Geralt watched Mirage's face flick through a number of different emotions before the Legend questioned his logic, coming up with a truly devious curse idea which made Geralt shudder. Maybe he was letting the hunger get to him, trying to reason to eat. He couldn't tell if Mirage was a genius or he was just that addled by the hunger. Shaking his head, Geralt sighed. "Might be right. Actually, now that I think about it, one met a werewolf cursed that everything he ate turned to ash in his mouth. Would not want to end up like that." It seemed miserable for Morkvarg, but the cure was easy to find all things considered. Here, he wouldn't be quite sure where to start unless they really mapped the place out.
With as much as was going on below them, Geralt had to think on what to do. The Mockingbird had bought them some time by distracting Moreau, and that was an entire situation that Geralt still had yet to unpack, but they would likely have to get to the others soon before their fishy friend figured out where they were and decided to try his luck at killing them again. Heading towards them with Mirage, Geralt caught Link's plan, as well as the alternative option of trying to force-feed Moreau Spirits to make him harmless. "It could work, but you'd have to get far too close for comfort to get even one Spirit in the bastard. Getting enough to make him...like them? We'd need to be constantly distracting him. Mind you, that...might not be terribly difficult."
Geralt was trying to weigh the pros and cons of the plan. It was horribly dangerous, given Moreau's size and power. But even one or two Spirits could have a drastic effect on a person's appearance and abilities, as they'd all seen for themselves. "If you were to jump on his back, though, I wouldn't neglect that nail. It should still be in there somewhere, and it's a surprisingly effective weapon. If I'm being honest, though, these plans are all borderline suicidal. We don't have much choice, but..." Geralt paused to think, looking around before noticing Junior pulling his fan up.
Oh. Oh. "So I just had another idea." Turning to Junior and Nadia bodily and pointing at them, Geralt grinned. "We cheat."
The sound of running water drowned out the incessant droning of the spiteful, self-destructive thoughts in Nick's head as he rubbed his hands clean in the sink. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to ignore the skin on his back and neck tightening and the edges of his vision blurring and going black and white and-
Oh. Oh no. Oh no oh fuck okay you're having an episode Nick just stop and calm down and breathe it's gonna be okay you're safe you're at school it's just the bathroom it's okay you're safe you're in school you're not there you're not there you're not there you're not there.
Noticing that his hands were gripping the edge of the sink as the water kept running and he was staring down at the little hole that water goes through fuck man he doesn't know what it's called right now he's trying to unfuck his brain.
Yeah gonna wanna talk to the doc about that. FUCK, and I was doing so well! Fucking asshole, just let people get up on their own I'm not a fucking cripple. Taking another few deep, shuddering breaths and realizing that he couldn't take one single breath without nearly breaking down, Nick pushed himself off the counter and sighed. Just get it together, throw some water on your face and
And the door opened while he was psyching himself up, another person coming through and heading to a urinal. Looking up at the mirror, Nick realized that he'd definitely just been seen crying, his eyes a little red and tear marks plainly visible on his face.
Some lawyer you're gonna be, Waller. Fuck. Just. Get. It. Together! Shoving his hands into the water and bringing them back over his face, Nick rubbed his hands over his eyes and repeated the motion a few times, getting his forehead sufficiently wet to annoy himself, but at least washing away the tear streaks. "Fuck..." he whispered under his breath, not caring if the other boy saw. It would hardly matter, dude would probably just assume his girlfriend broke up with him recently or some shit, not the spiraling endless torment that actually was his life.
He doesn't care why would he care he barely knows you you don't matter to him just like he doesn't matter to you it's just a passing face in a crowd of endless faces that see nothing and know nothing and want nothing to do with you just like everybody el-
Okay time to stop that line of thinking and go to class. Forcing himself to walk through the door like a normal human being (There are no normal human beings just the masks we put on to pretend we fit in), Nick walked to class, mind unfocused and soul raw like skin that had been rubbed far too long in a scalding hot shower.
He paid attention, he bantered, he played the mask just like he always did, but it was easy to tell the energy wasn't quite there. Late night they'd assume, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong.
But they'd also be kinda wrong because he was mostly just doing it to stop the spiraling. Every second he went without talking, without fidgeting, without doing something to occupy his mind was another second for the tunnel to constrict and his vision to go black and white and those weird cracks to keep showing up everywhere and he wasn't sure if they were always there or if they were new and why the fuck were they glowing?
Visual hallucinations weren't a thing he normally dealt with. Tunnel vision isn't a hallucination. So are these things real? Why were they glowing? Cracks don't glow, especially not on shitty college desks made by prisoners for ten cents an hour. Oh hey something to think about if only they were talking about it in class he could go on another rant about how fucked up the system a bunch of them were hoping to join was.
But that wasn't the current issue at hand, so Nick stayed his tongue and instead tried to focus on one of those weird cracks, running a finger over it. It was...warm? And it felt like a breeze was coming out of it. A very light breeze, barely noticeable, but Nick was used to tactile oversensitivity. The benefits of PTSD!
Shutting off that line of thinking, Nick rubbed the crack a few more times before sighing and putting it out of mind. Whether he was hallucinating or this was some kind of weird fucked up daydream or he was still dreaming, he didn't really think on it. It's just a weird little crack. Hardly a problem.
He'd just go back to mostly focusing on class, not worry about the weird possibly PTSD-induced hallucinations, and his day would continue like normal because there was no way it could get worse, right?
Geralt watched with relief and a little pride in his comrades as the Proxy was caught off balance by the former Abyssals' barrage, then slammed into by Blazermate and knocked to its doom below. Letting out a sigh and nodding, he turned to Sakura. "It's done. That thing's dealt with." Turning back, he waved Blazermate over. "Peach could use a hand, if you'd be so kind."
As Mirage came over and then tripped over the magnet that was left behind, Geralt cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. That whole situation was nerve-wracking, he'd let him have some dignity. Frankly, he was just glad they got out of it relatively unscathed. Peach would need a hand, sure, but otherwise they were doing wonderfully.
"Alright, now that that's handled, we have a fish man to deal with." That being said, Geralt went with Mirage to check out how the battle was going on the other side. More prepared for the carnage than Mirage, Geralt nodded. "Ace and Nadia did a helluva job making a racket for that guy. Dropped some on him, too. Managed to get a good shot in with that weird nail, thing, too, but he's a big guy. Seems like it barely put a scratch on him, relatively speaking." He shook his head before shrugging. "We'll just have to see what we can do."
Mirage could do a good amount, it seemed, at least in terms of getting the group where they needed to go. That dart gun was simply too useful.
Following after the Legend, Geralt grunted as he landed on a dart, the hunger slowing him down. "Wait." He called out, shakily forcing himself to stand. "This...damned...hunger. It's getting to me." Taking a moment to breathe, he jumped to the next dart. "We can't take much more of this. Liable to collapse soon." When the pair made it to the next safe spot, Geralt stopped. "The lady we spoke to about this place said the food would be cursed. But cursed is better than dead, even if it doesn't feel like it at the time."
As much as he hated it, he was succumbing to the hunger. If they didn't deal with this place sooner rather than later, they'd be lucky to get out of this. "Let's just get done with this and help the others. We can deal with the whole starvation crap later."
One Peach extraction, success! The part where they almost got caught and killed notwithstanding, Geralt was glad to have gotten the Princess out of their with Sakura. Aside from not wanting her to die and all, having an unconscious body lying around in the middle of a fight was just asking to trip and break your ankle or something.
Sakura wisely chose not to say anything, especially not after their close call, as the two rested Peach down on the Street Fighter's lap. Careful not to push Sakura's hands out of the way, Geralt laid his fingers on Peach's neck and gently pressed, closing his eyes as he felt for her pulse. Giving it a few seconds, he let out a little sigh of half-relief. Looking back up at Sakura, he nodded and gave the girl a thumbs up. Peach would be alright.
He looked back over to the Command Center, where the sounds of the 'fight' could be heard. Blazermate, presumably Rika firing her cannons, and Mirage working the crane controls to knock that mutated monster down the hole to a gruesome and splattery demise.
And off towards where they came from, faint sounds of yelling and groaning indicating that the others were dealing with Moreau. He couldn't quite figure out whether they were good or bad sounds for the Seekers, but he was admittedly a bit preoccupied.
Turning back to look at Sakura and Peach, he nodded, then pointed at the Street Fighter girl and then the ground. Stay. Here. He tried to convey. Sakura could watch after Peach for now, and when Blazermate was freed up, she could heal the Princess and they could join the others dealing with Moreau.
Standing carefully, Geralt pointed to his eyes and then the Command Center. He cautiously made his way over to the doorway and peaked inside just in time to see the results of the others' plan to take down the Proxy.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" Jolted upright from his sleep, drenched in a cold sweat and panting for breath, Nick let out a shaky sigh as his hand grabbed his chest. His fist balled over his heart as he fought to regain control of his breathing, taking in the scene around him. His dorm room. Not that fucked-up plane he kept dreaming about, not the war-torn ground he had just collided into at what had to be terminal velocity.
Just that fucking nightmare again. Frankly, this was better than the fire one. And hey, something different this time happened. He had no idea what that guy meant by what he said, or more accurately what he was trying to tell himself. Such a verbose way of getting a message across, couldn't his subconscious hit him with the cliff notes or something? Scoffing, Nick sat up and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the last vestiges of that nightmare that clung to him. He certainly wasn't about to get back to sleep, not with that shot of adrenaline waking him up...
Thirty minutes before his alarm. Oh joy, because he wasn't already pushing it with how little sleep he got anyway. Well, he wasn't going back to sleep, that was for sure. Grabbing his phone and turning off the alarm, he grabbed his clothes and made his way to the shower.
As he showered, Nick couldn't keep his mind wandering back to that man. The 'Velvet Room', he called the cockpit. And was he making a pun when he called it a plane that existed between realities? What a hack, his own subconscious resorting to puns to get his attention on...some problem. Probably something to do with all the unresolved trauma, but what? The constant feelings of inadequacy? The -
Shaking his head before he went down that fucking rabbit hole this early in the morning, Nick tried to get back on track as the water flowed over him. Yeah, no shit his situation wasn't enviable, no shit he was thrown to the wolves. Though to be fair, he threw himself to the wolves by basically running away from home and taking what savings his parents had so generously kept for him. And then not answering any of their phone calls for three years. Two and a half, really, since the last time either of them even bothered was back around Memorial Day. Damn, not even a phone call for Thanksgiving, they really did give up on convincing him to talk to them, huh?
Well, that was what Nick wanted, so why was he complaining? Oh, right, that whole "Mommy and Daddy never loved you" complex. Eh, who cares?
So yeah, life is Hell, nobody is gonna coddle you, you're not a kid, you have responsibilities, blah blah blah. All shit he already knew. What pissed him off though, was the notion that there was something to win beyond survival. "Bullshit. There is no winning this crap. You just fucking get through the days."
And 'Whether you face reality is up to you' Oh fuck off, he was facing reality for years. He'd seen reality. He'd seen how fucked up this world really was, the shit it would do if it could get away with it. So, no, mister subconscious, he didn't need to awaken. If anything, he needed to go back to sleep.
But just like that freaky game with the eyes, there was no going back to sleep once you awoke to the Nightmare. There was no blue pill to take to forget the horrors of the Matrix, because this wasn't the god damned Matrix.
This was life. And every. Single. Day. Was a new hell.
Forcing on a more neutral face as he stepped out of the dorm, Nick mentally catalogued which classes he needed to go to again, just to be sure he remembered and didn't walk into the wrong room again. It wasn't that embarrassing in the grand scheme of things, sure, but it was a pain in the ass to run halfway across campus in like five minutes to not be late.
Convinced that he'd gotten it all down, Nick made his way over to his first class of the day.
And then he tripped over his own damn foot.
Pushing his arms out on the way down, Nick landed hard on his elbows and forearms, but managed to keep himself from landing face-first on the ground. Sighing, he was about to push himself up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey man, you alright?"
NO I'M NOT ALRIGHT YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT GET YOUR GOD DAMN HAND OFF ME BEFORE I RIP IT OFF AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING-
Pushing up, abruptly, and quickly standing, Nick brushed his arm off and gave a friendly smile to the stranger who'd tried to help him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks man"
"Ah, no problem dude." The other boy said, raising a hand as a goodbye as he walked off. Nick watched him go, his neck twitching for a moment, before sighing. God dammit, didn't need that today. As the usual sense of wrongness and filth and DIRTINESS that came with being touched like that flowed across his skin like the sweat he'd woken up covered in, Nick shook his head and started walking to his classroom again.
Damn, this thing was making a mess. His distraction worked, but it didn't actually buy them much more than a few seconds as the monster swallowed the bottle whole with seemingly no problem. A small part of him was hoping it would hurt the creature, but he knew he couldn't rely on an unknown like that. Geralt was already moving, getting ready to distract it again, when it locked on to Princess Peach and slammed into her as she attempted to climb to safety. The fencing having some give to it saved her life, but that creature was still searching for them, and Bella's quick thinking was all that stood between Peach and an early grave.
Quickly, though, Mirage sprang into action, now freed from having to control that metal golem-like creature that was once Carl. Nodding at the Legend, Geralt kept his movements slow, decades of experience in hunting monsters allowing him to move near-silently, especially compared to the others, panicked, tired, and relatively unused to stealth as they were.
Mirage's idea was a good, simple one: get that thing to charge the fence again and break through, plummeting to the depths below and hopefully landing with a fatal splat.
As Rika grabbed the controls of the crane, Geralt looked back to Mirage and shrugged. That might certainly do the same job. He couldn't really afford to stay and "chat", so to speak, though, so Geralt continued making his way towards the exit of the Command Center. The fewer people around to make noise and mess with their plans, after all, the better.
While Sakura was taking care of Princess Peach, dragging her out, Geralt paused and watched. He could go and help, but adding more people risked adding even more noise. It would also ease the burden on Sakura, letting her focus more on keeping quiet. Geralt turned back to Mirage, gesturing to the pair, and started moving over to them while pointing between the Legend and the monster stalking them all.
He'd have to hope Mirage understood his meaning again, as he grabbed one of Peach's arms and gave a tiny smile to Sakura. We've got this, he thought. Between the crane making noise, Mirage's dart gun, and two people dragging the Princess out, this could work.
Scrambling up the ladder after his attack against the mutated Moreau, Geralt didn't look back even as he heard the crashing of the scaffolding that crushed the fish-man and dealt some serious damage. He heard Bowser's plan to try and lure the monster back up towards them, and without any weapons or way to attack now that he'd done his part, Geralt both wanted to be out of the way of their plan, and out of the line of fire. Even in his grown body he'd be hard-pressed to take a hit from that monstrosity. Maybe with the Harbor Demon Spirit he could go toe to toe with that thing, but even then it wasn't a sure thing. As a child? No way, he was getting out of there.
Quickly running back to the Command Center, Geralt nodded as he looked over the others. Sakura and Rika were discussing possibly using other items that Moreau had left behind against him, and Geralt thought it might be a viable plan were it not for the risk of him attacking. If they could find a way to remove the risk of being eaten in a single gulp, he'd be more than happy to join in. But right now, he wasn't keen on putting himself in harm's way more than necessary.
Bowser's predicament proved him right to a degree. Moreau came right up under the Koopa King, nearly taking a bite out of the turtle monster man, and the resulting shockwave catching Geralt off guard, causing him to pause as his eyes widened. "I am very glad that I'm not down there." He groaned. That was, frankly, terrifying to witness. That amount of power reminded him of a Fiend or a Leshen. And those would tear a child to pieces in seconds if they got the chance.
Shaking his head, Geralt turned quickly and frowned at the second loud noise that rang out, this one from above them. Whether that was from one of the machines or something else, it didn't sound good, and he found himself entering a ready stance and moving to put himself between the others and that noise. Child body or not, he still had the mind of a man with decades of combat experience. His eyes followed the noise as it moved around, and he frowned when it ceased. He didn't trust that they were safe just yet.
Moments later, his cynicism was proven right as a horrifically deformed humanoid monster appeared, shambling towards them. Rika panicked, shrieked in surprise, and grabbed the cube-shaped object that they'd been talking about and tossed it at the creature as it struggled to stand.
Geralt, for his part, looked around desperately. This thing didn't have any visible eyes, so it was possible that it relied on sound to locate its prey. If he could get something to distract it, he might be able to lure it away from the others. His eyes caught onto the bottles in Moreau's little workshop, and he ran to grab one. Picking the one that looked like it would stink the least, he snagged it and waited for a moment when the thing looked distracted to toss it away from the rest of the group and hopefully draw its attention away.
Appearance: Nick is a lithe young man, standing at about 5’6” and weighing 135-ish pounds. His muscles are tight and lean, hardly noticeable save for on his legs, where his running has built him noticeable calves and thighs. His face is round and baby-ish, hidden beneath a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow kept specifically to hide that baby face. His eyes are a deep emerald, the skin around them marred by perpetual dark bags.
His hair is kept simple, a light brown never allowed to grow longer than an inch, and otherwise unstyled. His skin is ever-so-lightly tanned but definitely not what one would call remotely dark, despite the Texas sun.
Clothing-wise, during Nick can typically be found in his favorite jacket, a tan American Eagle No. 01977 with faux fur lining. Warm, durable, and waterproof enough, Nick actually liked this jacket enough to get a second one, and he swaps them out every once in a while to keep them in good shape. Underneath he wears t-shirts, and only t-shirts, typically with some graphic design, or a comedic or irreverent phrase written on it. He favors cargo pants and rarely wears jeans, though on some days he will wear a pair of chinos if he’s feeling fancy. His legwear is typically neutral or earth-tone, to match with the tan jacket. Finishing his standard outfit is a pair of well-worn but still fairly decent black sneakers.
Nick rarely accessorizes, save for his plain olive green backpack, which hardly counts in his opinion.
Underneath his clothes, his lower back and hips are littered with horizontal stretch marks, which, after a few minor incidents, have resulted in worsening problems with his self-image. On his back, over his heart lies a fist-sized burn scar from a minor medical mishap with a UV lamp and a newborn Nick that thankfully left no actual long-term complications.
Personality: Nick is, to the casual observer, a man with two fronts: At times, he is bombastic, loud, comedic, talkative, irreverent, and very open about what he thinks. But he can also be quiet, withdrawn, introspective and even downright isolationist. It’s earned him few friends at Barclay Waterfront University, and Nick seems content with that, rarely branching out and trying to meet new people.
Which Nick you see depends on the context. In classroom discussions, he’s often very eager to speak his mind, especially when it comes to topics he feels people are often mislead or blissfully ignorant about. He has a genuine thirst for knowledge and understanding, and is more than happy to let others explain things to him if he doesn’t know something.
Left to his own devises, Nick tends to withdraw into himself, finding entertainment in his phone via videos on Youtube, browsing reddit, or chatting with people via Discord. Unbothered, he can remain like this for hours on end, more than happy to isolate and ignore the world around him in favor of mindless stimulation.
With friends or those he trusts, a blending of these two extremes is found. Irreverent and nihilistic humor, memespeak, openness, tempered by periods of content silence, browsing the internet to the backdrop of his friends’ conversations, or sharing content with those around him. He’s never quite as loud, or withdrawn and introspective, around his friends, even if everybody is quiet.
Underneath everything, though, is a reservoir of anger that rarely stops bubbling, ready to be set off at the thought of injustice or unfairness. It’s not uncommon for his bombastic rants to be underlaid with a genuine note of anger, or his dry humor to hide genuine disdain, though he does his best to hide this ugly side from others, and even himself.
And to those with a more discerning eye, they can notice the little things Nick hides. The way he flinches, but only for the briefest of moments, at loud noises or unexpected touch. The way he has to center himself before going off on a rant. The slow breaths he takes when somebody explains something that he already knows, thank you very much.
There’s more to him than those two fronts. And what little he lets slip doesn’t paint a good picture.
Bio:
Raised by parents who never seemed to be quite proud of him, Nick always felt that he played second (or even third) fiddle to his brothers. This caused him to overvalue the talent he did have in his mind. Able to, generally speaking, absorb knowledge easily and lock it in like a steel trap, Nick always had little trouble in his schooling, and what praise he did receive for his good grades was kept and treasured like it was made of gold.
As he grew older, he learned more about his family’s flaws. The unresolved anger issues that pervaded them like a virus, the general character flaws that made his parents seem less like goals to emulate, and more like warnings to avoid. He learned how to hide his disappointment, how to vent his pain and frustrations, though not in a healthy manner.
Nick would tell you that, in high school, things changed. He wouldn’t tell you how. He wouldn’t tell you why. All he’d tell you is that that is when things changed.
His physical scars were once much less haunting than meets the eye. Since he began self-harming at 16, a series of painfully-obvious scars have joined the other, more innocuous ones. Some have healed remarkably well, while others did not, and remain ugly, red, raised reminders of his own demons, quite literally wearing his burdens on his shoulders. Nick tends to avoid showing his body because of these scars, avoiding the beach and pools whenever possible.
With what little trust in others and self-confidence he had broken over time, Nick tried to double down on what he felt he had, and threw himself into his schoolwork to the neglect of much else. It kept him away from his parents, his brothers, his “friends”, it let him just be alone, where he felt more comfortable. And the results showed. Nick’s grades, somehow, raised, and he took more and more challenging classes, read ahead of the assigned work, and generally stood out as a well-behaved, intelligent young man.
And finally, college came, and Nick was free. Free to stay in bed until 2 PM on Saturday once in a while. Free to avoid the constant fake questions from his family. Free from the constant pressure he felt to perform to their standards. And despite how he let go of some the higher standards he placed on himself, Nick thrived without his family putting stress on him constantly. He let himself speak out more, took (generally) better care of himself, and found a schedule that worked for him.
Yet, despite this freedom, despite this respite from the past, Nick hasn’t been able to shake the ghosts that haunt him. His first real relationship fell apart a scant few months ago, an ugly, explosive break up that came from months of suppressed frustration and disappointment from his girlfriend, leaving Nick reeling and wondering what about him it is that just isn’t good enough.
Nick is from Oklahoma, and he hasn’t left Texas since he started at Barclay Waterfront University. He hasn’t seen his family in over three years. And frankly? That’s just fine with him. The way he sees it, they were just the start of his pain.
Scars:
Diagnosis: Major Depressive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. “Self-harm wounds evident on left and right shoulders” “Scars on back and thighs not from self-harm, incidental stretch marks from puberty growth spurts. Large burn on back from birth complications and hospital mismanagement. Nick stresses these distinctions. Nonetheless, they cause readily apparent self-image problems” “Sexual trauma has resulted in self-imposed isolation and distrust of others, regardless of gender” “Possible familial abuse? Nick rarely speaks of his family, has not seen them in years, and rarely if ever has positive things to say on the subject” “Relationship history brings Nick great pain to discuss” “Avoid casually asking about girlfriends/boyfriends as a topic of conversation” “Sexual repression and repression of bisexuality likely result of assault” “Generally feels safest alone” “More comfortable in virtual spaces than physically with others”
The profile Nick’s psychologist has on him is…extensive and disturbing to the unprepared reader. It is the story of a young man who has never felt truly appreciated for long, who has found every sanctuary and safe haven ripped away from him.
Nick’s trauma runs deep, and it, in part, has changed him. It has left him feeling unsafe in all but isolation, it has left him afraid of trusting others, and it has turned him against even himself.
Nick’s deeper, psychological scars can be attributed to several primary events which resulted in his cynical outlook on the world and interpersonal relationships.
When Nick was 7, his father first insulted him for crying when his parents fought, starting the cracks in their bond as family.
When Nick was 15, his “friends” raped him at a party. Later that year, he realized he was bisexual, but couldn’t stomach the thought of another man touching him outside of a fantasy.
When Nick was 16, he began cutting as a way to relieve the pain he was hiding.
When Nick was 18, he left home and decided that if he could help it, he would never go back.
Shadow
Appearance: Nick’s shadow is a young, emaciated boy, dressed in two-sizes-too-large hand-me-downs meant for somebody with a much fuller frame. A plaid shirt clearly from a different era of fashion, frayed blue jeans, and sneakers that barely keep on his feet. Otherwise, Shadow Nick bears a striking resemblance to his human self.
Transformed, however, Nick’s Shadow grows gargantuan in size to represent the overbearing weight of his deeper torment. It gains multiple arms and its clothes become a patchwork of military uniform, chef’s outfit, and high-visibility gear. Its face becomes a grotesque amalgamation of a half-dozen different discordant visages, all distinct and yet melded together in some terrifying, eldritch torment. One of its left hands becomes a spear, another a massive bludgeon, while its right hands grow just a bit too large, its arms a bit too powerful to look natural on even the colossal frame it has developed.
Personality: Shadow Nick takes Human Nick’s snark, isolationist tendencies, and temper to 11. Left well enough alone, it will outright ignore anybody else. Bothered even for a moment, however, and it snaps and attacks, biting and scratching to scare off whoever pissed it off.
Nothing and nobody matter to this Shadow, as it matters to nobody and to nothing in turn. Anybody who seeks to disturb it is clearly just looking to pick a fight, and it will defend itself in kind.
Territory: Shadow Nick’s territory is a simple, and mournfully empty, suburban home. Not a hint of life can be found within, the walls and floor constantly covered in a layer of dust that seems to resettle behind you as you walk. Comfort is impossible here, a ceaseless feeling of being out of place emanating from the “home”. No place between those walls, beneath that roof, is safe from this psychic influence.
Metaverse
A watcher from afar, never touching, only observing, its self-imposed isolation granting an air of mystery and sophistication. Dark energies roll off this creature in waves, laying waste to what little lives in its desert home.
Appearance: Nick is a lithe young man, standing at about 5’6” and weighing 135-ish pounds. His muscles are tight and lean, hardly noticeable save for on his legs, where his running has built him noticeable calves and thighs. His face is round and baby-ish, hidden beneath a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow kept specifically to hide that baby face.
His hair is kept simple, a light brown never allowed to grow longer than an inch, and otherwise unstyled. His skin is ever-so-lightly tanned but definitely not what one would call remotely dark, despite the Texas sun.
Clothing-wise, during Nick can typically be found in his favorite jacket, a tan American Eagle No. 01977 with faux fur lining. Warm, durable, and waterproof enough, Nick actually liked this jacket enough to get a second one, and he swaps them out every once in a while to keep them in good shape. Underneath he wears t-shirts, and only t-shirts, typically with some graphic design, or a comedic or irreverent phrase written on it. He favors cargo pants and rarely wears jeans, though on some days he will wear a pair of chinos if he’s feeling fancy. His legwear is typically neutral or earth-tone, to match with the tan jacket. Finishing his standard outfit is a pair of well-worn but good still fairly decent black sneakers.
Nick rarely accessorizes, save for his plain olive green backpack, which hardly counts in his opinion.
Underneath his clothes, his lower back and hips are littered with horizontal stretch marks, which, after a few minor incidents, have resulted in worsening problems with his self-image. On his back, over his heart lies a fist-sized burn scar from a minor medical mishap with a UV lamp and a newborn Nick that thankfully left no actual long-term complications.
Personality: Nick is, to the casual observer, a man with two fronts: At times, he is bombastic, loud, comedic, talkative, irreverent, and very open about what he thinks. But he can also be quiet, withdrawn, introspective and even downright isolationist. It’s earned him few friends at Barclay Waterfront University, and Nick seems content with that, rarely branching out and trying to meet new people.
Which Nick you see depends on the context. In classroom discussions, he’s often very eager to speak his mind, especially when it comes to topics he feels people are often mislead or blissfully ignorant about. He has a genuine thirst for knowledge and understanding, and is more than happy to let others explain things to him if he doesn’t know something.
Left to his own devises, Nick tends to withdraw into himself, finding entertainment in his phone via videos on Youtube, browsing reddit, or chatting with people via Discord. Unbothered, he can remain like this for hours on end, more than happy to isolate and ignore the world around him in favor of mindless stimulation.
With friends or those he trusts, a blending of these two extremes is found. Irreverent and nihilistic humor, memespeak, openness, tempered by periods of content silence, browsing the internet to the backdrop of his friends’ conversations, or sharing content with those around him. He’s never quite as loud, or withdrawn and introspective, around his friends, even if everybody is quiet.
Underneath everything, though, is a reservoir of anger that rarely stops bubbling, ready to be set off at the thought of injustice or unfairness. It’s not uncommon for his bombastic rants to be underlaid with a genuine note of anger, or his dry humor to hide genuine disdain, though he does his best to hide this ugly side from others, and even himself.
And to those with a more discerning eye, they can notice the little things Nick hides. The way he flinches, but only for the briefest of moments, and loud noises or unexpected touch. The way he has to center himself before going off on a rant. The slow breaths he takes when somebody explains something that he already knows, thank you very much.
There’s more to him than those two fronts. And what little he lets slip doesn’t paint a good picture.
Bio:
Raised by parents who never seemed to be quite proud of him, Nick always felt that he played second (or even third) fiddle to his brothers. This caused him to overvalue the talent he did have in his mind. Able to, generally speaking, absorb knowledge easily and lock it in like a steel trap, Nick always had little trouble in his schooling, and what praise he did receive for his good grades was kept and treasured like it was made of gold.
As he grew older, he learned more about his family’s flaws. The unresolved anger issues that pervaded them like a virus, the general character flaws that made his parents seem less like goals to emulate, and more like warnings to avoid. He learned how to hide his disappointment, how to vent his pain and frustrations, though not in a healthy manner.
Nick would tell you that, in high school, things changed. He wouldn’t tell you how. He wouldn’t tell you why. All he’d tell you is that that is when things changed.
His physical scars were once much less haunting than meets the eye. Since he began self-harming at 16, a series of painfully-obvious scars have joined the other, more innocuous ones. Some have healed remarkably well, while others did not, and remain ugly, red, raised reminders of his own demons. And Nick tends to avoid showing his body because of these scars.
With what little trust in others and self-confidence he had broken over time, Nick tried to double down on what he felt he had, and threw himself into his schoolwork to the neglect of much else. It kept him away from his parents, his brothers, his “friends”, it let him just be alone, where he felt more comfortable. And the results showed. Nick’s grades, somehow, raised, and he took more and more challenging classes, read ahead of the assigned work, and generally stood out as a well-behaved, intelligent young man.
And finally, college came, and Nick was free. Free to stay in bed until 2 PM on Saturday once in a while. Free to avoid the constant fake questions from his family. Free from the constant pressure he felt to perform to their standards. And despite how he let go of some the higher standards he placed on himself, Nick thrived without his family putting stress on him constantly. He let himself speak out more, took (generally) better care of himself, and found a schedule that worked for him.
Yet, despite this freedom, despite this respite from the past, Nick hasn’t been able to shake the ghosts that haunt him. His first real relationship fell apart a scant few months ago, an ugly, explosive break up that came from months of suppressed frustration and disappointment from his girlfriend, leaving Nick reeling and wondering what about him it is that just isn’t good enough.
Scars:
Diagnosis: Major Depressive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. “Self-harm wounds evident on left and right shoulders” “Scars on back and thighs not from self-harm, incidental stretch marks from puberty growth spurts. Large burn on back from birth complications and hospital mismanagement. Nick stresses these distinctions. Nonetheless, they cause readily apparent self-image problems” “Sexual trauma has resulted in self-imposed isolation and distrust of others, regardless of gender” “Possible familial abuse? Nick rarely speaks of his family, has not seen them in years, and rarely if ever has positive things to say on the subject” “Relationship history brings Nick great pain to discuss” “Avoid casually asking about girlfriends/boyfriends as a topic of conversation” “Sexual repression and repression of bisexuality likely result of assault” “Generally feels safest alone” “More comfortable in virtual spaces than physically with others”
The profile Nick’s psychologist has on him is…extensive and disturbing to the unprepared reader. It is the story of a young man who has never felt truly appreciated for long, who has found every sanctuary and safe haven ripped away from him.
Nick’s trauma runs deep, and it, in part, has changed him. It has left him feeling unsafe in all but isolation, it has left him afraid of trusting others, and it has turned him against even himself.
Nick’s deeper, psychological scars can be attributed to several primary events which resulted in his cynical outlook on the world and interpersonal relationships.
When Nick was 7, his father first insulted him for crying when his parents fought, starting the cracks in their bond as family.
When Nick was 15, his “friends” raped him at a party. Later that year, he realized he was bisexual, but couldn’t stomach the thought of another man touching him outside of a fantasy.
When Nick was 16, he began cutting as a way to relieve the pain he was hiding.
When Nick was 18, he left home and decided that if he could help it, he would never go back.
Nick is from Oklahoma, and he hasn’t left Texas since he started at Barclay Waterfront University. He hasn’t seen his family in over three years. And frankly? That’s just fine with him. The way he sees it, they were just the start of his pain.
Yankee
TruthHurts
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Plank Sinatra