Post by Jacob C. Quinto on Aug 6, 2009 1:09:46 GMT -5
"You know there’s got to be a faster way to do this. How about we just change the first question to ‘have you recently dated a homicidal pyromaniac?’"
-Derek Morgan, "Compulsion"
-Derek Morgan, "Compulsion"
Your Name: Memorie
How many years roleplaying?: Tis my first, so go easy on me.
French poet Jacques Rigaut said, "Don't forget that I cannot see myself. My role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror."
Jason Gideon, "Plain Sight"[/center][/size]
Character Name: Jacob Casimire Quinto
Age: 25
Date of Birth: September 30
Residence: Apartment in DC
Profession: Digital Forensic Technologist
Appearance: Quin has grown up to be one of 'those boys'. The kind which are not so formal, or polite, and a little on the childish side. Quin has icy blue eyes and dirty blond hair which he keeps short. He stands at about 6"2', which is rather tall as he is only twenty-five. His body build is of athletic and muscular tone, good for when he is in the field. Quin has a rather alluring smile, one that he calls his 'Casimire' smile, of which he has used when he was in high school to be a playboy.
Quin's clothing style is rather random; one day you see him wearing a full tux with the tie and all, the next you see him in a pajama top and sweats. He dresses like this because he makes it fit his mood, the more casual he is, the happier. Many people find it strange, but he doesn't really bother because suit or shirt, they're all still clothes. And besides, most of the time, forensics are stuck in their stupid lab.
Personality: It's hard to describe Quin's personality as he is rather complex. At first glance he is a rogue, charming miscreant with a lot of potential but no discipline. He likes women, a lot, and has a nasty habit of skirt chasing and womanizing. Although this habit tends to get him into some sticky situations, especially when the girl he's after has a not so friendly beau, overall he is smooth, and charming enough to get himself out of trouble.
Quin has a mouth on him, another aspect of his personality that gets him into trouble. He has a disregard for authority, and purposely ignores most accepted social boundaries. He does fight a lot due to his hot tempered nature, more so being the antagonist than the one being attacked. He enjoys seeing how far he can push people before they snap. You could call it a past time of his. And after each incident, his guardian would reprimand him and ask him again and again why he does this all the time. His answer was always the same: "I am angry at the world."
He also has a need to win, at any cost. This often lends itself to him cheating, bending the rules, or taking the most seemingly insane approach to a situation. This kamikaze attitude is both a great strength to him, and a weakness. For all the good it does, all the risks he takes and the success he makes...he also suffers the consequences at times as well.
When he sobers up and takes something seriously, he is 101% devoted. He will do whatever it takes to complete the mission at hand (included the aforementioned cheating) and is very loyal to those he trusts, and feels responsible for. Quin isn't the type to abuse his own power. He takes on the responsibility with great conviction (again, at times this seems to fade to the background) and quickly adapts to his roles.
Through it all, Quin has a good sense of humor, and love for life and all its... sensations. He is a thrill seeker, and loves adventure. The idea of the unknown is fascinating to him, and he knows he has the right crew to explore it with.
History: Not everyone's life is a fairytale. And in Quin's case, it was as far from fantasy as it could get. He was born to James Quinto and Kiara Rowlen, two humans of an easy going and simple life. They cared for him and loved their little son, teaching him the ways and manners of which should be taught by a parent. But, all good things must come to an end.
At the age of six, the day after he started first grade, his father and mother had died in a fire. The cause of the fire is still unknown, which flares up Quin even more. After his parents' death, he had been sent to a foster home. His rage only caused him to bully younger children in the orphanage, so after four years he was sent to live with distant relatives.
But what he didn't know was that his uncle, Ivan Rowlen, was a sadist. He would bring his victims home and torture them with medieval styles, like the rack torture, burning at the stake or other very painful things. And the thing is, he always made Quin watch as innocent people, sometimes children, were torn apart before his eyes.
When he grew up though, he was determined to stop his uncle. Strangely enough, his uncle never laid a hand on him. On his eighteenth birthday, the age where he was old enough (by law) to not need a guardian and to be trusted enough with reports and such, he stopped his uncle by calling the police in advance and telling them to come at 9:30p.m., the time of the monthly ritual.
But Quin was angry at himself, and angry at the world, for being able to take so much suffering into his eyes. Over 50 people had died, one every month. Why hadn't the police find something out earlier? Why did they let a young child witness do much death in his early years? Why is life like this?
Despite all of these happenings, Quin can manage a smile everyday, and do things most teen boys do: go after girls, hang with the dudes, and just be a normal, happy child.
When he reached college, Quin had put it into his mind that he would do something to stop all of this pain and hurt. He studied four types of criminology, that being behavioral science, psychology, anatomy and sociology. He at last found his interest in digital technology as well as forensic sciences. So he took up forensic technology, the profession of which you work with computers and the victims as well.
Thus he grew up to be a womanizing, childish and exciting digital forensic technologist.
Likes: • Girls • Competition • Being an Annoyance • His Job • His Team
Dislikes: • Sitting Still • Rules • Being Told What To Do • People Who Don't Have A Sense of Humor • Murder
Strengths: • Fast Thinker • Loyal • Courageous • Independent • Charming
Weaknesses: • Womanizing • Childish • Troublesome • Irritable • Grudging • Optimistic
Parents: James Quinto and Kiara Rowlen (deceased)
Siblings: None
Spouse: One Day
Children: Hmm
Anything Else? I just have to comment, all the members are really a welcoming bunch!
Roleplay Sample: Somewhere in the back of his mind, Embry was dimly aware of the things going on around him. It was more of a distant awareness, though, as if he were thinking about it from a place outside his body, some place quiet and dark, calm, where the voices shouting and footsteps pounding around him were just a far away intrusion into the peace of the nothingness he was floating in. He didn't know where he was, he was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, and he wanted to stay there. He couldn't think why, as he couldn't really remember what he'd been hiding from, but he knew he didn't want to go back to it. He could just stay here, not worry about the unpleasant things in the real world.
An excruciating jolt of pain tore through his body suddenly, and he wanted to scream, but found himself strangely unable to. In his semi-conscious state, he didn't realize that someone he might or might not have known had decided to play saviour. He might have been slung over a shoulder or lifted onto a gurney of some sort, all he knew was that a blinding flash of pain shot through his body. There was a rhythmic disturbance of his happy darkness, an uneven pattern of pain that increased, decreased, then increased again. If he'd been conscious, he might have realized that it was his own breath, but he was trying his damnedest to stay away from being conscious.
He faded in and out of darkness, his eyes flickering open here and there to take in the moving surface either above or below him, he wasn't sure which. Was it the ceiling or the floor? Maybe a wall. He didn't want to think about it. He had so much he knew he ought to be thinking about, like what he'd done wrong, what had gone so horribly that he had ended up in this state of limbo, caught between dying and wanting to. He was hardly aware when his environment changed to something quite different, a little quieter but still, there was activity surrounding him and he just wanted it to go away. Why wouldn't they let him go to sleep? And as if on cue, the world around him faded to black, and he found the quiet he was looking for.
He awoke what felt like days later, but what in reality had probably been something like thirty seconds. But he awoke completely, aware of his surroundings, the busy hum of sickbay around him, and felt a choking, desperate lack of oxygen. He was suffocating, he had to be. He took a horrible, loud, gurgling breath, and nearly screamed with the pain of it as he did. Why wasn't anybody sedating him? Why did he feel like he was drowning when all he could feel as he clawed at his surroundings was air? "Help..." he pleaded, not even knowing if there was anyone who could hear him, anybody who'd bother. He had a sudden flash of memory...this whole thing was his fault, undoubtedly, what if they didn't want to help him? "I'm sorry." he said, forcing the word out against his own instincts to try not to breathe. His brain was sending him conflicting signals. Don't breathe, it hurts too much. You're going to suffocate, you idiot, breathe, now, before you can't. "God, please..." he gasped, wondering who had dragged him in here, and where they'd gone now. There were a lot of things he was unsure of at the moment, but he knew one thing, and that was that he wanted to live, he wanted someone to save him.
Who the hell cared if he'd blown up the ship? Well, of course, he cared. But that didn't mean he wanted to die for it, no, he'd always imagined himself going out a little more valiantly than that. Maybe he'd throw himself in front of a phaser blast for someone, or shield a small child from an explosion not unlike the one threatening his life now (only hopefully not caused by himself). But not like this, not in a freak accident because he was careless. He'd never do anything so stupid again, he swore it to himself. He choked, coughed, and tasted blood. Oh, that couldn't be good. Where the hell were the people supposed to be saving his life? Oh, god, this was it, he was really, really dying.
Trust The Profile
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