Lieu: Verona Clinic
Interactions: Roi () et Mal ()

Deux Tylenol, une sieste, et un Advil plus tard n'ont pas arrêté la douleur battante dans l'arrière de ses yeux et surtout pas quand il s'est réveillé à l'écrasement fort, la malédiction et le bruit des boîtes de roulement. Convainquant de se lever semblait une autre question, seulement favorisée par les tentatives ratées de s'endormir. Le battement de son cerveau contre ses tympans a amené Fox assis sur le matelas dépouillé dans sa chambre. Seulement l'enregistrement complet que quelqu'un aurait pu entrer par effraction dans sa maison avait Fox alerte et debout. Bien sûr, la vue de sa mère dans sa jupe au crayon essayant d'empêcher son mascara de rouler sous le poêle a stoppé la panique dans sa poitrine. Fox s'est effondré latéralement dans le cadre de la cuisine, portant une paume sur les plaines de son visage.
"Besoin d'aide là-bas?" Fox a appelé, faisant sauter sa mère et s'est cognée la tête sur la poignée de la porte du four. Elle maudite et recourbée plus bas qu'elle baisait un souffle à travers ses dents. En se retournant, Marie donna à son fils un éclat et se tint soigneusement debout avec ses talons hauts et sauva avec succès le mascara dans sa main.
Le bruit de la bourse de Marie sur le comptoir a été la seule réponse de Fox, avec le regard complètement fait sur son visage. « Nous avons de la chance d'avoir toute l'assurance vie de votre père dans un compte d'épargne », soupira Marie et lui fila les doigts dans ses cheveux fracas, « Je suis rémunéré à l'école et ne suis pas payé avant le mois prochain. Malheureusement, c'est un mois de retard à cause du meurtre récent. Ils ne savent pas combien de temps l'école est fermée. Ça pourrait être un jour, ça pourrait être une autre semaine. De plus, le camion n'est pas là avant jeudi prochain."
"Pas de meubles avant la semaine prochaine?" Fox a pris un siège à côté de sa mère, une main sur son épaule, "Nous faisons le meilleur d'une mauvaise situation, maman. J'aurai un travail à temps partiel quelque part, pour aider à payer les courses. Je vais chercher quelque chose dans toute la ville demain." Il a rapidement tiré sa mère dans un câlin avant qu'elle puisse protester, un soupir s'échappant les lèvres alors qu'elle laissait un bras envelopper l'épaule de Fox.
« Je ne vais pas bien par toi ou par ton père », murmura Marie, bourdonnant un souffle alors qu'elle se rompait de l'étreinte pour mettre un bras sur son sac.
Fox a froncé, griffant le bord de son temple avant de se froncer sur la petite île. Laissant sa main saisir les lèvres de sa mère enroulée dans un sourire et il la regarda du mieux qu'il pouvait. Préparons le petit-déjeuner pour le dîner. Je veux des crêpes et l'épicerie devrait être ouverte pour quelques heures de plus. Quelqu'un que j'ai rencontré vient de recommander le meilleur sirop d'érable biologique », a suggéré Fox, debout immédiatement et tirant sa mère pour se lever. Un regard de contemplation froissait le visage de Marie avant qu'elle ne soupire et ne tape son fils sur la joue.
"Bien, mais laisse-moi changer."
"J'ai laissé le panier à la clinique aussi, donc nous devrions sauter pour obtenir cela."
Appelant du couloir, Marie a glissé dans sa chambre remplie jusqu'au bord avec des boîtes assorties, "Il y a un couvre-feu de la ville, donc pas trop tard, Foxtrot."
C'était logique, voir comme un tueur pourrait être encore en liberté. S'il avait son ordinateur et s'ils avaient Internet, Fox aurait probablement passé toute la journée à étudier les fameux "Jackson Killings" dont ils avaient entendu parler à leur arrivée. Peut-être qu'il aurait pu éviter les maux de tête qu'il essayait actuellement d'étouffer avec plus de analgésiques. Tuer son foie ou tuer son cerveau, soit l'un d'eux a travaillé. Il haussa et jeta sur l'un de ses manteaux couchés avant de tomber presque dans l'escalier. "Blackbird chantant dans la mort de la nuit..." Fox bourdonnait la chanson sous son souffle, ses yeux trouvant l'horizon où le soleil se couchait lentement sur la silhouette sombre des pins.
"Prenez ces ailes cassées et apprenez à voler..."

Après une longue discussion sur la marque de pâte à crêpes, sa mère a concédé au choix de Fox et a finalement fait leur chemin vers la clinique. Voyant que c'était une tâche insignifiante de récupérer un vieux panier festif, Fox est allé seul pour être arrêté par l'infirmière déclarant que les heures de visite seraient terminées dans dix minutes. Très bien. C'est cool. Fox feignait de vérifier l'heure sur son poignet... qui ne contenait aucune montre, suspectement, et s'est déplacé vers où l'infirmière ne pouvait pas tout à fait le voir. Après une courte toux, Fox s'est retrouvé dans le couloir juste derrière l'infirmière et a fait son chemin dans chaque pièce à la recherche. Honnêtement, il aurait pu juste le demander, mais quel était le plaisir là-dedans? Moins le saignement de nez qu'il pratique actuellement, bien sûr.
Voyant un flou de vert et de rouge attraper son oeil, Fox s'est arrêté sur le bord de la porte, mettant en évidence ce qui semblait être une large dame aux épaules qui fumait un mâle plutôt attrayant à mort. Attractive de cette manière douchée où vous savez combien d'un trou du cul ils sont probablement. Il a frappé sur la porte en bois et s'est penché sur le côté pour qu'ils puissent avoir une vue claire sur—oh, ce n'est pas une dame.
"Malcolm?" Fox a failli bégayer, failli se souvenir de son nom. Ses yeux trouvèrent le dou – autre enfant et puis le panier sur son chevet avec un biscuit de raisins secs d'avoine (bien sûr, personne n'aimait la farine d'avoine ou de raisins secs; terrible combo) solitaire au milieu du vert garish et rouge. "Je suis désolé, je..." il a trébuché sur lui-même, attrapant à peine le cadre de la porte et redressant son erreur, "Je ne voulais pas interrompre le... baiser smooch gay, euh, l'homosexualité et le—wow, c'est. C'est ça. Vous avez regardé... Je veux dire, je ne l'ai pas fait. Je n'étais pas là longtemps. Je veux dire, je ne vous regardais pas les gars ou quoi que ce soit. Ce n'est pas comme—je veux dire, je ne suis pas un..."
Un squeak à grande hauteur perça la pièce comme Fox inhala brusquement, une grande cible peinte sur son visage en rouge cramoisi vif. "Le voyeurisme n'est-il pas un cinglé que j'ai l'habitude d'afficher si librement?" Fox essaya d'enfoncer et de remorquer un coin de sa bouche sur le côté dans une grimace embarrassée.
“and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart”
-ee cummings, 'i carry your heart with me(i carry it in'
|Name|
Foxtrot Olivier Sinclair
|Nickname|
Fox
Foxy
|Birth Date|
March 19th, 1997
|Age|
18
|Gender|
Male
|Sexuality|
Homosexual as fuCK


"Let loss reveal it."

|In Depth Appearance|
A sweet child.
That's Foxtrot in a nutshell. He looks like he'd be a sweet boy, the kind old grannies used to dote on at the super market. Where aunts pinched his cheeks and uncles rustled his hair. For the most part, Fox felt an indifference to the attention; it neither harmed nor aided him. But, at an older age, he did realize he'd taken their kindness for granted. Though, Fox never really did grow out of his 'sweet child' stage and maybe he's more of a pretty boy than he'd like to admit.
Pretty boy seems to be a good estimate, though. Of course, Fox likes to carry himself in less of an arrogant, confident manner. Subconsciously, Fox walks with a heavy cadence. His posture is much to be desired (looking 5'7" when he's actually 5'9") and, though his physique is above average, a quick look would immediately color him scrawny. Especially since Fox is keen on wearing sweaters and coats and as many layers as possible in order to protect himself. He wears his clothes like armor and keeps his charming smile and twinkling doe brown eyes as a visor.
|Scars, Tattoos, Piercings|
Left side of his neck, just below his ear, reads a scripture, "Those who were rebuilding the wall and those who carried burdens took their load with one hand doing the work and the other holding a weapon," in Hebrew.


"St. Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes."

|Likes & Dislikes|
Apple Watches
Stargazing
Cats
The Quiet
Technology
Sci-Fi
Nathan Fillion
Loud Noises
Old Ratty Cars
Mullets
Hot Weather
Birds (damn present time DINOSAURS!)
Coffee
Ice Cream Sandwiches
|Hobbies|
Cycling
Cataloging Plants
Professional Marathon...-ing TV Shows
|Habits|
He blinks really hard when he's nervous or excited. (Like, Fox scrunches up his face, cheeks, and nose as he blinks)
Fox likes to scratch his hairline just above his right ear whenever he's lying. It gets incredibly itchy any time he knows he's lying to someone, so he waits to scratch it until the urge is too much and he does so super fast and hard that it's noticeable.
Whenever he's about to do something with his hands, Fox has the tendency to wiggle them or, as his mother refers to it, he spirit fingers to psych himself up.
|Fears|
☠Abrupt and very loud noises (including Thunderstorms)
☠Kind of abandonment issues (explained in his history)
☠Coming out of one his portals into a universe where earth's past had been completely changed into a dystopian future (super specific)


"St. Jude, we were lost before she started."

|Personality|
♦ Prudent ♦ Reserved ♦ Vindictive ♦ Quiet ♦
"A crown of marigold sits atop my head as I survey the glory of my kingdom built upon sand."
In all the history of the world, it is the people who try the hardest to be nice who have the need for goodness in their hearts. Who stare at the void in themselves and wait for it to stare back. Fox embodies this craving intently—a man who wishes nothing but the goodness in his heart to be true. Walking with a burden upon one's shoulders, an Atlas for the weight of a tragedy, often clouds self-judgement.
And the question evident always becomes: how can a broken man be a good one?
Picking up the pieces left in the wake of an accident often becomes the goal in life and purpose is dashed away to be replaced with fixing. Because what does fixing do other than to highlight the cracks in a chassis. And then people will look and think, "That man is but part of who he used to be; he is not worth noting." Fixed things cannot come out renewed, merely an iteration of what used to be.
And the art of Kintsugi means a societal death wish. When, in fact, it belies a moral to the story. The mistakes we make are beautiful. Our flaws, the cracks that line our porcelain, our ivory, our ebony features seem a liability. When, in fact, glued back together, they create something far better than what used to be.
But Fox remains young, ignorant of the shiny grace between the stitches in his flesh. And the flaws hush him, draw him away from the people around him. Further into himself, Fox values introspection over peer evaluation. He prefers the quiet to the churning din of a crowd of people talking at once. He approaches the situation with the future in mind, analytic and logical until the problem reveals its solution. He sees the slights against him and doesn't think of forgiveness, but evenness. A balance of the scales until things return to normal.
People, outside of himself, are just a condition and their rage and their hurt and the pain they inflict upon others is just a symptom. People can be beasts. Afraid of what comes and what may come. Frightened by the consequences rather than the actions themselves and Fox supposes that's him. Supposes that his need to rebalance the scales actually tips them further. Or that his foresight reduces him to paranoia and anxiety. Maybe evading the individuals that yearn your company leaves both parties bitter and wanting and lost. But he looks at his mother and thinks, that's what happens when you love someone too much. When you divide your love into sums and give it away uncaring, that leaves you open to failing them and them failing you. And what has he done? Failed his mother and let her love for him burn to pieces.
Burn in a sea of wilting poppies.
|History|
"Am I troubled?" Fox turns, his eyes on the windows of a blue car.
"You're broken," his father whispers in his ear.
Foxtrot, a dance. His parents' dance.
Marie Orville married Thomas Sinclair due merely to pregnancy. Her one and only child, she'd determined, wouldn't be born into the world without a father. Thomas agreed. They danced, eight months pregnant, to a simple and very slowed foxtrot. However, whether due to Marie's excitement or anxiety, her water broke on their wooden dance floor and she was rushed straight to the hospital. The birth of her only son came too quickly, and too painless, for the drugs of the time to have reduced her to feeling little but a pinprick in her labor. However, even as a premature baby, her son came out as healthy as he could be.
The name on the tip of her tongue came fast: Foxtrot.
Thomas gave her the oddest of looks, but acquiesced, no less. She was the mother after all, it was her decision.
In the town of Hildale, Utah, the Sinclair family raised Foxtrot on quiet ideals and lack of strife. Things, for the most part, remained free of turmoil, though religious ignorance could attest to that. Thomas did his best to raise his child under rather stringent Mormon views, of which his mother had second guesses toward. Fox, unlike many Mormon boys his age, was gladly exposed via his mother, who did her best to subtly teach him that there was more to life than die hard religion. That, though Fox remained much like other kids in public, sowed a small seed of dissent and the older Fox got, the more he questioned his faith and the faith of other people.
And that, honestly is how Fox's life goes.
Well, mostly.
They hit a bump not a few years ago. More like a brick wall, rather than a bump. A bump one can traverse, rustled, but okay for the most part. No, this felt more like slamming into something solid and stopping completely. The world went on, but the Sinclairs never quite caught up.
At the age of 7, Foxtrot lost his father.
A convention was being held in Utah's capital, something his father usually disregarded. Having a small child gave a reasonable excuse, that surpassed 'lacking in faith' and most people didn't question much. The Sinclairs were a harmless family. Unfortunately, this time they didn't have much to go on, as the church provided transportation for the reasonably young and Fox climbed aboard the bus with a broad smile. For a child who, more or less went with whatever he'd learned, the convention seemed sub par. Too much noise and the words jumbled into each other and eventually, like any child, Fox wandered off.
However, the end of the religious gathering marked freedom and Fox boarded the bus with more enthusiasm than he did coming. The trip back remained mild until they'd hit the halfway point and the rolling clouds over the hills puffed and blackened the sky until lightning ripped the clouds in half and rain hammered down. For a bus, not too much, though the majority of the children inside screamed and hollered for their parents. For the vehicles following, it didn't bode well.
On the interstate, a record total number of car accidents tallied that day with the winds having reached record highs and the rain pounded the asphalt without relent. The only accident that occurred for the trip of church goers happened to Marie and Thomas, smack dab in front of the bus. Unable to stop properly, the bus collided with the small vehicle and sent it skirting off the edge of the road. Racked with fear, Fox didn't realize the impending doom that his family would suffer and when the bus driver pulled over and looked directly at him, he still had no idea.
It wasn't until they pulled his mother out broken and bleeding, sobbing for the man under the wreckage, that it hit Fox. And suddenly the thunder and the lightning that stifled him, the loud crash that had him scurrying under the seat, that meant nothing. The moment the ambulance came, the moment the police piled around the section of road and the rain died down to a reasonable patter, and he, as well as all the other children, were checked for serious injuries, did Fox realize what had happened.
Someone pointed to him not long after, and he was whisked away by a uniform and a pair of lights to sit in a police car with a lady he didn't know. He told her what he could for a seven year old, that grandad and grandma lived far, far away and that mommy's parents lived in the dirt with God. No one would come, that's all he knew, and so, with as much pity as the officer could muster, she staid with him in the waiting room at the state hospital for word on his mother. Apparently his father 'died on impact' and he wasn't allowed to see him.
His mother came out the next day, or at least, he was allowed to see her. Marie, unable to move most of her face, and both her arms could only hum Fox a quiet song and allowed him to rest with her. He didn't move much, and when it came time to go home, he did what he could for her with the rest of the community. The days were filled with people in the house, which he didn't mind much, but for a child picking up his own pieces, it didn't leave a lot of room for him to grief. And maybe that's different for children, but Fox could only ever look at his mother for an example. For a kid, death struck him harder than most. It wasn't the realization that dad wouldn't ever come home, but that mother would suffer for it. Maybe that would come later. Maybe he'd realize a lot more things sooner, but now all he could think of was how empty his mother looked when she did her best to smile.
From this point on, Foxtrot dealt with varying issues that popped up. He'd run into mental health problems, mainly dealing with abandonment and anxiety. From a very young age, Fox stopped attending church, began branching out into various other things. He looked into other religions, saw things that seemed nice, familiar, gave him hope. And thus began his chase for some kind of closure, some kind of God out there to tell him what happened to his family meant something more than just tragedy. It became taking care of his mother whenever she'd relapse and he'd find her staring blankly at a wall with half her face dropping. She tried her best to keep her son faithful, maybe to cling on to whatever her husband wanted out of the actual book of Mormon. Unfortunately, with her lapse in cognitive thought once in a while and pounding headaches when stress shot high, that didn't work for Marie very well.
Thus, Fox drowned most his time in academics, finding a nice place in Utah's less than Mormon group of students and excelling at what he put his mind to. Not necessarily a straight A student, but Fox kept up with the more work load oriented, college go-getters. He didn't do it for the same thing, but at least it meant something to him. Not valedictorian material, more like a decent college student and an excellent high school kid.
It wasn't until recently that his life uprooted and his mother saw it first hand. First hand being, "holy shit what the hell did my son just do to the cat," and then literally pushing him into his room to get packed. They left Hildale posthaste once Marie found a nice, secluded little town in the Washington pine forests. Verona. Cute name. Sounded a lot like Romeo and Juliet. Marie made sure to slap the shit out of her son for the ceaseless references and puns on the way there.
|Family|
Marie Orville Sinclair - Mother (43); worked as a secretary for a police department; currently interviewing for a job as a secretary for Verona's elementary school.
|Theme Song|
St. Jude - Florence and the Machine
”And I was on the island and you were there too
But somehow through the storm I couldn't get to you
St. Jude; somehow she knew”


"St. Jude, we lay in bed as she whipped around us"

|Power Name|
Dimension Manipulation
|Power Descrption|
The ability to rip open a dimensions for varying uses, mostly travel.
|Abilities|
With so many universes at his disposal, it must be obvious that he can quite literally rip into whatever dimension or universe he chooses. Not so much. Fox, due to his vast understanding of nothing beyond his own world, can only rip open a pocket dimension of complete and utter blankness. There's nothing inside it. It's what physics likes to call a realm of infinite void. However, what it can do is allow Fox to poke a hole in his universe, and then fold the entirety of it until two points align and then simply slip into the blank dimension and appear on the other side. Boom done. Instantaneous travel achieved. These portals come in varying sizes, from tiny to enormous. Well, for Fox it's tiny to about the size of a door.
An extension of this knack for instantaneous teleportation: for combat, Fox can rip open varying portals with his mind and use them all to direct any kind of attack through. Very useful for team situations, in which Fox can open a door size portal and use someone's, let's say, energy beams and direct them through a multitude of portals to increase range or for unpredictability!
|Drawbacks/Weaknesses|
The only drawback that Fox can think of is losing track of time. In his blank dimension, time moves rather differently, almost slower. However, this is an incremental thing, he's noticed. The longer one stays within the blank dimension, the slower time goes by. So, instantaneous use keeps it on par with earth's time. However, prolonged exposure within the blank verse will dilate time relative to the universes outside it. A minute will turn into two. An hour into a day. A month into years. A year into a millennium. And so on. Thus, Fox jumps in and out as fast as possible.
Fox doesn't quite know what horrors lay in his ability, as he's only been into one dimension and so far it's relatively safe, from his vantage. Yet there are things lurking in his mind, in his peripheral vision. The more he uses it the more things he tends to see, especially in reflective surfaces.
He tends to lose his things inside the blankverse. Drop something in there, chances are you're not gonna find it any time soon. At least, if you do, it won't have changed much! Maybe. Time is weird.
Using his portals to transport other people can drain Fox of his energy almost entirely, causing him to fall into a haze or unconsciousness, in rare cases.
The universe can only bend so far. Or, rather, Fox can only bend two points so far. The length of the trip inside the universe correlates with how far Fox is traveling. So, naturally, Fox can only really travel a short distance without weird time-dilation (that being at least a half mile radius).


"St. Jude, maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos."