Charles Edward Jameson

Why am I making so many characters? Because I'm bored, and people aren't replying. I know you're busy, but my mind is full of stuff that needs to get out.
That, and we don't have enough Quincies.

Name: Charles Edward Jameson

Nickname: Mundy

Age:17

Gender: Male

Weapon(s): Snide remarks, and a lockpick made to last.

Personality: To say Charles is quiet is inaccurate, but it is also fairly inaccurate to say he’s loud-mouthed. Simply put, he’s selective of the times when he pipes up, speaking on a whim, remaining silent when he feels like it. A difficult person to hold a conversation with, maybe, but that’s just how he is – how he’s always been.
Sometimes, he’ll say things that make absolutely no sense, then tell you to forget he ever said such a thing. Which usually makes people think about it even more. He once compared people to jellyfish – then forgot why they were similar.

However, do not expect him to be so scatterbrained or indecisive when faced with combat. A Quincy through and through, he keeps a calm and level head when fighting, always searching for an opening. He accepts that his powers aren’t as strong as a lot of other spiritually-inclined beings, but what he’s got, he knows how to use. He’s pulled himself out of so many tight scrapes with Hollows when his powers were underdeveloped, by using nothing but his wits and a paltry excuse for a bow.

However, there are times, when he thinks he’s alone, that you see him with his head in his hands. His expression is a strange mix between despair and pensiveness, his eyes reflecting many, many horrors. The boy has seen things – too many things. He may be just seventeen, but those eyes – they’re the eyes of an old, old man, who’s lived for far too long.

Physical Appearance: The excessive physical training Charles has undergone has reflected in his build – tall, and notably toned, but due to the training being largely archery and endurance-based, it’s not especially sporty. However, if you needed him to run, then he could run. His skin is a healthy colour, as opposed to the pallour that would be his in the event of never going outside.

His hair is cut to a moderate length – he reasons that short hair does not suit him, and long hair gets in the way. He seems to have inherited his mother’s genes, when it comes to hair and eye colour. Pitch black locks, and deep brown irises. However, his father’s genes influence his expressions. A constant look of thought – be it pensive, inattentive or anything vaguely to do with thinking – fills his eyes, while his mouth rarely smiles unless polite. He does that with his eyes.

In terms of clothing, Charles tends to try and be practical instead of stylish. However, in terms of colour scheme, he tends to be consistent, regardless of the environment. On most days, he will don darker colours. Not necessarily black, but darker colours. Bright, block ones don’t suit him. So he says.
Casual wear is usually just a cotton t-shirt – his favourite being the navy one – and a pair of well-fitting trousers, made from a fibre made to withstand more adventurous types. His shoes are a pair of light, yet notably durable, mud brown hiking boots. Rumour has it that they’re only mud-brown because of all that he’s put the things through.

Bio: Charles was born of two Quincies – therefore, it was only natural that he inherit his parents’ abilities. They themselves were fairly standard for their kind, apart from the fact they weren’t dead, or otherwise in hiding. In fact, nobody even knew they were Quincies – perhaps one of the many advantages of them having insisted on going into battle with masks on, irrespective of what anyone said or did. However, Chares had a birth defect, and this became apparent quite early on.

Charles couldn’t control his power. It wasn’t just an untrained person’s tendency to let their power out – it was as if somebody had sliced a hole in a high-pressure pipe, causing energy to surge forth. Sometimes, his parents swore that nearby objects were getting singed by him inadvertently forming projectiles – not arrows, but lumps of energy that appeared when he got angry. So, at the tender age of five, Charles was fitted with a pair of gloves based on the Sanrei Glove. Though an artefact treasured by his (late) uncle, the fact was, that if Charles was not kept under control, once his body developed further, he would be both a danger to himself, and everyone around him.

The glove’s concept was simple – in much the same way that a positively-charged item pushes away another positively-charged item, the gloves carried a charge that forced any spirit energy around the user to dissipate to a harmless level. It wasn’t hard to modify them, not for Charles’ father, and when he needed bigger gloves, his mother was always on hand with a sewing machine and the other skills needed.

But, this quiet little existence couldn’t last forever. The boy loved reading – if he wasn’t pretending the living room floor was lava, he had his nose buried in a book, taking him to distant lands and fantastical lands. It was only natural, then, that he become intrigued by the battered leatherbound parchment pages atop his father’s desk. His curiosity was only fuelled further when he was told he was forbidden from reading it. But, when he did read it after his parents had decided to watch some DVD or other, what greeted him was not a world of imagination that blew his mind.

Just imagine – ten years old, and you read about your people. You read of the past that was hidden from you – your own talents, hidden, for fear of assassination. And this was no normal textbook – this was a Quincy’s diary. Their hopes, dreams, fears and actions, all recorded. Every grisly detail of how they took a life, how they nearly had theirs taken, how they survived in the wilderness escaping the Soul Reapers while they had fingers missing, and so much more.

When his parents found him, Charles had a different look in his eyes. Not one of the youthful, playful little boy that would run into his mother’s arms when he scraped his knee. These were the eyes of the betrayed.
“Tell me everything. About the Quincies.”

Despite his parents’ best wishes, Charles took up the art of the bow soon after. For years, he practised, his abilities increasing steadily. He was no natural, despite his lineage. The boy had to work for his talent. His pinpoint accuracy came as a result of six years’ worth of training, and if he stopped, his skills would deteriorate as well. Hollows came, Hollows went. And nobody suspected the child, whose gloves had since been removed – he could control himself, now.

Six years of training, and enough dead Hollows to give any standard Shinigami a run for their money. Though his parents were, yet again, against him being a Quincy – for his own safety – they reluctantly allowed him use of the Sanrei glove. Truth be told, he could not use it for more than twelve hours, for the first three weeks. The fourth week, he managed about twenty-four hours. Yet again, his talent had to come through training. It took at least fifteen tries and a few hospital trips, but the boy managed to pull it off. The Sanrei Glove training, after much blood, sweat and toil, had been completed.

All in all, his life wasn’t particularly easy, but most of the difficulties were self-imposed. He had become obsessed with honing his skills, to the point where it seemed he had lost who he was.
In his eyes, he had only just found himself.

Type of bow: A dark bow forged from the stress and pain he had to go through to quell his inability to control his abilities properly, in addition to the many hours a day he spent without rest to hone his skills as best he could, at such an age. Blue veins appear over his bow upon him focussing hard, such as when he has to take a shot over a long distance. It’s a purely cosmetic effect, and he seems to have phased it out completely when using the bow.

Quincy cross description: On a length of black leather hangs a white pendant, with a blue pentagram upon it. It does not appear to rub off.

Quincy items: 5x Seele Schneider

Role-play sample:
“Quincy’s a good job, friend. Plenty of work. Out of doors. I guarantee you won’t get out of practise – because, at the end of the day, as long as there’s a Hollow left on the planet, someone is going to want someone eradicated.”

Charles let off a shot, grazing the Hollow’s side. Not enough to damage it, but enough to catch its attention. Its back had been turned, and there was no way in Hell that he was going to get through its hide without a more powerful shot – and doing this wasn’t the best of ideas, given that he was supposed to be killing it quickly, and quietly. There were more in the vicinity, and if he was caught in close-range combat, a bow was hardly going to cut it – Seele Schneiders only went so far.

As expected, the Hollow turned, and let out a guttural roar at its new target. Or, rather, it would have, had its throat not been hit by another arrow. This one was shot differently – an arrow could pierce or smash, depending on how he shot it, and with this one, he aimed to stop it from drawing any more attention than necessary. Granted, it was a little pointless at this point in time, but no pinpoint location could be derived from such activity.

The beast stumbled forwards a little, clutching its throat. Given that it was a quadruped, this was quite disadvantageous for it. Taking a vital second to line up the shot, yet another arrow flashed through the air, piercing the front limb not being used to clutch at its throat. Lodging itself into the knee, a short, sharp cry of pain sounded, with another arrow finding its mark right between the Hollow’s eyes. The target had been obliterated, but the fact that more were closing in was worrying.

I tried explaining to my parents that I wasn’t a crazed bowman, I was a Quincy. The difference being that one’s a job, and the other’s mental sickness.
I’ll tell you – my parents do NOT care for it.

Taking cover in the park’s signature oak, he kept an arrow notched, ready to intercept anything coming his way. His spiritual pressure was masked, enough to fool low-level Hollows, but the fact remained that they could still see him. And that was his chief concern – running over several metres of open ground. He thought his current target’s ‘mates’ had seen him. It was evident they had – various projectiles and one (now impaled) Hollow were used to attack him.

Feelings?! Look mate, you know who has a lot of feelings? Shinigami, who bludgeon Hollows to the Seireitei, with those pitiful excuses for weapons.

Getting down wasn’t a problem – dealing with the straggler by lodging a Seele Schneider in the back of its neck was a different task altogether. However, he’d struck the right part, and the lost soul was no more. Charles dusted himself off, examining the situation ahead of him. Three low level Hollows, each one likely to succumb with a well-placed arrow. Notching one in his bow, he took aim.

Professionals have standards. Be polite.

The snide comments were saved for later. There was a time and a place for everything, and he couldn’t risk being heard. He’d likely just stand over where they moved on, and mutter it incoherently to himself.

Be efficient.

Each Hollow received, for all their effort, quite amusing deaths. One, edging closer in the trees, was attempting to sneak up on John. Unfortunately for the Hollow, it soon found its head impaled on a nearby tree, with both the arrow and the Hollow vanishing soon after. Another fell over in its tracks, after having been shot in the knee, thus requiring only minimal aiming – it was unable to even move properly, now that its ability to stand was questionable.

Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.

The sole remaining Hollow ran away. It ran fast – Quincy arrows run faster.

Approved for ADV-3 with 65 points. Once these points are applied to stats, this app will be moved to approved.

Statistics:
Rank/level: ADV - 3
Hankou: 10
Reiryoku: 14
Hakudo: 5
Seijuu: 16
Bukijuu: 12
Hoho: 8
Total points: 65

You're one point short.

That should do it.

Moving this to accepted~