he's only human. POSITIVE TRAITS.
NEGATIVE TRAITS.
LIKES.
DISLIKES.
GOALS.
FEARS.
SKILLS.
HISTORY. An orphan's life is never an easy one, and Dean's is no exception. It was only made more so by Dean's knack for finding trouble. Dean never knew his parents. His earliest memories are from the old catholic orphanage where he spent most of his childhood. He never felt the need to ask about his birth parents. The way he saw it, one way or another, they where gone. Nothing he could do could change that fact. Though Dean developed that mindset too early in his life, he still has to remind himself every now and again. A child's pain is a child's pain. No amount of thick skin can get rid of it. Dean was raised in central, in one of the many state orphanages. The one young Dean was put in was run by Father Ortiz, though to this day Dean doesn't quite know what he is a Father of. Ortiz was a good enough man, keeping Dean (mostly) in line and teaching the boy enough that he could find his own answers when he wanted them. Though if you asked him he would would say that he never expected Dean to go towards alchemy in his studies. It was a perfect fit for the young boy, really. It spoke to his questioning nature and his thirst to know how things worked. Those qualities plus his knack for learning made him a perfect would-be-alchemist. He spent most of the free-time of his childhood on the streets, learning all of the wrong trades from people with all of the wrong traits. Dean never picked up any of the latter, but the former stuck to him like glue. Despite what his teachers said, Dean was smart and picked up new things easy. The difference was that he saw picking locks and how to navigate a city from rooftops much more fun (and applicable) than long division and fractions. His street Savoir-Faire came in handy in his chosen profession. He never got caught at anything too serious, but he was trouble enough so that when Dean's 18th birthday rolled around the state couldn't wait to shove their ward off into society and out of their jurisdiction. By some miracle he even passed finishing school. Dean was even surprised by that one. Dean continued his Alchemy training by traveling around Amestris, using his talents to keep himself out of poverty. He might not of learned as much in the way of formula and etiquette, but the world has a way of teaching just fine on its own. That and books, lots and lots of books. One stop in particular changed Dean's course for the rest of his life. He had stopped in Rush Valley to learn more about automail and other practical applications of cutting-edge mechanics in everyday life. One such demonstration-a gas powered combustion engine-was ill prepared, exploding and bringing down the workshop it was in. Dean was far enough back to not be caught by the blast or the resulting debris, but a young girl was not. She was trapped behind a wall of debris and the engine's blast had started a fire that was rapidly growing in size. Without thinking, Dean drew a transmutation circle, creating a passage big enough to let the girl crawl to safety. Dean wasn't so lucky. The transmutation was unstable, causing the rock to collapse completely, crushing his left arm under tons of stone from the elbow down. The rest of him was alright enough, sans a couple of broken bones, but his arm was un-salvageable. After he was taken out of the rubble, his forearm was amputated, but luckily (in a perverse way) the little girl that Dean had saved was the daughter of an automail engineer. He outfitted Dean with the best he had, but the man wasn't a master or a wealthy craftsman, and the arm still has its quirks. After the three year rehabilitation period in Rush Valley, Dean returned to Central, ready to get on with his life. Though, to be honest, he didn't really have one to come back to. After some coaxing by Father Ortiz, Dean decided to try out as a state alchemist. He had found his niche during his time at Rush Valley, manipulating the trajectory of fired projectiles and other things exerting kinetic energy. He applied his skills to weapons and earned himself the title of "The Sure Shot Alchemist". But, just because Dean joined the military doesn't mean that his personality changed. He's not quite sure just who he pissed off, but by one notion or another he's been reassigned to Briggs Fort. To him its a punishment, and he has yet to find otherwise... FACE CLAIM. Cowboy Bebop- Spike Spiegel ROLEPLAY SAMPLE. Dean was raised in the country and-despite spending the majority of his adult life in the confines of steel and concrete-he loved nature. As a wizard he was tuned in to magic, the very forces of creation itself, and there was no greater testament to the awe-inspiring power of the Earth than the Earth itself. Dean loved getting out of the stuffy, obnoxiously loud city every once and a while to remind himself just what he was fighting for. He grew so overburdened a times that he often forgot just why he lived his life the way he did. That is to say scant of loved ones, possessions and most modern comforts. But one hour in the beautiful scene that was the outer woods of Manuka and he remembered. He remembered his childhood, while not ideal, still taught him the importance of life, and the preservation of it. If there is one thing that the good Father made stick in young Dean's head was that there is no greater tragedy, no larger waste than the loss of a life. However small. That and it was kind of hard to practice dangerous-often highly flammable- combat magic inside of the city limits. Dean hopped off of a rather large bolder, head tucked neatly in one of his rustically worn journals. He landed in a crouch before standing back to his full height and continuing his hike. He looked up briefly to make sure he wasn't about to run into a tree mid sentence (it only happened once) before returning to his passage about the physics of heat and entropy. He needed to keep his mid sharp as well as the body, not to mention the fact that combat fire was hard to control and maintain, and if he wasn't certain how it worked he had no hope of manipulating it. Granted, Dean was very practiced in the quick evocation that his brand of fire required, but it never hurt to get a refresher. What did hurt, however, was not seeing a high tree root because your head was buried in the spine of a book. Dean's foot caught mid-step, sending him sprawling down a lightly rocky, wooded hill. He let out a series of non-manly noises, and through the course of several tree limbs and more than necessary shards of stone, Dean ended up on the mossy ground at the foot of the hill. After a few seconds where he made sure all of his bits were intact and functional, he opened his now dist covered eyes to see a young woman sitting at the base of a tree, knees pulled up to her chest shyly. Dean tried for his best smile, though the piece of leaf in his mouth probably botched it. none-the-less, he coughed out an awkward, "Uh...Hi there." MY NAME IS Dean AND I'VE BEEN BREATHING AIR FOR 21 YEARS. I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR 5. MY OTHER CHARACTER'S ARE .... |
