Sta.sh
Distracted 
Character Sheet
For
Name: Chester “Plug” Holloway
Age: 23:
Gender: Male
Ability: Tongues – Can communicate with any person of any language, any animal, and any object. His ability is fairly straightforward with animate objects; he merely speaks and they can understand, and he understands what they say. To him he is still speaking English, but to others observing, he is speaking their tongue. With inanimate objects, he is actually able to see the objects history, rather than physically communicate with it. So if he asked who the last person who used this pen was, he would be able to see the last person. It’s the literal manifestation of “if these walls could talk” or “straight from the horse’s mouth” – literally.
Strengths:
-Smart
-Fast
-Agile
-Tongues
-Skilled with knives
Weaknesses:
-No real physical strength
-Sensitive to light
-Holds a grudge for a long time
-Easily offended
-weakness with birds, shiny things, and the mention of his mother
Likes:
-Talons, feathers, etc
-Tattoos, piercings, etc
-Watches
-Shiny things AKA: bling
-Whistling and singing
-Being Alone
-Knives
Hates:
-People intruding his space
-Loud people
-Light places
Description:
Stands at 6’1”, but is very lean. His strength lies in his speed. His hair is long enough for a guy and always pulled forward on his face, mostly covered and held in position by his prized bowler hat. It’s a little worse for wear but it means the world to him as his mother gave it to him. His ears stick out at either side of it, and are pierced several times but he normally only uses his right lobe. He wears a small chain pulled through with a peacock feather on the end.
He wears a frilly collar which he doesn’t know the exact term for, with a striped tie underneath, and a bright boob-tube style belly-top underneath this. He always wears his worn-out grey-blue dinner jacket, no matter how hot it is, because without it he feels he looks a bit like a woman. His jacket is often pulled out of sorts as he wears brown braces over it which often pulls at the jacket when he walks. The jacket is missing the left sleeve and the right sleeve is cut off above the elbow. He usually only keeps the right side of his braces on, and lets the other side hang down. He wears odd black pants which are baggy to about the knee but then cling tightly to his leg from there down, that way he is flexible when moving and his speed isn’t hindered, and he doesn’t feel like he’s wearing a skirt entirely. He tucks his socks into his trousers, god knows why. And he wears dull brown combat boots mostly left open. He has a number of strips of material hanging from his pants because he likes the colour or texture. He also hangs his grandfather’s pocket-watch from his trousers. A number of other watches take up most of his lower right arm. He is amused that time was so important when it is a relative concept, and so collects them as if they’re about to go out of style. His sarcasm often means he’ll comment in irony with phrases like “hope we’re not late” or “I’ll try to be early”. He doesn’t think ahead, there is only the present, and early and late don’t exist, because with him, a time can’t be set. That way there’s less stress of being late to a function of whatever sort.
His other arm has a large black two-pin power-cable, which gives him his nickname – Plug (although it’s also supposedly derived from his gift, which gives him the ability to “plug” communications between two people or creatures... or things. No one really knows, but these two seem the most obvious answers). He keeps it there, despite machines that require a plug being pretty much obsolete as most things now run on battery if they run at all. The reason he has it is something his mother said to him before she died – but that’s another story :]
He hides his face with a venetian-style mask, similar to a bird’s face. He prefers to keep his identity secret, and no one can say they’ve seen his real face. But that’s the beauty of it; they may well have and just didn’t know who he was – although I’d say the tattoos would be a bit of a giveaway.
The tattoos he currently has, are:
-Several question marks spanning from his left upper-cheekbone to his left jaw line.
-Aztec-style markings running from his chin to his collarbone.
-Tribal markings from his right wrist, up his arm, across the right side of his chest and to his waist.
-A barcode on his left shoulder
-A small Native American style marking on the left of his stomach shaped like a wing
-A heart-balloon on the back of his left hand
-Scroll on the back of his neck saying “are we human?”
-there are unknown tattoos on his left calf, right leg, the sole of his feet, back and the left of his chest. There are also faded and unconfirmed tattoos on the palms of his hand and knuckles which are hard to make out.
He also carries a small pipe which he carved out of wood a few years back. He often doesn’t have the luxury of smoking, but it also doubles as a small musical pipe, which he can smoke with as he inhales and covers the three holes in the stem. It really is an amazing design, and beautifully made, but few get close enough to him to fully appreciate its craftsmanship.
Personality: Chester is relatively quiet. He prefers to listen and understand the world around him than contribute most of the time. He enjoys the fact that his silence, speed and mask make him a little unnerving. Although at first his gift drove him a little insane, he has managed to filter through the constant rush of information from the world around him, and now he is at peace. He most appreciates the birds, after what his mother told him about them – that they are messengers from God, angels in disguise. He tries to talk to her through them, send her messages. And maybe it’s because he’s nearing the age of insanity, but he does feel that she is replying sometimes
When he speaks, he often either spits in sarcasm, or makes life harder for the person by answering with a story, or a metaphor, or a riddle. This often discourages people from talking to him, and they tend to avoid him, so it just works for him, and he keeps it up. He’s a loner by nature, as if punishing himself for what happened with his mother. The years of happiness he had with her were the best company he would ever have, so he doesn’t try to top it. And he feels someone else should really have such good experiences rather than him seeking them out and having all the wonderful people all to himself.
He keeps a number of knives hidden around his body. He gets very paranoid very quickly, and will often take a strong disliking to someone after a few seconds of listening to them, and will often just walk away midway through a conversation when he comes to this realisation. He also has a short fuse, and anyone who has known him for a while will know exactly which buttons to press to make him lose it. But he would rather build up his rage than express it. This is actually a rather fantastic strategy for battle, as he finds it a lovely time to express his anger.
Deep down he is quite shy, which is partially why he always wears the mask. It builds his confidence and allows him to be whoever he wants. He is therefore cunning and quick and snappy, whenever he chooses. Although usually he will come off as the cool, silent type, he is actually a rather sweet and down to earth guy, if you can get past his Fort Knox of barriers. He loves nature, and would be able to spend forever wandering alone and would be able to feed and look after himself as well as anyone else would in their own home.
Really secretly... he wishes he could fly like a bird.
History: Chester was born into a pretty decent life. Nothing seemed all that wrong to him, he lived with his mother and her parents, but he never really met her father. His mother was always so beautiful and vibrant. She was an artist and a musician. Chester used to sit with his toys when he was little and just listen to her sing. Her voice always brought him peace, she was like a spectacular songbird, and crooning in such an exotic way that he felt she could change his mood just with her tone. When he was sad, she would hold him close and sing to him, until he was content again. When he was sleepy, she could sing him to sleep. Even her words alone were hypnotic enough to bring him to peace with whatever internal war he was experiencing. When he was much older he learned that the reason his mother was so youthful was because she was only 17 years older than him. Nobody ever disclosed the circumstances of his birth, but by the darkness in the room when it was discussed, he could guess what had happened.
His mother was one of the first children to contract the disease. It made her what he was told was called a Savant. She was always just the same to him. Mother told him that it gave her this wonderful singing talent, which allowed her to make people happy, or fall asleep, or calm down. She never told him that it could do the exact opposite too though. When he was thirteen, the same disease spread through the cities, destroying lives and making others. His ability kicked in pretty soon, as he was already at his maturing age in which it was commonly said to peak.
He was amazed to find that from that day, he could hear everything. He could speak to the birds, and the trees, and he could understand people who spoke in their own tongue. His mother understood him, but his grandparents thought he was insane, not understanding what was happening to him. They tried to have him put away somewhere that could “help” him, but mother wouldn’t allow it. And she took him away. Chester didn’t realise, but his grandparents were at the beginning stages of becoming mentally ill, as they contracted the disease. And completely unbeknownst to him, his mother was already certifiably insane.
She spoke to him of things that he didn’t understand, that couldn’t possible exist. She told him things that he accepted as stone cold truths, because they came from his mother’s mouth. And she was everything to him. Like when she told him that birds are messengers from heaven, like angels in disguise... he believed her, with all of his heart.
Chester’s mother died when she one morning decided that something had crawled into her ear and was trying to control her mind. She said that she needed him to hit her, so that he could knock it out. He naturally refused, because he could never hit mother. So she sang, a venomous melody, and he couldn’t control himself. She controlled him, made him think he hated her, that he wanted to kill her. Made him take a blunt object and hit her over the head. Over, and over, and over again. Until mother didn’t sing anymore.
There was nothing he could do but run away. But he was alone now, in a dangerous world. He became pretty fast, and had always been agile. The world around him, the animals and objects, they helped him stay hidden and away from the world, away from trouble. He was smart, there was no doubt about that - but when everyone in the world is smart, everyone in the world is stupid. He became pretty good with knives, because they suited his agility; and he always keeps them on him, somewhere. He always has just one more, hidden somewhere; a switchblade, a dagger, a throwing knife, a razorblade, always something. He did what he had to do to survive, and when it came down to it and the world divided into groups of children. He sought refuge, and they accepted him, and he fought for them. He appreciated that they didn’t ask questions, they didn’t expect him to be open about his past. Chester is quiet. He doesn’t speak too often, he just listens, and learns, and plans. For mother.
