you.
name: J
age: 19
contact: operative36
rp experience: A LOST RPG, Heroes, Batman, a few original RPGs
how did you hear about us?: wanna_rp
character.
name: Carl William Craft
nickname(s): Alpha, Bobby, Steven Kepler
pb: Alan Tudyk
fairy tale & character: Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse, Carl William Craft AKA Alpha
age: Thirty-four
room: C117, with no roommates as he is considered a danger to others
doctor: Dr Lita Kino
diagnosis: Dissociative Personality Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Agoraphobia, Delusional Disorder, Extreme Paranoia, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Superiority Complex
personality: Alpha doesn’t just have a split personality, despite his claim to having 48 personalities (one of whom is a split personality). He can be best described as a knitted blanket, with many different threads combining together to create the, ‘Alpha’ persona. He maintains control most of the time, and can choose which personality is dominant (although certain, ‘smaller’ personalities occasionally ‘die off’ when not fed) and in times of extreme stress, those threads disentangle and fray before he can hastily jumble them back together into a bizarre ‘hive mind’ that forms the creature known as Alpha.
One of these personalities is, ‘Bobby’, a cunning masochistic criminal with a penchant for torture. Another is Steven Kepler, the designer of the ‘Dollhouse’, who Alpha imitates perfectly. Kepler is nervous, environmental and agoraphobic. Most of the time, he is aggressive, brutal, unstable, and so unpredictable that even he can only take a gamble on what he’ll do next.
He considers himself an, ‘evolved mind’, a new stage of human evolution that gives him license to do whatever he wants.
history: Alpha was born Carl William Craft in El Paso, Texas. He was raised by his mother, and the true parentage of his father forever remained unknown. His mother told tales of being seduced by a Vietnam war veteran named Jack Worthy, but this was generally disbelieved. Her extended family expressed a great deal of suspicion that Carl’s violent grandfather was also his father. The point became moot, as his grandfather and possible father died shortly before he was born. His mother, uncle and aunt raised him, with his uncle being a father figure. He was often very involved with Uncle Craft’s hobby of taxidermy, gaining a morbid fascination for knives. Through theft, he amassed his own collection of knives, and soon began killing neighbourhood animals. He amassed a large graveyard of animals, and continued well into his late teens. However, he began to hunger for larger prey.
In his early twenties, Carl kidnapped a young woman named Nita Walsh. He kept her for days, slashing up her face before being caught. He didn’t get a chance to kill her, but all evidence (the premeditation, the ‘murder kit’ found in his car) pointed to a budding serial killer. While in prison, his mother, uncle and aunt died in a house fire, leading to increased stress on Carl’s part. His attorney eventually managed to get him moved to a mental facility, and it was here that Alpha was born.
Put on sedatives, he became calm and collected most of the time. The real Carl boiled under the surface, and unable to enact his savage tendencies, he created a fantasy world to play in. The characters in this world were all based on people he knew in the facility, such as Steven Kepler and Bobby. He began to study them like animals, and grew increasingly delusional. He referred to the other patients as, ‘empty dolls’ due to the effects of numerous medications, and called the facility, ‘the dollhouse’.
‘Bobby’ and other personalities that he imagined began to speak to him, eventually convincing him to throw up his sedatives. He became enamoured with a fellow patient named Caroline Farrell. It was this infatuation that led to him attacking another patient who had insulted Farrell unintentionally. He slashed said person’s face brutally, and was dragged away to be sedated. He blinded the orderly trying to subdue him, murdered a doctor, and tried to escape before being stopped by a brave security guard who tackled him off the second floor. The guard was paralysed, and all the screaming voices in Carl’s head interwove to become Alpha.
It was concluded that Alpha’s problems were too vast to be treated by the current facility (especially with the staff members’ hatred towards him). And so, he was sent to Cheshire Crossing.
examples:
First Person
The little one’s gone.
They keep talking, talking, talking, saying all these stupid things about ‘curing’ me….I don’t need cured. I’m not sick, and neither are the rest of us. I’m not simple and streamlined, I’m evolved….developed….higher minded….and they insist on tricking us. For people here it’s Rorschach and Prozac and everything is groovy, everything is fine!
The quiet one’s gone.
I am different, and I am going to show them that I am different and they need to be different too.
Shut up, you’re a psychopath
STOP WRITING TO ME.
Third Person (taken from one of my other journals)
Theodore ‘T-Bag’ Bagwell raised his face, coughing up a good deal of sand and warm blood. He blinked back the water in his eyes, and tried to regain his sense of composure as he shakily stood. Within a few seconds, what had happened became clear. And his confusion, therefore, gave way to an intense anger.
His face twisted and contorted in varying states of emotion; fury, terror, grief, frustration, and finally he let out a long, animalistic howl. “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! God-damn it!”
He slapped his remaining hand to his forehead, which throbbed. He quickly checked the rest of his body; cuts and nicks all over, but miraculously nothing serious. His most alarming injury was a long (but superficial) gash along his arm. One arm of his jacket was torn off, and the knees of his trousers were shredded. He continued forward, wandering like a confused drunk with no idea of his destination. He just needed to walk this off, to regain his thoughts.
There were other people around here, too, some appearing a lot different than others. But it didn’t bother or concern him just now. Not with the fresh, familiar smell of dusty copper that he associated with the bloody and dead. Some were helping, some were screaming for help. He saw an upturned seat, and collapsed into it.
The plane had always been a mistake. Even before he’d stepped into the plane, or the airport, or even the cab, he’d known it was a mistake. Cole Pfeiffer? Really? He wasn’t a sales rep, he couldn’t lead a normal life. He couldn’t be a normal person no matter how much he wanted to. He’d done nothing more than stolen an identity and put on the acting performance of a life-time. He’d charmed everyone, in the way he’d done so many times in life. His first girlfriend, his first boyfriend, all those teenagers just on the wrong side of eighteen, Susan Hollander and her kids, the Alliance for Purity, Maytag, Jeanette, Denise, Lechero, Mary Francis….the list was endless. Simply endless.
Susan was his last hope for a real life, a normal life. He’d loved her with a passion unlike anything he had ever felt, a passion that came with a hope for a better life. A way to put his lineage in the past. The details of his birth, his father, his murderous nature, his racism. But how much of that was truly part of him?
The racism, certainly, was for appearances. A simple mask to aid his position of power within prison. Maybe in his early life he’d believed in it, and it still remained to a certain extent, but mostly it was gone. The side of him that killed without remorse, however…that remained. Oh, boy, did it remain.
He lifted himself out of his chair, with a fresh panic in his mind. The bird book. The one that had once belonged to a now deceased James Whistler, the one that would lead up to Scofield eventually. Having regained his energy, he dashed as quickly as he could, overturning what he could as his eyes darted about rapidly.
picture:
name: J
age: 19
contact: operative36
rp experience: A LOST RPG, Heroes, Batman, a few original RPGs
how did you hear about us?: wanna_rp
character.
name: Carl William Craft
nickname(s): Alpha, Bobby, Steven Kepler
pb: Alan Tudyk
fairy tale & character: Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse, Carl William Craft AKA Alpha
age: Thirty-four
room: C117, with no roommates as he is considered a danger to others
doctor: Dr Lita Kino
diagnosis: Dissociative Personality Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Agoraphobia, Delusional Disorder, Extreme Paranoia, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Superiority Complex
personality: Alpha doesn’t just have a split personality, despite his claim to having 48 personalities (one of whom is a split personality). He can be best described as a knitted blanket, with many different threads combining together to create the, ‘Alpha’ persona. He maintains control most of the time, and can choose which personality is dominant (although certain, ‘smaller’ personalities occasionally ‘die off’ when not fed) and in times of extreme stress, those threads disentangle and fray before he can hastily jumble them back together into a bizarre ‘hive mind’ that forms the creature known as Alpha.
One of these personalities is, ‘Bobby’, a cunning masochistic criminal with a penchant for torture. Another is Steven Kepler, the designer of the ‘Dollhouse’, who Alpha imitates perfectly. Kepler is nervous, environmental and agoraphobic. Most of the time, he is aggressive, brutal, unstable, and so unpredictable that even he can only take a gamble on what he’ll do next.
He considers himself an, ‘evolved mind’, a new stage of human evolution that gives him license to do whatever he wants.
history: Alpha was born Carl William Craft in El Paso, Texas. He was raised by his mother, and the true parentage of his father forever remained unknown. His mother told tales of being seduced by a Vietnam war veteran named Jack Worthy, but this was generally disbelieved. Her extended family expressed a great deal of suspicion that Carl’s violent grandfather was also his father. The point became moot, as his grandfather and possible father died shortly before he was born. His mother, uncle and aunt raised him, with his uncle being a father figure. He was often very involved with Uncle Craft’s hobby of taxidermy, gaining a morbid fascination for knives. Through theft, he amassed his own collection of knives, and soon began killing neighbourhood animals. He amassed a large graveyard of animals, and continued well into his late teens. However, he began to hunger for larger prey.
In his early twenties, Carl kidnapped a young woman named Nita Walsh. He kept her for days, slashing up her face before being caught. He didn’t get a chance to kill her, but all evidence (the premeditation, the ‘murder kit’ found in his car) pointed to a budding serial killer. While in prison, his mother, uncle and aunt died in a house fire, leading to increased stress on Carl’s part. His attorney eventually managed to get him moved to a mental facility, and it was here that Alpha was born.
Put on sedatives, he became calm and collected most of the time. The real Carl boiled under the surface, and unable to enact his savage tendencies, he created a fantasy world to play in. The characters in this world were all based on people he knew in the facility, such as Steven Kepler and Bobby. He began to study them like animals, and grew increasingly delusional. He referred to the other patients as, ‘empty dolls’ due to the effects of numerous medications, and called the facility, ‘the dollhouse’.
‘Bobby’ and other personalities that he imagined began to speak to him, eventually convincing him to throw up his sedatives. He became enamoured with a fellow patient named Caroline Farrell. It was this infatuation that led to him attacking another patient who had insulted Farrell unintentionally. He slashed said person’s face brutally, and was dragged away to be sedated. He blinded the orderly trying to subdue him, murdered a doctor, and tried to escape before being stopped by a brave security guard who tackled him off the second floor. The guard was paralysed, and all the screaming voices in Carl’s head interwove to become Alpha.
It was concluded that Alpha’s problems were too vast to be treated by the current facility (especially with the staff members’ hatred towards him). And so, he was sent to Cheshire Crossing.
examples:
First Person
The little one’s gone.
They keep talking, talking, talking, saying all these stupid things about ‘curing’ me….I don’t need cured. I’m not sick, and neither are the rest of us. I’m not simple and streamlined, I’m evolved….developed….higher minded….and they insist on tricking us. For people here it’s Rorschach and Prozac and everything is groovy, everything is fine!
The quiet one’s gone.
I am different, and I am going to show them that I am different and they need to be different too.
Shut up, you’re a psychopath
STOP WRITING TO ME.
Third Person (taken from one of my other journals)
Theodore ‘T-Bag’ Bagwell raised his face, coughing up a good deal of sand and warm blood. He blinked back the water in his eyes, and tried to regain his sense of composure as he shakily stood. Within a few seconds, what had happened became clear. And his confusion, therefore, gave way to an intense anger.
His face twisted and contorted in varying states of emotion; fury, terror, grief, frustration, and finally he let out a long, animalistic howl. “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! God-damn it!”
He slapped his remaining hand to his forehead, which throbbed. He quickly checked the rest of his body; cuts and nicks all over, but miraculously nothing serious. His most alarming injury was a long (but superficial) gash along his arm. One arm of his jacket was torn off, and the knees of his trousers were shredded. He continued forward, wandering like a confused drunk with no idea of his destination. He just needed to walk this off, to regain his thoughts.
There were other people around here, too, some appearing a lot different than others. But it didn’t bother or concern him just now. Not with the fresh, familiar smell of dusty copper that he associated with the bloody and dead. Some were helping, some were screaming for help. He saw an upturned seat, and collapsed into it.
The plane had always been a mistake. Even before he’d stepped into the plane, or the airport, or even the cab, he’d known it was a mistake. Cole Pfeiffer? Really? He wasn’t a sales rep, he couldn’t lead a normal life. He couldn’t be a normal person no matter how much he wanted to. He’d done nothing more than stolen an identity and put on the acting performance of a life-time. He’d charmed everyone, in the way he’d done so many times in life. His first girlfriend, his first boyfriend, all those teenagers just on the wrong side of eighteen, Susan Hollander and her kids, the Alliance for Purity, Maytag, Jeanette, Denise, Lechero, Mary Francis….the list was endless. Simply endless.
Susan was his last hope for a real life, a normal life. He’d loved her with a passion unlike anything he had ever felt, a passion that came with a hope for a better life. A way to put his lineage in the past. The details of his birth, his father, his murderous nature, his racism. But how much of that was truly part of him?
The racism, certainly, was for appearances. A simple mask to aid his position of power within prison. Maybe in his early life he’d believed in it, and it still remained to a certain extent, but mostly it was gone. The side of him that killed without remorse, however…that remained. Oh, boy, did it remain.
He lifted himself out of his chair, with a fresh panic in his mind. The bird book. The one that had once belonged to a now deceased James Whistler, the one that would lead up to Scofield eventually. Having regained his energy, he dashed as quickly as he could, overturning what he could as his eyes darted about rapidly.
picture:
