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NAME: Lindsey

AGE: 18


EMAIL ADDRESS: xXsophisticat3d@aim.com

AIM SCREENNAME & MAIN PERSONAL LJ ACCOUNT: [livejournal.com profile] xlineartx



NAME: Julio Esteban Richter



AGE: 14


ROLE: Student

BACKGROUND: As a young boy in Guadalajara, Rictor witnessed the death of his father at the hands of Stryfe, who just happened to be on a vacation in 20th century Mexico or something. Aside from that, he led a relatively normal life for kid with a family in the gun-running business—at least, up until his powers manifested. He caused a major earthquake, leveling a good chunk of Guadalajara, including the house he lived in with his mother and three older sisters. Nobody in his family seemed to be hurt, but he still freaked out and ran away from home. He was shortly intercepted by the anti-mutant organization known as the Right, who had been tipped off by a particularly nasty cousin of his in exchange for a large sum of money. They hooked him up to a power-amplifying machine in an attempt to destroy San Francisco, a city well-known for its large mutant community. Fortunately he was rescued by the X-Men before any real damage was done, and it was agreed that he would attend Xavier’s for the time being.
PERSONALITY: Sullen and somewhat withdrawn. Will probably continue to angst until Shatterstar gets here and maybe a little bit after that. Kind of defensive. Does not want to talk about it. Is trying to be friendly. Likes music and dancing and people who are feisty. Will not get a haircut. Really a very nice boy.

APPEARANCE: Dark hair that is longer than it should be (but don’t you try telling him that). Darker skin, brown eyes. Short, kinda scruffy. Skinny, but with some muscles. Fond of bandanas.

POWERS: Earthquakes and seismic blasts.

ANYTHING ELSE?: Obviously he’s bisexual, like everyone and their mom knows by now.


First-person sample: Fuck, man, another shitty in day in fucking Xavier’s school of weird-ass mutants. I mean, I like that Tabby girl okay, but it’s just not like home, you know? Not that I even got a home anymore.

I just, well, I know it’s fucked up but I can’t stop thinking about it, you know? About everything. I just need to go out and go dancing, maybe make some friends who don’t know what happened. Like, I’m sick of everybody looking at me like I’m gonna freak out or something. And it’s like, everybody has such cool powers, you know? They’re all, “I can do magic” or “I can walk through walls” and I’m like, “I can make earthquakes?” and they’re just, “Don’t do it around me, dude.” But whatever. I’m gonna sign up to do that superhero shit and then they’re gonna want me to shake up the bad guys. It’s the least I could do, you know? I figure what if there’s some kid out there like me and I can help rescue him or something?
At least it’s good practice for my English. Hardly anyone here speaks Spanish , unless you count the telepaths, but that just creeps me the fuck out. Already I’ve gotten better, which is why I’m trying to do this journal in English and not Spanish. The spell-check helps, too. I figure if I get really good they’ll let me transfer out of the ESL class which is pretty much just me and this creepy Japanese kid and this really douchey guy from Eastern Europe somewhere. I think there are supposed to be a bunch of other kids but one girl transferred out already and they like never show up.

Whatever. I’m going to try and read a couple pages before I go to bed. It’s just a comic book but it’s pretty intense, you know? I’m kinda tired anyway. Good night, I guess, if anyone’s even reading this.

Third-person sample: He knows why he’s here. Not every student gets to meet one on one with the elusive Professor Xavier. It still kind of bothers him that they think he’s going to break, like any second now he’s going to come down with a bad case of PTSD. So far, he thinks, he’s been doing a good job of handling it. Mostly he’s trying to concentrate on the ordinary stuff, making friends and working on his English and trying to adjust to life in a weird American boarding school. He doesn’t want to think about the Right, or Guadalajara, or the house he doesn’t have anymore. Instead, he concentrates on Xavier’s bookshelves, trying to make out the titles in their fancy type.

“I just thought I’d check in with you, Julio,” Xavier is saying. Rictor snaps to attention. “See how you’re settling in.”

“I’m doing good,” he says, picking at a hole in his jeans.

“Our international students sometimes have a more difficult time adjusting, I’ve found,” says Xavier. “And in light of your recent trauma, I thought I’d take it upon myself to see how you are doing.”

Rictor prickles at that.

“I’m fine,” he says, glancing at the door. “I’m not—I’m okay.”

Xavier sighs.

“If there’s anything you need to talk about, Julio,” he says, not unkindly. “My door is always open.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m good,” says Rictor. He gets up to leave. “Uh, is it all right if I…?”

“Of course, Julio,” Xavier smiles. “I trust I’ll see you around?

“Yeah, see you,” says Rictor. He gives a little half-smile. “Thanks.”


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Julio 'Rictor' Richter

October 2014

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