Addison
- “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 like a specter haunting their ruin 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. You might not even know him by the name "Addison" or any other name for that matter. 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 surreal. He moves through the city as though he’s always been there, a 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.
Despite his fleeting mercurial nature, here and then gone, he carries an uncanny charm in his back pocket. The kind of charisma that feels magnetic yet disconcerting. For some, his active presence is intimidating, the kind of charm that hints at depths they might not want to delve.
The way he speaks could draw a latent sense of wonder to even the dullest subject matter. He does seem to have genuine enthusiasm concerning the sciences—a love for geology, meteorology, and botany. He speaks of tectonic shifts, cloud formations, and soil stratifications as though these processes are more than scientific phenomena; but something far more sublime.
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 readily identify.
Whether he is a ghost, a thief, a magician, a criminal, a federal agent, a post doc on sabatical, or something far older and far worse is anyone’s guess. Others dismiss him as just another eccentric in a city that breeds them. Perhaps he is simply a strange man with strange habits.
It's possible he doesn’t merely exist in Los Angeles—he participates in its hidden layers, the ones whispered about but rarely seen. To most, Addison is nothing more than one more face among millions.
Would rather be doing...
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...but is usually doing...
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Have we met?...
Are you sure about that?
| Species | Endemic Wildlife |
| Pronouns | He/Him |
| Alignment | Achillean Bisexual |
| Profession | Terrorist/Hobby Botanist/Hazardous Waste Disposal Specialist/Youth Pastor/Weekend Meteorologist |
| Age | Simultaneously 13 and 30 |
| Demeanor | Tired |
| Nature | Wired |
| Charisma | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️ |
| Engimas | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️+🔴 |
| Medicine | 🔴🔴🔴⚫️⚫️ |
| Occult | 🔴🔴🔴🔴⚫️ |
| Elusion | 🔴🔴🔴⚫️⚫️+🔴 |
| Specialties | |
| Medicine | Pharmacopoeia |
| Science | Botany |
| Herbalism | Entheogens |
| Enigmas | Lateral Thinking |
