REVOLUTIONIST, doctor x
posted Sept 15, 2018 19:32:48 GMT -6
SISTER MARY and WREN POLLOCK like this
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[attr="class","omapponetop2"]revolution calling
[attr="class","omapponetop1"]FILES LOCATED UNDER
DOCTOR X
DOCTOR X
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DOCTOR X
LOOKS LIKE IKARI GENDOU FROM NEON GENESIS EVANGELION
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FILE NAVIGATION
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ABOUT THE DOCTOR
ABOUT THE DOCTOR
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X, THE GOOD DOCTOR
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X, THE GOOD DOCTOR
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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CIS MALE
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CIS MALE
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HE / HIM
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HE / HIM
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PANSEXUAL
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PANSEXUAL
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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UNKNOWN
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REVOLUTION LEADER
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REVOLUTION LEADER
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RECENT STATUS
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the serpent is crawling inside of your ear: he says you must vote for what you want to hear.
the serpent is crawling inside of your ear: he says you must vote for what you want to hear.
[attr="class","omapponepersonality1"]SUBJECT TEMPERAMENT
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What does a revolution in technicolor look like?[break][break]
(Why, a revolution looks exactly like[break]what it wants to look like!)[break][break]
Pyrotechnics, perhaps, or a fire fight reflected on water: unpredictable, unprecedented, a force that consumes all so that new growth may spring in its wake. A cog in a machine gone haywire, gone rogue, twisting against its maker to spin the wheel in reverse and all others down a different path, sights set on utopia of the mind. One man, fists raised high, voice raised higher, still, preaching to the world of enlightened society. (But you've heard that all before, from men just like him with only their pocket books and their reputations in mind. What makes this one any different than the rest?)[break][break]
Revolution is all, and none of these things. Anarchy is X.[break][break]
(But you wouldn't know it.)[break][break]
Tailored suit freshly ironed, smile quaint, serene, ignorant of all the strife of the world and untainted by sweltering corruption. This is a man who knows no wrong, surely. This is a man whose foolishness and inability to see has spared him calamity, and for that, it will strike him all the harder when he goes. But X knows calamity better than most – knows what it looks like, sounds like, feels like, tastes like. Better than that, he knows that it can be risen above. Beaten. Conquered. Calamity raises its hand to him, and he flashes his teeth in a grin and watches it crumple (like tyrants, like nations) before his feet. He smiles not because he is a fool; he smiles because he knows he is untouchable. This is the smile he knows bests, wears best. It's a first impression. This one, he intends to make last.[break][break]
Your father. Your friend. Your brother. Your brother in arms. Your confident. Your love. (Your undoing.)[break][break]
People are like books, with their lips as their front cover and their eyes as their back and all of the pages in between fluttering with the thoughts that flit through their heads. A human being is one in a million – sixty-eight thousand just like you in the country alone, and he's seen all sixty-eight thousand of them before. A story known before its even told. He sees through you like glass.[break][break]
What is it that you want?[break][break]
(Nothing he doesn't already know.)
What does a revolution in technicolor look like?[break][break]
(Why, a revolution looks exactly like[break]what it wants to look like!)[break][break]
Pyrotechnics, perhaps, or a fire fight reflected on water: unpredictable, unprecedented, a force that consumes all so that new growth may spring in its wake. A cog in a machine gone haywire, gone rogue, twisting against its maker to spin the wheel in reverse and all others down a different path, sights set on utopia of the mind. One man, fists raised high, voice raised higher, still, preaching to the world of enlightened society. (But you've heard that all before, from men just like him with only their pocket books and their reputations in mind. What makes this one any different than the rest?)[break][break]
Revolution is all, and none of these things. Anarchy is X.[break][break]
(But you wouldn't know it.)[break][break]
Tailored suit freshly ironed, smile quaint, serene, ignorant of all the strife of the world and untainted by sweltering corruption. This is a man who knows no wrong, surely. This is a man whose foolishness and inability to see has spared him calamity, and for that, it will strike him all the harder when he goes. But X knows calamity better than most – knows what it looks like, sounds like, feels like, tastes like. Better than that, he knows that it can be risen above. Beaten. Conquered. Calamity raises its hand to him, and he flashes his teeth in a grin and watches it crumple (like tyrants, like nations) before his feet. He smiles not because he is a fool; he smiles because he knows he is untouchable. This is the smile he knows bests, wears best. It's a first impression. This one, he intends to make last.[break][break]
Your father. Your friend. Your brother. Your brother in arms. Your confident. Your love. (Your undoing.)[break][break]
People are like books, with their lips as their front cover and their eyes as their back and all of the pages in between fluttering with the thoughts that flit through their heads. A human being is one in a million – sixty-eight thousand just like you in the country alone, and he's seen all sixty-eight thousand of them before. A story known before its even told. He sees through you like glass.[break][break]
What is it that you want?[break][break]
(Nothing he doesn't already know.)
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[attr="class","omapponetabs2"]MISCELLANEOUS
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MISCELLANEOUS INFO
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● Speaks in a crisp, distinct British accent. Why he has this accent exactly - if he was born in the United Kingdom, spent some time there, et cetera - is unknown, and any attempt to ask is met with answers more cryptic than the last.[break][break]
● The name “Doctor X” was not self-given, contrary to what newer recruits to the Operation may believe. X's original design was simply to go without a name (without a trace). It was some of the very first recruits who coined the title – “doctor”, coinciding with his role as “the man with a cure”, and “x” coming from his lack of a name. Tacky, yes. Even he thinks so. But he couldn't begrudge them for it then, and since the name spread like wildfire, first as a joke, then as a genuine title, he finds it all the more of a struggle to begrudge them for it now. Instead, he embraces it, tacky or no. He's given his revolutionists a purpose, and they, in turn, have given him something to rally them behind.
● Speaks in a crisp, distinct British accent. Why he has this accent exactly - if he was born in the United Kingdom, spent some time there, et cetera - is unknown, and any attempt to ask is met with answers more cryptic than the last.[break][break]
● The name “Doctor X” was not self-given, contrary to what newer recruits to the Operation may believe. X's original design was simply to go without a name (without a trace). It was some of the very first recruits who coined the title – “doctor”, coinciding with his role as “the man with a cure”, and “x” coming from his lack of a name. Tacky, yes. Even he thinks so. But he couldn't begrudge them for it then, and since the name spread like wildfire, first as a joke, then as a genuine title, he finds it all the more of a struggle to begrudge them for it now. Instead, he embraces it, tacky or no. He's given his revolutionists a purpose, and they, in turn, have given him something to rally them behind.
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+coffee
+cats
+money
+people watching
+tidiness
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-dishonesty
-hospitals
-pda
-small children
-churches
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[attr="class","omapponetabs3"]SUBJECT BIOGRAPHY
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What is it about enigmas that draws us to them? The supposed allure of mystery? The all-consuming need of understanding? The desire to tear away at the empty facade to rip, raw and bleeding, meaning from underneath? Puzzles with no solution – questions with no answers – thoughts in the head that keep a person up, night after night, thinking and thinking themselves mad. Moth to flame, no concept of glass. A one-way street. And yet they just keeping coming back for more.[break][break]
Riddle me this: What makes a man a god?[break][break]
(Wouldn't you like to know?)
What is it about enigmas that draws us to them? The supposed allure of mystery? The all-consuming need of understanding? The desire to tear away at the empty facade to rip, raw and bleeding, meaning from underneath? Puzzles with no solution – questions with no answers – thoughts in the head that keep a person up, night after night, thinking and thinking themselves mad. Moth to flame, no concept of glass. A one-way street. And yet they just keeping coming back for more.[break][break]
Riddle me this: What makes a man a god?[break][break]
(Wouldn't you like to know?)
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call me
LEAP
call me
LEAP
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PERSONAL MESSAGES, BUT DISCORD WORKS BEST
20 YEARS OLD | SHE / HER | CENTRAL |
PERSONAL MESSAGES, BUT DISCORD WORKS BEST
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0%
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