Post by Deleted on May 27, 2012 22:15:01 GMT -5
Name: Mercer Parallax Jones
Age: 34
Birthdate/place: [06-09-2002]/Somewhere in Ireland, UK
Species: Human (last time he checked)
Gender: Male
Family: For reasons of temporary amnesia, possible brainwashing, and wishful thinking, Mercer has no recollection of his former life or family. In his own words: “I imagine I’m the illegitimate child of a ship-less pirate and a Galleon-a-Minute Fortune Teller on the Floo Network.” In reality, Mercer was the eldest child of two purebloods who gave the lad over to a low-end, London-based orphanage when he was a boy. Unlike his younger brothers and sister (whom were sent to Wales’ Harkness House), he has neither his biological parents’ jet black hair nor their spite. Somehow, Mercer carried a recessive gene of lighter hair and blue eyes, last seen – ironically – in an ancestor who was a pirate. He lives alone with no knowledge of his siblings, parents or former life.
Appearance:
Hair: Dark Blonde
Eyes: Deep Blue
Build/height- Lean, Athletic Build, 5'9”
General Description- Mercer is half dashing, half rogue. Not one to latch on to the formalities of wizardry, he’s given up robes for the Muggle London look. He likes long-sleeved henleys, fitted trousers, leather armbands and stylish loafers. Mercer has created his own wealth and has a taste for the finer things, choosing to invest in quality over quantity. His clothes are tailored and he’s ever well-manicured. Scars: a new scar is forming on Mercer’s left shoulder where he was recently bitten by a snake (he doesn’t remember what happened, please don’t ask). Tattoos: a set of thestral wings on his right upper arm. Black ink.
Possessions- All of Mercer’s belongings fit in to the small space that is his quarters at Hogwarts: a bed, a chest of drawers, clothes, trinkets. He recently found a chimera statue on his windowsill but he has no recollection of either purchasing or receiving it. Mercer once confided to himself in the mirror: ”Don’t panic, but I think its eyes are watching you.” Followed closely thereafter by a headache and his continued mono-dialogue: “Such a kind gift.”
Personality:
Temperament/Mental Attributes- Mercer is a genuinely good-hearted person who hides behind a crumbling shield of self-confidence and a biting tongue. He is kind, patient and at times very witty, the type of professor that children are drawn to because he inspires as much as he amuses. Mercer may seem an extrovert because of his "chosen" career but he is, in reality, a closet introvert. Anger and hurt are often veiled by humour and it’s not until everyone is gone that he’ll suffer alone in silence. He has very, very few real friends and is quite lonely, despite his fame. He hates celebrity. Recently, Mercer has shown other characteristics (largely outside the school) that are not necessarily of his own spirit or conscience.
Alliance- Good at the Heart
Alignment- Chaotic Good
Employment&Education:
-Adults-
Former House- Hufflepuff
Job- Chorus Director; Professional Musician (Lead Singer - sQuall)
Employer- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Band Management/Talent Agent: Imperium Wizard Arts
OWLs/NEWTs- Mostly As and Es. No Os.
Other:
Following Hogwarts, Mercer attended a performing arts undergraduate intensive at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts. He graduated with Honours. Mercer cannot read music (he faked his way through college) but he is highly regarded for his ear, his voice and his genuine passion for the arts. Not one to dwell in tradition, he likes to spice up the student’s wizard chorus with a little bit of rock and roll. Mercer is currently the front man of the popular music group sQuall, which is managed by Imperium Wizard Arts (IWA).
Magical Skills- Mercer is only an average wizard when it comes to magical skill. Charms, Transfiguration, DADA, Potions: he passed these courses out of necessity but he was never really pulled by them; never truly inspired to master the craft. While his classmates went on to prestigious offices in the Ministry or professional careers in business, sports and communications, he went to art school. The Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts had suffered a dwindling enrollment but he made the most of his 4 years and even perfected a uniquely wandless Sonorus spell that allowed him to project his singing voice in almost impossible ways. He hates dueling and has yet to earn his Apparition Licence.
Patronus- Thestral
Wand- 13” Wood: Gaboon Ebony, Core: Thestral Wing Bone
Goals/Aspirations- To be determined.
Other Information- Just prior to his employment with Hogwart’s, Mercer suffered from temporary amnesia. He could not remember who he was nor why he found himself laying upon the empty streets of Hogsmeade. He’s not felt quite right ever since. Mercer’s memory has slowly returned but he has large gaps of missing information, including his childhood, some relationships, and his extremely brief stint with a performing arts group called Occulta.
History:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Quoth the raven, Mr. Jones.”
- “Did you…did you just Poe me?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mercer Parallax Jones had a story not unlike others in the trying times of magical Britain, complete with the orphanage, the lost childhood and periods of growing up far faster than one should. In fact, his story was becoming so commonplace that he was almost one of the status quo, and could have lived with that fact were his adult years a bit slower and more rewarding in their development. They almost were. He almost made it half way through his thirties before everything suddenly came to a halt.
By thirty, Mercer Jones was a celebrated and dedicated performer: a backup singer for the rock opera “Grateful Undead,” the official singer of national anthems at two Quidditch World Cups, and an opening act for the 2035 Eldars, a prestigious awards ceremony celebrating the best in magical moving pictures. His career was on a steady trajectory that culminated in the offer of a lifetime: an invitation to join a reputable yet mysterious performance company known as Occulta. Mercer was approached by an enigmatic executive producer who provided a contract bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. It was clear upon reading the parchment that the company and its agents were not only sanctioned by the Ministry but also supported by immense funding. It had to be to afford the celebrity of the cast list. When questioned about the appropriateness of his own casting, the executive simply told Mercer that a significant private benefactor was a huge fan of his vocal projection and brawn.
Mercer quickly understood that he would need to call upon all his performance training, not just singing, to make the cut. He studied for months with Occulta, developing great strength and agility under the tutelage of The Choreographer, whom he never saw beyond a cloak and hood. When Mercer was then called upon to sing, members of the company would fire objects in to the sky and he would quickly obliterate them with his voice, like a bullet of harmonized air. His voice could have been a weapon…were it not seemingly destined for art.
The night of the opening performance, The Choreographer met Mercer backstage. The curtains were closed, and yet the younger man could feel the electricity of the audience as though he were strapped inside the anvil of a raging thundercloud. Their voices were full of fervor and intensity, unlike anything Mercer had heard before, and for a brief moment, he wondered whether Occulta’s fanfare wasn’t the actual performance. The lights began to dim, signaling the start of the show. The Choreographer’s voice rasped in audible whispers.
”The Director will meet you now.”
Great. Beautiful. Why are you telling me this seconds before I’m due on stage? Odd that Mercer had spent months rehearsing with the company and had yet to meet The Director. Nothing like a little pressure. God, he felt sick.
”He says you’re ready.”
“Um, I hope so. ‘Cause I’m kind of about to go on stage.”
”Right through those curtains.”
Dude is so weird.
“That’s the general idea, yeah. Through the curtains…to the stage…doing my first act for the insanely huge audience out there. Opening night…saw the playbill.” So freaking odd. He pulled at his tight black catsuit. Why was it so tight? And so freaking hard to breathe?
”It’s only him. There’s no one else out there, Mr. Jones, but him. He will see you now. Remember your training.”
Mercer gave The Choreographer a sharp, sideways glance. His brows furrowed heavily in confusion.
“Are you crazy? I’m practically deaf from all their chanting. Is this some kind of psychological preparation thing, because I have to be honest: I’m not a stranger to crowds. I usually just give myself a pep talk in the mirror and drown a brandy. I’m good.”
”You’re up.”
Mercer continued to look over his shoulder at The Choreographer as he took his position on stage, focusing his attention only moments before the curtains were drawn open to fill the space with a blinding white light.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mercer breathed so suddenly and so sharply in the unusually cold air that he jolted himself in to a coughing fit deep enough to peel layers of skin off the inside of his lungs. His hands grabbed the ground, finding rough cobbles, and his chest sunk to his knees in an attempt to still the violent shivering that overtook him. The smell of a passing rain filled his nose. As did the scent of old fire. It stirred within him a sense of dread.
”Calm now, Mercer Jones. We don’t have time for your musings.”
The voice came from above and to the side and it was everything Mercer could do to steady his breath and concentrate on the sound. Like The Choreographer, the words were guttural and cold, devoid of anything other than insistence.
”Welcome to your first performance. I trust that you’ll find my design aesthetic pleasing. It certainly has the desired effect, doesn’t it? LOOK AT ME.”
Mercer grabbed his head, which throbbed under the pressure of the voice inside it. The voice’s presence was absolute and invasive, leaving little room for Jones’ own thoughts or conscience. The thunderous command crippled him.
”I SAID, LOOK AT ME.”
Jones obediently opened his eyes, their deep blue depths looking lost and horrified. It may have taken him several moments to focus but once he did, it was impossible to miss the demon lording above him: long black robes absorbed all light and understanding. He was caught in an eclipse, and making eye contact was the beginning of the end of Mercer Jones’ innocence. The Director approached with a serpent. Mercer would never remember that the slick black creature actually bit him in the shoulder. He would never remember anything.
”There, there, my son. Easy now.” The lengthy fingers of a nearly skeletal hand held Mercer’s head in place as he shuddered from the venom. ”Listen now, very carefully.”
“Yes, Father.” The words were choked in agony.
”That’s my boy. Very good. Now, do you know who I am?”
“The Director.”
”Yes, yes. That’s right. And who are you?”
“The student.”
”Good boy. And whom do you serve?”
“You, Father. Only you.”
”Yes. You are my creation. Everything that you have is mine. Your devotion, your strength, your gifts. Do you understand? Do you understand what it means to give yourself completely over to me?”
“Yes, Father.”
”And were I to command you, you would obey?”
“As you command, I shall make certain.”
”Very good, my son.” The Director sank to the ground beside Mercer’s crumpled form, stroking his hair as a loving owner might soothe his pet. Jones was now unconscious, his shudders having subsided to an even rise and fall, but it was precisely as the dark one required to deliver his counsel and instruction. The snake coiled on the younger man’s back.
”There’s a position soon to open at Hogwarts for a choral director. The present professor will have an unfortunate accident and my, how desperate they shall be to fill the spot before September. How compassionate you are, Mercer, to offer your aid. And how lucky am I to have your support so close at hand as I reverse everything those people ruined. Kameren’s death is a blessing but we require more certainty. You will do this for me, my son, because I wish it. You are precisely as I intended you to be: I’ve made you my weapon. And for both our safety, you will only understand that when you must. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust them.”
Age: 34
Birthdate/place: [06-09-2002]/Somewhere in Ireland, UK
Species: Human (last time he checked)
Gender: Male
Family: For reasons of temporary amnesia, possible brainwashing, and wishful thinking, Mercer has no recollection of his former life or family. In his own words: “I imagine I’m the illegitimate child of a ship-less pirate and a Galleon-a-Minute Fortune Teller on the Floo Network.” In reality, Mercer was the eldest child of two purebloods who gave the lad over to a low-end, London-based orphanage when he was a boy. Unlike his younger brothers and sister (whom were sent to Wales’ Harkness House), he has neither his biological parents’ jet black hair nor their spite. Somehow, Mercer carried a recessive gene of lighter hair and blue eyes, last seen – ironically – in an ancestor who was a pirate. He lives alone with no knowledge of his siblings, parents or former life.
Appearance:
Hair: Dark Blonde
Eyes: Deep Blue
Build/height- Lean, Athletic Build, 5'9”
General Description- Mercer is half dashing, half rogue. Not one to latch on to the formalities of wizardry, he’s given up robes for the Muggle London look. He likes long-sleeved henleys, fitted trousers, leather armbands and stylish loafers. Mercer has created his own wealth and has a taste for the finer things, choosing to invest in quality over quantity. His clothes are tailored and he’s ever well-manicured. Scars: a new scar is forming on Mercer’s left shoulder where he was recently bitten by a snake (he doesn’t remember what happened, please don’t ask). Tattoos: a set of thestral wings on his right upper arm. Black ink.
Possessions- All of Mercer’s belongings fit in to the small space that is his quarters at Hogwarts: a bed, a chest of drawers, clothes, trinkets. He recently found a chimera statue on his windowsill but he has no recollection of either purchasing or receiving it. Mercer once confided to himself in the mirror: ”Don’t panic, but I think its eyes are watching you.” Followed closely thereafter by a headache and his continued mono-dialogue: “Such a kind gift.”
Personality:
Temperament/Mental Attributes- Mercer is a genuinely good-hearted person who hides behind a crumbling shield of self-confidence and a biting tongue. He is kind, patient and at times very witty, the type of professor that children are drawn to because he inspires as much as he amuses. Mercer may seem an extrovert because of his "chosen" career but he is, in reality, a closet introvert. Anger and hurt are often veiled by humour and it’s not until everyone is gone that he’ll suffer alone in silence. He has very, very few real friends and is quite lonely, despite his fame. He hates celebrity. Recently, Mercer has shown other characteristics (largely outside the school) that are not necessarily of his own spirit or conscience.
Alliance- Good at the Heart
Alignment- Chaotic Good
Employment&Education:
-Adults-
Former House- Hufflepuff
Job- Chorus Director; Professional Musician (Lead Singer - sQuall)
Employer- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Band Management/Talent Agent: Imperium Wizard Arts
OWLs/NEWTs- Mostly As and Es. No Os.
Other:
Following Hogwarts, Mercer attended a performing arts undergraduate intensive at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts. He graduated with Honours. Mercer cannot read music (he faked his way through college) but he is highly regarded for his ear, his voice and his genuine passion for the arts. Not one to dwell in tradition, he likes to spice up the student’s wizard chorus with a little bit of rock and roll. Mercer is currently the front man of the popular music group sQuall, which is managed by Imperium Wizard Arts (IWA).
Magical Skills- Mercer is only an average wizard when it comes to magical skill. Charms, Transfiguration, DADA, Potions: he passed these courses out of necessity but he was never really pulled by them; never truly inspired to master the craft. While his classmates went on to prestigious offices in the Ministry or professional careers in business, sports and communications, he went to art school. The Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts had suffered a dwindling enrollment but he made the most of his 4 years and even perfected a uniquely wandless Sonorus spell that allowed him to project his singing voice in almost impossible ways. He hates dueling and has yet to earn his Apparition Licence.
Patronus- Thestral
Wand- 13” Wood: Gaboon Ebony, Core: Thestral Wing Bone
Goals/Aspirations- To be determined.
Other Information- Just prior to his employment with Hogwart’s, Mercer suffered from temporary amnesia. He could not remember who he was nor why he found himself laying upon the empty streets of Hogsmeade. He’s not felt quite right ever since. Mercer’s memory has slowly returned but he has large gaps of missing information, including his childhood, some relationships, and his extremely brief stint with a performing arts group called Occulta.
History:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Quoth the raven, Mr. Jones.”
- “Did you…did you just Poe me?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mercer Parallax Jones had a story not unlike others in the trying times of magical Britain, complete with the orphanage, the lost childhood and periods of growing up far faster than one should. In fact, his story was becoming so commonplace that he was almost one of the status quo, and could have lived with that fact were his adult years a bit slower and more rewarding in their development. They almost were. He almost made it half way through his thirties before everything suddenly came to a halt.
By thirty, Mercer Jones was a celebrated and dedicated performer: a backup singer for the rock opera “Grateful Undead,” the official singer of national anthems at two Quidditch World Cups, and an opening act for the 2035 Eldars, a prestigious awards ceremony celebrating the best in magical moving pictures. His career was on a steady trajectory that culminated in the offer of a lifetime: an invitation to join a reputable yet mysterious performance company known as Occulta. Mercer was approached by an enigmatic executive producer who provided a contract bearing the seal of the Ministry of Magic. It was clear upon reading the parchment that the company and its agents were not only sanctioned by the Ministry but also supported by immense funding. It had to be to afford the celebrity of the cast list. When questioned about the appropriateness of his own casting, the executive simply told Mercer that a significant private benefactor was a huge fan of his vocal projection and brawn.
Mercer quickly understood that he would need to call upon all his performance training, not just singing, to make the cut. He studied for months with Occulta, developing great strength and agility under the tutelage of The Choreographer, whom he never saw beyond a cloak and hood. When Mercer was then called upon to sing, members of the company would fire objects in to the sky and he would quickly obliterate them with his voice, like a bullet of harmonized air. His voice could have been a weapon…were it not seemingly destined for art.
The night of the opening performance, The Choreographer met Mercer backstage. The curtains were closed, and yet the younger man could feel the electricity of the audience as though he were strapped inside the anvil of a raging thundercloud. Their voices were full of fervor and intensity, unlike anything Mercer had heard before, and for a brief moment, he wondered whether Occulta’s fanfare wasn’t the actual performance. The lights began to dim, signaling the start of the show. The Choreographer’s voice rasped in audible whispers.
”The Director will meet you now.”
Great. Beautiful. Why are you telling me this seconds before I’m due on stage? Odd that Mercer had spent months rehearsing with the company and had yet to meet The Director. Nothing like a little pressure. God, he felt sick.
”He says you’re ready.”
“Um, I hope so. ‘Cause I’m kind of about to go on stage.”
”Right through those curtains.”
Dude is so weird.
“That’s the general idea, yeah. Through the curtains…to the stage…doing my first act for the insanely huge audience out there. Opening night…saw the playbill.” So freaking odd. He pulled at his tight black catsuit. Why was it so tight? And so freaking hard to breathe?
”It’s only him. There’s no one else out there, Mr. Jones, but him. He will see you now. Remember your training.”
Mercer gave The Choreographer a sharp, sideways glance. His brows furrowed heavily in confusion.
“Are you crazy? I’m practically deaf from all their chanting. Is this some kind of psychological preparation thing, because I have to be honest: I’m not a stranger to crowds. I usually just give myself a pep talk in the mirror and drown a brandy. I’m good.”
”You’re up.”
Mercer continued to look over his shoulder at The Choreographer as he took his position on stage, focusing his attention only moments before the curtains were drawn open to fill the space with a blinding white light.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mercer breathed so suddenly and so sharply in the unusually cold air that he jolted himself in to a coughing fit deep enough to peel layers of skin off the inside of his lungs. His hands grabbed the ground, finding rough cobbles, and his chest sunk to his knees in an attempt to still the violent shivering that overtook him. The smell of a passing rain filled his nose. As did the scent of old fire. It stirred within him a sense of dread.
”Calm now, Mercer Jones. We don’t have time for your musings.”
The voice came from above and to the side and it was everything Mercer could do to steady his breath and concentrate on the sound. Like The Choreographer, the words were guttural and cold, devoid of anything other than insistence.
”Welcome to your first performance. I trust that you’ll find my design aesthetic pleasing. It certainly has the desired effect, doesn’t it? LOOK AT ME.”
Mercer grabbed his head, which throbbed under the pressure of the voice inside it. The voice’s presence was absolute and invasive, leaving little room for Jones’ own thoughts or conscience. The thunderous command crippled him.
”I SAID, LOOK AT ME.”
Jones obediently opened his eyes, their deep blue depths looking lost and horrified. It may have taken him several moments to focus but once he did, it was impossible to miss the demon lording above him: long black robes absorbed all light and understanding. He was caught in an eclipse, and making eye contact was the beginning of the end of Mercer Jones’ innocence. The Director approached with a serpent. Mercer would never remember that the slick black creature actually bit him in the shoulder. He would never remember anything.
”There, there, my son. Easy now.” The lengthy fingers of a nearly skeletal hand held Mercer’s head in place as he shuddered from the venom. ”Listen now, very carefully.”
“Yes, Father.” The words were choked in agony.
”That’s my boy. Very good. Now, do you know who I am?”
“The Director.”
”Yes, yes. That’s right. And who are you?”
“The student.”
”Good boy. And whom do you serve?”
“You, Father. Only you.”
”Yes. You are my creation. Everything that you have is mine. Your devotion, your strength, your gifts. Do you understand? Do you understand what it means to give yourself completely over to me?”
“Yes, Father.”
”And were I to command you, you would obey?”
“As you command, I shall make certain.”
”Very good, my son.” The Director sank to the ground beside Mercer’s crumpled form, stroking his hair as a loving owner might soothe his pet. Jones was now unconscious, his shudders having subsided to an even rise and fall, but it was precisely as the dark one required to deliver his counsel and instruction. The snake coiled on the younger man’s back.
”There’s a position soon to open at Hogwarts for a choral director. The present professor will have an unfortunate accident and my, how desperate they shall be to fill the spot before September. How compassionate you are, Mercer, to offer your aid. And how lucky am I to have your support so close at hand as I reverse everything those people ruined. Kameren’s death is a blessing but we require more certainty. You will do this for me, my son, because I wish it. You are precisely as I intended you to be: I’ve made you my weapon. And for both our safety, you will only understand that when you must. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust them.”
