Addison: Difference between revisions
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*''“This is a mere dream dreamed in a bad time, an Up Yours to the people who ride snowmobiles, make nuclear weapons, and operate prison camps run by a middle-aged housewife. A critique of civilization possible only to the civilized, an affirmation pretending to be a rejection, a glass of milk for the soul ulcered by acid rain, a piece of pacifist jeanjacquerie, and a cannibal dance among the savages in the ungodly garden of the farthest West.”'' | *''“This is a mere dream dreamed in a bad time, an Up Yours to the people who ride snowmobiles, make nuclear weapons, and operate prison camps run by a middle-aged housewife. A critique of civilization possible only to the civilized, an affirmation pretending to be a rejection, a glass of milk for the soul ulcered by acid rain, a piece of pacifist jeanjacquerie, and a cannibal dance among the savages in the ungodly garden of the farthest West.”'' | ||
| biography=Addison Jacobs, if that is his real name, | | biography=Addison Jacobs, if that is even his real name, began to surface—or perhaps simply emerge—in the tangled sprawl of Greater Los Angeles in the early spring of 2020. His arrival coincided, almost too conveniently, with a string of chaotic, violently charged incidents in the heart of the city. Whether he played a part in those events or merely walked among their aftermath is a question few dare to ask, and even fewer can answer. | ||
Where Addison comes from, where he lays his head at night, and how he navigates a city that swallows most whole remain unanswered mysteries to most. He seems to know the labyrinth of Los Angeles in ways even lifelong residents don’t—turning corners to vanish or appear just when he shouldn’t. His instincts for the geography, the secrets, and the undercurrents of the city border on the uncanny. He moves through the city as though he’s always been there, a quiet presence threading himself into its unspoken rhythms. Yet for someone who seems so comfortable in the sprawl, he leaves behind no trace—no credit card transactions, no verifiable work history, nothing to suggest how he survives in a world where data has become identity. | |||
His ability to appear at the right moment, to intuitively navigate the urban sprawl as though following an invisible map, feels like a remnant of a way of life that predates modernity’s cold mechanical systems. It's possible he doesn’t merely exist in Los Angeles—he participates in its hidden layers, the ones whispered about but rarely seen. | |||
Despite his anonymity, he carries an uncanny charm, an aura of charisma that feels magnetic yet disconcerting. Those who meet him often find themselves compelled, even if they can’t quite explain why. For some, his presence is intimidating, the kind of charm that hints at a depth they might not want to delve. Paired with this mystique genuine enrapturement with the sciences—a love for geology, meteorology, and the rhythms of the natural world—stands out. He speaks of tectonic shifts, cloud formations, and soil stratifications with the reverence of a zealot, as though these processes are more than scientific phenomena; but something far more ''sublime''. | |||
To most, Addison is nothing more than a face among millions, but to those who pay closer attention and unfortunate enough to meet him more than once may begin to notice something seems off. For all his apparent ease, there’s a tension to Addison, an unsettling sense of ''disconnection''. In a culture driven by speed, touchless exchanges, and the unrelenting hum of technology, he is an anomaly. He carries no credit card, leaves no digital footprint, and works no job anyone can identify. | |||
He belongs and yet doesn’t, present but distant. Like a specter that haunts the city, or might be haunted by it. | |||
Whether he is a ''ghost'', a thief, a magician, criminal, or something far older and far worse is anyone’s guess... Or maybe he's just a weird guy? | |||
| rphooks= | | rphooks= | ||
''Would rather be doing...'' | ''Would rather be doing...'' | ||
Revision as of 04:42, 19 November 2024
- “This is a mere dream dreamed in a bad time, an Up Yours to the people who ride snowmobiles, make nuclear weapons, and operate prison camps run by a middle-aged housewife. A critique of civilization possible only to the civilized, an affirmation pretending to be a rejection, a glass of milk for the soul ulcered by acid rain, a piece of pacifist jeanjacquerie, and a cannibal dance among the savages in the ungodly garden of the farthest West.”
Addison Jacobs, if that is even his real name, began to surface—or perhaps simply emerge—in the tangled sprawl of Greater Los Angeles in the early spring of 2020. His arrival coincided, almost too conveniently, with a string of chaotic, violently charged incidents in the heart of the city. Whether he played a part in those events or merely walked among their aftermath is a question few dare to ask, and even fewer can answer.
Where Addison comes from, where he lays his head at night, and how he navigates a city that swallows most whole remain unanswered mysteries to most. He seems to know the labyrinth of Los Angeles in ways even lifelong residents don’t—turning corners to vanish or appear just when he shouldn’t. His instincts for the geography, the secrets, and the undercurrents of the city border on the uncanny. He moves through the city as though he’s always been there, a quiet presence threading himself into its unspoken rhythms. Yet for someone who seems so comfortable in the sprawl, he leaves behind no trace—no credit card transactions, no verifiable work history, nothing to suggest how he survives in a world where data has become identity.
His ability to appear at the right moment, to intuitively navigate the urban sprawl as though following an invisible map, feels like a remnant of a way of life that predates modernity’s cold mechanical systems. It's possible he doesn’t merely exist in Los Angeles—he participates in its hidden layers, the ones whispered about but rarely seen.
Despite his anonymity, he carries an uncanny charm, an aura of charisma that feels magnetic yet disconcerting. Those who meet him often find themselves compelled, even if they can’t quite explain why. For some, his presence is intimidating, the kind of charm that hints at a depth they might not want to delve. Paired with this mystique genuine enrapturement with the sciences—a love for geology, meteorology, and the rhythms of the natural world—stands out. He speaks of tectonic shifts, cloud formations, and soil stratifications with the reverence of a zealot, as though these processes are more than scientific phenomena; but something far more sublime.
To most, Addison is nothing more than a face among millions, but to those who pay closer attention and unfortunate enough to meet him more than once may begin to notice something seems off. For all his apparent ease, there’s a tension to Addison, an unsettling sense of disconnection. In a culture driven by speed, touchless exchanges, and the unrelenting hum of technology, he is an anomaly. He carries no credit card, leaves no digital footprint, and works no job anyone can identify.
He belongs and yet doesn’t, present but distant. Like a specter that haunts the city, or might be haunted by it.
Whether he is a ghost, a thief, a magician, criminal, or something far older and far worse is anyone’s guess... Or maybe he's just a weird guy?
Would rather be doing...
- Alternate Dimensions
- Gardening
- Botany
- Enough Narcotics to Kill a Horse
...but is usually doing...
- Alternate Dimensions
- [REDACTED]
- [REDACTED]
- Enough Narcotics to Kill a Horse
Have we met?...
Are you sure about that?
| Species | Endemic Wildlife |
| Pronouns | He/Him |
| Alignment | Achillean Bisexual |
| Profession | Terrorist/Hobby Botanist |
| Age | Simultaneously 13 and 30 |
| Demeanor | Tired |
| Nature | Wired |
| Charisma | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️ |
| Engimas | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️+🔴 |
| Medicine | 🔴🔴🔴⚫️⚫️ |
| Occult | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️ |
| Elusion | 🔴🔴🔴⚫️⚫️+🔴 |
| Specialties | |
| Medicine | Pharmacopoeia |
| Science | Botany |
| Herbalism | Entheogens |
| Enigmas | Lateral Thinking |
