Valor of the Vanguard
Still tan, a bit more buff than before, lost the goggles, uses tinted safety glasses instead. Has some 'minor' anger issues.
Here stands the xenotechnologist. About 6 feet in height, he has packed on enough muscle to no longer be considered a ‘beanpole’ – although he is still more slender than average. His hair is black and close cropped, and he’s let his goatee grow out a little, forming a jawline tracing beard. His complexion is still the Mediterranean olive it has always been. His ever present goggles are gone, showing a pair of deep hazel eyes. As a note, the eyes tend to be at least slightly dilated, so we tends to wear a pair of variable tint safety glasses (not that his eyesight requires correction beyond shade).
He often wears a flat-top BDU style cap in AE systems officer black and blue (again with the shade for the eyes), and a system’s officer uniform – with a black webbing harness buckled across his chest loaded with several extra pockets. The uniform lacks rank insignia.
He does carry a sidearm when going out on a mission, but almost always carries multiple blades on his person – the katar from the Carnival’s knife throwing wheel usually slung down on his right hip beside where a standard issue flenser pistol holster would be located, and a standard issue survival knife strapped to his left boot.
As for demeanor, he has changed, not necessarily for the better. He prior mania is now tempered with equal measures of melancholy and outright rage – a rage that builds quickly and then dissipates, much like a balloon inflating with hatred and then popping back into a state of serenity, for a few minutes at least. While the Casper of old would have, and did, try to maintain a distance between himself and his comrades, he now tries to keep them as close as possible. They have become the sole point of stability in his much shorter than previously imagined life, and hopes that positive emotional ties will deflect the the worst of his periodic rages. It remains to be seen if this will be effective, or if he will have to drive them all away to protect them from himself.
Casper is a man with a past that extends back about nine years. He once thought this was amnesia caused by repeated exposure to accord & eldritch type technologies. He thought wrong. No, Casper is a clone of a man who once went by the alias of Alistair Cromwell, real name unknown. World renowned scientist, apparently, and member of the old Miskatonic expedition to R’lyeh. The one that resulted in the great storm & the long dark.
Given that father was using his assumed name, we fear that he was one of the cultist infiltrators on the expedition. Potentially the ring leader. This leads us to make assumptions about our insanity. We know we are not… right. We have always known this. Casper feels that his schizophrenia is the result of the clonal zygote separating in the tank into himself and his brother, Spooky, and each of us received only half of father’s memory imprint. We feel that verification of this, as well as the means to recover Xandri Aescaplea, was down a pathway we did not take in R’lyeh. A pathway I-we could have survived if we didn’t give a damn for them. They don’t understcannotunderstand WE are NOT NOTHING NOT EVEN_RE_ We admit we are some difficulty adjusting to our new reality. It isn’t everyday one discovers everything they thought about themselves is a lie.
One? I am we are having questions about that as well. Having questions about what happened to Spooky, where he is now. Never had the heart before to talk about him in … kind terms. Now, maybe… we don’t know. I don’t…
Compartmentalization of… us… is breaking down. It used to be how we maintained our mental state from day to day. When Casper discussed himself in the first person, you knew something was desperately wrong. Now? Now everything feels desperately wrong inside. No heartbeat. No Rhyme. No Reason… no, plenty of rhyme, not much reason. Still hear the music in our sleep. Still feel it in my hea, no. Not there. The heart keeps it at bay. We are glad we didn’t let the doctors remove the box. We think it is all that keeps us from succumbing. From consuming. From BECOMsorry, sidetracked myself for a moment. Wow, ummm… this entry all sorts of crazy.
We think we know where he is. Brother. We hope he still listens. Won’t be able to reach him via email anymore. Or course, we could be wrong. We’ve been pretty damned wrong before. About us-me. We… we know only one thing is certain.