Eidolon -> DYSON, Commander Greggory

DYSON, Commander Greggory

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Commander Greggory Dyson

Posted: Jun 23 2009, 07:35 AM

Activation Pending

Group: Members
Posts: 1
Member No.: 19
Joined: 19-June 09

UEA Personnel Records
Application Status: in progress/Download Complete

Primary Data

Character Name: Commander Greggory Dyson
Aliases, nicknames Gregg
Age: November 2nd, 32
Classification: UEA Personnel
Specialization: Navigation
Nano-enhancement: increased capacity for calculating complex equations ( ie: calculus and trig) needed to help make adjustments in the ships course, enhanced endurance so he can keep up with his Captain during shifts, should the need arise
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
Height: 5�9�
Build: broad in the shoulders, athletic
Eyes: gray-blue
Hair: Dark brown, kept short as regulation dictates. He�s got a goatee and bit of a 5 o�clock shadow, but there aren�t regulations against those as far as he knows.
Tattoos/scars/distinguishing marks: A barcode tattoo under his left shoulder blade. He was drunk and twenty-one, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. (He scanned it once. Apparently, he�s a rather inexpensive can of coffee grounds.)
Playby: Brian Austin Green

Secondary Data

Personality: Gregg is ambitious, driven, and willful. He can be a little pushy when it comes to his opinions, but only when he�s absolutely sure that he�s right (and as far as he�s concerned, he usually is). He�s got a competitive streak a mile wide, and he can�t help but apply it to any and all aspects of his life. When he�s working, he�s working the hardest. When he�s resting, he�s damn well getting the optimal relaxation. He wants to be the best, bottom line. Usually, he manages to keep the one-upmanship under control when he�s working. The job is most important, and he�s learned that other officers don�t always like it when you�re constantly pointing out their errors.

On the other end of things, Gregg is also a workaholic. His job is his life, and his life is his job. He�s devoted to his work so much so that it�s encroached on his personal life. He keeps things professional when he�s in uniform, but especially when he�s around Captain Tolbert.

He�s got a dry sense of humor that he typically keeps to himself, though he does keep a running commentary with Crystal when he thinks he�s alone. Sarcasm is a last defense, saved for especially trying missions or periods of high stress. While he tries to keep himself professional around his superiors and colleagues, he does occasionally slip up under pressure and let out a wise crack, which he then promptly pretends never happened. If the situation is brought up on a later date, he�ll vehemently deny accusations unless recorded proof is provided.

Gregg is by no means an optimist. He sees the worst possible scenario first, and then prepares for it as best as he can. It�s an old habit, ingrained from childhood, but it�s proven to be helpful more than once and he feels no need to change it. The more clearly you see the shadows of the world, the more flashlight batteries you�re likely to pack after all.

Strengths: Gregg�s quick wit keeps him on top of the situation as it changes, and he picks up on unusual solutions quickly. His competitive spirit won�t let him give up when things start looking rough. Only direct orders or incapacitation will keep him away from his station in a crisis. He�s also one of the best navigators in the fleet (something he�s not likely to let Commander Rust forget anytime soon).
Weaknesses: Frankly, Gregg isn�t good with people. He tries when he has no other option, but he�s just not good with dealing with them. He�s better with computer programs. His stubbornly pessimistic outlook keeps him from accepting that confrontations are over, and is excessively formal until someone slaps him out of it (figuratively speaking, of course). He finds himself frequently second guessing the motives of other crewmembers and passengers, and it can get distracting if he lets it.

Likes:

Schedules (He likes to know what he needs to do, and when it needs to happen.)
Properly enforced and observed protocol (especially when the situation calls for it)
Being proven right by the acts of others (especially inadvertently)
Solving puzzles ( he gets a rush from the search for the unknown)
Finding some place new
Mystery novels (the classics)
Quiet down time
The smell of soap
Crystal

Dislikes:
Being interrupted (in general)
Getting taken advantage of
Flattery
Petty arguments
The choice of pilots
Sand
Losing
Communication from home

Fears:
Catching an unexplained/incurable disease
Freezing to death due to a system malfunction
Getting hopelessly, and irrevocably lost (even with the most up to date navigational systems)

Goals:
To make it to retirement
To keep the Eidolon on a steady course to their final destination

Habits/mannerisms/secrets:
Chews his lips when he�s feeling particularly unsure about something.
He holds conversations with Crystal when he�s off duty
When he�s feeling stressed, he hums songs he remembers from his childhood (though not particularly in tune)
Trying to keep the fact that he was a rebellious snot as a teenager quiet.
Collects small mementos after important occasions, sometimes they are a little strange
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Tertiary Data

History: (4-6 paragraphs. Explain how your character got to be who they are and lead up to the process by which your character chose to join the colony or was forced on board the UEA Eidolon)

OOC

RP sample:

QUOTE

Mark entered hesitantly after catching sight of Dumbledore's expression. It was a strained, tired look, and it didn't appear that this visit would be light hearted. He frowned and crossed the carpeted floor to the desk.

"Sit down, if you please."

He nodded and sat somewhat stiffly in an overlarge armchair, waiting for the Headmaster to speak again.

"You and I have spoken before," Dumbledore smiled as he spoke, though it held no real warmth or happiness, more formality or an attempt to calm him for something than anything else. Mark shifted uncomfortably in the chair under the Headmaster's gaze. "I will not insult your intelligence by mincing words. There's been a Death Eater attack in Surrey, Mr. Brazzleton. A severe one."

The older man paused a moment, as though thinking briefly of how to continue, but Mark's brain latched onto keywords with a vice-like grip. Death Eater attack. Surrey. Severe. His stomach tightened. He wouldn't be called up unless something had happened to...

"Your father is going to be fine. He's been sent to St. Mungo's." Mark relaxed ever so slightly. "Your mother, however..."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brazzleton. Your mother is gone."

Silence fell over the small room, filling every nook and cranny so thoroughly that even the large, ornately colored phoenix refused to disturb it. The paintings slowly vacated their frames as though staying would be rude, or they were just uncomfortable with the newly heavy atmosphere. Some stayed, eyes glued to the tense figures seated in the center of the room. Mark sat very still, eyes staring blankly forward, mouth slightly ajar, uncomprehending. His mind wouldn't―couldn't―wrap around the meaning of the words.

Gone. He'd said gone. Mark's first instinct was to ask where she'd gone, but he knew better. Gone. Adjective. To have departed; left. Or in some cases, that has passed away; dead. Dead. His stomach rolled violently, but his face hardly twitched. Dead.

His hands started to shake lightly where they lay in his lap, and he clasped them, white knuckled, between his knees. That can't be right. His mother was an accomplished witch. She knew her wand backwards and forwards. She'd been a Ravenclaw for Merlin's sake! How could this―it didn't make sense, but then... Why would Dumbledore say so if it wasn't the truth?

The Headmaster was a man of good values and morality. He wasn't the type to tell lies of this magnitude, nor did he strike Mark as the type to be malicious and if this was a lie, it was definitely malicious. Which meant it could only be true. Dead.

His mother was dead.

He drew in a ragged breath, blinking a few times. He didn't cry. His body, mind, and soul cried out like a great wounded beast, but his eyes remained unbearably dry.

"I need to see my father." He said quietly, voice so thick in his throat he nearly choked on it. He pried his fingers apart, studying the crescent marks left in his skin with little interest. Then he pushed himself slowly to his feet, holding his weight first with his arms to ensure his legs would hold him. His knees quivered for a moment, but held firm. Only then did he look at the Headmaster again.

"I need to see my father." He repeated, a little more urgently this time, shudder in the sound more apparent. "I have to go."

Hello� my name is�

Your Name: Vague
Age: 21
Contact: PMs always work
Desired Member Title: Waiting for Something to Go Wrong
Other Characters?: nope

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