Martin McAlastair

[Zib]

RPG: The New World

Name: Martin McAlastair

Date of Birth and Age: Four years of age, as of last Christmas.

Gender: Male

Race: Human. Duh.

Nationality: Scottish, of course. By descent.

Relationship Status: He's four. Do the math.

Physical Looks:

Martin is a small child. He is of slight build due to a general lack of food unaffected by radiation. He possesses two large brown eyes, and he rather likes to stare at things with them -- particularly people. Martin is a mop-headed young lad with sandy brown hair, though it may look almost black when he is viewed in the right light (or lack thereof, rather).

He owns two outfits. One comprises a pair of black slacks, two less-than-shiny black shoes, a white, long-sleeved dress shirt, and a formal black overcoat. Frankly, he looks adorable when he wears this. His other, more casual outfit consists of a gray shirt with long black sleeves, gray denim jeans, white socks, and two running shoes. Of course, he prefers to walk around barefoot, to which his elder sister frequently objects. (As though he is going to step on nuclear radiation. . .)

Personal Belongings:

Martin, unfortunately, does not own any sort of toy animal. It would be expected that he carry around a teddy bear or blanket or the like, but Martin is far too sophisticated for that. He carries a cat. It is a living, breathing (naturally, lest it cease to maintain the former status of the two) cat, colored black, save for its little white paws and a small white patch on its chest. Interestingly, it is a terribly calm type of cat, but it hates people. It likes Martin, however, for it does not consider Martin a people, despite all appearances. Its name is Plant. . . I don't know why.

Personality:

Martin is a blatantly quiet child. In fact, it is almost disturbing how diffident he is. Rarely does he speak, and when he does, it is often in two-to-three-word sentences. He does not like to come in contact with anyone excepting his parents, uncle, and sister, and sometimes not even the latter two. It is wondered if Martin suffers from autism of some sort, but this is not likely the case.
This is due to the boy's incredible level of brain activity. He prefers to soak in everything around him rather than contribute to the already jumbled mess of information floating around in the world. He processes information on a genius level, and finds patterns in everything -- literally. The Fibonacci sequence, for instance (0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,etc...), is as familiar to Martin as the alphabet. To make things stranger, he can seem to affect the environment without noticeable physical movement. Stranger still, his aptitude toward patterns appears to lean toward the portending of prospective occurrences. That is to say, he is a psychic.

History:

It started with Plant. He used to stare at the cat for hours, and the cat would stare back. After a time, Martin might raise his hand. Rather than shirking away in fear as most cats would, Plant instead lifted its own paw, mirroring Martin's movements.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Martin was born four years and a month ago. His father, Alecsander McAlastair, and mother, Kae McAlastair, had decided to leave Scotland for what was then known as the United States of America -- this was shortly after their honeymoon. Upon arriving, they set out to provide for their prospective family. Soon enough, a daughter was born to them, and several years later, a son too entered their lives.

It wasn't a normal life, what with the tension between countries and such, but, as poor people, the McAlastairs were not much affected by the conflagration. That is, until it became "necessary" for them to take shelter in the underground bunkers. Neither parent liked the idea of attempting to survive in what was, essentially, a small room cramped with desperate people. Who would be there to stop someone if an attempt was made on their lives? And what could possibly be done if such a thing did happen? And the radiation was bound to soak through the earth and affect the water supply anyway. Frankly, the best thing either parent could devise was to send the children to Alecsander's brother, where they could take shelter for a short time. Radiation or not, it was no safer underground with desperate humans than it was above ground with radiation.

So both Martin and his sister were sent to North Carolina to stay with their uncle, who had lived alone in a small, seaside house for years. Having basically dropped off the radar ages ago, he was a perfect candidate to babysit the children while both parents attempted to negotiate with the Enclave. They managed to convince the officials of nothing. Rules were rules, and the children would be sent to the camps. Reluctantly, the parents were forced to call Uncle Roarke, who was to fly the children back home immediately, where they were to pack and be sent off to the camps.

Meanwhile, Martin was spending most of his time staring at Plant. As the cat lifted its paw, Roarke came to a halt as he passed by the room. Martin lowered his hand, the cat its paw, and Roarke his jaw. Unsure of what he had just witnessed, he opened his mouth to speak, but then the phone rang.

Hours later, Roarke and his niece were shuffling through the aisle of a small airplane, both depressed that the children could not escape going to the camps. As Roarke took his seat and the engines started, his niece let out a startled cry and pointed to the window. There, on the ground, staring up at the plane, was Martin. He clung tightly to the black cat, which evidently had not been allowed on the plane. The flight attendant was hurrying toward the cockpit to inform the pilot that the airplane was taking off too soon. At that same time, Roarke's niece was making a mad dash for the still-open door, followed by her uncle. The airplane began to rise. She jumped. Roarke reacted instantly, leaping from the plane, wrapping his arms around her, and twisting so that he took the force of the fall. In doing so, his arm broke, and he lay there for quite some time, breathing heavily through the pain.

Roarke was surprised to find that none of the airline's security personnel even acknowledged the trio's presence as Roarke and his brother's children made their way through the hangar. Martin clung to Roarke's pant leg, and when he began to cry, Roarke lifted him with his good arm and carried the boy to the car. Martin hid his face in Roarke's shoulder, not wanting to be seen by anyone.

Roarke flipped on the news, not prepared to call the parents and explain that their daughter had just jumped off a moving plane. He needed time to figure things out. Eventually, he picked up the phone, but as he dialed the fourth digit, a breaking news story flashed on the television screen. An airplane from North Carolina was reported to have crashed only an hour after take-off. There were no survivors.

Roarke smiled. That included him.

Other:

He is terrified of dogs and has a proclivity to stand outside when it is storming. The lightning fascinates him, " 'cause it's shiny."

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[Griffin]

Good sign up, very unique. Accepted