Member
@Hey Im Jordan@LovelyComplex@Fabricant451
(FC: Krow Kian, Dialogue Color: #5349bb)
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(FC: Krow Kian, Dialogue Color: #5349bb)
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F O R T H E R E C O R D
| | N I C K N A M E (S) | |
- Fisk
| | A G E | |
15, November 13
| | G E N D E R | |
Transgender Male [He/Him Pronouns]
| | S E X U A L I T Y | |
Undetermined/Leaning Pansexual
| | R E L A T I O N S H I P S T A T U S | |
Single
| | C L A S S I F I C A T I O N | |
Sophomore
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A T F I R S T G L A N C E
| | I N D E P T H A P P E A R A N C E | |
Fisk stands at 5’7” with a slim figure. He’s been told he has his father’s facial structure, with the sharp lines and defined cheekbones, but undoubtedly has his mother’s eyes—a pale hazel color. His hair is dark brown and he usually fluffs it up a bit before going anywhere, otherwise it tends to fall over his forehead a bit. When he’s out in public, Fisk tends to square his shoulders and stand straighter, giving him a slightly broader appearance, but during the evenings and when he’s in his dorms, he can be spotted with a more relaxed posture and, occasionally, even a slouch.
His school uniform is, to outward viewers, perfectly standard. He wears the typical male uniform, and never takes off the jacket—partially because it helps give him the slightly boxier figure he’s going for, but mostly because of the pins and buttons he keeps on the inside. Right now there’s only a few, pinned into place over the right side of his chest; a trans pride flag, the first “He/Him Pronouns” button he ever wore to school, and a cheesy tourist “I <3 NYC” button. As a collector of pins and buttons, Fisk has every intention to cover the inside of his jacket with these bits of his personality.
Outside of the uniform, Fisk is all about layering. He tends to wear plain t-shirts or button-downs, depending on his mood and the occasion, underneath an assortment of unbuttoned/unzipped jackets, hoodies, and cardigans, typically paired with dark jeans and lace-up dress boots. In the comfort of his own dorm (or on particularly lazy days), he often dresses in cozy sweaters or cardigans and plain black sweatpants. His clothes are specifically chosen to avoid anything form-fitting without appearing loose or baggy, and he’s always wearing either a binder or a compression sports bra, giving his chest a flat appearance.
His school uniform is, to outward viewers, perfectly standard. He wears the typical male uniform, and never takes off the jacket—partially because it helps give him the slightly boxier figure he’s going for, but mostly because of the pins and buttons he keeps on the inside. Right now there’s only a few, pinned into place over the right side of his chest; a trans pride flag, the first “He/Him Pronouns” button he ever wore to school, and a cheesy tourist “I <3 NYC” button. As a collector of pins and buttons, Fisk has every intention to cover the inside of his jacket with these bits of his personality.
Outside of the uniform, Fisk is all about layering. He tends to wear plain t-shirts or button-downs, depending on his mood and the occasion, underneath an assortment of unbuttoned/unzipped jackets, hoodies, and cardigans, typically paired with dark jeans and lace-up dress boots. In the comfort of his own dorm (or on particularly lazy days), he often dresses in cozy sweaters or cardigans and plain black sweatpants. His clothes are specifically chosen to avoid anything form-fitting without appearing loose or baggy, and he’s always wearing either a binder or a compression sports bra, giving his chest a flat appearance.
| | R E P U T A T I O N | |
Fisk really has two conflicting views on his ideal social life at Marble Heights: being the kid with a solid group of friends who’s known as generally a-okay, or being the kid who only willingly talks to two people for the next three years—with the kind of name that most people don’t even recognize when it’s read out loud at graduation.
Problem is, he still hasn’t decided which approach he wants to take.
So Fisk hovers between forcibly-extroverted and reluctantly-introverted. He makes efforts to join conversations and befriend his classmates, but sometimes it can come across as lukewarm. Or, he shrinks back into his shell, keeps his head down and stays quiet, but there’s a look in his eyes like he wants nothing more than to be part of a group.
But as much as he’d like to fly under the radar, he can’t help himself—he’s the kind of guy to stop and help someone pick up their books in the hallway, to stand up to people he doesn’t know for someone else he doesn’t know, to sit down with a crying classmate at lunch when no one else will. He’s the kind of kid who sometimes dives deeper than he can swim but still pushes his way through the haze of what the fuck did I just do?
Problem is, he still hasn’t decided which approach he wants to take.
So Fisk hovers between forcibly-extroverted and reluctantly-introverted. He makes efforts to join conversations and befriend his classmates, but sometimes it can come across as lukewarm. Or, he shrinks back into his shell, keeps his head down and stays quiet, but there’s a look in his eyes like he wants nothing more than to be part of a group.
But as much as he’d like to fly under the radar, he can’t help himself—he’s the kind of guy to stop and help someone pick up their books in the hallway, to stand up to people he doesn’t know for someone else he doesn’t know, to sit down with a crying classmate at lunch when no one else will. He’s the kind of kid who sometimes dives deeper than he can swim but still pushes his way through the haze of what the fuck did I just do?
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O F F T H E R E C O R D
| | H I S T O R Y | |
Fisk’s story, as many do, starts with his parents. Nikole Halloway is the daughter of long-time New York state congressman Richard Halloway, born and raised on the outskirts of bustling NYC. She runs Hallowed Industries, a prominent technology and communication enterprise she started at 20 years old. When they met, John Seward was a well-known math genius working in corporate financial analysis, persuaded by Richard Halloway to tour Hallowed Industries and consider taking a lead job in the company. He and Nikole quickly became a leading power-couple in the New York business scene, and they married two years later—John happily taking Nikole’s last name on the belief that it would be far more prominent than his own ever could.
Fisk is the only child of this dynamic duo, and was assigned female at birth. For most of his life, they’ve tried to be attentive parents—still, there are plenty of events they missed, dinners eaten with the nanny watching a press conference on TV, goodnights whispered into the darkness of his room long after he’s fallen asleep. They try to make time for bonding, though—with his mom, it’s going on long drives away from the city, blasting soundtracks to any one of dozens of musicals they’ve seen on Broadway. Or quietly humming in their seats, trying not to disturb the audience within the theatres themselves. With his dad, it’s watching movies and crying unashamedly through the entire thing, sharing a box of tissues and a pizza. And, when John has the time to spare, math homework—Fisk is absolutely, terribly hopeless at the subject. The only time it makes sense is in biology, and neither Fisk nor his father understand why that gets a pass.
Fisk, until this year, attended school near New York City. His freshman year of high school, he decided to join the Drama Club, fueled by a love of theatre and the whole swath of his friends that were planning to join too. Almost halfway through the year, in an exercise about playing characters out of their comfort zones, Fisk was charged with portraying the role of a male lead. He remembers that week, and the constant bursts of euphoria, the feeling of loss every time he had to take the costume off—and realizing that this was his missing piece. The world clicked together in a way he didn’t know it could, and so much suddenly made sense; the constant struggle to like himself, the feeling like his place in society was an ill-fitting costume that chafed. A few weeks later, he cut his hair short and started trying out different names and pronouns around school.
To his delight, much of his school was accepting. There were the occasional bad eggs, but it was all-in-all a pretty wholesome experience. Home was a slightly different battle—one where Fisk never actually came out to his parents. He was reasonably certain they would accept him, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to have a full image to present to them, wanted to know who he was and what this meant for him before he finally told them. And he needed time for that. Time, and space, away from the people who knew the person they thought he was.
That’s why, at a rare family dinner one night, he brought up Marble Heights Academy. To his parents, it was a place where he could receive the best in education and make sure he’s starting his life on the right foot. For Fisk, it’s freedom and an opportunity to explore his identity, now that he finally knows the name he wants to give to the world.
Fisk is the only child of this dynamic duo, and was assigned female at birth. For most of his life, they’ve tried to be attentive parents—still, there are plenty of events they missed, dinners eaten with the nanny watching a press conference on TV, goodnights whispered into the darkness of his room long after he’s fallen asleep. They try to make time for bonding, though—with his mom, it’s going on long drives away from the city, blasting soundtracks to any one of dozens of musicals they’ve seen on Broadway. Or quietly humming in their seats, trying not to disturb the audience within the theatres themselves. With his dad, it’s watching movies and crying unashamedly through the entire thing, sharing a box of tissues and a pizza. And, when John has the time to spare, math homework—Fisk is absolutely, terribly hopeless at the subject. The only time it makes sense is in biology, and neither Fisk nor his father understand why that gets a pass.
Fisk, until this year, attended school near New York City. His freshman year of high school, he decided to join the Drama Club, fueled by a love of theatre and the whole swath of his friends that were planning to join too. Almost halfway through the year, in an exercise about playing characters out of their comfort zones, Fisk was charged with portraying the role of a male lead. He remembers that week, and the constant bursts of euphoria, the feeling of loss every time he had to take the costume off—and realizing that this was his missing piece. The world clicked together in a way he didn’t know it could, and so much suddenly made sense; the constant struggle to like himself, the feeling like his place in society was an ill-fitting costume that chafed. A few weeks later, he cut his hair short and started trying out different names and pronouns around school.
To his delight, much of his school was accepting. There were the occasional bad eggs, but it was all-in-all a pretty wholesome experience. Home was a slightly different battle—one where Fisk never actually came out to his parents. He was reasonably certain they would accept him, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to have a full image to present to them, wanted to know who he was and what this meant for him before he finally told them. And he needed time for that. Time, and space, away from the people who knew the person they thought he was.
That’s why, at a rare family dinner one night, he brought up Marble Heights Academy. To his parents, it was a place where he could receive the best in education and make sure he’s starting his life on the right foot. For Fisk, it’s freedom and an opportunity to explore his identity, now that he finally knows the name he wants to give to the world.
| | B E Y O N D M Y R E P U T A T I O N | |
Fisk knew his exact approach to social life back in New York. Everyone in his grade knew him, and a lot of people above his grade had at least heard his name. He was generally well-liked, but he had a bit of a knack for sticking his nose into trouble and trying to resolve it—and everyone knew it. He was the too-nice kid, the helper, and the devoted mother-hen of his social group. But he was also the kid who cut his hair off halfway through freshman year, who changed his name and his pronouns out of, to most people, seemingly nowhere. And as accepting as the school seemed to be, that’s why he needed to leave—he needed to figure out who he was without the reputation and the expectations.
He also has a way-too-emotional side—something he gets from his father. It’s the one common thread between Fisk and his claw-your-way-to-the-top, math genius dad, the man who can charm his way through hundreds of acquaintances but thinks his wife is his only real friend. Yet the two bond over their ridiculously sappy natures. Every time Fisk has to hide his teary eyes through the end of an emotional movie—any emotion will do—or an even slightly sad song, he can’t help but text his dad a ludicrous amount of crying emojis.
His bond with his mother stems from a deep love of singing and drama. While Fisk’s mom doesn’t have a worthwhile acting bone in her body, she loves theatre productions and took him as often as possible when he was a kid, ingraining an appreciation that fanned into something more. She also has a decent singing voice, and Fisk has been developing his from a pretty young age, certainly surpassing her skill level.
He also has a way-too-emotional side—something he gets from his father. It’s the one common thread between Fisk and his claw-your-way-to-the-top, math genius dad, the man who can charm his way through hundreds of acquaintances but thinks his wife is his only real friend. Yet the two bond over their ridiculously sappy natures. Every time Fisk has to hide his teary eyes through the end of an emotional movie—any emotion will do—or an even slightly sad song, he can’t help but text his dad a ludicrous amount of crying emojis.
His bond with his mother stems from a deep love of singing and drama. While Fisk’s mom doesn’t have a worthwhile acting bone in her body, she loves theatre productions and took him as often as possible when he was a kid, ingraining an appreciation that fanned into something more. She also has a decent singing voice, and Fisk has been developing his from a pretty young age, certainly surpassing her skill level.
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A C A D E M I C S
| | E X T R A C U R R I C U L A R A C T I V I T I E S | |
- Theatre Club
| | B E S T & W O R S T S U B J E C T S | |
| B E S T |
| W O R S T |
- English
- Biology
| W O R S T |
- Anything resembling Math
- This includes the Sciences
- (Except, inexplicably, Biology)
| | E X T R A N O T E S | |
- While Fisk is not afraid of people knowing he’s transgender, he’s doing his best to keep it on the down-low.
- His legal name is “Bea Halloway”, but Fisk will have done everything in his power to make sure the only place it would appear is in legal paperwork.