sᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ –– [ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴘʟᴀʏ]

Personal:

Name: Taylor Semuels
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
DOB: September 9th
POB: New Jersey, USA [no known city]
Hair color: Dark brown
Eye color: Right eye blue, left eye green
Height: 5’10”
Body type: Lean, slightly muscled
Piercings: None
Tattoos: Whatever he chooses to have on his body at any given moment. Usually there is a playing card somewhere on his body. Usually, though, he has a flaming ace of spades on his left arm, an open bird cage in the realistic shape of a heart with silhouetted birds flying out, a tribal tattoo wrapping his right bicep, and charred and bloody wings on his shoulders and back.
Scars: Left inner thigh from when he was jumping a fence, fell, and the top tore through his pants and into the flesh when he was eighteen, just above his right brow where he ran into a wall when he was seventeen, a rectangular patch under his left arm, usually covered by his flaming ace tattoo, a slice scar on his ribs where he was near stabbed, a small slice over his chest usually covered by a bird cage tattoo.
Living situations: A small apartment, somewhat well furnished, but he doesn’t care for it much.
City of residence: New York, not much of a big jump from Jersey
Can usually be found: Doing some sort of trick or small show on the corner of a street or in a park or on a job he was hired for.

Personality:

Usually a kind soul, Taylor is an upbeat person to talk to and a joy to be around. He’s got a somewhat sunny disposition, even though he owns very little to his own name and had a shit life leading up. He is not quick to anger or annoyance, but can be frustrated very easily, either if it’s something he is trying to figure out or something that has happened to him that he doesn’t know the reason for. During his working moments or any time he has to drop the smiles and interest, he’s silent and serious. A great contrast from how he is usually. Whatever he does like that, he usually won’t regret it later. But he can drop it easily and pretend that nothing had happened.

Abilities:

● Ink manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate ink, including moving ink, change the color, consistency/viscosity between solid and liquid, etc., even if the ink is printed/written/tattooed. They can write/scribe/tattoo without tools by manipulating ink.

● Ink Mimicry: Power to transform into or have a physical body made up of ink.

● Power Bestowal through Iconic Imagery: Self explanatory, really. If he were to tattoo someone and give them a certain image, such as wings on their back, they would be given the power of flight. He can manipulate the ink in his own skin to make it whatever he wants and use the power that comes with it. Anything that he were to make as an image with the manipulation would seem almost real or become a superhuman power for the person.

Bio:

Taylor knows neither his birthplace, his parents’ real names, or even the name that he was born with. He had been moving around ever since he was young, his parents carting him from town to the next when something seemed to go awry in his parent’s life. The child didn’t know what his parents did for a living either, nor did he know why they had to leave each time they did. It was something that he rarely asked them about, something he rarely even thought about as he figured it was normal. They moved, changed names, and forgot the life that they left behind. It was something that his family did and something that he didn’t much care to know any more of. This lifestyle continued for almost all of his life, up until his senior year in a town in New Jersey. He found his parents gone from the house they rented and everything moved out. They had abandoned him and left him behind yet he wanted to finish what had been started. Taylor was the last name that he had been given with the move before their disappearance, and it was the name that he graduated high school with.

He knew of his powers somewhere in the middle of his high school years, a wandering and bored mind leading to him drawing on himself with a pen. When he couldn’t wash off the mark or even smudge it later on in the day, he had started to worry if it was going to last. A wandering mind led to an active imagination, however, and when he was in class one day and letting his imagination loose, movement caught him from the corner of his eye and drew his gaze to his arm. The mark he had made on his arm with the pen started to swirl and twist around, forming a small image of one of the things he was picturing in his head. Taylor had been caught by surprise and started to test what he had seen, finding that he could control the image. He didn’t tell his parents of it, didn’t want to be a freak or cause them to move again, only for them to have to do so later. In his free time, he continued to practice, drawing on himself and letting the ink morph into any intricate designs he wanted.

After high school, he wandered the streets and used his ability to become a street magician, using the ink to make a number of different tricks and earn money like that. He took up odd jobs and traveled around when he could, making his money where he got the chance and traveling to bigger cities so that he could display his ‘magic tricks’ to a larger and better paying crowd. The big stage could never be for him, though, as all of his tricks had to be done up close. Street performances were working just fine for him, or the occasional awe in whatever bar he was spending an evening at. Of course, there are days or weeks that he has to do some things that he isn’t, and never will be proud of, but that’s what it takes to keep living in this world.

As he grew older, he was able to further tune his powers and realized his full capabilities. Allowing himself to be hired out by certain businesses, he had been offered jobs to secure information, steal certain objects, and occasionally kill. It took years for him to get used to the latter. Now it doesn’t bother him. A job’s a job and he’s sick of living on the streets.

sᴛᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʜᴀɴᴅs (Open):
Main verse. Taylor in his early thirties, living in an apartment and spending his time either performing on the streets or running jobs for the people that hire him.

ɪɴᴋ ғᴏʀ ʜɪʀᴇ (Open):
Marvel verse. Basically the same thing for him but just tagged differently and with the knowledge of the heroes not being from comics or movies.

ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴇʀ (Open):
His own little non-powered verse. Instead of being able to manipulate it, he's a tattoo artist. Works in a small place, lives in a smaller apartment, but still has fun with the slight of hand and doing performances on the streets in his free time.

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴇᴅ (Open):
Taylor in about his late teens. Just a younger verse for him, basically. Before he had learned the full extent of his powers.

ᴄʟɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʏ (Open):
Dragon Age Verse. A former elven slave to a harsh master, Taylor's ears were clipped at a young age to seem more human. Later in his years he realized his powers and killed his master and their family, burning the manor to the ground as well. Doesn't live in a set place.

ᴛᴇᴄʜɴɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ (Open):
Supernatural Verse. Basically his mainverse with Taylor being either on the streets or owning a small apartment from the money he makes. Just explaining his powers and how he became a witch after his parents abandoned him. Just to be able to fend for himself.

{; Open ;}

cxnqueror:

“Coffee works.” Erik murmured, pulling the window
in slightly as the cold started to leave him feeling
uncomfortable. He crossed his arms and scolded
himself. He wasn’t a child, if he wanted to have a
cigarette in doors he shouldn’t be so childish to try
and desperately cover it up. Charles would understand.

“Maybe.”

The way that the other crossed his arms over his
chest instead of closing the window had Taylor
laughing a bit, looking back out it and shifting
where he was leaning up against the counter. He
could understand not wanting to smoke outside
in the cold, and wanting to close the window for
the same reason, but it was either that or the
room would fill with the smell faster. Another
drag and exhale later, he took the cigarette from
between his lips and held his free hand out to
the man.

“Seems I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Taylor.”

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

{; Open ;}

cxnqueror:

Erik shook a cigarette out of the box,
before sliding up onto the counter, nearer
the window and taking in the cold night air
he’d been trying to avoid. It wasn’t as unpleasant
as he’d believed it would be and it might have done
him good.
“I’m Jewish.” he said simply, still gazing out of the open window.

The black bold numbers on his arm should have been clue enough,
he almost laughed.

Taking the cigarette and lighting the end,
Taylor took in a long drag and closed his eyes,
letting it out slowly and the smoke leaving his nostrils
as he exhaled. A sigh left and a laugh followed as
the other said that he was Jewish, shrugging his shoulders
before looking down to the kitchen floor.

“Right. Not Kosher. It’s just what I used
to do when I would try not to get caught.
Cooking just a single piece would leave
the kitchen smelling like greasy, fatty goodness.”

Though he said it like it was great, his nose scrunched
the slightest, remembering the scent and how poorly
it mixed with fresh cigarette smell. Wasn’t the most
pleasant thing, but the end result he got was what he
hoped for.

“It was either that or coffee, but you’d have
to make more than one really strong pot to
cover it up.”

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

♚ cxnqueror ♚ ic;; long ♚ v;; mutation in spades

{; Open ;}

cxnqueror:

Erik turned and promptly dropped his arms, a cloud
of smoke still gathering around him. He leaned over
and opened the window again, pushing it open further
than it had been before, letting the clouds slowly seep
out. Charles would know, of course. The man was
correct, waving his arms wouldn’t get rid of the smell,
it clung to him and through out the kitchen.

He should have stood outside and smoked, faced the bitter
cold head on.

“I don’t smoke on a regular basis."

Usually when he couldn’t sleep, to pass the time, to have something
to relax him during those dark moments after a nightmare or a noise
had awoken him and for those brief moments, when his heart skipped
a beat and his stomach twisted and he feared the worse. It was always
nothing but a creak. A floorboard or the old pipes which ran through the
mansion.

"Want one? May as well, the smell is well and truly here."

Taylor had started smoking during high school, a way to
deal with the stress of moving around at inopportune moments.
It was to deal with the anxiety and nervousness of when the
next move came, and then after his parents died, it was to
deal with that. He’s been on and off for the past couple
years, tried to quit, but nothing helped and he always went
back. There was nothing he could do about it, and to be
honest, there was nothing he wanted to do anymore.

Looking to the open window, and the other Taylor just
nodded as he said he didn’t smoke on a regular basis,
going to the cabinet to get a glass and filling it with water.
It was what he had come down there for in the first place,
anyway. But then the other offered a cigarette and he
couldn’t exactly pass it up.

"Sure. Might as well be an accomplice instead of a witness.”

With a smirk, he made his way over to the man, leaning up
against the counter a bit before looking out the open window.

“The smell’ll stick to the curtains and any fabric until it’s
washed, but to just get it out, I suggest the overpowering
smell of bacon to at least drown it.”

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

♚ cxnqueror ♚ v;; mutation in spades ♚ ic;; long

{; Open ;}

cxnqueror:

Charles had given him a brief lecture
about smoking in the mansion earlier,
but that was when it was warm outside
and now it was bitter, too bitter for Erik
to try and venture outside simply to calm
himself with a cigarette that he wouldn’t
enjoy as much as some might believe he
does.

He’s someone who only smokes on occasion.

He opted to sit on the counter and open the
kitchen window instead of venturing out,letting
the smoke drift into the night air and hopefully
leave no evidence he’d even been here in the
morning when everyone got up for breakfast.

The stairs creaked after a long time of nothing
but his own deep breathing and Erik cursed,
pinching the end of the cigarette between his
fingers, hissing at the burn it caused.

He shut the window and slid from the counter,
waving a hand to rid the kitchen of the remainder
of smoke before whoever had woken up came into
the kitchen.

Having previously been nothing more than
a mere squatter during his worst days and
something nomadic his best, Taylor never
slept well. Either he was having to worry
about picking up and moving at a moment’s
notice if money ran out or he was being shooed
out of a building he was sleeping in. The life
of a street performer was not as glamorous in
his case.

But that could be tracked back to his parents
and how they picked him up and moved him
around throughout most of his life. Things just
didn’t seem to change that much for him, and
even with a stable place, the difference didn’t
take as well in some ways.

Since he had realized his mutation and come to
the school – mansion, what have you – he was
given a bed to sleep in and a better understanding
of the mutation he had. Though no one could
fully seem to grasp it in the first place. Even though
he could sleep as long as he wanted, there were
times of the night he just couldn’t, meaning he
would get up and wander about, quell either a
racing mind or just tire himself by walking every
which way.

Heading towards the kitchen for something to
drink while he was wandering was somewhat
routine for him as well, but the scent that hit his
nostrils caught him just a bit offguard. Familiar
but wasn’t it banned inside? With a shake of his
head, Taylor entered and looked towards the
perpetrator before letting out a huff of a laugh.

“Waving your arms around like that ain’t gonna
get rid of the smell. Glad I’m not the only one
that smokes here, though.”

▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪

♚ cxnqueror ♚ ic;; long ♚ v;; mutation in spades ♚ [Hope you don't mind me jumping on into the open?] ♚ [*scuttles off somewhere*]

+ cxnqueror

❝ Card tricks don’t seem to catch
a person’s attention nowadays,
do they? ❞

▪ ▪

♚ cxnqueror ♚ ic;; short ♚ ic;; greeter ♚ v;; mutation in spades