[b]Name:[/b] Marvin Braddock

[b]Age:[/b] 19 

[b]Appearance:[/b]
Marvin has a pale complexion, and rich brown hair that is almost always meticulously greased and combed back clings close to his scalp. He nose is slightly large, and there is white scar tissue just above the bridge of it from where he was hit by shrapnel during the war. His eyes are a deep azure, but turn vibrant pink when he’s controlling his constructs, radiating light, and rest under eyebrows that are bordering on bushy. He has a strong jawline, normally clean shaven, a force of habit from the army, and because his hair grows in unsightly patches, again due to scar tissues from the same explosion, so hair can only grow on certain parts of his face. His teeth are in relatively good condition, mainly due to the shortages of food, which excluded luxuries from the diet, providing only commodities, and diet which has also left him quite lean. Normally, Marvin would wear a shirt and trousers, some of a few owned, often with a sweater-vest with multiple patches from repair on. For the bitterer of weather he also has a large overcoat. A couple of well-maintained and polished boots are also in Marvin’s possession.

[b]Psionic Abilities:[/B]

Telepathy: Marvin is able to sense the emotions currently felt by an individual, and is sometimes aware of the foremost of their thoughts, though at present he is only able to observe these, and this happens sporadically, on very rare occasions. Over time the potency of his telepathy will develop and he will be able to influence the thoughts of others, and manipulate emotions by changing one’s perception of an event, though stronger emotions, such as love and hate, are more difficult to induce or change. As well as this, he will also be able read their minds at will, with a greater degree of precision. However, a thorough search would require physical contact- hands around the head would work best- and immense concentration on Marvin’s part. Moreover, a tumultuous mind would not be easy to penetrate, and reading the thoughts of an individual whilst their mind is in such condition would be near impossible due to the disarray of all consciousness. It can be resisted to a certain degree with a strong will to oppose psychic probing. Communication with other individuals via thoughts would also be viable, initially only over a short distance, but the range will increase, and eventually pave way for the creation of mindscapes, allowing him to project his thoughts inside another’s mind. Vision through the eyes of weaker minded beings, such as rats or pigeons would, in due course, be conceivable. At its most developed offensive potential, his telepathy could be used to “flay” the mind of a foe, causing them severe pain within the skull, alterations to their psyche, loss of memories, neurocognitive deficit, unconsciousness, and the disruption of neurone function, or even in the most ruthless of cases: death.

Psionic Constructs: Marvin is capable of focussing his mental capacity to form objects out of raw psionic energy, capable of providing offense, such as daggers, and utility, such as platforms and force-fields, and, with the given aptitude, can manipulate the size and position of these constructs after conception. The constructs are largely transparent, but are luminous, with a puce hue. It is capable for them to be both tangible and intangible at different times; they can be used to cut by being formed solidly, or to scramble nervous impulses, if made ethereal. This effect can be utilised in force-field after it has been developed, allowing for semi-permeable membranes, allowing certain things through, for example: allies, whilst blocking other things, projectiles for instance. The size and complexity of structures he is able to create will increase with use, as will the intricacy they interact with the environment, allowing for situational uses, such as fast flying psionic “bullets”, or multiple mental tendrils. Constructs can be broken with enough force, and Marvin will suffer a backlash of mental damage, decreasing the potency at which he wields his mutations for a short period. These can be created surrounding Marvin, or a short distance away within eyesight, potentially allowing him to asphyxiate somebody by creating an airtight field around their head. Potentially, this could be combined with the aforementioned ability to move his constructs, allowing for flight, as the force-field would eliminate the risk of bodily damage from rapid acceleration and friction, and act as a vehicle for motion. The magnum opus of this aspect of his abilities would be the last to develop, but also the most powerful: vector manipulation fields; the ability to change the magnitude and direction, the vector, of a body, regardless of the pre-existing forces exerted. It is limited though, as it requires time to centre his powers and produce this field, so fast moving projectiles cannot be feasible affected, and the range will also be extremely localised.

[b]Skills:[/b]
Baking: He knows his breads from his cakes, to say the least; even with the shortcomings in supply, Marvin is able to bake resourcefully and their bakery has many loyal patrons as a result. His hands are surprisingly dexterous, due to the subtle differences in pressure and position they need to yield to make baking into an art.

Firearm experience: During the war Marvin learnt how to fire and gun; his shot isn’t that bad either.

Aptitude in chess: After the war, chess was one of the activities he used to distract himself in his spare time, often playing against his uncle, or one of Graham’s friends, building up a little skill in the game.

Fairly Fit: He served in the army, and so they trained him up a bit before sending him over to what was most likely going to be his death. The constant labour in the bakery has also helped him maintain a least a little muscles mass. He was also lucky enough to be relatively unharmed by the mustard gas; his tidal volume decreasing only slightly, rather than making him cough up his lung.

[b]Brief Backstory:[/b]
Marvin’s birth was an unexpected one; his parents had not yet married, and neither of them had planned to take on the responsibility of a child, but his mother, Eileen, couldn’t even begin to consider abortion as an option, so opted to carry the baby, marrying shortly before his birth so they did not have a bastard son, and so the eagerly judgemental and prejudiced society did not end up despising them for forsaking tradition and what was “proper”. Despite this, contact with his father’s side was severed completely as they disapproved, however his mother’s side were slightly more liberal and forgiving.

The wedding was held on a tight budget, as neither of his parents were particularly fiscally endowed; his mother had no job, and his father, Stuart, was in the armed forces, not a well-paying job, but a respected one, given that he had served in the first world war, albeit, at a very young age, and so a few favours were rapid that day by those who felt they owed it. The cake was made by Stuart’s elder brother, Graham, a baker by trade, who also made the most exquisite ornaments for his sibling’s ceremonial cake. The day went close to perfect; the bride and groom were happy, the guests were well fed and smiling, everyone adored Graham’s artisanship, and indeed, it seemed like their love would be one that would stand the test of time, and last forever, right to the bitter end.

Unfortunately, that came a lot sooner than expected; Stuart was with his wife all throughout her labour in hospital, but even his presence could not stop the complications that were apparent afterwards, and by then they had already taken Eileen’s life. 

Stuart tried to raise his son as best he could, but every time he saw the boy’s face, he was reminded of his wife’s, laying there expressionless in her coffin, eye-closed, on the day of her funeral. He could not bring himself to peace with her parting, and fell into heavy alcoholism- an environment not suitable for a child- which eventually led to Stuart taking his own life, as Eileen’s passing invoked guilt and regret, and deep remorse, viewing it as his fault, for killing during the war. Graham took Marvin into his own patriarchal care at the age of one, a move that was a deep show devotion to his brother’s memory, as he had no wife, and no want of a child of his own, but he soon warmed to the boy.

Consequently, Graham never told Marvin what his father did, but raised the boy on anecdotes spun of his Stuart’s heroism in the war, about taken on scores of enemies and defeating them single-handedly; there were stories relating to each medal or trinket that Graham could find; and he spun a mean tale, all of course as fantastical as the next, but the admiration in Marvin’s eyes was something that Graham didn’t mind telling a slight lie about, or exaggerating certain details. 

Marvin was only of average intelligence, and so furthering his academic career by paying for tutors and higher education did not strike Graham as practical or beneficial; Marvin enjoyed school and being with friends, he was in fact a fairly sociable lad, but not gifted with the natural aptitude some were for thinking. Instead, Graham made him a full time apprentice, hoping that one day he would succeed him, since he had not children of his own: none save Marvin, who was a close a relative as he had. The bakery was adjoined to the small house Graham was lucky enough to own, so he didn’t have far to travel to work. And, work he did; within weeks Marvin had more or less picked up the various techniques used to bake all manner of items, and no small amount of pride was instilled in Graham, as he knew the boy would soon supersede him in skill.

During puberty Marvin began hearing voices in his head. Frightened and afraid that he was going insane, he kept the news from Graham, in case he tried to take him to a psychiatrist, and waste what little money they had on expensive medical care. As an alternative course of action, he just left it, hoping it would go away, but it did not, not most of the time anyway; around people there were a lot of voices, some louder than others, and sometimes when it was only him and his uncle, there was only one voice or none if his uncle was busy. Marvin may not have been a genius, but he recognised the correlation, and eventually observed and listened, discovering that they were in fact thoughts of the people around him, saturating his mind with menial worries and trivia. Though, he also noticed it didn’t happen all the time, and had no idea how, or even if it could be controlled, and with his introverted approach, he was not on the way to getting it.

News of the war always seemed to be fictitious, and far away, as if it was something that’d just blow over, and never affect their lives. How wrong they both were; even before Pearl Harbour the tension was obvious, even to those who wished ignorance and its blissfulness, so afterwards, volunteering and conscription should not have come as a shock, as America was dragged into the War. 

Marvin volunteered, lying about his age, expecting to come back a hero, the way Graham had described his father, and man Marvin aspired to be like. The official writing down names at the recruitment setup only winked at him when Marvin said he was eighteen, and wrote down his name, regardless that he obviously knew it was a lie, for which Marvin was grateful. His uncle was ill, and deemed unfit to serve, but wished him luck and saw him off with what Marvin thought were tears in his eyes.

War. War was not what he expected. 

Upon arrival to his post, the grim atmosphere made everything seem heavy and lethargic, and the stench of the dead and dying hung in the air, never seeming to leave or lessen. Every sound aroused suspicion in Marvin, and every shadow was an enemy. Soon he relaxed into the agenda of things; the trenches that he spent his time embedded in were familiar, and the dampness and cold was like an old friend that never left his side. Every now and then they would make a run for the enemy trench, either succeeding, or crawling back if you weren’t mowed down by machine gunfire. Planes dropped mustard gas, and if you could bear he pain of wearing your gas mask as the fumes attacked your skin, then you wouldn’t been hacking up your lungs come morning. The intermittent appearances of the thoughts of those around him gave him some comfort, he supposed, as at least they were mostly as desperate and as homesick as he was. He didn’t have a wife or children as some of the men did, only his uncle, but many a family man had been killed, some by his own gun, and he could not imagine how horrible it must have been for their wives; he knew a lot of them personally, and they were good, men, far more deserving of life than him, yet he outlasted them all. 

He saw a great many things during that war: men live after being riddled with bullet holes, Germans being rescued by the side they were supposedly fighting, heck, he’d even seen one of his fellow soldiers charge into a tank to save him, though he supposed his was imagining that part, as it was peculiar and irrational; it took a while for Marvin to believe that he hadn’t died there. All of this, and nothing prepared him for what was to come.

Nothing…

When the war was nearing an end, Marvin was charged to help clear the concentrations camps. Before arrival, the war had always been about men against men, both armed with guns, and the willingness to kill. The camps were not like that; the victims, the Jews, were for all intents and purposes: innocent; the only reason they ostracised was because of one man’s hatred of them and the abuse of his power over the desperate, using the Jews as a scapegoat; somebody to blame for their own shortcomings. Humanity’s true nature made itself apparent to Marvin.

The atrocities committed in those camps horrified Marvin, and he could feel the anguish and primal hatred and loathing radiate from the Jews, experiencing their pain in the momentary thoughts he that cropped up in his mind. They were withered husks of what they once were wasted to the bone, a savagery awakened within them, reverting to a feral state to try and let their instincts save them. The systematic way they were disposed of and complete disregard for them, dead or alive, made Marvin throw up on the spot, and the bombardment of thoughts sent him into shock.

He was sent home because of his state, and spent two weeks in hospital, but was allowed to leave after getting an all clear. He was relieved to see his uncle again; whom he had sent many a letter to during his time in the trenches. But Marvin had changed, and they both knew it. He spent a large majority of him time working, and if not then he was likely reading, losing himself in a world that was not his own, or doing some such other thing to distract his mind, such as chess, or even counting the number of a certain item in a room, occupying himself. He was slightly detached, and not as willing to talk as usual, and certain sounds made him start. It was manageable though, but the thoughts were still flowing through the highway of his head.

So, when a man by the name of Charles Xavier approached him, and said he could help with Marvin’s “unique talents”, Marvin was at first a little apprehensive, fearing he may have been from the government, but went along to the prescribed location, and much to Marvin’s surprise, Xavier was able to help hone and control the passage of other thoughts, allowing Marvin to stop any entering, or hear the most prominent thought in one’s mind. Xavier assured Marvin that he had much more potential, and told him there were others with unique skills too, other mutants, some with similar to his, some vastly different. 

Now he works at the bakery, picking up the slack of his increasingly ill uncle, visiting Xavier when it’s convenient.