Registry of the Evolved Database
File #01 Jul 2010 08:39
|
 James Marsden |
The flame between Theodore Ward and Dalia Benton was a quick-burning one indeed. It all began when Theodore, a handsome young American accountant with a brilliant hand in the stock market, went on a business trip to Paris and fell in lust with Dalia, a rich heiress of the highest beauty. It was a whirlwind romance indeed, and only three months after they met, they were married. It was a small, sensible wedding in Paris: all of Dalia's small family was there, but very little of Theodore's could make it. Both of them being concerned with keeping their family name alive, they hyphenated; and though Dalia wanted a big white wedding, Theodore was concerned with money despite having it in abundance. It was the first point of tension, but Theodore's sensibility won out in the end, and the wedding was small and Catholic, in a cathedral on a hill.
And so began the unhappy marriage of Theodore and Dalia Benton-Ward.
The passion died shortly into the marriage as it became clear the Dalia wanted to spend money and Theodore wanted to save it. Theodore was a quite, severe man—quite handsome, indeed, but with a stern, no-nonsense personality to match. Flighty, effusive Dalia soon fell unhappy in her marriage. Theodore was never abusive, but he was never emotionally nourishing either, and that in itself was a kind of abuse for the unhappy Dalia. If she spent unnecessarily or not thriftily enough, she'd get an angry lecture from her husband. After one such argument, Dalia demanded a divorce, not even a year into the marriage, but Theodore didn't believe in divorce, for they were one under the eyes of God, and Theodore was raised in a very strict, Catholic family. And so Dalia began to save money for her escape. Unfortunately that escape was not to come to fruition for many years yet, and not in the way she had planned. Instead there was a different bump in the road: a baby bump that would eventually become Tobias Cameron Benton-Ward.
The pregnancy was simultaneously a happy and unhappy one for Dalia: while it was rough physically, the knowledge that there was a baby growing inside her who would love her far more than her husband did was nourishing for the Parisian woman. Nine months passed, and Toby was born into a family where his father looked forward to his junior businessman protege, and his mother looked forward to a companion.
It was an odd dichotomy for Toby as he grew up. As a child, he was a flighty dreamer with his mother's emotional side, and he had no care for his father's pursuits. Living in such a small, spartan home, he had no idea they were exceedingly rich: they never went out to eat, never seemed to have money for frivolity — though he never wanted for necessities. Toby was terrible at math, and simply didn't care for it. He was more into art and music, and going window shopping with his mother. While Theodore tried to groom the dreamer out of him, Dalia fed it, taking him out and showing him the beauty in the world. She never crossed her husband outright, but she encouraged those tendencies which Theodore despised.
Toby was a cheerful little boy, who always had an enormous heart and a likewise enormous gaggle of friends. He was always well-behaved in school, though not always paying attention. He often doodled on his schoolwork, but the teachers liked him enough to let him off with a gentle reproach. And sometimes not even that. He excelled in English and the arts, was okay at History, and terrible at Science and Math. As Toby made it to high school with middling grades and a burgeoning social life, Theodore took it on himself to send him to a business leadership camp. Toby tried it the first time and despised it: no one was any fun, everything was so serious, and the theory was so boring and difficult to grasp. But Theodore sent him every summer during high school, and every summer Toby went without complaint because it made his father happier knowing Toby was getting an education in business. High school itself was all about the parties for Toby: he was in all the shows (which his father never attended, but his mother attended with something almost resembling frequency), he had all the friends, and basically viewed the whole experience as one big roller coaster ride. He graduated with a theatre scholarship to NYU, and on a whim decided he'd try for his LPN. Of course, being bad at science and math, this didn't go well for him, and he dropped out.
He had, by this time, moved out on his own, which left his mother devastated. No longer could she dote on her little Toby, and she was once left again with the bleak and unfeeling marriage she'd unwittingly chosen for herself. Depression sank in. Theodore had officially disowned his son after he dropped out of nursing school. A brief, cold argument with Dalia left her with a bottle of painkillers, a bottle of sleeping pills, and a generous addition of alcohol. She was found dead in the morning, no note, no will, no nothing. Theodore, always so cool and collected, was not so much in the aftermath of her death. Were there signs? How could he have missed them? Contrary to Dalia's perceptions, Theodore did love her, but her habits drove him a little crazy and he took her presence for granted; and now she was dead on the couch. He spent the week in a haze, and at some point something turned off in his brain. By the weekend he was underwater beneath the Brooklyn Bridge.
Toby was hit first with the news of his mother's death, and he was astounded. Appalled. Concerned. Certainly he spent a few hours in a disbelieving fugue until he pulled out of it with intent to see a brighter future, and not let her death be in vain. (In vain of what, he would just make up as he went along.) When his father died, he was floored again, but again he covered the pain with optimism and silver linings.
There was one silver lining he didn't expect, however: because his parents had not gotten around to setting up their wills (so unlike Theodore, and yet perhaps Dalia's emotional pleas had sunk in once) all of their assets were left to him as their closest remaining relative. It was, quite frankly, a fortune in stocks, bonds, funds, and cash. Never being one for foresight, Toby cashed in everything… though the man he saw about it convinced him to keep a few things around to generate more income. After a six-month stint during all this when he'd worked as a Starbuck's barista, he decided to go back to school for theater. He eventually graduated, and feeling the need for more companionship, he adopted Rugby, a three-year-old Corgi who had been abandoned at the shelter. Rugby has become his child, and is the focus of his abundant love and care. Wherever Toby goes, Rugby goes, provided he's able to be admitted. Whenever he's performing, going to the movies, or things of that nature, he will usually leave Rugby with one of his many friends, who are generally happy to take care of him, as he's fairly well-behaved. At any rate, he got a place in Greenwich Village, and lived the high life.
A year and change passed, and when the solar eclipse happened, Toby thought little of it, aside from the Solar Eclipse Party he had. (It was a killer party, after all: practically everyone left in a better mood than they came.) But in the morning, he woke up to Rugby sitting on his chest and whining for food, as was usual with the dog. Somehow, it was clear — clearer than usual, that is — that Rugby was hungry. Moderately hungry, and could go for some kibble. And maybe any party leftovers. Also Toby's waking up! And that's exciting! Excitement! This was, understandably, a bit confusing for the man. But he chalked it up to some intuitive new understanding of Rugby's moods. No big deal. But when he was busy in the kitchen fixing Rugby some food and the dog was elsewhere, he could feel a ping of Suspicion! Someone's approaching! several seconds before he heard a peep from him. Now it was getting eerie.
As the days wore on, he start getting pings from all the dogs he saw and even some he didn't. They were all fuzzy sort of emotional states being thrown his way: Hungry! Lonely… Happyhappyhappy! PLAYTIME! After all, dogs don't tend to think in concrete terms. At first, Toby thought he was going crazy, but he's never been one to eschew a gift, and though he brought it up to closer friends, he decided to try and embrace it. And, furthermore, play with it, and test it. Perhaps he could talk back.
So he started with Rugby. And soon he was able to think simple commands to him, giving him basic emotional impressions of what he wanted the dog to do. And though the dog, obviously, never had to comply, he often did. So long as it made sense to him, anyways. As time went on, he found he could do the same with other dogs. As time wore on, he started finding he could do other things, like start collecting sensory information from dogs. And use his own sensory telepathy to help calm them. He also learned the drawbacks meant getting headaches and bloody noses, or sometimes it would go haywire, and the wrong things would get transmitted.
Life continued, and for a while, he alternated between focusing on that and focusing on his career, which is changing a few months at a time as he tries new things: everything from garbage man to janitor to actor to basically anything that doesn't need a specific college degree. He eventually landed on glass blowing as a hobby, and found he thoroughly enjoyed it. Buying up some studio space, he started producing his own stuff, and soon started setting up shop on the street, selling his baubles to the general public. As he is wont to do, he started making friends with the local homeless as well through that, often donating some of his proceedings to those around him, as well as making gifts of his stuff.
But life never goes smoothly, and certainly didn't go smoothly for New York, late 2006. He happened, by stroke of luck, to be out of town when the bomb hit. He watched from the West coast as destruction spread, and chaos ensued. With his flat being pretty damn close to ground zero, there was no way he'd be getting back to any semblance of his old life. Though he mourned the heavy loss of life, aghast that someone or someones could do such a thing, he was determined to make the best of it. Glad as ever that he took Rugby with, as he usually did, he elected to stay with his friends in California a bit longer. What a crazy-random happenstance, that some friend and convinced him off-shore accounts were all the rage! His swiss bank account, still stuffed with all that money, let him live comfortably as he waited out the immediate aftermath. By the time March rolled around, he returned, and decided to begin his life as a homeless man, taking to the harsh life with an adventurous interest. He lasted all of two months before missing his creature comforts, and started rotating through apartments every six months or so as new jobs, hobbies, and interests caught his eye, earning money here and there though he hardly needed it. He tried to take in the people he could, to help them if they were on hard times, and he donated generous amounts to the relief, as well as a lot of his time and effort. He did grunt work and paperpushing for Red Cross, and other volunteer relief organizations quite heavily.
Then of course, came the announcements: there were Evolved who had extraordinary abilities. This came as very little surprise, given his own experiences, but there was some amazement at the breadth and wealth of abilities out there. What really came as a shock is that a single person could cause that much destruction. He was shocked, and appalled, but also sympathetic: he knew how involuntary these powers could be. But when the Linderman Act came into power, Toby was shocked, appalled, and very much not sympathetic. How could they treat Evolved as criminals? And he'd heard the rumors through his extensive grapevine, that some of the Evolved considered more dangerous just…disappear. This did not sit well with him, and he refused to register. No one would know anyways.
So he was careful, and decided the world needed more happiness and pretty things. So he located new studio space, and began his glass-blowing hobby again, and again he distributed on the streets, though he rarely charged anymore. This kept him busy, until the theatres started to open again. Recalling his passion for acting, he started getting into shows, doing his glass-blowing on the side. Life was starting to pick up again.
There was one night, however, when a rather overenthusiastic mugger decided to go after what meager earnings Toby had from that night of selling glass-blown trinkets. Of course, being as quick as he was to dismiss costs to those less fortunate, he had very little, and in frustration, the mugger lashed out in anger. He kicked Rugby. And Toby, appalled, tried to demand the mugger leave, which earned him a stabbing. He was sent to the hospital for a fairly routine fix-up.
Unfortunately, he left one Registration card richer than when he went in. He felt rather betrayed and upset, but of course it was probably done in his best interest, and who can fault that? And now that the government had tabs on him, the only thing he felt he could do was follow their regulations, and go through the motions. He paid his fine, he was slotted as a Tier-0, and he's kept up his renewal ever since.
And so life went on. He threw himself into his job and his hobbies, into socializing and living and making friends and connections. And these connections came in particular handy when one of his friends, Steven Grant, manifested in the middle of a show, as he forgot his lines, and the adrenaline spike caused everything he touched — including the leading lady — to be ripped apart at the molecular level and dispersed into the air. His reaction to this, compounded with the rest of the cast's reactions and the destruction of the curtain, proved that this was not at all a part of the show and mass panic ensued. Toby managed to get his friend away from the theatre, and after some effort calmed him down enough that the blue glow to his palms subsided and he could touch things again. He started asking around his known Evolved contacts, knowing that Steven would be forcibly registered as a Tier 3 for that, and … well… disappear.
Thankfully, one of his contacts was with the Ferrymen, and they helped get Steven out of the country before the government (or the Company) could get to him. Toby was close by in this process, and it interested him. It was nice to be able to help someone so much. So he talked to the Ferrymen, and they checked him out, and he was accepted in.
Since then, he's been acting as a coyote for the Ferrymen, getting the dangerous ones out and helping the rest hide. He has a blast with it, as he gets to help out people and travel and all sorts of fun stuff! Since then, that's been his main focus, juggling that with his acting and glass-blowing and all kinds of hobbies. Before the most recent freak Winter, Toby happened to be out doing a show in California, but upon hearing news of the missing Ferrymen operatives, he's come back to help, and has volunteered to help with being superintendent at Gun Hill in Lynette's absence (and afterwards as well).
Fashionisto, aesthete, and all around connoisseur of life, Toby has an eye for style and a thirst for fun. He has a love of fine things: fine clothing, fine music, fine arts; but he's far too much of a bon vivant to let that make him stuffy. Quite the opposite, in fact: his love of life means he can find enjoyment in just about anything, from thrift store threads to Dolce & Gabbana. Constantly on the look out for new experiences, Toby loves people and crowds, being the center of attention, and best of all, he loves entertaining. He is upbeat and enthusiastic, and generally accepting of everyone.
Toby is generally not one to eschew emotion; he feels strongly and sympathizes for those around him. He has a big heart and a desire to care for the people he meets. He has a strong desire to be a good person, and he tends to think the best of most people, quite strongly. However, once crossed — and it takes a lot to cross him — that changes to a stubborn and vehement dislike. Registration happens to be the object of one of those dislikes, despite the fact that he keeps his own (involuntary) Registration up to date. He doesn't think anyone should have to Register.
Toby likes to talk, a lot. He'll talk about whatever's on his mind. Be it fashion or his new ambitions, or his opinions. Or about this new place that is just fantastic and everyone should try it. He is friendly, flamboyant, and charming, always making friends wherever he's able. He just has one of those magnetic, wonderful personalities that draws people to him, and that sits with him just fine.
Toby also tends to be incredibly flighty and spontaneous. He tries very hard to be reliable for his friends and his projects (work can, at times, be included in projects) but his attention is hard to hold for long. He cycles between jobs quite often due to this nature, and takes the opportunity to try something new quite often. He's worked the down-and-dirty jobs, though they didn't appeal to him for long; he's worked as an actor as well, and all sorts of things in between. He is the type to gain a new interest and proceed to throw himself whole-heartedly into it. And when he's lost interest, it was an intriguing endeavor and well worth the time and heart he put into it. Everything's worth a shot — how will you know you like it if you don't try it?
Under a great deal of stress, Toby will sometimes get a bit more frenetic and flighty, forgetting his appointments and just generally flitting from one thing to the next in a restless sort of way. Though he's a diehard optimist, if it looks like the road ahead is so completely bleak that there is no optimism to be had, he'll make up a reason. He can't thrive under depression: it'd crush his pour free-spirited soul. Though Toby has a few dark secrets, he chooses not to share them. The world doesn't need more darkness; it's bleak enough as it is!
Finally, Toby has a pembroke welsh corgi named Rugby, a six-year-old he adopted from the humane society before the bomb. This dog is essentially his child. He loves and adores and spoils this corgi beyond anything, and takes it with him everywhere. Where Toby goes, Rugby goes, and in a little sweater, usually, too. Rugby is trained enough that Toby can balance sunglasses on the dog's nose and have him not react for long enough for a picture to be taken. When Rugby is not permitted into a place, Toby either charms his way in with the dog, or sets him up outside, where he'll follow directions to sit, stay, and allow pats but will bite anyone who tries to pick him up. Rugby is one of the few consistent loves in Toby's life.
And speaking of love, Toby has explored and fallen into relationships of all kinds, every time giving his all, and most of the time able to understand and embrace when the relationship passes. It is never a failed relationship to him, but a whole experience. Though he may hurt from time to time, he doesn't show it easily, and he generally stays in contact and friends with his former loves. It could be said he loves his close friends as passionately as he's loved his lovers, just in a platonic way. He rarely does anything half-way.
Basic Telepathy: Toby can talk to and understand any member of the canine family through his mind. Though they do not communicate in words or even in any way that allows for a "conversation," they give off emotional impressions and he's able to communicate in the same way. He can't give any complex orders, but he can generally urge a dog to do anything they would do in the normal course of a day. For example, telling a dog to balance on a beach ball would get a quizzical 'huh?' more often than not. If the dog were a circus dog trained in the exotic art of beach-ball-balancing, however, it would be able to comprehend that. When he gives these urges, the dog doesn't have to listen, and very well may not. It's more compulsory than a verbal command, because it's like mental impulse to the dog, but it's not, by any means, mind control. And even if the dog should choose to follow through, depending on the amount of attention the task takes, it may get distracted or side-tracked before it can complete it. Toby can only overcome a little bit of instinctual fear; if there's a serious drive to flee, he can't keep them there.
He doesn't have to always give "commands" but can give general impressions as well, such as, this smell belongs to a friendly person! Or intruder on territory! Commands are easier with domestic canids; wild canids are much more independent and less likely to allow for that kind of foreign intrusion. It's quite possible with wild canids he'll be flat out ignored, or his commands may be investigated cautiously with curiosity, but it depends on the individual. He has to know how to spin it into their own desires to get better results. For example, if he wants a wolf to go near an old campsite and the wolf is the type to avoid civilization as a rule, he might give the impression there's a rabbit over there to chase instead. That kind of thing.
It takes some effort to school back the telepathic "pings" Toby gets from other dogs as they tend to be very emotionally expressive. He has learned how to do this pretty effortlessly, but if his mental faculties are compromised, he may get a flood of emotional impressions from dogs nearby. If it's a normal city block, this would give him a headache; if it's the pound, it'd likely cause a nosebleed as well, and prolonged exposure would only make the headache worse and worse until he's damn near incapacitated.
He can talk to an absolute maximum of five dogs at a time. The instructions can be more complex the fewer dogs he's talking to. Like a blanket, his powers can only drape over so many at a time, and it's best if they're closer together. If he has more of a rapport of a dog, it's easier, but again, the fewer the dogs, the better the instructions he can give, the better it sticks in their brains.
Range: Toby can use telepathy of this nature on any dog in a five mile radius: the success is greatly increased with the rapport he has with the dog in question. Rugby, for example, will follow nearly everything he says because Loving Master Oh Boy Oh Boy! And Toby knows how to talk to Rugby, and knows what will convince him. A dog he knows a little bit, like a friend's dog, it's a better than average chance it'll understand and continue. And if it's a dog he just sees on the street, it can follow basic commands (GO HERE, BARK) but none that are terribly complex (GET ON YOUR HINDLEGS AND DANCE). A dog he's never seen and only can communicate with because it's on his "radar," so to speak, will probably have trouble keeping attention on these commands from this foreign source, unless Toby concentrates enough to see it through to completion.
Puppy Radar: Toby can feel the presence of dogs nearby, as sort of blips on a mental radar. It's more directionally focused for him: he can "feel" there's a dog somewhere off to his right, but he couldn't overlay it on a map and point out where they were. He can tell by the strength of their "ping" whether they're close or far, and their general emotional state (happy, playing, lazy, protective, scared, etc). Using this, he can pick viable candidates for dogs in the area if he needs to use his telepathy.
Feedback Link: Used only in special circumstances, Toby can open himself up to a single dog. The two share an open mental connection for as long as he's able to keep it going. This provides him with full input from the dog's senses and mental workings, so he could, for example, have a dog "spy" for him. However, this is extremely strenuous, and also very difficult to filter. Usually if he does this, the best results come if he has a tape recorder to babble into as he goes, or a piece of paper to scrawl down bits he hears/sees. Of course these are hampered or enhanced by the dogs natural senses, so any visuals will be color blind, and any scents will be incredibly descriptive. Sounds will be magnified (and perhaps hard to filter through, depending on background noise).
By opening up his end, the dog is also more suggestive to his commands since it melds their consciousnesses to a degree. They are more likely to follow his suggestions, though they have the same limitations of complexity: it must be anything that dog would do in its everyday life. Sit, stay, hide under the bench, those are good commands. Learn to play the doggy harmonica is not.
Toby can maintain this link for a maximum of ten minutes before he starts to feel serious effects from the experience, of headaches, nausea, and nosebleeds. He can go for a maximum of fifteen minutes before he passes out. He is not generally very aware of his surroundings when maintaining this link so it's best he does it in a safe place. If he's interrupted in the middle the link is forcibly severed and he gets violent backlash that, depending on the mode of interruption, may leave him powerless for a day or two while he recovers. (For example, someone tapping him on the shoulder wouldn't rouse him. Someone shaking him hard enough would snap the link, and he would get a violent headache and need to rest for a day before he tried again. Someone beaning him over the head with a baseball bat would snap the link and stop his powers for two days due to the violent feedback headaches. Not to mention the baseball-bat-induced concussion! For as long as his powers are out of commission due to a feedback snap, his eyes will be gold instead of blue and gradually shift back to their normal color.
Appendices
To see Rugby's information, go here.
Playlist
"Keep It Gay" - The Producers Soundtrack
"Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go)" - Garbage
"Creation of Man" - Scarlet Pimpernel Soundtrack
"New York, New York" - Reel Big Fish
"Fuck You" - Lily Allen
"No Business Like Show Business" -
"New York State Of Mind" - Billy Joel