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Posted: Sep 20 2016, 10:58 AM
Young blood, came to start a riot
don't care what your old man say
Born on Valentine’s day, 2032, Taris was first and foremost the lovechild of an unlikely lawyer couple—Sanjay and Rose, the latter twenty years younger and in the employ of the former. They tested convention from the outset: discretely dating for five years before conceiving Taris, buying a townhouse in the city proper, and delivering him in the backseat of a Vauxhall in the middle of a traffic jam. He came a week early; they named him after Poseidon’s son Taras - an in-joke, given Sanjay could manipulate water.
At no point in Taris’ remembered childhood was he unaware of the threat that a bad impression could pose for his family. Though his father had scraped a Class 2 designation late in his adolescence, his position within the law firm that employed both him and his wife was a precarious one. By the time he was six years old, Taris had learned to play polite with the finesse of a boardroom businessman. Too many times had his mother sat him down on the living room davenport, adjusted the collar on whatever monkeysuit he’d been wrangled into that day, and given him the safety spiel. The Aesop's of his youth featured wives-tales and warnings; the predator with a white van was an Enforcer, there to haul his child-ass over shoulder and remove him from a dangerous household if he so much as coughed in the wrong direction. And he didn’t want to be taken away in the middle of the night, to never see his parents again, did he?
In spite of the warnings or because of them, Taris enjoyed a middle class upbringing surrounded by his parents and uncles and aunts and cousin Maya and with minimal exposure to conflict and prejudice.
I know I'm finding it hard to breathe
I've been drowning in my own sleep
The word of Taris’s adolescence, if not sleeping, would have been claustrophobia. A fear of enclosed spaces wasn’t impressed upon Taris in some early childhood incident: he was almost born with the need to avoid itty bitty rooms, building floors with one exit, elevators, cars with automatic locking, wells, turtlenecks, constricting huggers, bat-caves—anything and everything where escape was neither guaranteed nor supplied. An unusually active dreamer, Taris nightmared with the frequency of the possessed—lucid, realistic, antagonising nightmares of traps and boxes. It didn’t fade with age, and by the time he was sixteen had only served to make him apprehensive of locker rooms and even more pissy at the school populace, with their noise and their crowding and general jackassery.
None of which might have been a domestic problem, had he not also been truanting and taking a more combative approach to his troubles with teachers and classmates. When his father took Taris aside in June, a real, high quality shiner had bloomed green where his eye-socket met his cheek-bone. He was brittle from sleeplessness, frustration, and a wrenched muscle in his side. He made the mistake of trying to shoulder his way out of the room before the parental spiel could begin in earnest - his mother was away on business and this could wait - but his father stopped him by moving to bar his exit.
Taris had never been sent into a panic by something so slight. He moved towards the window automatically, winded like he’d taken a fist to the solar plexus. Perhaps fearing that Taris might risk the broken bones in the two-storey fall from the window, his father intervened again and to make his father understand, Taris balled up all the emotions -- the feelings of breathlessness, and moving walls, and fear, and self-loathing, and helplessness -- and willed his father to feel what he felt with every cell.
Though it only took a half-second, so extreme was the influx that Taris’s father lilted to his knees in the middle of their oakwood floor like a heavy weight on his shoulders had forced him there. Then began the screaming, and shortly after all the pipes in the house burst.
I'm the devil on your shoulder
I'm the conscience in your mind, I'm the feeling that you cannot hide
Later, Taris would swear to himself that he’d seen the split second that his father had been ripped from the rind like orange pulp; the second the lucidity had dissipated and his eyes had faded from awareness and pain to confusion and then nothing at all. The doctors said he’d been reduced to the functional capacity of a nonverbal amnesiac. He was having delusions. He didn’t remember his wife and he didn't remember Taris and, beyond a propensity for flooding rooms, he didn't remember himself.
I'm just trying to be the best me I can be
when I fall down, it's just me and the ground
When Taris was registered as a Special at sixteen, he went willingly; hell, he’d have volunteered if he hadn’t already attracted enough Enforcer attention to warrant a slightly more forceful process. His father was hospitalised and eventually moved to a specialised facility for long-term care. For the three months immediately following the incident, he seemed to recover -- he learned things, called Taris Taris and not some near-miss variation like Taron, verbalised his thoughts like a stroke-victim relearning the language. While Taris idly flipped through a pamphlet on euthanasia and organ donation in the waiting room, his mother was told that the prognosis could yet be hopeful. This wasn't the first case of a Feeler-induced psychotic break, and others had recovered; some even fully. It was a case of crossed-wires; water in the electrics; a leak in the roof. These things could be fixed. Other Feelers had made the same mistake.
But other Feelers were not Taris. And no matter how frequent the therapy sessions, and no matter how many visits Taris paid his father, the function and liveliness he'd once had didn't return. Instead, he sat like a geriatric in a place like an aged care home, getting fed mashed foods and soups, and, very occasionally and inexplicably, tearing up when Taris was sat in the same room. So Taris stopped coming to the room. Any legal ramifications of either being a high-class special or brain-scrambling his father into a near vegetative state were met by the bulwark that was Rose Foster: when she told him that she'd sorted it, Taris didn't ask any further questions.
You've got opinions, man
we're all entitled to 'em, but I never asked
It wasn't that he wasn't wanted at home afterwards - on the contrary, Taris and his mother became closer than ever. But while Taris approached his senior year (armed with the knowledge that he was no longer strictly human) their topics of conversation became stale and repetitive; most of their problems circled a drain designated 'money trouble.' It was difficult to find a facility capable of providing the necessary care to someone with both Sanjay's disabilities and powers - with risk came expense, and with expense came a re-mortgaging of the house, and a tightened budgeting belt.
It wasn't that he was doing poorly at school, either. But in just one particularly fraught month during his high school years Taris was caught flexing his muscles, so to speak, by driving the same student to vomit on three separate occasions, swaying exam markers to treat him kindly, and influencing a teacher to make sexual advances in an effort to get them fired. He plead ignorance to the principal, and a lack of control to the school board, and whatever else he needed to plead to get them off his back, because in truth, Taris didn’t care. He knew exactly what he was doing and to whom he was doing it.
After his second near-expulsion, Taris limped through the months in a fugue state; he lilted into July and August; spent his Halloween in his childhood bedroom, willing the braver of neighbourhood kids away from the front porch, and since that was so successful, willing away Rose and his cousin Maya and whoever the fuck else had taken it upon themselves to consider him in the welcoming mood. In the end -- and Taris didn’t remember who suggested it -- he packed his bags in the winter to the sound of show-tunes from the TV and Christmas carols from a music player downstairs. In the living room, Rose gave him a talking-to, made mention of how he’d always be welcomed home with open arms, and this move to his uncle's house was temporary. It was a good speech, real nice. Probably. But he hadn’t really been listening.
You're always there to call up
I'm a pain, I'm a child, I'm afraid, but you understand, like no one can
Taris didn't labour under the illusion that living with Maya was going to be a walk in the park, but he did learn two things fresh off the bat: firstly, it was frustratingly difficult to try and sway the emotions of someone who could read your thoughts while you planned your actions in advance; secondly, showers were sacred and his previous only-child life had not prepared him for having to forfeit bathroom time because his sister-cousin was a prima donna who had to wash her hair before school. But somewhere between the new bed, joy-rides, pranks, pizza deliveries, all-nighters, and maternal visits, Taris completed his high-school career with the Fosters, and emerged from the rubble of his adolescence into fledgeling adulthood, determined to restore a little bit of fiscal balance to the family unit he'd cracked in half.
nights pass so much quicker than the days did
same clothes, you ain’t ready for your day shift
After moving out at nineteen, Taris spent four years picking up short-contract work and dodging around pill-box apartments with flimsy walls and fluorescent bar lights. They weren't peaceful years, per se, but there was a certain peace in working hard and scraping together enough to claw, tooth-and-nail, over the line dividing him from abject poverty and functional living. Maya got married to someone positively subpar; his mother landed the landmark court case of her career; he'd even taken to glancing at community college booklets with something a little more than passing interest.
If six-months after his twenty-fourth birthday he was letting himself into his cousin's household to pluck a beer from the fridge and wait for Maya's husband to return home from work, then there wasn't any damning evidence of it. Just as there wasn't any damning evidence of his domestic abuse, or Taris throwing him out of the second story window -- the one with the rock garden below it -- because Taris hadn't thrown him at all. He'd just driven a feeling of fear of him so deep into Brent's marrow that Brent had felt like a hop, step, and jump from the sill was the better alternative. Taris had just made it feel like the sanest, most reasonable thing in the world.
He didn't suffer any paroxysms of guilt while he called the ambulance for the salad of broken bones Brent had become; didn't break a sweat over sharing a solemn, purely decorous discussion with the paramedic. Even after Maya had come to live with him and he'd enrolled in a psychology course at the local college (who's motto was, ostensibly, to firstly do no harm), hell, even after the continued questioning and his (very likely) vertical leap up some government watch-list, Taris slept like a child.
hi my name is whatever you call me
so lets get undressed, ‘cause you look a little lonely
The elementary rule of adulthood is that you aren't going to like what's lucrative: for Taris, the realisation came on an over-cast day in a new September, part-way through helping up a drunk bar-dweller (who'd fallen ass over tea-kettle after clipping a glass-topped table). Only the bar-dweller happened to be one of his very human class's tutors, and Taris happened to be there for the express purpose of manipulating them into boosting his grades. Taris didn't intend to seduce her -- not entirely, at least. Just enough. A smidgeon. Like a hint of a smile and a drawn-out look; like the difference between a distinction and a high distinction on a term paper. Taris didn't intend to sleep with her either, or get a wad of bills tucked into the back-pocket of his jeans upon making his exit, which, firstly, rude, and secondly, okay.
With a little bit of networking Taris quickly figured out just how lucrative a little low-key sex work could really be. Logistically, he had the makings for it: dubious levels of self-respect, inherent shamelessness, the ability to divert attention just so, to make a suspicious inkling disappear, or generous feelings manifest. Better yet, anti-Special sentiment had operated to tar him with the same brush as exotic things. But with sex-work came the inevitable ever-after; the sequelae spilling out like symptoms of a disease. Never before had Taris exercised so much sway over a person's emotions so frequently; before long, he barely bothered to hide his influence so much as abuse it in small, noticeable ways - encouraging store-persons to gift him things, redirecting suspicious police, curating the moods of the people around him to better suit his needs and wants.
To this day Taris straddles the fine-line separating the grey area from a deeper, darker shade of black.
SummaryTaris is the hooker son of two prominent lawyers. An incident at sixteen saw him reduce his father to a low-functioning husk of his former self and also introduced Taris to his powers: class five Feeler juju. Post high-school, a combination of limited life prospects and guilt shunted him away from bookish college options and down a merry path of self-destructive drinking behaviour and under-achievement.
He has a warm but distant relationship with his mother because of the financial burden of the medical costs he incurred. He was strong-armed into living Noah Erikkson, his parole officer and high-school arch-rival, and is allergic to nearly everything under the sun. He likes to push buttons, exude false bravado, and be uncouth and lazy, if not altogether difficult. There's some scruples in him somewhere.
Petty theft and soliciting has gotten him into more trouble than they were probably worth.
FriendsTaris is maybe the most cheerful face of fuckery you'll encounter, but is no one's idea of a safe bet. He's downright inconsistent at the worst of times and a wildcard at the best. As jovial and magnanimous as he seems, outside of his cousin Maya and his friend Brooklyn, it's unlikely that Taris would have anything more than a smattering of left-field acquaintances, though if someone were to try and stick it out they could get close enough to realise he's a dickhead on the inside too (mostly). That said, he feels an affiliation with oddballs and radicals, and is more or less made morbidly curious by total narcissists and psychos. Bring him your ill.
EnemiesEnforcers + most people he comes into contact with + victims of his petty theft and manipulations. Taris is a Suez Canal of a person: something to avoid unless you’re into crime. He’ll flirt with anything but not for any particular purpose; talk about anything, but not with any depth or opinion. He’s perfected being strange, direct, snide, and intense, so he likely has a buttload of enemies, or people who, at the very least, dislike him.
LoversHe moonlights as a hooker. If I tried to write this section out I'd be trapped here for many moons. If they pay, he lays, okie? Also he's fallen for Noah. He just doesn't know it yet.
About The Player
pockets . gmt +8 . discord: pocketsmoz#7272
Posted: Sep 22 2016, 01:10 PM
Posted: Sep 22 2016, 02:49 PM
Noah & Taris
Coming for you, Taris. I C U.
But really. I want to see the thread where Noah steals Taris's powers and then blackmail ensues and freakouts happen and then maybe Noah will steal a morpher's power and come get laid. MWAHAHAHAHAHA- *chokes and dies on fire and brimstone*
Posted: Sep 26 2016, 12:59 PM
Noah & Taris
-Crummy nerd or not, at least he can add. Taris makes a hot bookworm, tho. Hot, criminal, sex god bookworm.
-You mean getting on the nerves of every single cop within Lincoln City because he's insufferable and fucks too many people. And on Noah's nerves. In all the ways.
-Do not drop in on Thursdays unless you want subjected to Gilmore Girls marathons for hours on end. Unless you're there to rescue Noah and then by all means, come over.
-Noah is going to become a regular at the same 7/11 just to try catching Taris in the act. Or maybe just because he's always on "hey keep an eye on this guy, he's a repeat offender" and it's the only place nearby that refrigerates single bottles of beer.
-Taris IS too pretty for jail and there's no way he'd get payment for all that prison sex. On that note, Noah would like to keep him out of jail because that would just ruin Taris a little too much.
-They can take turns threatening to suffocate Maya in her sleep because she will have intel on both of them. Cupid's gonna die.
-Fuck pineapple. It's the devil's fruit. Taco pizza is where it's at.
Posted: Oct 4 2016, 02:44 PM
Helios & taris
I've been wanting a chance to play with Taris.But anyways. I'm thinking that maybe they could have met while Hel was playing at being an Enforcer... Which would put my poor muse in the Enemy category of things. Might be interesting to have them run across each other again now that he's not an enforcer and is trying to figure out what the hell it is he's doing with his life.
Not sure how that would go. Does that work for you or did you have a different idea?
Posted: Oct 15 2016, 12:32 AM
Helios & taris
Don't worry about it. <3
We could probably decide what it was that caused them to meet in the first place but I like to imagine that Hel was tired and just didn't want to deal with whatever reason he had been called out there for in the first place. But now that he has no real idea of what he's going to do with himself I imagine it wouldn't be hard for Taris to find him kind of lurking around somewhere and pretending that he has his life together.
... Now I am just imagining Hel hunting someone down Terminator style. >.>; Just popping up every time someone thinks they have lost him and just being an unstoppable machine.
As for them meeting again it can go a couple of ways. I can see Hel either creeping up on Taris after something illegal happens and inquiring if it was really necessary. Or maybe Taris can find Hel while he's sulking in an alleyway or something.
Posted: Apr 3 2017, 01:07 PM
taris & rosel
I’m popping into Taris’ plotter, too. :)
Okay so I really love the idea of Rosel losing her ‘calm, collected, cool’ routine and having a bit of a tantrum. She’s got a pretty strong hold over her emotions, just because when she isn’t in control she scares herself. She has a bad history with Specials who manipulate her thoughts, feelings, body, etc., so if that occurred she’d definitely panic, and then get REALLY upset. Plus, thanks to ICC Land, we already know that there’s a potential for her to dislike him because of Noah, and as you said, she’s fiercely protective if she feels like her friends and loved ones are being hurt. If some of that icc shenanigans leaked over into the real world, she’d less than happy with Taris and that whole lovely/prickly/hysterical Noah situation.
I sort’ve have this vague idea in mind, that maybe Ro follows him one night while he’s working to track one of his clients, and he just so happens to be the hooker that the person is with or supposed to be with. Maybe Taris somehow realizes he is being followed and turns and confronts her? Or confronts her after the client is gone? I've seen/heard that he gets drunk a lot, so maybe he is in a less than happy mood and takes it/his frustrations out on her (or, he could realize who she is and that could piss him off because jealousy sucks?)? If you want an opportunity for him to flex his dickhead muscles and be mean or cruel, he can definitely do it to Ro. She's got a thick skin but he could probably get her plenty riled up, make fun of her, and on and on. She’s an easy target once you get past her defenses, but that only means she'll lash out more.
Sorry that idea is a bit vague and rambling. Let me know if you like it or have a different idea in mind! @POCKETS
Posted: Jun 21 2017, 06:51 PM
Mirela & Taris
She approves. Sad that Taris can't make babies, but she approves. And keep in mind that she can read all your thoughts, Taris. All of them. All of them.
Added to this, I think she's going to crack his and Noah's heads together if they don't straighten their shit out. That would be a last resort, though. First she'd tell herself that it's not her business, then she'd try subtle hints, and if that didn't work, she'd straight up tell Taris that if he kept yanking her son around by the nutsack, she was going to make him look like a genius compared to Sanjay. *cough*
Posted: Aug 1 2017, 04:23 PM
Chase & Taris
I really just need them to bond over fucking Charani boys. "I wonder if Siyah is crazy in bed, too. Is it genetic? Did Mirela drop them as babies? Should I stop eating eggs?"
There's also an option for Chase and Siyah to drag Taris deeper into the world of thieving. -teases with packs of gum-