warnings for child abuse, non-con, incest, drug abuse, violence, gore, cannibalism, etc
Name: Evan Murphy
Age: 25
Birthday: May 11
Gender: Male
Species: Changeling
Category: Citizen
Career: Brags about being a Big Entrepreneur, but mostly dabbles in criminal activity – drug dealing, hired gun, heists, you name it! Currently works as a security guard for LuxTV.
Appearance Description:
Evan looks like a dirty homeless man.
Break him down to more individual parts, and he’s not that bad. Handsome, if you squint. Evan looks like a man of Caucasian descent mixed in with something that’s hard to pin down, closer to a rabid wolf than any other ethnicity. Evan’s got a strong chin and a square jaw with a large, crooked nose at the center of his face. His teeth are perfect, or else, they would be if they weren’t missing in some places (mostly in the back) and stained yellow because of poor hygiene and his smoking habits.
He’s got black hair and black eyes – really black, not deep brown under the sunlight like other people. His eyes are sharp and slanted upwards, giving him the illusion of easy mirth, though under them are dark eye bags that never go away. He’s often high on meth, coke or speed, so he makes a habit of wearing shades even indoors so it’s not obvious. His hair is thick and messy, and grows all over his body at a fast rate. Evan shaves every couple of days and trims his hair every week so it wouldn’t be unruly and hard to manage. He’s not in any way a trained barber, so his hairstyle is generally uneven and prone to sticking out in odd ends. Evan makes no effort to style his hair, thereby dubbing his hairstyle ‘the permanent bedhead.’
The boy is fit because of his activities. He doesn’t have model abs or powerful biceps, but those are for cosmetic purposes anyway. He’s thin and wiry because of poor eating habits, but sturdy and strong underneath. He’s a little too tall, standing at 6’8”ft, though it’s not obvious because his posture always seems to be crooked somehow – slanting left, slumping, leaning forward. When standing and doing nothing, he has twitchy movements, like scratching his arms or the back of his neck.
Even if Evan’s individual parts aren’t bad, it all comes together in a messy heap, like a decent cookie batter left too long in the oven. In this metaphor, the oven is bad habits and drugs. His addictions have aged him up in a bad way. He used to have fair princess skin, but it’s turned yellow and pale, too clammy and a bit oily to the touch. Said skin sags in certain places like under his chin and limbs. It’s smoothed over his stomach. He looks sick all the time.
Evan’s fashion sense doesn’t help his case either. He’s extremely counter culture, so he exclusively shops in discount stores or wears other people’s clothing. Currently, he only owns a few pieces of clothing. Five shirts – three t-shirts (plain white, one with a Budweiser logo, a green shirt), a yellow wife beater that says “Cocks”, and a long-sleeved kitty sweater. Two pants – sweat pants and jeans. Two jackets – one bomber and one bedazzled jean jacket that says “Princess” on the back. One pair of booty shorts. One scarf. One discount suit. Gloves. Worn boots. All of his clothing, save for the suit, have all never been washed. Depending on how much he favors them, they’re either smelly or molding at the edges with strains from god knows what.
He has a lot of tattoos, both for aesthetic purposes and sentimental reasons. On the right arm is a tattoo of a cobra with a back drop of roses, coiled around the entire length of the limb. On the left arm is a tattoo of a flaming dagger with a snake and fire around it. Above the dagger is a tattoo that says “Elijah” in fancy script with a heart around it, a little on the bottom saying “life goals.” He’s got a tattoo of triangles around his neck, and if asked, would say it’s a helpful guide for everyone that wants to behead him. Down his left hip is a list of names of his fallen friends – Mary, Mark, John, Peter, and Harry. Between Peter and Harry is Dylan, but it’s burned away with a hot knife. He’s got a tattoo of an arrow pointing at his dick, labeling it as “the goods.”
Evan has snakebite piercings and two on his right ear. He smells like alcohol, weed and man sweat baked thoroughly under the sun.
Personality Description:
Evan is closer to a rabid animal than a person. He screams loud, fights hard, and fucks hard. He parties like it’s his last day on Earth, with little regard to his own safety and wellbeing. He walks into places like he owns them, and if anybody has beef with that, they could fight him in real life. He’s tough and daring, unafraid of anything, so much that it often crosses into the realm of the inappropriate. Give him an opportunity, and his first opportunity is to leap.
It’s all a lot of male posturing. Poke a little through the surface, and it’s not as solid as he wants you to think it is.
In truth, Evan is terribly lonely. Being raised as a “demon child” really warped his own self-perception. Evan has convinced himself that he’s a bad, bad person, and because he’s so bad, he might as well act like it. And you know what? It’s not a half-bad lifestyle. He distracts himself with violence, drugs, sex and general meanness, and he’s good at it, takes pride in that fact. The only thing that ever bothers him are the quiet moments, where his thoughts catch up to him, but that’s why he makes sure to have beer around.
Evan has a hard shell around most people, but it’s a coping mechanism to hide the fact that he’s desperate as fuck for any sort of softness and affection. He believes that he is, by nature, unlikeable. He pushes all the bad onto the surface and makes a point that he isn’t fucking changing. If somebody could accept that, could look at his anger, loneliness, and neediness – aaall the bad shit he does – and say with confidence that they could accept him, that person would earn his loyalty for life.
Loyalty is Evan’s strongest, most redeeming trait. He often gives it to the people he runs with, outcasts, those that he views are wholly, genuinely good, and those people that he views are the same species as him. Evan has an outstanding gut with people, maybe because he refuses to play their silly games. He could tell a hypocrite from a good person at a glance.
Evan has a strong dislike against any sort of superficiality, mostly stemming from the fact that it’s complicated and he doesn’t understand it. He thinks there’s no point to fakeness, that people should bare their hearts in the open, fuck the consequences. He admires people that do the same and are quick to warm up to them. Liars are a very funny sort to him, and he’s either quick to dismiss them or he gets tempted to rip apart their fake faces to see what’s underneath.
Evan is incredibly counter culture, holding a lot of unexpectedly progress views. He’s a very equal opportunity sort of guy in sex and violence, so he detests big company and big governments and flipping his lid at bigots, turning it into big pissing matches. If somebody is being a major douchelord, they’re practically giving him permission to kick their ass, right?
People that like straightforwardness often like Evan, because he tells it like it is, no sugarcoating. They know that if Evan hates them, he would’ve tried to cap their ass already. He gives off the opposite effect to sensitive people and people pleasers, because his capricious moods tend to be hard to handle or predict. Spineless people are the most fun chew toys.
Of course, Evan can play nice, even begrudgingly, usually for business or in the name of “not getting arrested.” Evan, upon entering the RP, would be under surveillance with a tracking chip and his parole officer. He wouldn’t pick fights or flash his dick at people anymore, but calling them a turd is totally still within bounds.
Evan is an adrenaline junkie and a huge attention seeker. When doing a big crime, he doesn’t like being subtle about it – live media coverage or bust, baby. He treats crime like art work. Petty things are good for practice, but in the end, it’s all about the big show. Evan admires criminals that make their work known too, and look to them for inspiration. His biggest crime idol is Elijah, a big criminal back in the day, whose works he’s studied front and back. Evan shows a great deal of creativity and initiative, but unfortunately, it tends to focus solely on crime and annoying other people.
For all his trashy tastes, Evan is unexpectedly erudite. This is because he’s got a restless mind, and he prefers using that restlessness with learning instead of TV or pornographic garbage. He goes out of his way to buy and read books, as well as attend online college classes in his downtime. He likes literature and literary criticism a great deal, partial to the Romantic classics, Wordsworth and Byron, as well as Aesthetes like Wilde. It’s one of the few things he’s shy about.
Evan is sensitive, irrational and unpredictable, but in the end, his motivations tend to be really simple. Most of it are just cries for help.
Powers:
Space Manipulation
Evan is capable of folding space, like how one folds paper and draws a line over it. While this power seems daunting, it just functions similarly to portals or teleportation. For example, he could fold several kilometers of space to step over it and into a different place altogether, without the space in between getting affected in any capacity. Evan can reach over the folded space partially or with his entire body. When just partial, people would see the body parts not present like they’re cut off, the meat replaced with void.
There are several limits to this ability. Evan has to concentrate to keep the space folded. If he doesn’t and something happens to be walking over it, it runs the danger of slicing that thing up in long, clean pieces all over the space that got folded. For example, Evan folds the space between his house and the bar. He fails to keep his hold, so his body gets decapitated in parts along the path from the house to the bar. Evan is aware of this danger, so he rarely uses this ability when drunk, high or otherwise mentally unfocused. Evan can use this ability as much as he likes provided it’s only around one kilometer and by himself. Anything further and bigger would be harder.
This power is very linear – horizontal, vertical, and diagonal, exactly at the direction he’s facing. He can’t, for example, throw something in front of him and have it appear behind him. This power is also bound by the law of physics. If Evan ever wants to fold space vertically, he’d have to be jumping on a trampoline or on a plane. If he folds it while he’s falling at fast velocities, he’s going to hit the ground hard.
Anything crossing folded space would have to be in motion and entering from where Evan folded it. Everything in between would be untampered. He wouldn’t be able to, say, use this power to transport solitary buildings or to chop up an unsuspecting civilian. He would physically have to pick up that civilian and throw him over it if he wants to go down that murder route.
Evan is the only one able to see when space is folded, but even then, he needs a keen awareness of his surroundings to maximize its use. Teleporting to a dead end during a caper is a very real possibility. This ability is fast to use, but stepping into things like walls would also mean decapitation.
Short distances are easier than longer ones. Evan’s distance limit without complications is a five kilometer radius from where he’s standing. Ten, he could make when he concentrates really hard. Anything more than that would have to be done in bursts. The furthest he’s ever done is fifty kilometers by himself, and he passed out for two days after.
Small objects are easier than bigger ones. Evan can take things from another space easy by reaching his hand over. The biggest he could push through folded space was a van. Due to the sheer size of the van, it was very much in danger of getting cut up in several pieces when he did it. He only ever uses this ability with vehicles during emergencies.
In Manta Carlos, Evan wouldn’t be able to step into places protected by wards. Also, when using his power, the folded space would be surrounded by magic, making him easily detectable by the police.
All in all, Space Manipulation is a powerful ability, but it’s one that’s hard to master. Careful planning, an alert mind, and a good idea of physics and geometry are needed to fully maximize its use. Anything less, and it would hurt more than it helps. Evan uses this ability for a lot of things, but mostly to store weapons in nearby caches, petty thievery, quick getaways, and point blank gunshots.
Species Abilities:
Changeling
Evan is a changeling, which is a fae baby that replaced a human baby. He has no idea that he’s fae, but he knows he’s physically different from the people around him. Evan’s at the peak of human physical fitness, possessing outstanding strength, agility and speed without the effort put into it. Perhaps unexpectedly, Evan is also graceful in movements (the stumbling drunk act is mostly for show) and very good at singing. He has an understated and almost feral beauty to him, even when it’s marred forever by meth.
Also unbeknownst to him, he’s immortal in the sense that he’s stopped aging sometime in his twenties and he’ll stay the same forever unless a disease gets him or he’s murdered. He’s a lot sturdier than humans tend to be. While he’s not invincible by any means, it makes his awful lifestyle easier and it takes quite a few blows and gunshots to take him down.
Being a changeling isn’t all benefits. While he excels in physical areas, it more than balances it out with his mental instability. Evan is born from the Unseelie court, so he is, by nature, unstable, hedonistic, malicious and vindictive. Evan is very ambitious, and his hungers are hard to sate. Even if he excels in Academic areas, his logic is hard to understand – what seems sound to him would sound crazy to a more rational person. Additionally, he’s wildly possessive of people he’s decided are his.
Evan is a harbinger of bad luck, not in short bursts, but exactly where it’s going to hit him the hardest, usually after he’s sustained a certain contentment in his life. Things have a habit of falling apart. His bad luck is most concentrated in family matters. His existence, quite literally, cursed the Murphys, and it’s a curse that’s going to continue on until Evan dies. Should he die, his fae parents would dump the human family’s real child on their doorstep.
Silver wards him away and burns his skin on contact. He’s rationalized this as a “weird allergy.”
Biography:
Evan was born in the desert between Texas and Mexico, then switched with a baby in the Murphy Horse Ranch in Southern Texas.
The Murphy Horse Ranch was rather prosperous and wealthy, seen as the go-to place to buy reliable horses. They bred horses of all kinds, from purebreds to racing, bought by racers, rich businessmen, tourist companies or, really, just about anyone that wanted a horse. The property has the entire Murphy family, cousins and extended family. The main branch has a large, almost mansion-like house in the ranch. The Murphy line is ruled by the steady and unwavering patriarch, Gary Murphy.
Evan was “born into” the main branch of the Murphys. Prior to Evan, Gary and Selena Murphy already had six daughters – Yvonne (10), Melissa (8), Jane and Joan (7), Lillian (5), and Kate (2). Evan was the first man born to the family, and with him, Gary was finally content. Selena got pregnant after Evan. The baby was a stillborn. After that, Gary ordered his wife to get her tubes tied.
Gary had high hopes for Evan, but Evan became the curse that tore the Murphy family apart. Gary himself wished he read the signs correctly. Gary had brown hair, Selena had blonde hair, and all their daughters had blonde hair, save for Melissa and Kate, who had brown hair. Evan had pitch black, with eyes like the void. Gary beat his wife when Evan’s hair began to grow, all the while Selena screaming that she would never, ever think to cheat on Gary.
The curse came in two parts: One was the series of bad luck that befell the Murphys, and the other was little Evan himself.
After Evan was born, a rival ranch started selling cheaper, faster horses than the Murphys. The owner of the other ranch claimed that their horses were better because they didn’t start to degrade due to generations of inbreeding. Money became tight. All the family members started working. Yvonne grew resentful of the new arrangements because she grew up with the luxury, so Melissa stepped up to take on the duties of the eldest.
Little Evan had dyslexia. When it was time for him to start reading, he became impossible to deal with. Gary beat his wife for not teaching his boy properly, and when he caught on, started beating Evan, believing mental illness was the work of the devil. If he beat it out of him, he’d have his perfect little boy back. The more Gary beat Evan, the more Evan resisted against him. He became spoiled and angry. He screamed at the help, his sisters and his mother. He often asked for things, then broke them when they weren’t satisfactory. He was a terror around the household, and Gary dubbed him the demon child.
Melissa became the only light in Evan’s life. She was a tomboy who knew how to shoot a gun as well as she rode horses. She taught Evan how to ride a horse, then took him to long rides into the nearby forest to teach him how to shoot a gun. These activities were much more fun in Evan’s eyes. He began to think that his sister was the only one that could understand him.
Evan’s childhood was defined by acting out and genuine interest in travel and vehicles. While he loved their horses (about the only thing he loved about the Murphys aside from Melissa, really), he longed to feel the adrenaline of other methods of transport. He had a fixation on motorcycles, in particular.
Flash forward ten years later, with the Murphys’ luck steadily declining and their father finding more depraved ways of coping with the stress, Little Evan, not so little at fourteen, found another person he looked up to – a famous criminal by the name of Elijah. He could remember that morning vividly. The Murphys gathered at the living and dining room. His mother flipping eggs, Gary reading the newspaper, Yvonne doing the twins’ braids, and Melissa polishing her weathered cowboy boots on the counter. Evan sat at the floor of the living room eating Fruit Loops, watching cartoons before Gary flipped the channel to the news. It was a report that just started, about a famous criminal called ‘Elijah’ breaking into one of the biggest banks in America and stealing millions of dollars, then escaping the police as if they were never there. It was something out of a story. Evan finished his cereal and went upstairs to google this.
It became a point of obsession, from that point onward. Evan printed the news stories and joined forums discussing famous criminals, soaking in every content he could find, no matter how inconsequential. There weren’t many pictures of Elijah, most of them blurry, but he printed them all and kept some of them in his wallet.
Two years later, at a school event he could hardly remember, Evan started rambling about the brilliance of Elijah’s work to people and caught the attention of two boys, Dylan and Patrick. Dylan was a handsome football player and Patrick was a weird kid that was really into “pro wrestling.” The three of them turned into unlikely friends. They planned their first score soon after.
It wasn’t big, just a small 7/11 robbery. Evan got a gun at a shady arms dealer because he talked rough and his height made him look eighteen. Dylan got his uncle’s truck as a getaway vehicle. Patrick got them all ski masks. They pointed a gun at the kid behind the counter, got all the cash in the register plus snacks, and booked it five miles away from the place, perching the car at a cliff above the city as they talked about the rush of it all. Dylan, square-jawed and wide-shouldered, handsome like a cartoon pilot, let Evan take a bite of his soggy convenience store hotdog and Evan fell in love.
Patrick headed out first. Evan and Dylan drank their cheap beers, lying side to side at the back of Dylan’s truck. Evan flirted with him, challenged him, and in the end, Dylan gave. He made Evan promise to never tell anyone about it (to protect his heterosexual Texan pride) and kissed him. His mouth tasted like beer and he smelled like old money and cheap cigarettes.
When morning came, Evan scrambled home, smell unmistakable. His mother was the one that struck him first, and she never struck him before in his life. Then Gary came and assaulted him. He forced himself on him as a form of “divine punishment.” Evan swore he was going to rip him apart someday before he blacked out.
School rolled around on Monday. Evan went to school with a black eye, but satisfied about his work. He found Patrick, who didn’t talk to him anymore because his parents got angry he came home drunk. He couldn’t find Dylan. After a bit of investigating, he found out Dylan was on a plane bound to somewhere in New York, where he would be staying from then on because his parents thought this city was corrupting him.
Evan didn’t think. He acted. He stole some kid’s motorcycle and his money and drove miles and miles towards Los Angeles. Weeks passed by, he’d lost all his money from food and gas. He hadn’t even left Texas at that point. He went into a seedy bar at the middle of the desert. The bar owner took pity on him and let him stay on the couch. He cried then, thought about driving back to the ranch where he was safe from heat and hunger, but thought better of it – if Gary and his mother got pissed at him for getting drunk once, they’d never let him get away with running away for a boy of all things. He thought of Dylan’s soft lips on his, and hardened his resolve.
His stay at that dingy little bar turned longer than expected when he stepped into a room he thought was a bathroom and turned out to be a meth lab. He didn’t understand at first, thought it was just some misplaced chemistry set, until the bar owner caused quite a fuss and it was then the pieces clicked. Evan got flustered, and promised her he wouldn’t tell. In fact, he asked her if there were any jobs around the place he could do. The woman peered into his face, realized he was sincere, and asked him to help her around the joint until her husband came back.
When her husband finally did, it was two months later with a biker gang. The Texas Rattlesnakes. They were overall way friendlier than he thought they would be. Evan was enamored, and tried to find a place among them. They laughed at him being lightweight, but were impressed when he saw his way with a gun. They introduced him to coke for the first time, and it nearly knocked the life out of him. It was great. They were great. He’d never been this thrilled about his life since that night with Dylan, until everything fell apart at the seams. His little paradise in the desert got burned down by a rival biker gang. Everything burned down at that inferno, everything except this boy John, five bricks of meth, three thousand dollars stolen from the cashier, a stolen pistol, and a stolen motorcycle. Mark and Mary’s names, the couple that owned that place, burned in his mind.
The boy John, a younger recruit of the Rattlesnakes, was scared and lonely out of his wits. Evan couldn’t say he felt the same shock. It was just the two of them out in that long desert road – traveled together, ate together, and slept together, the last in both the literal and the biblical sense. John fell in love with him. When Evan looked into his too goofy face and too earnest goofy smile, he couldn’t say he felt the same. But Evan was loyal, and more than that, he was so fucking lonely that it felt good to have someone hold him at night. He told him about his plans to travel to New York to look for his first love – the disappointment in John’s face was palpable, but he wanted to go with him nonetheless.
They reached New York months later. It took them a couple more months before they found anything. They finally did at the nicer part of Boston – Dylan’s extended family, who said there were a change of plans to that and they took him somewhere in the middle of America. Where, they weren’t exactly sure.
They eventually ditched the bikes for something a little more cross country. A van. It wasn’t much, but they bought a cooler, a radio, a small stove, some kitchen utensils, and small mattress. Called it home. Sometimes, Evan would hear news stories about Elijah on the radio, bits and pieces here and there, and he’d feel young again. Inspired. It kept him going. John turned out to be an artist with a tattoo gun, so that was when Evan got his first tattoo – on his arm, one that said “Elijah.” A few days later, Mary and Mark’s names were added to his hip.
It turned out that traveling Middle America with no leads and a limited budget was near impossible, so they decided to fix that. They got two other people on the crew, Peter and Harry, brothers who wanted to escape their dead-end farm life. Peter knew his way with a car and Harry was a typical redneck gun nut who was more than prepared to shoot and arm their crew to the teeth. They robbed a small time bank successfully, divided the money four ways, sold the van, and bought a nice trailer and two getaway motorcycles strapped on top of it. The brothers joined them at the promise of fortune beyond their wildest dreams.
The four of them were an apocalypse. The path to finding Dylan wasn’t exactly a straight line, and they got sidetracked by the prospect of successful scores every time. Evan got more and more ambitious, studied Elijah’s work and taught himself new skills, pushing himself to greater heights. He didn’t have any fancy hacking, but his space powers gave him access to places he wouldn’t normally, gave them an escape route when cornered. They were filthy fucking rich, after all that. Evan loved it all – the money, the violence, the unbridled power it gave him. When you’ve had a cop looking into the barrel of your gun, you could do anything.
It only felt appropriate that things went to shit after this new high. John OD’d on meth one night. Fell asleep, never woke back up. Evan added another name to his hip. The three of them shared John’s favorite beer and ate John’s corpse, believing it was something he would’ve wanted.
It was like a wake-up call to get his shit together. Evan was twenty-one, going twenty-two, traveling around buttfuck hillbilly county. He had to remind himself: He was driving around the US for a reason, and that reason was Dylan. They found some of Dylan’s relatives, and they said, with complete confidence, that Dylan was in California.
They drove from Utah to California. The trip took five days, but it was well worth it. They enjoyed their stay first – Evan got a few more tattoos, then made and sold meth to the lovely beachgoers. After a few months, he started his search again. It ended up spectacularly easy when he found a bunch of College students on Spring break.
Dylan was older and more handsome, like a Photoshopped movie actor. He didn’t recognize Evan until he spoke. His first reaction was of complete revulsion, then after they chatted a bit, admiration. Dylan didn’t like the new dirty methhead look, but he got dazzled by the stories (That news story? That was you?) and the feel of cold, hard cash in his fingertips. Dylan took a wad without asking, then promised Evan he’d stop by their trailer the next day.
Evan almost thought he wasn’t going to come. He did, nervous but a trembling excitement underneath the surface, exactly like the man he fell in love with. Evan was determined to wash off all the fake good boy paint from Dylan and bare the man underneath. They were made of the same parts. He knew.
The cleansing was a nostalgia trip. Another 7/11. This time, with a fast motorcycle and a real fucking gun. The cops were at their tail and their hearts threatening to burst from the throats. Doped up with dopamine, Dylan kissed him like it was his last day on Earth, then told him to brush his fucking teeth. Evan flashed him a smile and told him this was baby stuff. They should go rob a bank.
Dylan was hesitant when he heard the offer, then asked Evan that, if they did this, could he assure him that his progress in College wouldn’t get wasted and they wouldn’t go to prison? Evan assured him he’d take care of him, that he was an expert. Poor guy didn’t need to know that in this line of work, there’s always the threat of death or prison looming over their heads.
The Murphy Horse Ranch was rather prosperous and wealthy, seen as the go-to place to buy reliable horses. They bred horses of all kinds, from purebreds to racing, bought by racers, rich businessmen, tourist companies or, really, just about anyone that wanted a horse. The property has the entire Murphy family, cousins and extended family. The main branch has a large, almost mansion-like house in the ranch. The Murphy line is ruled by the steady and unwavering patriarch, Gary Murphy.
Evan was “born into” the main branch of the Murphys. Prior to Evan, Gary and Selena Murphy already had six daughters – Yvonne (10), Melissa (8), Jane and Joan (7), Lillian (5), and Kate (2). Evan was the first man born to the family, and with him, Gary was finally content. Selena got pregnant after Evan. The baby was a stillborn. After that, Gary ordered his wife to get her tubes tied.
Gary had high hopes for Evan, but Evan became the curse that tore the Murphy family apart. Gary himself wished he read the signs correctly. Gary had brown hair, Selena had blonde hair, and all their daughters had blonde hair, save for Melissa and Kate, who had brown hair. Evan had pitch black, with eyes like the void. Gary beat his wife when Evan’s hair began to grow, all the while Selena screaming that she would never, ever think to cheat on Gary.
The curse came in two parts: One was the series of bad luck that befell the Murphys, and the other was little Evan himself.
After Evan was born, a rival ranch started selling cheaper, faster horses than the Murphys. The owner of the other ranch claimed that their horses were better because they didn’t start to degrade due to generations of inbreeding. Money became tight. All the family members started working. Yvonne grew resentful of the new arrangements because she grew up with the luxury, so Melissa stepped up to take on the duties of the eldest.
Little Evan had dyslexia. When it was time for him to start reading, he became impossible to deal with. Gary beat his wife for not teaching his boy properly, and when he caught on, started beating Evan, believing mental illness was the work of the devil. If he beat it out of him, he’d have his perfect little boy back. The more Gary beat Evan, the more Evan resisted against him. He became spoiled and angry. He screamed at the help, his sisters and his mother. He often asked for things, then broke them when they weren’t satisfactory. He was a terror around the household, and Gary dubbed him the demon child.
Melissa became the only light in Evan’s life. She was a tomboy who knew how to shoot a gun as well as she rode horses. She taught Evan how to ride a horse, then took him to long rides into the nearby forest to teach him how to shoot a gun. These activities were much more fun in Evan’s eyes. He began to think that his sister was the only one that could understand him.
Evan’s childhood was defined by acting out and genuine interest in travel and vehicles. While he loved their horses (about the only thing he loved about the Murphys aside from Melissa, really), he longed to feel the adrenaline of other methods of transport. He had a fixation on motorcycles, in particular.
Flash forward ten years later, with the Murphys’ luck steadily declining and their father finding more depraved ways of coping with the stress, Little Evan, not so little at fourteen, found another person he looked up to – a famous criminal by the name of Elijah. He could remember that morning vividly. The Murphys gathered at the living and dining room. His mother flipping eggs, Gary reading the newspaper, Yvonne doing the twins’ braids, and Melissa polishing her weathered cowboy boots on the counter. Evan sat at the floor of the living room eating Fruit Loops, watching cartoons before Gary flipped the channel to the news. It was a report that just started, about a famous criminal called ‘Elijah’ breaking into one of the biggest banks in America and stealing millions of dollars, then escaping the police as if they were never there. It was something out of a story. Evan finished his cereal and went upstairs to google this.
It became a point of obsession, from that point onward. Evan printed the news stories and joined forums discussing famous criminals, soaking in every content he could find, no matter how inconsequential. There weren’t many pictures of Elijah, most of them blurry, but he printed them all and kept some of them in his wallet.
Two years later, at a school event he could hardly remember, Evan started rambling about the brilliance of Elijah’s work to people and caught the attention of two boys, Dylan and Patrick. Dylan was a handsome football player and Patrick was a weird kid that was really into “pro wrestling.” The three of them turned into unlikely friends. They planned their first score soon after.
It wasn’t big, just a small 7/11 robbery. Evan got a gun at a shady arms dealer because he talked rough and his height made him look eighteen. Dylan got his uncle’s truck as a getaway vehicle. Patrick got them all ski masks. They pointed a gun at the kid behind the counter, got all the cash in the register plus snacks, and booked it five miles away from the place, perching the car at a cliff above the city as they talked about the rush of it all. Dylan, square-jawed and wide-shouldered, handsome like a cartoon pilot, let Evan take a bite of his soggy convenience store hotdog and Evan fell in love.
Patrick headed out first. Evan and Dylan drank their cheap beers, lying side to side at the back of Dylan’s truck. Evan flirted with him, challenged him, and in the end, Dylan gave. He made Evan promise to never tell anyone about it (to protect his heterosexual Texan pride) and kissed him. His mouth tasted like beer and he smelled like old money and cheap cigarettes.
When morning came, Evan scrambled home, smell unmistakable. His mother was the one that struck him first, and she never struck him before in his life. Then Gary came and assaulted him. He forced himself on him as a form of “divine punishment.” Evan swore he was going to rip him apart someday before he blacked out.
School rolled around on Monday. Evan went to school with a black eye, but satisfied about his work. He found Patrick, who didn’t talk to him anymore because his parents got angry he came home drunk. He couldn’t find Dylan. After a bit of investigating, he found out Dylan was on a plane bound to somewhere in New York, where he would be staying from then on because his parents thought this city was corrupting him.
Evan didn’t think. He acted. He stole some kid’s motorcycle and his money and drove miles and miles towards Los Angeles. Weeks passed by, he’d lost all his money from food and gas. He hadn’t even left Texas at that point. He went into a seedy bar at the middle of the desert. The bar owner took pity on him and let him stay on the couch. He cried then, thought about driving back to the ranch where he was safe from heat and hunger, but thought better of it – if Gary and his mother got pissed at him for getting drunk once, they’d never let him get away with running away for a boy of all things. He thought of Dylan’s soft lips on his, and hardened his resolve.
His stay at that dingy little bar turned longer than expected when he stepped into a room he thought was a bathroom and turned out to be a meth lab. He didn’t understand at first, thought it was just some misplaced chemistry set, until the bar owner caused quite a fuss and it was then the pieces clicked. Evan got flustered, and promised her he wouldn’t tell. In fact, he asked her if there were any jobs around the place he could do. The woman peered into his face, realized he was sincere, and asked him to help her around the joint until her husband came back.
When her husband finally did, it was two months later with a biker gang. The Texas Rattlesnakes. They were overall way friendlier than he thought they would be. Evan was enamored, and tried to find a place among them. They laughed at him being lightweight, but were impressed when he saw his way with a gun. They introduced him to coke for the first time, and it nearly knocked the life out of him. It was great. They were great. He’d never been this thrilled about his life since that night with Dylan, until everything fell apart at the seams. His little paradise in the desert got burned down by a rival biker gang. Everything burned down at that inferno, everything except this boy John, five bricks of meth, three thousand dollars stolen from the cashier, a stolen pistol, and a stolen motorcycle. Mark and Mary’s names, the couple that owned that place, burned in his mind.
The boy John, a younger recruit of the Rattlesnakes, was scared and lonely out of his wits. Evan couldn’t say he felt the same shock. It was just the two of them out in that long desert road – traveled together, ate together, and slept together, the last in both the literal and the biblical sense. John fell in love with him. When Evan looked into his too goofy face and too earnest goofy smile, he couldn’t say he felt the same. But Evan was loyal, and more than that, he was so fucking lonely that it felt good to have someone hold him at night. He told him about his plans to travel to New York to look for his first love – the disappointment in John’s face was palpable, but he wanted to go with him nonetheless.
They reached New York months later. It took them a couple more months before they found anything. They finally did at the nicer part of Boston – Dylan’s extended family, who said there were a change of plans to that and they took him somewhere in the middle of America. Where, they weren’t exactly sure.
They eventually ditched the bikes for something a little more cross country. A van. It wasn’t much, but they bought a cooler, a radio, a small stove, some kitchen utensils, and small mattress. Called it home. Sometimes, Evan would hear news stories about Elijah on the radio, bits and pieces here and there, and he’d feel young again. Inspired. It kept him going. John turned out to be an artist with a tattoo gun, so that was when Evan got his first tattoo – on his arm, one that said “Elijah.” A few days later, Mary and Mark’s names were added to his hip.
It turned out that traveling Middle America with no leads and a limited budget was near impossible, so they decided to fix that. They got two other people on the crew, Peter and Harry, brothers who wanted to escape their dead-end farm life. Peter knew his way with a car and Harry was a typical redneck gun nut who was more than prepared to shoot and arm their crew to the teeth. They robbed a small time bank successfully, divided the money four ways, sold the van, and bought a nice trailer and two getaway motorcycles strapped on top of it. The brothers joined them at the promise of fortune beyond their wildest dreams.
The four of them were an apocalypse. The path to finding Dylan wasn’t exactly a straight line, and they got sidetracked by the prospect of successful scores every time. Evan got more and more ambitious, studied Elijah’s work and taught himself new skills, pushing himself to greater heights. He didn’t have any fancy hacking, but his space powers gave him access to places he wouldn’t normally, gave them an escape route when cornered. They were filthy fucking rich, after all that. Evan loved it all – the money, the violence, the unbridled power it gave him. When you’ve had a cop looking into the barrel of your gun, you could do anything.
It only felt appropriate that things went to shit after this new high. John OD’d on meth one night. Fell asleep, never woke back up. Evan added another name to his hip. The three of them shared John’s favorite beer and ate John’s corpse, believing it was something he would’ve wanted.
It was like a wake-up call to get his shit together. Evan was twenty-one, going twenty-two, traveling around buttfuck hillbilly county. He had to remind himself: He was driving around the US for a reason, and that reason was Dylan. They found some of Dylan’s relatives, and they said, with complete confidence, that Dylan was in California.
They drove from Utah to California. The trip took five days, but it was well worth it. They enjoyed their stay first – Evan got a few more tattoos, then made and sold meth to the lovely beachgoers. After a few months, he started his search again. It ended up spectacularly easy when he found a bunch of College students on Spring break.
Dylan was older and more handsome, like a Photoshopped movie actor. He didn’t recognize Evan until he spoke. His first reaction was of complete revulsion, then after they chatted a bit, admiration. Dylan didn’t like the new dirty methhead look, but he got dazzled by the stories (That news story? That was you?) and the feel of cold, hard cash in his fingertips. Dylan took a wad without asking, then promised Evan he’d stop by their trailer the next day.
Evan almost thought he wasn’t going to come. He did, nervous but a trembling excitement underneath the surface, exactly like the man he fell in love with. Evan was determined to wash off all the fake good boy paint from Dylan and bare the man underneath. They were made of the same parts. He knew.
The cleansing was a nostalgia trip. Another 7/11. This time, with a fast motorcycle and a real fucking gun. The cops were at their tail and their hearts threatening to burst from the throats. Doped up with dopamine, Dylan kissed him like it was his last day on Earth, then told him to brush his fucking teeth. Evan flashed him a smile and told him this was baby stuff. They should go rob a bank.
Dylan was hesitant when he heard the offer, then asked Evan that, if they did this, could he assure him that his progress in College wouldn’t get wasted and they wouldn’t go to prison? Evan assured him he’d take care of him, that he was an expert. Poor guy didn’t need to know that in this line of work, there’s always the threat of death or prison looming over their heads.
Additional Information:
- Evan is pansexual panromantic polyamorous, with a strong leaning for older men. His favorites tend to be out of shape businessmen or other meth heads. He likes unconventional beauties the most. Too pretty and perfect goes back to revulsion to him, but he’d still fuck them if willing.
- Evan has dyslexia. His sister Melissa helped him read despite this, though certain letters escape him when he’s trashed beyond all hell.
- Evan is diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder, and bipolar disorder. Because of his instability, Manta Carlos counselors are forcing him to take medication to keep his moods in check.
- As of entering the RP, he has 6 months parole to track his movements to make sure he doesn’t commit any crimes during.
- He’s deaf in the right ear.
- This app is unnecessarily long, I’m sorry.