tell me reality is better than a dream.
At an unimpressive height of 5’4”, Altair is a short, skinny young man with little presence physically. In spite of his short body, his limbs are notably gangly, only emphasizing his skinny nature. His arms lead down into bony fingers, once again skinny and longer than expected of his short stature. This skinniness often keys people into Altair’s lack of muscle, the man is built for quick, wild movements rather than high-powered attacks on another person. Notably, Altair’s skin possesses a pale tone with subtle grey undertones, frequently making him look somewhat sickly. Though, this has been caused by years of being kept indoors and steady experimentation. Across Altair’s complexion is a seemingly endless sea of scars, the most notable being on the corner of his mouth as a white-coloured gash and the other being a large, darker patch of skin spilling over his chest and up to his neck. The darker one, being a burn, has wreaked the most havoc on his flesh and has resulted in Altair losing his ability to speak. On his hip is a small “brand” from his boyfriend.
Obscured by a mask, a pair of yellow-tinted goggles and a grey hood, Altair’s face is difficult to determine upon a first glance for many. Hidden beneath the mask is a thin jawline with a subtly pointed chin. A pair of slender lips are perched on the lower section of his face, the thick being a long-hidden factor. Narrowly above the mask is a medium-sized nose with a rounded tip. Hidden behind the goggles are a pair of light brown eyes. However, the most striking about Altair’s face is the expressive nature. Impart due to the mask's design, it is noticeable when Altair smiles through the mask, the grin travelling up to his eyes. Atop his head is thick locks of dark-brown hair that are soft to the touch.
Dressed in comfortable clothing, Altair is not a fan of anything overly revealing or restrictive. While he is not afraid to show off the brand given to him by Joost, the remaining scars are things Altair keeps hidden to avoid incessant questioning. He prefers looser-fitting clothes and adores sweaters. Regularly, he will wear jeans to cover his legs. At all times, Altair keeps a black and grey mask on him. The mask’s border being black with the inner portion being dark grey with lighter grey stripes. Black rimmed goggles are secured around his head, their lenses being tinted a yellow-orange colour.
Leopard Gecko Shift -- Advanced
The ability to shift into a leopard gecko. While considered useless in battle, Altair still enjoys shifting into his small gecko form. The form is considered something for comfort rather than anything else. He frequently shifts to go inside a small terrarium where he can sunbathe and relax in gecko form. Due to his advanced control, Altair only takes 25 seconds to shift between forms, but during the shift he is vulnerable.
Water Manipulation -- Mastered
The ability to control and create water, allowing the user to manipulate it. The power of water manipulation has become a steady tool in Altair’s hands with the assistance of the Assembly. He can accomplish large form and complex manipulation with the price of expending more energy. This includes extremely precise manipulation, making him a frightening force on the battlefield. Furthermore, his talents allow him to manipulate the water itself, meaning he can increase and decrease the temperature of water. Well he cannot control the forms of steam and ice, leaving it in liquid form. This does not mean he cannot scale or freeze people with his water manipulation. Doing this does drain energy from Altair, leaving him exhausted if he does it consistently.
Enhanced Speed -- Advanced
The ability to increase one’s speed, granting the user the ability to move at intense speeds. An essential piece of Altair’s fighting is the speed of which he moves. Capable of moving at intense speeds, Altair can fixate on his run speed or even the movement of his arms. This allows him to move his arms at extreme speeds to cause a barrage of cuts and bruises. Additionally, he can sprint at intense speeds, allow him to trail and attack people. This further increases his reaction time, allowing him to react quickly to happenings and sometimes avoid incidents. However, speed can result in Altair crashing into walls because of the momentum caused by his speed when running. Though, at times he uses the momentum to force his target to shove over. Overuse of the ability can easily exhaust Altair’s limbs, forcing Altair to rest. Anything extreme can lead to him becoming wobbly or bedridden.
Enhanced Swim Speed -- Beginner
The ability to increase one’s speed in water, allowing the user to swim at intense speeds. Without the opportunity to swim, Altair has not learned how to use his enhanced swim speed. Thus, he can hardly enhance himself nor can he efficiently swim without it. Therefore, unless he learns, the ability is limited.
Naturals: Enhanced Durability, Underwater Breathing, Enhanced Senses, Magic Tasting, Immortality
Trigger Warning: Mention of Animal Testing, Violence, Physical/Mental/Emotional Abuse, Experimemtation, Unconsented Drug Use, Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Mention of Burning/Fire & Other Dark Themes
You were always a deception, a test subject, something to monitor without worries of complaints.
A dream plopped upon their laps, Altair became the twisted present his parents received. His father, a cruel researcher without emotions and lacking empathy, clung to the notion of advancing his studies and swindling those from cash. Meanwhile, his mother was a money hound, spending a majority of time scamming others for the sensation of bills slipping past her fingertips. A duo who cared entirely about monetary gain, Altair’s conceiving was subsequently greeted with disdain. Initially, his parents viewed the growing fetus as a coming leech to drain away the money they made. Since the beginning, notions of the coming infant were greeted with negavistic intentions. A growing belly treated cynically as their plans were fortified over the coming months. A child never, a monster always, appeared to be the destiny laid out for Altair before he breathed his first breaths. Never would he live a proper childhood, rather, he would become the plaything of his father; an experiment since birth. Though how gracious they would be when they discovered the lingering illness behind wide childish eyes.
Abnormal reactions to pain manifested in the first days, nearly unnoticed by his parents because of their lack of attentiveness. Their child was merely a means for the future, a temporary monetary setback that nobody was required to know about. They provided the limits of what he required, but screamed should he cry out for anything additional. Children were supposedly gifts on the lives of their parents, but from the beginning, Altair was treated as a massive burden on their lives. A dependent little leech wishing for things beyond the food, cleaning and sleeping conditions. The baby was attention-starved, his parents ignoring him at any given opportunity as though he was a meaningless heap of flesh and bone. However, their opinions changed with the little accidents of a baby. From tiny scratches earning not even a bawl nor flinch to bigger bruises hardly bringing the bumbling toddler to even acknowledgement. When they finally noticed they brought Altair into the hospital and discovered the golden ticket dangling above their heads.
Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, a condition that hindered the pain sensory functions of the human body. The explanation provided was accepted with attentiveness, as though their minds were already churning out potential routes of regaining the lost funds. A boy unable to experience pain became a valuable asset to his experimental father. A patient unable to complain about the accomplished experiments or cuts from the edge of a scalpel. The possibilities were absorbed by a man with persistent thoughts of twisted notions. Despite Altair being a child, let alone, their child, his father was already preparing his plans to conduct tests and his mother was prepared to gleefully stand on the sidelines. Nobody inside the family genuinely cared about Altair and it became obvious as his toddler years arrived. Over his years as a baby, his father prepared a cell to contain the toddler to come and upon turning 5, the child was callously shoved inside.
At the age of 5, Altair’s life transformed into concrete walls and thick cell bars. A single bed, a small washroom, the child was minimally taught or handled with a sense of care. They taught him the facilities and he learned the basics, with a higher focus on understanding English and descriptions. Alas, despite the teachings, Altair suffered under the conditions of his captivity. If fear claimed him, his shouts for comfort went unheard. Rather, the distance from the world beyond the basement left him muted, his voice unheard and unrecognized. For hours he would plead as tears rolled down his cheeks as they reddened and stung. In their lives, Altair was nothing, but an afterthought and a tool used in desperate circumstances. Life became regimented to the second, from meal times to the amount of water he was warranted. Anything special was an unknown entity as Altair was left unadjusted to people and wary of the world around his cell. Though after the basics, everything started in the cruellest twist of thought from his father.
Illness spared him from the excruciating pain, however, nothing could spare him from the exposure he faced. Initial drugs were tested on animals, their screams of pain ringing through the corridors of the basement. From wailing sounds of whimpering dogs to squeaks of suffering rats… It would leave the young child shaking in tears as his heart grew timid. Trepidation became constant, his fingers unnoticeable digging into his arms as he listened to the haunting wails. A child raised without pain hardly understood the severity of the happenings, however, listening to the noises from his father’s doing brought nausea to his stomach. The largest fear would arrive when his father entered the isolated chambers, his hard eyes landing upon them. The twisted smile playing over his lips prompted him to the farthest reaches of his cell. Through it all, he learned his father had the worse intentions and his mother had no plans on ceasing him. Thus for the final days of being untouched by the tools of the experiments, Altair was left as a frightened mess.
The initial day when his father stood hauntingly at the barred doorway, Altair found his heart dropping alongside his stomach. Inside his chest was a fast beating heart slamming against his sternum with every terrified second. Shaking fingers clung to his filthy clothes as gasping breaths were sucked in quickly. The boy’s hands whipping away frightened tears as his father inserted the key into the doorway. The manner his shaky breaths were gasped for suggested it all, the child attempting to make himself smaller and smaller. Though nothing would rescue him from the plans playing inside his father’s mind. Abruptly, a hand latched tight around Altair’s arm, yanking the child forward. A sharp gasp escaped Altair’s lips as his father proceeded forward, giving the child small scrapes as he attempted to get his footing. The quiet whimpers leaving the child were despised by his father, his hand only growing tighter. Not an ounce of pain infiltrated him, however, nothing could quench the fear stirring endlessly inside of him.
The cries and whimpers only grew in volume as his father dragged him towards the table and hoisted him up. The glare across his father’s face exhibited itself as his tolerance for the crying child grew thin. Force crossed his face as his father’s open palm was greeted with the screaming, the screaming he would come to hate. “SHUT THE FUCK UP! You’re going to sit here and stay quiet!” His body jittered as Altair stiffened, his arms reaching to hold himself. His teeth bit down on his lips to stop himself, knowing it would only worsen should he proceed with his whimpering and crying. The dull-coloured liquid was given to him in a small, white pixie cup as his father demanded Altair to drink the concoction. The boy’s finger shook inside of them as he sipped the mysterious liquid. He was frightened, however, there were no other options than following the demands of his father. An ugly taste poured over his tongue, the child flinching as he whined softly, though the sharp glare from his father cut him off.
His father’s hands constantly grabbed at him, analyzing every portion as he asked seemingly endless questions. He told his father everything he was required to know. How the drink tasted awful and caused him to feel sick. As the minutes ticked, Altair only felt more nauseous, exhausted, cold among a variety of sickening symptoms haunting him. Every second he informed his father he was not feeling well, yet no ounces of comfort were provided to the young boy. Rather, his father continued poking away and analyzing his body, checking for anything important as his son grew weaker and sicker. The sweat sheened on his forehead and the exhaustion crept into his eyes as Altair struggled for another breath. As his consciousness swam was when the metal finger of a needle was driven into his arm and something was done to rescue him. At one point, the lights went out, and next thing Altair knew, he was laying in bed, body too exhausted to move an inch. Putrid scents filled the air, hardly distinguishable from the phasing stream of consciousness along with drifting words on how it worked too fast and that they needed something else for their plans all in his father’s voice, a one-sided conversation.
Disoriented words faded in and out as exhaustion claimed his weeping bones. He prayed it would be the final experiment, that everything would return to the initial days of his birth. Alas, those concepts were merely wishful thinking on the young boy’s part. Nothing would change, his life being considered something usable by his parents without any thought to the child’s life. It began with the sickness stirring poisons running through his veins, making him puke, wretch and curl on the ground. The pain was never there for Altair, however, all the traits of sickness smacked into him similar to a large hammer in the hands of enhanced strength. Over time, Altair’s uses became more versatile because of his father’s wishes. It started with a scalpel against his skin, the child attempting not to shake as his father opened a wound up his arm. The warm blood poured over his untouched skin as the wound was analyzed before his father gestured for his assistant. In a second, a mixture was spilt over the wound as his father attempted to test healing tonics. A warmth enclosed around his arm, a sensation he mentioned, and the tonic and potion accomplished nothing as a red rash spread over Altair’s arm. Abruptly, his father shouted in frustration before grabbing his assistant to close up the wound to avoid additional bleeding. In the end however, the scar would remain and the vivid rash untouched and left to feel itchy and burn.
Through the days he struggled, leaving a painting of smaller scars around his arms from scratching away at the itch. His inability to sense pain resulted in multiple instances of the child going beyond far. Unfortunately, over the coming weeks, Altair only became more familiar with the sight of red blood and the violence committed on his body. The dripping tendrils of red spilling over his pale skin from every open wound for additional testing... Through his light brown eyes, Altair witnessed the start of the intense injuries committed upon his body without a shred of hesitation. The rashes arrived endlessly, at times the poorly made, cheap potions always possessing side-effects. From sweating to insane rashes, Altair never became comfortable with the potions used upon his body. Alas, it was impossible because his parents considered his body theirs rather than his own. He was nothing to them, but a meaningless tool designed to carry out their intentions and carry the emotional baggage of being yelled and screamed at with the addition of a forceful slap. The pain never graced him, but the abuse still left the child broken.
Adjusted to the sights of violence and sickness painted him, Altair knew nothing considered “normal” for a child. The blood dripping down his arm or the seemingly perpetually swimming of consciousness, it never allowed the child to properly grow. Though, as Altair entered adolescence it only worsened as his mother became involved in the scamming trickery. In the depths of his cell, Altair could hardly hear the words entering his head. However, the regular muffles of extremely familiar words stuck out to the brown-haired child. Fast-acting poison. The two words left discomfort in the child’s stomach, however, without an escape, the guinea pig possessed no methods to leave. The tremouring whimpers arrived hastily as the child knew the sickness would arrive shortly, and a riskier one at that. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, the only route to suffer. Every realization dampened Altair’s hopes, reminding him he meant nothing to his parents or to anybody else. Thus the experimenting of new drugs began without hesitation as his father tested and re-tested different variations of fast-acting poison. Through those days, Altair would be left weak and at times catonic, hardly able to process thought because of the poison’s effects.
Only days following a perfected pill had everything seemingly worsened. From his cell he heard them dragging things, but he could never be certain as to what. Alas, the familiar, putrid smell of death suggested everything Altair needed to know. At times, human wails echoed through the long corridors of the lab as they churned through the low-income under the offer of drug opportunities. Each willing to enter their home and receive the deadly dosage and be robbed of the few things they had. Anything his parents could get their greedy hands on mattered immensely in their eyes. As greed-fueled monsters, it was inevitable they would begin using Altair for their twisted little games. The child’s lack of pain response would allow them to exhibit the drugs “harmlessness” when taken. They began picking out clothes and dressing their child in long-sleeved shirts to hide the scars playing across his arms. The deception existed and every second spent taking him upstairs was spent badgering him on how to act. They required perfection to pull everything off, especially considering their target was wealthier. The boy was hauled upstairs and presented to a large, overweight man. He kept silent as his parents discussed the latest drug, the child’s years of abuse showing in a quiet and sorrowed expression.
When the time arrived, Altair was offered the colourful pill, the capsule feeling smooth between his fingers. Anxieties coated the back of his neck as hairs stood on end and his fingers contained a nervous twitch. The soft words of his parents panged against his ears, the sharpened edge obscured by honeyed words. Hesitantly, he brought the pill to his lips, swallowing it and feigning strength for a few moments. Once their guest swallowed the pill, Altair was pulled aside and injected with an antidote. He could hear the man’s complaints as he mentioned his throat burning and shortly his head hurting. The young child hesitantly peeked from his position behind the large kitchen counter. Already sweat sheened against the man’s head as his plump fingers rubbed his throat. It shifted quickly into loud, scratchy coughing that slowly shifted to becoming large gasps. Then arrived the blood, trickling from the corner of the stranger’s mouth with every cough were the signs of death. As the child’s eyes flitted in horror, he noticed the wicked smile carving across his father’s face as the stranger collapsed. The unintentional whimper that escaped Altair’s lips acted as a reminder of their child’s existence.
A frigid gaze locked onto the young brunette as his father grabbed his arm, yanking him forward in a single harsh tug. The mustered glare spoke volumes of his father’s anger as he shouted at his pathetic act. Everything done prior to swallowing the pill-shaped poison was considered a horrific demonstration. His father screamed about how Altair needed to appear happy and smile to truly sell the role of a content son. At last, the reality was Altair never felt jubilee since his youth. Nonetheless, he showed his father a fake smile in hopes of satisfying him, to cease the derogatory comments about his lack of intelligence and ignorance. Alas, nothing quenched the anger as his father grabbed the neck of a bottle and smacked it hard against his lower cheek. The piece shattered, cutting into the corner of his mouth and leaving a nasty, bleeding wound as his father screamed about how he deserved it. Nothing hurt, but the taste of blood in his mouth and warm, sticky liquid across his lips made everything clear. The value of his feelings and livelihood were shoved aside in favour of his parents’ overarching goals. Though, the young adolescent was not surprised. He was taught to become a fake, being used as a tool to show safety well additionally acting as his father’s test subject. It was inevitable that after seeing the glimpses of freedom’s value, Altair would begin growing depressive. The manner he was treated proved he was entirely worthless to them, a meagre tool.
Years passed with Altair being trapped and used. Through those years, his mind deteriorated further as his energy felt constantly zapped and his emotions drifted further into a depressive mindset. There was nothing worthwhile for Altair to live for and the constant screaming, slapping and general anger from his father whittled him down further. He was suffocated by everything happening and possessed no sense of self-worth. Naturally, his father changed nothing, Altair’s depressive state making him “easier to handle” since the child gave up. There was nothing to begin with, and he believed there would be no changes. It resulted in his father becoming more liberal in his actions, at times leaving Altair to quietly sit there should minor incidents arrive elsewhere. It was during these instances where Altair finally decided to spark change, though with no intentions of something better. He knew the chemicals, remembered his father’s words as he chastised an assistant for nearly putting in a dangerous chemical. When they left to handle a situation upstairs, the lab rat dripped a little into the impending mix. He wanted to assure they died, and he accepted he would meet a similar fate. Was death not an escape? A means to an end? No more sickness, no more poisons, no more scalpels.
As they returned downstairs, Altair sat silently on the lab table, waiting for his father to mix what was believed to be a fast-acting, short-term healing agent. He kept his head straight, unconcerned with death and merely wanting an end. For once in his life, he craved freedom or a semblance of it even if it involved Purgatory... On the flask’s edge was a single drop, his father tilting it further to have it slip through the neck. Everything happened at once. The roar of an explosion filled his ears, ringing them as Altair was slammed over the table. His back hit the wall as a sensation of heat crawled over his skin, any pain unnoticed. His consciousness slammed as people screamed, however, the child remained silent. The room crumbled, the only thing warding severe damage to Altair being his unktehi blood. He thought for once the freedom would arrive, finally in death he would be away from the hell he experienced for years. As his swimming vision prompted him to close his eyes, he felt the relief of knowing he was finally free. The thought eased him for a moment as the sensations subsided, though little did the man know there were people watching the house as it faced the torment of explosions and fire.
The stream of consciousness resurfaced through the ice, Altair’s light brown eyes opened inside what appeared to be a makeshift medical ward. Weakness claimed his bones, his blinking bleary as he attempted to adjust to the light. Yet, despair filled his heart as he laid motionless, frightened that he would be submitted to similar testing. New voices filled his ears, two people discussing something he could barely hear. He expected needles, scalpels, drugs and various other things shoved his way the moment they realized he woke. As the topic shifted to him however, Altair found himself surprised. Inquiries about his well-being met with a silent grunt as voice became impossible. The confusion flickered in his light brown hues as each syllable ceased, as though dying in his throat. They insisted he nodded, which he obliged and everything changed from there. They tended to him, fixating on his physical betterment and never raising their voices. It was incomprehensible how they treated him, providing good-tasting food and for once treating him like a person. They even went lengths to assist him with his newfound mutism. Mere days later they would properly introduce themselves as people of the Assembly of Phantoms, going lengths to credit the corrupt organization in his survival. Their statements were simple, in exchange for saving him, they would appreciate him working for the Assembly. No more drugs, needles, poisons or experimentation, merely hard work. Thus, Altair willingly agreed, hardly being bothered when they pushed for him learning combat and becoming a soldier.
Gradually, as Altair healed they teached him everything he needed for survival, the young brunette shortly exhibiting genuine smiles. The days approached to his complete recovery, though ultimately, it brought pressure onto the people Altair considered his parents. The Assembly wanted to fixate on assisting the strong, however, the people who discovered him placed effort into someone not even associated. They wanted Altair out, despite the insistence that he would become a full-blown soldier in the end. The pair who discovered him lacked room in their home to shelter the young, speechless man, thus they turned to other sources. Many were asked and many declined to take the random stranger. Then they managed to find someone in the form of Joost van Leeuwenhoek. On the insistence of it being Assembly related, Joost had accepted, and Altair was moved in. After being treated better by the Assembly than his parents, Altair’s views became optimistic, which made him curious about the man known as Joost. There was nothing wrong with how he was treated the first days, his presence seemingly making little effect on the larger man. In time, he began taking up chores which earned him little in terms of attention or word, but Altair was never bothered by it. Rather, he held a sense of pride over his personal achievements and even went lengths to learn cooking in hopes of becoming of more use.
Eventually, the pair began spending more time together, partially from Altair’s existence in the household. Slowly, it grew into a tentative trust of one another and the unktehi eased in his presence. Though with the amount of exposure the pair had to one another, differing concepts were learned by Altair. The first time he felt it, Altair’s confusion skyrocketed. A simple injury on Joost summoned forth a sensation unique to the brunette. Though initially unknown, it became more evident as the pair grew closer and Altair became a full-fledged soldier. As somebody once tortured for years rooming with another who accomplished on the daily, they bonded over work and quality time, eventually, the pair began dating. The start of dating was greeted with the introduction of boundaries, and it was understood. However, the additional arrival of dark themes came naturally as the pair began scarring and branding one another to show one’s belonging. Over the years, he only became closer to Joost, Altair discovering comfort despite the darker themes and joy spending time with him. Though, with the support of Joost, Altair only became a more violent force on the battlefield, plenty willing to have others bleed if it meant satisfying the Assembly’s wishes.
AP Alias: Sush
Likes: Sweaters, snuggling, affection, sunbathing, bugs, masks, weapons, combat, sweets, video games, silly TV shows, the Assembly, drinking, phone games, fuzzy blankets, bones, crows, rain, circuses, sharks, stories
Dislikes: Overheating, summer, frigid temperatures, snow, spicy foods, severe injuries, big dogs, his parents, his past, being heavily restrained, pills, stitches, mashed potatoes, sports, complex games, puzzles
Fears: Needles, poison, hospitals, fire, sickness
- Oftentimes, Altair will keep swears out of his sign language if they add additional words to the sentence to avoid excessive signing. He will still swear if the word is replacing a different word at times and is still plenty willing to flip someone off.
- Altair is very specific in regards to his fear of hospitals and needles. If he is in a controlled situation where he has some control, he is less afraid, but he does prefer being around someone he knows and trusts around him.
- Altair is extremely apprehensive of fire. It puts him on edge and can cause him to be a little jumpy. He only trusts people he knows with fire enough to stay by him.
- He speaks fluently in sign language, having learned it through the Assembly so he could work and operate beneath them. This being said, he always keeps his phone on him to type.
- Altair is diagnosed with Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. This means he is unable to sense pain and leads to many moments of accidental injury and pushing too far. He has had Congenital Insensitivity to Pain since he was born.
- Because of the damage to his throat, Altair is entirely unable to speak. At most, he can make little croaks, gurgles, coughs, sneezes and grumbles, though nothing sufficient enough for verbal communication. He mostly cannot form words and can make some speech sounds, specifically those that he can make with solely his mouth.
- Feeling or being sick can put Altair on edge. Due to his previous treatment under his father, the symptoms of sickness can be triggering to him, causing Altair anxiety, discomfort and endless worries about it worsening.
☆ RP EXPERIENCE
about 9 years
☆ OTHER CHARACTERS
My Who’s Who
☆ FACE CLAIM
THIS CHARACTER BELONGS TO CHIBI MAGICIAN. DO NOT STEAL.
MADE BY ★MEULK