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by Davis 12/30/2014, 1:12 am
art by chikkoi
Name: Asher "Kicks" Ramirez
Age: 15
Gender: male
Eyes: Caribbean blue irises in a sunburst pattern. His eyes lay deep in their sockets, giving a dark, sleepless feel, with unkempt thick brows looming above. Typically steepled down toward the bridge of his nose in a perpetually angry face.
Hair: Dark brown fuzz tracing up from the the curve behind his ears towards the center of his skull where it grows out an inch in a tousled mohawk. Never gelled. Scientifically proven to be perfect to pet. Like an angry cat.
Height: 5'6
Body Type: Lean and sturdy; Asher's got the body of an athlete with mild, yet noticeable definition--especially in his calves. Much of his height is in his legs, leaving his mid-section just a bit small.
Skin Color: A warm, soft tan--almost chocolate mousse. Not quite as crisp as other children of Apollo, but he's certainly not pale.
God Parent: Apollo
Mortal Parent: Agnes Ramirez
Place of Origin: Barcelona, Venezuela--though he only spent three years there before moving to Kansas City, and later New York.
Pets: A pigeon that goes by the name of Nova
Talents: Soccer, knot tying, knock boxing, in general any activity that relies heavily on agility and improvisation. He's also incredibly gifted on the bass guitar, and, like is Apollo kin, possesses intimate knowledge of first aid procedures.
Weapon: Celestial bronze hook swords with jade handles, bass guitar.
Personality: Asher's scowl seems to tell it all. He's grumpy and brash, with a venomous tongue and infinite arltillery of insults. Asher is, unfortunately, capable of jumping from over-protective to "what could possibly go wrong" in the blink of an eye based on the parties involved and scenario at hand. His temper is only sated through heartfelt apology, with limited strikes until you're on the hate-list. Easily as stubborn as a donkey, and as pessimistic as they come--though slow to voice any of the numerous grim outcomes he can foresee. Pry under his shell and, well, he'll still outwardly ignore you. Or pretend to, anyway.
Flaws: See: his personality. Honestly, though, he's not one to make friends easily. He's defensive and callous, leaving people ever wondering if he likes anyone at all. Despite playing a support position, teamwork is hardly his forte, and his patience is alarmingly thin.
Powers: Apollo's Song - A jazzy melody that dulls the senses, soothing pain and inducing sleepiness with the same 5 meter limitation of sound waves. Extended use results in numbness or loss of consciousness. Effect akin to taking vicodin, and the soothing is meant as a temporary fix, holding over for approximately an hour.
Life Before Camp: Apollo and Agnes had their fling while Agnes still resided in Barcelona, in a small apartment above the cafe she owned. But when Chávez began flashing his true, authoritarian colors in office and quieting the opposition, the red flags went up and Agnes sold everything they had to escape, landing on a farm belonging to some distant relatives outside of Kansas City, MO. It was there Asher remained for the larger extent of his life, learning early on how to feed and care for the animals, patch up rough wounds on younger cousins and earn his stay, just like his mother. Though stressful, he found busywork to keep his mind off things, such as mom's multiple new partners, or bickering between parents at 8 in the morning. Oddly enough, he found more solitude with the cows than the people he homed with. It probably molded his introversion.
Before long the house became too crowded for Asher, his mother and her visitors. Agnes gathered the money she'd stowed away--"borrowing" quite a chunk from her relatives, too and and they fled to New York, one again residing in a tiny--but, praise the Gods, quiet apartment. Asher was about thirteen by then, in school now, which didn't help him any, and all but ignored by his mother and her men, who mostly saw him as dead weight.
Eventually, a satyr came across him after an unfortunate band class incident where the entire school crumbled when Asher tried to play the American Anthem on bass. Miraculously, there were no fatalities, and he stumbled away with some bruises, cuts and a broken foot. After informing his mother of the events and giving the poor demigod "the talk," his satyr whisked him away to camp, where he's remained since, having fully recovered. Every now and again he speaks with his mother over Iris message, who has since gotten her life together some and found a man named Anthony who works in hotel management and isn't a total jerk (the guy offered to take Asher to a baseball game for his birthday!) Their relationship isn't fully recovered, but slowly patching up. Eventually, he might even go home for winter.
RP Example: The camp's infirmary was unusually packed, aching, bloodied campers being carried in on stretchers by the minute, feeble groans leaving them as they clutched at their heads, stomachs and extremities. Ash could only assume someone had been playing with dark magic in the forest again--probably the Hecate kids, who had a history of such misdeeds. Last May they'd been swamped with the injured when Billy Stevenson had opened his new "business." Being only ten, nobody had foreseen his construct consisting of a knock out ring and betting booth. "Step right up! For only ten drachma you can try your hand at taking down a hydra." Idiots. Billy is no longer with us.
After a thorough scrub and dry of his hands, he stepped into the fray, snatching up a clipboard and surveying a young girl who trembled on her cot, only serving to worsen the slice running easily half a foot down her thigh. While an assistant cradled her head and eased nectar down her throat, Ash took to cutting away the denim of her jeans, wearing a scowl.
"How'd this happen?"
"..."
The girl's crying silenced, and after the fabric was clear & Ash had moved to administering gentle pressure on the wound with his hand over a damp cloth, he spared her an irritated glance. "Well? His tone had the roughness of shattered glass. There was no time for this.
"..T-tug of war." The answer, a weak and embarrassed murmur barely heard over the room's frantic commotion. The girl could be no more than eleven or twelve, in armor a size too large, slightly dented. It was very clear she had no idea what she was getting into. But tug of war? Occasionally the camp played, under the advisory of Chiron, and Asher had manned the infirmary during such events. These numbers were far too high for such a trivial game, with wounds a little more critical that sprained wrists and bruised knees. Nobody gets a carving in their leg from tug of war.
He applied a antiseptic, rubbing it in with surprising gentleness before before covering the wound with a pad and bandaging. When his hands were free, he slid over towards the head of her bed, crouching to cut the space between their faces, a fury in his glare. "What kind of tug of war." The girl shifted uncomfortably, like Asher was worse than any monster she might've encountered. "E-ehm, against a c... cyclops."
At current, the only one-eyed beasts at camp was Tyson, Jackson's brother. Unless they let in another.
As if on some invisible cue, a dull roar echoed in the distance, off from somewhere near the arena, if Asher's guess was right. He rolled his eyes and peeled off his gloves, opting for fresh pair to check on an older boy towards the opposite wall who, from the looks of it, was missing an arm. Gods, this was going to be such a long night.
Notes: Allergic to cats, pollen, shellfish, fruit, nuts, & bees. Fear of snakes and flying.
Last edited by Davis on 1/18/2015, 7:01 pm; edited 9 times in total
