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Messages - Thomas Wayne

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1
Private Threads / SAY SOMETHING -- gecko
« on: April 25, 2019, 11:33:56 AM »
this is a fancy by aj inspired by thes
aaron
That day, Springfield had a new patient, and as one of the sole psychologists in the entirety of the building, Aaron had been selected to interview the newcomer, and determine their diagnoses, history, and how he could best help. The man was wearing his usual suit, but his bulletproof vest was missing. He only ever wore that outside of the building. His dark boots pressed against the cool floor as streams of golden morning sunlight cascaded through the windows to illuminate the dusty atmosphere.

Aaron's dark eyes settled upon the doorway into the mental health unit, and without hesitation, he moved into the area with his clipboard and pen in hand. It took him a moment to locate the room he knew them to be in, and with a quick sweep of his gaze, he didn't see Gecko within the unit itself, and quickly determined that they must be lingering within their room still. Or, perhaps, medical staff had taken them for a walk, but considering that Aaron had informed the nurses and staff of the time in which he would be conducting his session with the newcomer, he doubted that.

Slipping toward the room, Aaron took a moment to announce his presence with a brisk few knocks upon the door. Then he entered, brown eyes scanning the room until they fell across the person of his focus.

"Good morning, Gecko." Aaron greeted gently. There was a chair in the corner of the room, and he took a seat before gesturing toward the bed. "Would you like to sit down? I have some questions for you." The black haired man informed smoothly, placing his clipboard (and several pieces of lined paper) within his lap. "How are you doing today? Feeling alright?" Aaron inquired curiously, his voice a quiet, soothing tone.


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hidden scrolling
this is a fancy by aj inspired by thes
aaron
Aaron glanced toward Fletcher when she arrived, she was youthful, unlike him, and she had a gun. Aaron had surrendered his own after he had joined, because he worked with patients in the hospital itself, he had no desire to give them the chance of snatching the weapon from him in order to hurt themselves or somebody else. Even his assortment of pocket knives was out of his possession in that moment. He'd only ever need his weapons when leaving Springfield, anyways. There was no need for them within the perimeter of the hospital, unless you were a guard, he supposed. It was for that reason that, despite her young age, Aaron deduced that the woman beside him, calling him 'the suit' must have been a guard herself. Aaron shifted his gaze back toward the newcomer, instead of the lizards. Though they were certainly interesting to look at, they weren't the center of his attention. That title belonged to Gecko.

They had called him a shrink, a word Aaron himself didn't particularly appreciate, but he kept his features firmly neutral, and didn't emotionally react in the slightest.

"A real psychologist." Aaron confirmed with a brisk nod. He didn't answer the question about his vest, remaining stoic and quiet until the warning from Gecko about Fletcher potentially being bitten by one of the large lizards filtered into the open air. The black haired man raised a questioning brow, and determined that if the lizard did indeed cause any harm to others, especially considering that Gecko probably wouldn't be allowed access to it, concerned him. He doubted anyone wanted to put the animal down, but if it couldn't be fed without Gecko, and actively attacked those trying to care for it while Gecko was confined to the hospital as a patient (which is what Aaron suspected, given their next statement of needing help), then there was not much else that could be done.

"Of course you can talk to me." Aaron responded gently. He didn't know what problems plagued the mind of Gecko, but if they were strong enough that they felt like they required psychological assistance, then he was on board for at least trying to help. Not every patient could be improved after long-term therapy, some were too far gone, but almost all of them could at the very least, improve through help enough to live a somewhat comfortable existence. "It's nice to meet you, Gecko. But if you're going to be a patient here, you'll have to follow some rules." The psychologist began firmly, though his voice was not at all unkind.

"I'm new here myself, so Anton might have to confirm as well as state them in more detail, I'm sure, but for one, I believe your lizards cannot accompany you into the hospital. I believe caretakers will care for them for you. You also won't be allowed outside to see them. Patients aren't allowed outside of the hospital itself. You'll have to wear a hospital gown, and follow a strict routine, and if you choose to resist treatment, you'll be sent home. I'd ask where you're from, but if you'd rather talk about that in private with me, I understand." Aaron explained some of the many rules put in place for patients professionally, and with a smoothness to his deep voice.


3
thes code
aaron
Having just been accepted, Aaron found himself wandering the border quite frequently, particularly after providing emotional support to patients. Even he needed some quiet, peaceful time to himself, after all those secrets had been whispered into his ears by those that poured their hearts out to him in the hopes of recovery.

The black haired man hadn't expected to run across anyone else, but he did, and it seemed he was the first to arrive upon the scene. What interested him the most about the newcomer were the lizards. They were enough to draw his attention away from the individual for just a moment, but despite his surprise and curiosity, Aaron's facial features remained stoic.

"Hello. Welcome to Springfield. My name is Aaron, a psychologist here. How can I help?" Though his voice was firmly neutral, it was not unkind. Aaron let his hands settle into the pockets of his dark black suit, his FBI bullet proof vest in full display over the top of his clothing.


4
Archives / Springfield DO YOU FEEL ALONE? -- therapy with sheo one-shot
« on: April 23, 2019, 12:32:18 PM »
thes code
aaron
( TW for mentions of torture, manipulation, abuse, mistreatment, psychological trauma, animal death, suicidal thoughts and self harm. This tells the story of Sheogorath’s decline, the suffering he endured, the mistreatment he dealt with over the past two years. It’s a deep dive into what makes him tick. It’s also a one-shot, so IC replies are not necessary. )

“Tell me more about J.” The calm voice of Aaron seeped into the quiet atmosphere of the warm, sunlit room. Sitting across from the desk was none other than Sheogorath, fiery red hair ruffled by a sweaty hand as the man visibly stiffened. He hadn’t expected Aaron to want him to elaborate on his former friend after he briefly mentioned the albino man while discussing his past, but now he was put into the uncomfortable situation of being forced to provide a proper answer about his psychological scars. Sheogorath was hesitating, Aaron could read the fear in his face with keen and studious eyes. The situation was growing increasingly tense as the psychologist urged the eccentric man to reveal more and more of his past.

“It’s okay, take your time.” Aaron offered quietly, gently, a far cry from his firm, stoic voice that he used with other staff members. Sheogorath drew in a heaving breath, and began to speak. Aaron knew he wanted to get better. He wanted to recover from this depressive episode that plagued his mind, and maybe everything else, too. He wanted the suffering to stop. Aaron could understand that well enough.

“J was my friend. He was...one of the first people I met when I joined the Badlands. He was...eccentric like me. Different. But not in the same way as I am.” Sheogorath began quietly, and his voice wavered as he recalled the memory.

“Was your friend? What happened?” Aaron questioned gently. He was diving into the personal, painful history of the man before him, and he had to be careful about his tone.

“The Group of Captors. A prison. He...captured me. Betrayed me. Held me there he...he tortured me. With a brand. He carved...into my skin he carved this-” Sheogorath pulled down his hospital gown to reveal his shoulder, and the smiley face harshly tattooed into the skin there. “-I thought he was my friend but he kept me in a cell and he...he manipulated me. He made me hurt people and I...I liked it. Until he hurt me. Then I realized he was just using me to hurt others, that I was nothing to him, even if he claimed otherwise.” Sheogorath raised a hand to his hair, and tugged harshly at the red hued strands there. Aaron spoke quietly in response.

“It’s okay now, you’re safe. J can’t hurt you anymore. Don’t hurt yourself, Sheogorath.” He’d have to stand up and stop any self harm that might occur, yanking hair from one’s skull certainly counted, and he could see the distress in the Badlander’s eyes.

“It’s my fault. I’m a bad person. I killed people.” Sheogorath offered quietly, placing his hand back into his lap.

“You were sick, Sheogorath. You’re still sick.” Aaron responded gently.

“That’s not an excuse!” The red head hissed in response, red heat rising to the Scottish man’s cheeks.

“You’re right. It’s not an excuse. But it is an explanation.” Aaron responded carefully. Sheogorath seemed to consider his words for a moment, before huffing harshly.

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is...it helps me understand you better. I want to understand you, Sheogorath. I want to help. We all do. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You wanted help? Will you let us help you?” Aaron inquired quietly, his tone a soothing attempt to relax the other man. Sheogorath remained quiet for a little while before answering with a silent nod.

“That’s good. What about the other brand? The T? I saw it while you were dressing earlier.” Aaron inquired carefully. Sheogorath seemed to grow even more uncomfortable, fidgeting, flapping his hands against his lap, moving into a steady back and forth rocking motion. Aaron found the stimming to be a curious thing to observe. It added to his suspicions of another potential disorder, one separate from his previous theory of bipolar, given Sheogorath’s history.

“Catalyst did that to me. I went to Flintlock to apologize fer...fer murdering one of their members. Or two. I...I can’t really remember.” Despite the red head admitting to multiple murders over the course of their session, from his early life and beyond, Aaron showed no signs of judgement. His own face was entirely unreadable. “I lied to Catalyst about it, and they...branded me. Demoted me to worm. Killed my…” There was a pause, a hesitation. Aaron leaned closer.

“Killed your what?” The psychologist questioned gently. Sheogorath wrapped his face with his hands. Aaron could tell he was reliving the moment. The other male’s rocking grew more intense, and he seemed to choke over his words, trying to speak for a moment, failing, before trying again.

“My rabbit.” It hurt for Sheogorath to say it, Aaron knew. When the red head removed his hands from his face, he was crying. Aaron knew well enough that this wasn’t common for Sheogorath. He was going through a depressive episode, when he was usually manic, or so Aaron suspected, given how Sheogorath had described the alternating episodes and intense mood swings. Bipolar disorder was at the forefront of his mind, and given the way Sheogorath seemed to be reliving the past, PTSD was also wrapped within his thoughts. He felt confident in diagnosing Sheogorath with both.

“What happened after that?” Aaron inquired. Sheogorath was hesitating again, but after some time had passed, he began to speak.

“I fell into a horrible depression. I wanted to die. Mike helped me...but he didn’t know that I, I mean I never showed him…” Another pause.

“Showed him what?” Aaron questioned in as much as a soothing tone as he could manage. Quietly, Sheogorath shifted his hospital robe to reveal his thighs. The scars were evident, and given their shape and pattern, Aaron knew immediately that Sheogorath had done it to himself.

“I felt so guilty. I deserved it. I’m a HORRIBLE PERSON!” The red head doubled over, wrapping his hands around his head. Aaron stayed seated, though even he began to fidget a bit, worried that at any moment, Sheogorath could hurt himself once more.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re doing a great job. Just breathe.” Aaron suggested softly. Sheogorath did his best to control his breathing. It had grown rapid, but after quiet and encouraging words from Aaron, it began to slow once more. The psychologist allowed some time to pass before he asked his next question. “Do you still want to die?” It was a quiet question that flowed past his lips.

“No.” Sheogorath responded immediately. There was no hesitation there. “I don’t want to die. I don’t...I’m bad. I can’t...I’m not ready. I don’t want to go to Hell.”

“When you’re manic, do these things still bother you?” Aaron inquired curiously.

“Not at all. When I’m manic, everything is fine. I’m happy. Confident. I feel...invincible.”

The session carried on for about an hour longer before they took a break. Aaron was confident in his diagnosis that Sheogorath had both bipolar disorder and post traumatic stress disorder. But he had another hunch, given the way Sheogorath had been stimming, and the way he had responded to Aaron’s gentle touch, flinching away as if it had caused him physical pain. After returning from their ten minute break, the two sat down once more.

“Sheogorath. I’ve got a few games here for us to play. Do you think you could play them with me?” Aaron questioned gently. The red head nodded quietly, but the psychologist could see the confusion in his dull amber gaze.

They started with a few simple puzzles, easy stuff, like putting the circle block where the circle shaped hole in the board was. But then Aaron made it a bit more difficult, with more complex shapes, and watched quietly as Sheogorath struggled to place the blocks in their proper positions where the average person wouldn’t struggle at all. The other man was clearly growing frustrated, so Aaron wasn’t entirely surprised when Sheogorath flung the puzzle and it’s blocks to the floor with a sweep of his arm.

“I don’t like this!” Sheogorath snapped with clear agitation.

“Okay, it’s alright. You did great.” Aaron responded soothingly. “We’re done with that one, okay?”

The session lasted another hour, questions from Aaron and answers from Sheogorath. More simple games. By the time the hour had passed, Aaron felt confident in his third diagnosis. Sheogorath was autistic. Not so heavily that he was incapable of caring for himself, but it was obvious enough to anyone that knew how to spot the signs.

Rising from his chair, Aaron slipped around the desk and stood over Sheogorath with a gentle smile.

“We’re done for today. You did very good. Are you hungry? It’s nearly dinner.” Aaron had a watch, solar powered no doubt, and he glanced at it with a quick flicker of dark eyes. Sheogorath nodded his head in silent response, so Aaron was quick to return the man to his unit before seeking out Anton. As soon as he found the leader, he immediately filled him in on Sheogorath’s history, and his diagnoses of Bipolar, PTSD, and autism, as well as offering detailed explanations of all three. By the time he left, he was confident Anton had a good idea of how best Sheogorath could be accommodated, and hopefully properly medicated.


5
Archives / Springfield CURIOUS EMOTION -- joining
« on: April 21, 2019, 06:55:34 PM »
thes code
aaron
His tuxedo was wet, thanks to the steady drizzle, gentle rain falling from silvery, rolling clouds. At least the storm wasn't too serious. There was still glimmers of sunlight cascading through the occasional break in the grey clouds. Aaron's black boots pressed into a puddle with a splash, and he silently cursed at the liquid that stained his pants in response.

Turning his dark eyes outward and away from his dark clothing, he uttered a quiet sigh, and took sight of the town that stretched on ahead of him, locked away in time, there were still cars in the streets, though they no doubt weren't working anymore, long since out of gas. Aaron remembered a time when driving down the road wasn't considered a luxury, but a part of day to day life. Now that it was gone, he realized just how lucky they all used to be.

He shrugged against the heavy black backpack around his shoulders. Most of it was thick psychology books, gifts from his father, but there was an assortment of food rations as well, and water. Just what he had needed for the long travel to Springfield. He had heard about the town and hospital from a local at a neighboring village, and had quickly decided that this was where he needed to be.

Aaron was visibly protected and armed, with an bullet proof vest over his clothing, labeled in white letters 'FBI', another gift from his father, a former FBI agent. His gun was holstered at his right side, purposefully visible as a warning to any threats, but he doubted he'd come across any in Springfield, if it was what the neighboring villager had said it was.

Aaron decided not to travel any further. The trained psychologist (though never made official, as he was taught by his father) waited quietly upon the outskirts of the town, wondering if a patrol would show up soon to greet him. Hopefully, they wouldn't be concerned with his weapon, as his posture, while rigid and straight, was not at all hostile. His facial features, however, were masked with a stoic scowl, revealing nothing in terms of his curious emotion.


6
Character Creation / Re: IT'S HARD TO LET GO -- aaron
« on: April 21, 2019, 06:30:39 PM »
this is a fancy by aj inspired by thes
aaron
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse feugiat, lectus id pretium lacinia, nunc velit rhoncus risus, vitae accumsan sem elit nec quam. Aenean finibus massa a augue placerat malesuada. Aliquam erat volutpat. Sed et lorem nunc. Proin ultrices, neque nec maximus malesuada, mi lectus finibus urna, ac vestibulum nibh metus ut erat. Nunc feugiat, nunc sit amet congue blandit, lacus enim pharetra nisi, at fringilla tortor sapien eget mauris. Vestibulum vel ultrices felis. Fusce vitae tristique urna. Ut iaculis egestas felis, ut porta dolor feugiat eget. Quisque consectetur luctus placerat.

Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi.


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Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. Quisque dolor velit, euismod non mattis et, ornare Fusce rhoncus gravida sem eu auctor. Pellentesque in dolor tincidunt, tempus enim et, tristique mi. [/div][/div][/td][/tr][/table]

[center][url=http://www.bearbonesrp.com/index.php?topic=21254.0][i][b]tags and biography[/b][/i][/url][/center][/div]

7
Character Creation / IT'S HARD TO LET GO -- aaron
« on: April 21, 2019, 06:26:01 PM »
remember the victims
aaron          springfield          psychologist
history
Aaron was born in Michigan, and lived a rather good life, before the power went out. His mother died in childbirth, so the man was raised by his father. His father was an FBI profiler, and a former psychologist, and so often trained Aaron in the ways of both, wishing for his son to follow in his footsteps, and that was exactly what Aaron wanted. Every Halloween, Aaron would dress up as an FBI agent, and the tradition continued well into his older years. When the power went out, Aaron stayed with his father for many years, continuing his training.

One day, while traveling, Aaron and his father came across a group of bandits harassing a trade caravan, and decided to take matters into their own hands. They managed to shoot down the attackers, saving the merchants, but unfortunately, Aaron's father was fatally wounded during the event. Aaron vowed never to forget his father's sacrifice, and, seeking to help others and stop injustice, decided to find a group in which he could be best suited for.

Aaron eventually found the hospital known as Springfield, and joined as a psychologist. His first case was a bipolar, autistic mass murderer known as Sheogorath, who was suffering from an intense depressive episode. Aaron diagnose Sheogorath with Autism, PTSD, and Bipolar, before informing the leader, Anton, of Sheogorath's condition.
hidden scrollies throughout
appearance
★ 6'2, weighs 170 LBS
★ dark brown eyes
★ black hair
★ Muscular and athletic figure
DESCRIPTION: Aaron is a pale skinned male with black hair and dark eyes, relatively tall, with broad shoulders and an athletic figure toned with muscle.
★ Current Physical Health: 100%
no current injuries
personality
★ highly studious
★ intelligent
★ observant
★ open minded
★ firm and unyielding
★ dedicated
MENTAL: Aspergers, Genius Level Intellect, Eidetic Memory
★ Current Mental Status: 90%

PM SHEO. FOR QUICK REPLIES OR PLOTS
No Crushes | Actively Looking | Single
No Romantic Partner | No Close Friends
Family: none living
Former Crush: none
hard difficulty physically | Difficult mentally
Training nobody
Experienced in battle | Attack in Underline
PERMISSION TO POWERPLAY PEACEFUL ACTIONS
inventory
★ a pistol
★ bullets
★ several pocket knives
★ bullet proof fbi vest
★ black backpack
★ several psychology books
male
thirty-nine
heterosexual
single
american
chaotic good

8
The Badlands / MAMA WE'RE ALL FULL OF LIES -- joining
« on: March 28, 2019, 12:20:32 PM »
Warmth. It permeated the atmosphere with the sweeping of a salty sea breeze, and filtered from the tremulous gold of sunlit streams toward the earth, heating soil with comfortable volume. Leather boots pressed against the grit as a slender figure slithered between trees, humming a tune that only he could know the lyrics to, a song created upon a whim, guided by nothing more than swift and musical thought. The fellow was armed, a handgun holstered at his side, yet locked within his arms was nothing like a weapon, but little more than a small stuffed red fox toy, the wind brushing past a fluffy tail. A quietness stilled the air, broken only by the sound of Remus' own shrill voice and the calling chorus of birdsong that drifted from the trees. Soon, the path narrowed, and in the distance, he could see it, the rolling sea, waves lashing the shore with white-capped ferocity, glistening in the afternoon gold.

"Ah, here we are, THE BADLANDS! Wonderful. What do ya think, old Remus?" A cheery voice broke the serene atmosphere, bright and chipper. "Not too bad, not bad at all. Do ya think they have dogs here? I love dogs." He spoke to none but himself, a habit of his, a side effect of loneliness, one could say. It had become a common gesture, holding conversations with himself, not a cause of mental illness as some would think, but simply a source of amusement. Perhaps others might think him weird, but that was just fine with Remus. "Not a cloud in the sky. Isn't that great? I really would love some cake right about now, do ya think they have a baker? Nevermind that, I suppose. When do ya think they'll notice me? Surely they have guards and patrols about. Hmmm." Firm hands stroked the stuffed toy fox locked within strong arms as a small, close lipped smile danced across pale facial features.

"Anytime now, I'm sure. My my, look at the time, I nearly died at this hour a week ago." Brown eyes squinted against the sun, which lingered at its afternoon peak. "Oh well, I'm sure these folks will be friendly enough. Not as friendly as me, though. Nobody is as friendly as me, goin' around stabbin' folks, but WAIT, I've only ever done that a few times. One, two....three?" One hand was lifted away from the furry stuffed animal as he counted upon his fingers, giving the first three a wiggle. "Well, maybe a few more than that, but that's okay. No need to stab anyone here, I'm sure. I've heard the people here are classy, dapper folk. Not a cruel soul in their midst....hah. Do ya think they enjoy a good dance every now and again? I suppose I'll find out. Oh, LOOK, a butterfly! It's a bit early fer them isn't it?" Just a few feet ahead, the insect, with brilliant black and blue wings, fluttered amidst the branches of a thick, flowering bush.

thes code

9
The Badlands / SHE'S THE GIGGLE AT A FUNERAL -- joiner
« on: January 05, 2019, 11:39:53 AM »
A bitter wind rustled pale blonde hair as an unfamiliar woman parked herself upon the border to the Badlands. Or at least, what she suspected was the border. A wicked grin spread her bright red lips as she slung her tattooed baseball bat over her shoulder and placed a firm hand upon her extended hip. Harley was an interesting sight, to say the least, in colorful clothing, her shirt reading, "Daddy's Little Monster', a purple collar around her neck with the bright words 'Puddin'' stretched across the fabric. Dark boots pressed into the grit, a silent impatient gesture, before she decided to speak.

"Come on guys, I'm waiting here!" Her shrill, agitated voice rang from her vocal chords, departing from cherry scarlet lips and into the cold wintry air. "Let me in so I can BASH SOME FUCKING HEADS IN! Hah." Short laughter, venomous and cruel, exploded from Harley's maw. She swayed in place, piercing blue eyes scanning the landscape. The woman smacked the bubblegum in her mouth, though it had lost it's flavor over time. She didn't seem to care.
thes code

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