application | boomtown
Jul. 7th, 2014 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brokenweaponPlayer's Name: Alex
Are you over 16? Yes.
Characters Played Here: N/A
Character: Jason Bourne
Series/Canon: The Bourne Series (films)
From When? Several months after the end of the third movie / several months after spending twenty-seven months on the Barge
Previous Game(s): The Last Voyages
History: All three films.
Previous Game History
Bourne’s time on the Barge was tumultuous, and rarely good for him. Due to one reason or another, his goal of graduating an inmate eluded him, and he never was able to complete his end of his deal with the Admiral - which meant, when he left the Barge for good, there would be no Marie waiting for him.
He made few friends on the Barge, one of whom was Claire Bennet who, unbeknownst to him, is present in New Dodge. Mostly, he made enemies. His wardenship was not very textbook, nor, in the end, very effective. One of his long-term inmates, David Harris, colluded with another to ambush Bourne, kidnap him, and torture him while David, an Animorph, took his place. Once he was free, he retaliated by forcing David into his rat morph at gunpoint and making him remain in morph until he became a nothlit for a few weeks. This action was seen by the other wardens as unnecessarily cruel and Bourne was then shunned and his inmate reassigned.
Angry at the injustice done to him, as well as bitter about his inmate friend Billy Costigan disappearing and his new inmates vanishing as well so that he never got a chance with them, Bourne opted to leave the Barge, fed up with warden politics and disillusioned about the Admiral’s promises and bizarre idea of justice.
During his time on the Barge, he found books about an alternate version of himself in the library, and read them, taking them with him when he left.
Personality: Above all, Bourne is determined, resourceful, and a little bit stubborn. He thinks outside the box, constantly searching for new and unexpected ways to gain the upper hand on an opponent or a situation. He’s the quiet, brooding type, not chirpy or chipper, or even as normal as he used to be before Marie’s death. He’s never shown to be actively seeking companionship, but he’s no total stoic. He’ll talk if you interest him, or if he thinks you have something to offer, or even rarely just to talk. However, he is not a nice guy. In fact, he can be downright cruel in the pursuit of what he wants, finding a way to destroy his adversaries from the inside. For example, he drove Ward Abbott to suicide by getting his admission of wrongdoing on tape.
Bourne is cautious by nature. In addition to the training that made him a killing machine with spot-on situational awareness, he has learned the hard way that getting too complacent with his situation will lead to people he loves getting hurt or killed. It will take him a while to adjust to the idea of a fixed abode.
His training has definitely molded who he is now, even if he can’t recall all of it. An artifact of that training is a tendency towards headaches, as well as sensitivity to sudden bright lights (as Clive Owen’s Professor notes shortly before he dies). In addition to the physical side-effects of his brutal training, he has several habits that he wouldn’t think of breaking. One of which is that he is eternally ready to move at a moment’s notice, complete with money stashed throughout his dwelling and a few spare passports to evade the grid. There are only two things he makes sure to carry with him no matter where he moves and nearly everywhere he goes: his memory journal and a bittersweet photograph of himself and Marie, the only one he couldn’t bear to burn after her death. Recently added to his arsenal of important items are his dogtags – David Webb’s dogtags – which he gave up upon his commitment to the Blackbriar program, an important reminder of who he used to be, as well as a warning not to let anyone have that degree of control over his life again.
The old personality of David Webb, the man he’d been before the Blackbriar training, has been almost completely subsumed by the persona of Jason Bourne. Some of Webb’s original compassion, etc., and other traits he had as a Captain in the U.S. Army might show through sometimes. His memory has begun to come back in pieces. Sometimes snippets of memory strike him, and they are usually so potent that he is completely immobilized. Despite the progress, slow as it is, he may never fully recall the life he left behind. Sometimes, he might even prefer it that way. He doesn’t want to focus on the past; his past has only ever brought him trouble and heartbreak. He would rather not be how he is – he’d prefer to be the man he used to be, before Paris and the chaos that came with rediscovering his old life – but he’s come to accept it. This is why he’ll be going by the name he’s known for the life he can remember, rather than his birth name. He doesn’t think he can be that person again. Not yet, anyway, and not for a while.
He has a soft spot for kids, and certainly cannot harm them, being that the prospect was what caused half of his dissociative amnesia in the first place. Overall, since he’s struck a killing blow to the system that molded him, he just wants to live a quiet life and generally be left alone by those who wish to do him harm or evade them entirely. If he can manage to do that, being a creature born to violence as he is, remains to be seen.
Hand-in-hand with the ability to adapt is his ability to deal with deceit and trickery. He’s perfectly capable of assuming another personality in seconds, even if he hasn’t planned out what he’s going to do with that personality. (So, he’d be fun to have on Whose Line Is It Anyway?.) He dislikes using false identities for any appreciable length of time, considering that he’s already living one. If he wants answers from someone, he is going to get those answers, by hook, crook, or any manner of unsavory deeds. He’s not above a little bit of baiting and spy-work and tricking people to get what he wants, but if he thinks you’re withholding important information from him, then God help you. His bullshit detector is finely honed.
Despite his rebellion against the military-industrial system that made him into who and what he is today, he still has a very soldier-like demeanor that would make it apparent to anyone looking that he was once a military man. Bourne projects an aura of readiness and quiet confidence – he’s not a man spoiling for a fight, but if something goes down, he’s a guy you want on your side, or at least don’t want to be in the way of. He’s very guarded both physically and emotionally, not willing to let anyone know about the “weakness” of his amnesia or the turmoil of the past three years. Marie was the only person who had gotten through to him, and perhaps that was just because they met when he was more open to learning about who he was. Now, opening up even a little bit to make friends or allies is going to be just as difficult for him as it might be for anyone trying to interact with him.
In short: Puppy-faced, innocent Matt Damon of the first movie he ain’t.
At Last Voyages
Bourne’s years on the Barge exposed him to many people in close quarters, some of whom he became close to (one of whom is in-game), and others whom he would kill on sight if he saw them. (Luckily, none of the latter are in New Dodge.) His time in a reasonably safe environment with an attempt at helping other people helped him come more out of his shell. He’s not going to be a Chatty Cathy, but he’s at least going to talk to people and actively not be by himself all the time. In the months since his retirement from wardenhood, he’s gotten back into hiding and becoming just a face in the crowd. He hasn’t forgotten his time on the Barge, but he’s adjusting back to life where he came from. And he’s healing.
Naturally, this is all going to change when Eli makes him the offer...
Why do you think your character would work in this setting? Bourne accepted Eli’s offer because he doesn’t feel like he quite fits in on his Earth anymore after all the places he’s been and things he’s seen on the Barge. That, and this will get him off the grid. He’s a survivor; while some of the skills necessary for life in New Dodge might not be in his repertoire already, he’s a fast learner and he’ll pick them up. He wants to move on and start again - and somewhere far away from Earth might just do the trick. He’s not going to try to ruffle feathers, but he’ll probably end up doing just that.
What will your character do for work? Due to the lack of law enforcement positions available, Bourne will probably either take a job as a hunter, or teach languages, urban survival, or martial arts at the trade school.
Inventory:
x1 set of clothing – sneakers, jacket, t-shirt, jeans, socks, underwear.
x1 mobile phone – prepaid nigh-indestructible Nokia-type. Includes hands-free headset.
x1 photograph – himself and Marie, on a beach in India.
x3 pens, ballpoint.
x1 journal/de facto scrapbook, with memory snippets and thoughts written in.
x1 set of dogtags, in the name of Captain David Webb.
x1 necklace, previously belonging to Marie.
x1 9mm Glock 17, full clip
x1 Swiss Army knife/multitool
x1 bottle of Advil, 3/4 full.
x1 copy each of The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum by Robert Ludlum, heavily dog-eared and peppered with post-it notes.
Samples:
Third-Person Sample: Jason Bourne is drowning again.
He can’t tell which waters it is that are pounding him, suffocating him, forcing him to fight for every second of his life he can snatch away. The Mediterranean, where he lost his memory; the Mandovi, where he lost his love; the East, where he lost his anonymity? He can’t tell, and that in and of itself is terrifying. Not only is he drowning, he has no idea where he is.
Currents buffet him about as he tries to struggle to the surface, whichever way that is. Liquid silver bubbles escape from his mouth and noise as he thrashes silently, and sinks. Everything is weighing him down; clothes, shoes, his own head. He tries everything; for all that he avoids water, he’s at least a competent swimmer.
And nothing works.
He chokes on water, on air, and he awakens; not drenched in water but in sweat, and tangled up in the suddenly too-oppressive sheets. In a near panic, he throws them off, stumbling out of bed, his head pounding.
It’s 3:42 in the morning, and the fifth night in a row he’s had this dream.
There’s a bolt of searing white-hot pain lancing through his skull and stabbing directly behind his right eye; half his vision whites out with the agony. He lurches to his feet and staggers to the bathroom, fumbling for the glass and the Advil that he’s learned to keep by the tap. Once the pills are down his throat and he’s sure he’s not going to choke on the water (drinking it, he’s drinking it, this is voluntary, he’s not drowning) he raises his eyes to the mirror.
It’s his fifth night of this nightmare, and it shows. He looks haggard, tired, haunted even. The dreams haven’t been this bad since Goa. And at least there he’d had Marie.
There’s a phrase rattling around in his head, loud and indistinct; he emerges from the bathroom, stumbles to his desk, grabs the pen, and writes.
He smells pencil shavings, feels linoleum beneath the sneakers he’s not wearing, hears the screech of chalk on chalkboard. Just as quickly as the sensations arrive, they pass, and he’s staring blankly at the page of his journal in front of him, a fragment of a half-recalled poem from some English class twenty years in his past.
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
He can’t remember what it’s from. His head still feels like it’s one abrupt movement away from shattering.
But it’s a memory, and it’s a start.
First-Person Sample: I wonder how it's going to happen when I'm done and I leave here. Am I just going to wake up in that motel room and you're sitting on the bed with your legs pulled up to your chest, CNN on mute because you didn't want to wake me up, watching the aftermath of what I've done? Will you laugh and tell me you knew I could do it, that now we don't have to worry anymore? That we're free?
Or will I have to find you again? I won't mind if I do.
God, Marie. I miss you so much. And I'm sorry. It should have been me. I should never have switched places with you - he knew I was driving, he was aiming for the driver. I was the target, you were an innocent bystander. You changed me, Marie. I didn't even kill him myself. The car crash took care of that.
The headaches have been getting worse. Now they're just headaches, migraines with no memories. I'm doing something wrong; it's not coming back anymore. I have my journal and nothing new to write in it. My head was always calmer with you around. You told me, the night before you died, that someday I would remember something good from my past. I don't need to. I remember you.
I'm sorry. I love you. I miss you. I hope I'll see you soon.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Jason
Are you over 16? Yes.
Characters Played Here: N/A
Character: Jason Bourne
Series/Canon: The Bourne Series (films)
From When? Several months after the end of the third movie / several months after spending twenty-seven months on the Barge
Previous Game(s): The Last Voyages
History: All three films.
Previous Game History
Bourne’s time on the Barge was tumultuous, and rarely good for him. Due to one reason or another, his goal of graduating an inmate eluded him, and he never was able to complete his end of his deal with the Admiral - which meant, when he left the Barge for good, there would be no Marie waiting for him.
He made few friends on the Barge, one of whom was Claire Bennet who, unbeknownst to him, is present in New Dodge. Mostly, he made enemies. His wardenship was not very textbook, nor, in the end, very effective. One of his long-term inmates, David Harris, colluded with another to ambush Bourne, kidnap him, and torture him while David, an Animorph, took his place. Once he was free, he retaliated by forcing David into his rat morph at gunpoint and making him remain in morph until he became a nothlit for a few weeks. This action was seen by the other wardens as unnecessarily cruel and Bourne was then shunned and his inmate reassigned.
Angry at the injustice done to him, as well as bitter about his inmate friend Billy Costigan disappearing and his new inmates vanishing as well so that he never got a chance with them, Bourne opted to leave the Barge, fed up with warden politics and disillusioned about the Admiral’s promises and bizarre idea of justice.
During his time on the Barge, he found books about an alternate version of himself in the library, and read them, taking them with him when he left.
Personality: Above all, Bourne is determined, resourceful, and a little bit stubborn. He thinks outside the box, constantly searching for new and unexpected ways to gain the upper hand on an opponent or a situation. He’s the quiet, brooding type, not chirpy or chipper, or even as normal as he used to be before Marie’s death. He’s never shown to be actively seeking companionship, but he’s no total stoic. He’ll talk if you interest him, or if he thinks you have something to offer, or even rarely just to talk. However, he is not a nice guy. In fact, he can be downright cruel in the pursuit of what he wants, finding a way to destroy his adversaries from the inside. For example, he drove Ward Abbott to suicide by getting his admission of wrongdoing on tape.
Bourne is cautious by nature. In addition to the training that made him a killing machine with spot-on situational awareness, he has learned the hard way that getting too complacent with his situation will lead to people he loves getting hurt or killed. It will take him a while to adjust to the idea of a fixed abode.
His training has definitely molded who he is now, even if he can’t recall all of it. An artifact of that training is a tendency towards headaches, as well as sensitivity to sudden bright lights (as Clive Owen’s Professor notes shortly before he dies). In addition to the physical side-effects of his brutal training, he has several habits that he wouldn’t think of breaking. One of which is that he is eternally ready to move at a moment’s notice, complete with money stashed throughout his dwelling and a few spare passports to evade the grid. There are only two things he makes sure to carry with him no matter where he moves and nearly everywhere he goes: his memory journal and a bittersweet photograph of himself and Marie, the only one he couldn’t bear to burn after her death. Recently added to his arsenal of important items are his dogtags – David Webb’s dogtags – which he gave up upon his commitment to the Blackbriar program, an important reminder of who he used to be, as well as a warning not to let anyone have that degree of control over his life again.
The old personality of David Webb, the man he’d been before the Blackbriar training, has been almost completely subsumed by the persona of Jason Bourne. Some of Webb’s original compassion, etc., and other traits he had as a Captain in the U.S. Army might show through sometimes. His memory has begun to come back in pieces. Sometimes snippets of memory strike him, and they are usually so potent that he is completely immobilized. Despite the progress, slow as it is, he may never fully recall the life he left behind. Sometimes, he might even prefer it that way. He doesn’t want to focus on the past; his past has only ever brought him trouble and heartbreak. He would rather not be how he is – he’d prefer to be the man he used to be, before Paris and the chaos that came with rediscovering his old life – but he’s come to accept it. This is why he’ll be going by the name he’s known for the life he can remember, rather than his birth name. He doesn’t think he can be that person again. Not yet, anyway, and not for a while.
He has a soft spot for kids, and certainly cannot harm them, being that the prospect was what caused half of his dissociative amnesia in the first place. Overall, since he’s struck a killing blow to the system that molded him, he just wants to live a quiet life and generally be left alone by those who wish to do him harm or evade them entirely. If he can manage to do that, being a creature born to violence as he is, remains to be seen.
Hand-in-hand with the ability to adapt is his ability to deal with deceit and trickery. He’s perfectly capable of assuming another personality in seconds, even if he hasn’t planned out what he’s going to do with that personality. (So, he’d be fun to have on Whose Line Is It Anyway?.) He dislikes using false identities for any appreciable length of time, considering that he’s already living one. If he wants answers from someone, he is going to get those answers, by hook, crook, or any manner of unsavory deeds. He’s not above a little bit of baiting and spy-work and tricking people to get what he wants, but if he thinks you’re withholding important information from him, then God help you. His bullshit detector is finely honed.
Despite his rebellion against the military-industrial system that made him into who and what he is today, he still has a very soldier-like demeanor that would make it apparent to anyone looking that he was once a military man. Bourne projects an aura of readiness and quiet confidence – he’s not a man spoiling for a fight, but if something goes down, he’s a guy you want on your side, or at least don’t want to be in the way of. He’s very guarded both physically and emotionally, not willing to let anyone know about the “weakness” of his amnesia or the turmoil of the past three years. Marie was the only person who had gotten through to him, and perhaps that was just because they met when he was more open to learning about who he was. Now, opening up even a little bit to make friends or allies is going to be just as difficult for him as it might be for anyone trying to interact with him.
In short: Puppy-faced, innocent Matt Damon of the first movie he ain’t.
At Last Voyages
Bourne’s years on the Barge exposed him to many people in close quarters, some of whom he became close to (one of whom is in-game), and others whom he would kill on sight if he saw them. (Luckily, none of the latter are in New Dodge.) His time in a reasonably safe environment with an attempt at helping other people helped him come more out of his shell. He’s not going to be a Chatty Cathy, but he’s at least going to talk to people and actively not be by himself all the time. In the months since his retirement from wardenhood, he’s gotten back into hiding and becoming just a face in the crowd. He hasn’t forgotten his time on the Barge, but he’s adjusting back to life where he came from. And he’s healing.
Naturally, this is all going to change when Eli makes him the offer...
Why do you think your character would work in this setting? Bourne accepted Eli’s offer because he doesn’t feel like he quite fits in on his Earth anymore after all the places he’s been and things he’s seen on the Barge. That, and this will get him off the grid. He’s a survivor; while some of the skills necessary for life in New Dodge might not be in his repertoire already, he’s a fast learner and he’ll pick them up. He wants to move on and start again - and somewhere far away from Earth might just do the trick. He’s not going to try to ruffle feathers, but he’ll probably end up doing just that.
What will your character do for work? Due to the lack of law enforcement positions available, Bourne will probably either take a job as a hunter, or teach languages, urban survival, or martial arts at the trade school.
Inventory:
x1 set of clothing – sneakers, jacket, t-shirt, jeans, socks, underwear.
x1 mobile phone – prepaid nigh-indestructible Nokia-type. Includes hands-free headset.
x1 photograph – himself and Marie, on a beach in India.
x3 pens, ballpoint.
x1 journal/de facto scrapbook, with memory snippets and thoughts written in.
x1 set of dogtags, in the name of Captain David Webb.
x1 necklace, previously belonging to Marie.
x1 9mm Glock 17, full clip
x1 Swiss Army knife/multitool
x1 bottle of Advil, 3/4 full.
x1 copy each of The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum by Robert Ludlum, heavily dog-eared and peppered with post-it notes.
Samples:
Third-Person Sample: Jason Bourne is drowning again.
He can’t tell which waters it is that are pounding him, suffocating him, forcing him to fight for every second of his life he can snatch away. The Mediterranean, where he lost his memory; the Mandovi, where he lost his love; the East, where he lost his anonymity? He can’t tell, and that in and of itself is terrifying. Not only is he drowning, he has no idea where he is.
Currents buffet him about as he tries to struggle to the surface, whichever way that is. Liquid silver bubbles escape from his mouth and noise as he thrashes silently, and sinks. Everything is weighing him down; clothes, shoes, his own head. He tries everything; for all that he avoids water, he’s at least a competent swimmer.
And nothing works.
He chokes on water, on air, and he awakens; not drenched in water but in sweat, and tangled up in the suddenly too-oppressive sheets. In a near panic, he throws them off, stumbling out of bed, his head pounding.
It’s 3:42 in the morning, and the fifth night in a row he’s had this dream.
There’s a bolt of searing white-hot pain lancing through his skull and stabbing directly behind his right eye; half his vision whites out with the agony. He lurches to his feet and staggers to the bathroom, fumbling for the glass and the Advil that he’s learned to keep by the tap. Once the pills are down his throat and he’s sure he’s not going to choke on the water (drinking it, he’s drinking it, this is voluntary, he’s not drowning) he raises his eyes to the mirror.
It’s his fifth night of this nightmare, and it shows. He looks haggard, tired, haunted even. The dreams haven’t been this bad since Goa. And at least there he’d had Marie.
There’s a phrase rattling around in his head, loud and indistinct; he emerges from the bathroom, stumbles to his desk, grabs the pen, and writes.
He smells pencil shavings, feels linoleum beneath the sneakers he’s not wearing, hears the screech of chalk on chalkboard. Just as quickly as the sensations arrive, they pass, and he’s staring blankly at the page of his journal in front of him, a fragment of a half-recalled poem from some English class twenty years in his past.
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
He can’t remember what it’s from. His head still feels like it’s one abrupt movement away from shattering.
But it’s a memory, and it’s a start.
First-Person Sample: I wonder how it's going to happen when I'm done and I leave here. Am I just going to wake up in that motel room and you're sitting on the bed with your legs pulled up to your chest, CNN on mute because you didn't want to wake me up, watching the aftermath of what I've done? Will you laugh and tell me you knew I could do it, that now we don't have to worry anymore? That we're free?
Or will I have to find you again? I won't mind if I do.
God, Marie. I miss you so much. And I'm sorry. It should have been me. I should never have switched places with you - he knew I was driving, he was aiming for the driver. I was the target, you were an innocent bystander. You changed me, Marie. I didn't even kill him myself. The car crash took care of that.
The headaches have been getting worse. Now they're just headaches, migraines with no memories. I'm doing something wrong; it's not coming back anymore. I have my journal and nothing new to write in it. My head was always calmer with you around. You told me, the night before you died, that someday I would remember something good from my past. I don't need to. I remember you.
I'm sorry. I love you. I miss you. I hope I'll see you soon.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Jason
