Ryan Darcy

[Ryan D a r c y]

Information about You

Name:
Loren
Age:
14
Contact Information:
in profile, Chase`s.
How long have you been roleplaying?Two years?
Have you read the rules?
Yuss

Information about your Character

Doctor/Patient
Name:
Ryan Lukas Darcy
Age:
Twenty Six
Profession
Doctor
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
------
Personal Style:
His clothing is black, white sometimes an off white or cream if he can help it. Collared shirts are a usual, with crisp dark jeans and an old pair of black and white Converse. He’s very particular in the order he wears his shirts, and they must be crisp and fresh, and folded before he wears them. He wears a black necklace, with a small black stone upon the chain and never takes it off. His style is laid back but classy. He always wears a brown leather belt, no matter the pants he chooses to wear. Recently he’s taken to wearing jackets and ties, even though it looks pretty awkward. He’s always bending the dress code for hospitals, as on some days, he likes to wear tee-shirts of old bands long forgotten.

Physical Appearance:
Medium build. There is nothing much to his body. He has long legs and almost gawky arms. Both his arms and chest are moderately muscled, but he has never really worked out. Sometimes he’ll run, but that’s the extent of his exercise. His skin is naturally tan, but he spends so much time inside that it’s gotten pale. He carries himself with a proud air, but it's diluted and you can see right through it. He'll never slouch, unless he tries to pull two double shifts and his half asleep on his feet. He's strong, but you can’t obviously tell that just by looking at him. No birthmarks or scars remain upon his face though there are a few indistinguishable freckles upon his left cheek. Shadows often befall his face, making him blend in and sink to the background, without anyone noticing. He stands at a nice tall length of five eleven.

His clothing is black, white sometimes an off white or cream if he can help it. Collared shirts are a usual, with crisp dark jeans and an old pair of black and white Converse. He’s very particular in the order he wears his shirts, and they must be crisp and fresh, and folded before he wears them. He wears a black necklace, with a small black stone upon the chain and never takes it off. His style is laid back but classy. He always wears a brown leather belt, no matter the pants he chooses to wear. Recently he’s taken to wearing jackets and ties, even though it looks pretty awkward. He’s always bending the dress code for hospitals, as on some days, he likes to wear tee-shirts of old bands long forgotten.

Ryan’s hair is a mystery most of the time. One day it will be curly, and the next straight and brushed to the side. His hair is soft and thick, ebony and short enough to be coaxed into spikes with gel if greatly desired. Naturally, it’s slightly wavy, and during the winter it fades to a dark brown. When uncut, it grows down and completely covers his ears. Even with out combing, it can look as if had been brushed through, briefly, before one saw him. Ryan prefers his hair medium length, but occasionally he will have it cut short. Sometimes he will spike his hair, but only if he really wants to do something different.

Usually, for most people, eyes are not the first thing people notice about someone. Maybe they are, but most of the time they are not. Ryan’s eyes are incredible, and it’s not exaggerated. His eyes are a hue of murky brown, with a tinge of green and secrets. At times the brown is more pronounced than the green, vise versa. Certain times of the day reveal the most emotion in his eyes. And his eyes are very expressive, even if he’d rather they not be. Piercing stare seems to hold you, even if he is merely passing a gaze over you. When he first meets you, his eyes are dark and mistrusting, cold and impenetrable. If he likes you, his eyes seem to light up, not very brightly, but enough so that one knows he actually has taken a liking to them. So much hurt clouds them at times, that one cannot help but see through the shield he has tried to place between himself and the world.

Long and straight, it's nice enough to look at, and it's not horribly disfigured. Rounded toward the end, it's like any ordinary nose, no scars, never been broken, surprisingly considering his past, and blends in nicely with his features, without drawing to much attention to the center of his face. His nose does slightly widen toward the end, and the bridge of his nose is straight. Lips are a pale pink, almost white, and medium, with slight dimples when he smiles, which is rare but will happen once in a great while. Thin, but not paper, he can often be seen chewing on his lip or biting it when he gets nervous or when he needs to think through a problem. That is why you can often see dried blood, or marks upon the surface.




Scars/Tatoos/ Piercings:
Ryan has never been into tattoos unless you count faded bruises as tattoos. If so, he’s got plenty. There is a scar running all the way down his right leg, a jagged nasty looking scar that has faded slightly but still is visible. Emotional scars are more prominent, if not visible. A few scars, small though they are, curve along his chest in varied patterns, faded against the pale of his skin but visible to a careful eye. Ryan has never been into tattoos unless you count faded bruises as tattoos. If so, he’s got plenty. There is a scar running all the way down his right leg, a jagged nasty looking scar that has faded slightly but still is visible. Emotional scars are more prominent, if not visible. A few scars, small though they are, curve along his chest in varied patterns, faded against the pale of his skin but visible to a careful eye. Well, of course he has flaws, everyone does, but his are so complex they are hard to pin down, let alone explain. Emotionally, that’s where all his problems lie, and he’s a bit screwed up. He thinks his nose is too big, and his frame a bit gawky, but other than that, he’s quite handsome. To most that is. He has a few small freckles on the left side of his jaw. His hair may be a bit curly at times, and his jaw a bit squared. Sometimes his skin may be too pale, and his figure too gaunt when he’s really bad off, and when his leg hurts, it really hurts, badly enough as to where he closes himself away without interaction for a few days. When he first meets someone, he tends to be a little shy and hesitant, though he will respond to direct questioning. He has a weakness for vodka and coke, but will never let himself become drunk. Well, almost never anyway. Ryan never had been into piercing but he and Cali had a wild night one night and he ended up getting his ear pierced. He wore it for a while after her death, but he’s recently taken it out. He could still put one in though.

Best Physical Feature:
His smile, when he does in a great while, is perfect and can melt the heart.
Worst Physical Feature:
His eyes are very pretty, but they hold so much agony and pain in them, it's often hard to look into them.

Picture:

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Habits:
Pacing, biting his lip, licking his lips, avoiding his past, tapping his fingers on counters, being shy, not being able to look certain people in the eyes.
Likes:
medicine.
routine.
old rockandroll.
rain.
quiet.
freedom.
reassurance.
pride.
love.
women.
softdrinks.
whiskey&vodka.
honesty.
sharphumor.
goodtimes.
thegrifters.
movies.
literature.
justice.
redemption.
neatness.
safety.
firmmattresses.
cleanair.
boardwalks.
longwalks.
autumn.
spring.
oldcars.
comicbooks.
innocentflirtingonceinawhile.
writing.
cats.
vanillaicecream.
cards.
adventureattimes.
longcarrides.
hummingalongtosongs.
jobswelldone.
savinglives.
gratitude.
sarcasm.
medicaldramas.
bells.
fourthofjuly.
history.
learning.
science.
puzzles.
TNT.
secrets.
ironedshirts.
drycleaners.
order.
distractions.
complicatedstories.
riddles.
maps.
bubblewrap.
smiles.
laughs.
heartwarmingmoments.
oldwoodfurniture.
carriages.
work.
faith.
libraries.
outletshops.
letters.
watercolors.
sleep.
longweekends.
offduty.


Dislikes:
abuse.
violence.
mess.
death.
hate.
revenge.
fear.
sluttywomen.
unsolvablecases.
wine.
champagne.
liars.
winter.
endingsunfinished.
publictransport.
posers.
teenagers.
squirrels.
balloons.
pizza.
sweat.
spit.
nightmares.
children.
toofriendlypeople.
alcoholics.
coffee&thoughhedrinksit.
rap.
country.
enclosedspaces.
brokenbottles.
horses.
vengance.
grudges&thoughheholdsthem.
moviestars.
pressure.
bills.
animalhair.
brightlights.
horrormovies&thoughhe`llwatchthem.
painfulmemories.
life.
soapoperas.[hislifeistoomuchlikeone.]
hummers.[thepeople]
hummers.[thecar.]
fingertappers.&thougheh`sguilty.
drunkdriving.
war.
terrorists.
arrogance.
mostotherdoctors.
unorganizedmess.
snow.
puddles.
worms.
snakes.
peppers.
tea.
blackjack.
poker.
gambling&thoughhe`lldoit.
cheating.
taxcollectors.
taxidrivers.
crowded streets.
mugs.
smalldogs.
gettingbit&orscratched.
critcism,[harsh.]
ignorance.
overprotectivemothers.
jokers.
hell.
sharpiemarkers.
inhalers.
asthma.
legpain.
bullies.
violenceneededonhispart.
restrainingpatients.
breakups.
heartbreak.
loversspats.
backtalk.
arguing.
tickling.
stickyhands.
boredom.
depression.
caraccidents.
forgetfulness.
unbearablysunnydays.
extremelyloudnoises.
airplanes.
airtravel.
travelinginanythingotherthanacar.
intimidation.

Personality:
Misunderstood. Intimidating in appearance, though as gentle as a lamb [most of the time.] Ryan is unique, to say the least. When talking to him, you have to be careful of what you say, because he always takes things people say in the worst possible way, and if you are actually talking sharply to him, it will cut deeper than glass. Overall, he’s a pretty nice guy, and he’s not intentionally mean or hurtful. Sometimes it’s a bit distracting to be around him, because, though he doesn’t talk a lot, he will often stare into space, for no reason at all. Though he is soft-spoken his words carry meaning and a power so deep that even the simplest words have you scrambling to find the meaning. Ryan hates physical contact, and tends to stay away from social gatherings at all costs. If you manage to befriend him, it will be hard keeping that friendship. He is easy to hurt, and hates being lied too, though often times he will lie to you, if only about his past. His dark and brooding ways often make him someone to fear, though one has to reason. The fact may be that he fears and resents you more, but not in the physical fear way. No, he hides it inside, keeping his fear under control, or so it seems. Inside he’s a mess. He fears love, he fears hate, he fears rejection, he fears acceptance, he fears the dark, he fears death, and he fears his very soul. But not once will he show that fear, not once. His anger simmers beneath the surface, swirling and choking him until he explodes and hurts the ones he loves. He’s very sensitive, choose your words carefully and gently, sharp words cut deeper than the sharpest glass.

He needs to know you will be there, you will never leave, and if he doesn’t know that, he cannot trust you. Trust is something important to him, even though he knows little of it. His heart is to scarred to accept it, truly accept it, though he tries. Love is something he will never master, something he could try, but could never quite get it. But if you some how gain that trust, gain that love, his life is yours, and you own his heart. He would give his life; protect you with all he has and more until he can fight no more. Soft, quiet he almost seems withdrawn at times, yet he is thoughtful, lost in the fog of his mind until someone draws him forth. He walks alone; he lives alone, though he cannot. Something inside him rebels, he needs comfort, he needs contact. It’s all so out of reach. If he’s your friend, he’s friend for life, until you betray him, or hurt him, and maybe even still, he’ll stand by your side.

Bravery is something foreign to him, something he knows, but never could attempt. Sure, if he believes in something, in someone, he gives it his all, going past all barriers in his way to make sure it gets it, to a certain point of course. Ryan deals with stress by bottling up his anger, even if he has the opportunity to actually talk about it, and because he can be easily ticked off, it just adds to his slightly damaged mental state. Don’t get me wrong, Ryan is intelligent and smart, and had a great sense of humor, but often times those attributes are covered up by his wary nature and expressive passion concerning certain things. He has a protective streak a mile long, and is quite stubborn as well.

Ryan has a fascination with rain. Nothing weird or anything, he just really loves it. Rain, storms, anything like that he absolutely loves. He also loves to read, and sometimes he writes, if he can find the inspiration. When you do have his full attention, he is extremely intense, almost to the point where he can make people feel uncomfortable. Ryan likes to keep things neat, but he does not always feel like cleaning up, so depending on how he feels, his apartment will be clean, or a total mess. He’s also deeply hurt. Not in a way that shows, but it’s a good thing to know so you aren’t insensitive. Not that he’d do anything about your insensitivity. He can handle things himself.


Biggest Personality Flaw:
The tendency to be dark and brooding.

Biggest Personality Strength:
Unfailing loyalty to those who he trusts.


----
Hometown:
New York, New York.
Educational Background:
Private highschool, Harvard School of Medicine, Internship at John Hopkins.
Previous Places of Employment:
John Hopkins.
Family:
Mother deceased, Marion Darcy
Father, adoptive and birth, Sam Lucas, alive.
Brief Medical History:
He was abused as a child. Needed psychological help which he got form a therapist, but he’s still messed up. When he was eighteen he got into a very bad, fatal car crash, and severely broke his leg, required surgery with pins and rods inserted into the bone to hold it into place. A while later he was treated for a drug overdose.
History:
Marion Darcy was a nineteen year old girl coming from the very heart of New York City. As an archaeologist in training digging up bones in the Sahara desert, she was busy with her work and had little time for anything, or anyone else. Her family was not the richest and she had gotten a scholarship. Her mother depended on her success. She had only three weeks left until she was due back in New York, and the museum she worked for expected a find. She could not let them down.

Sam Lucas was a twenty year old rich, college boy, born and raised in the heart of Connecticut. When college became a little much for him to handle, he took a summer off, and landed a part time job, with the help of a family friend, in the Sahara as a tour guide. He had always wanted to see the world and this was his chance to get started on that dream. Some may call it fate while others may not be so believing, if you believe or don’t, you would have to admit there was some sort of magic going on that day. The sun shone brightly over the landscape, it’s warmth a little overbearing for most of the tourists. Since the activity was slow, Sam decided to head over to the local bone site he would be giving a tour at the next day. He always kept his eyes open for something interesting, although what did manage to catch his sea gray eyes probably would not be as popular to the women’s group that had scheduled a tour as it were to he, himself.

She was tall and though well-built and muscular she still managed to be breathtakingly feminine. Her bright blue eyes and shimmering raven locks only further intrigued Sam’s interest. If he had actually believed in love at first sight, this would have to had been it. He tried not to appear to be staring, but he could tell she really was not paying him much mind at all. Dressed in khaki shorts and a peach skin tight tank top, she was bent over a find, her brown hair falling onto her slightly tanned face. He did not think he could breathe. She looked up, albeit briefly, and he bolted. Literally.

Marion had always had the tendency to become absorbed in her work, and her surroundings often became muted and unimportant when she was focused. This particular day though, something invisible tickled the back of her neck, her nerves were on end. As she scribbled in her notebook, with a nice tidy script, she tried to ignore the feeling, but found it just kept getting stronger. She finally looked up, briefly but what she saw was enough to take her breath away. A young man, with jet black hair and intense sea-green eyes had cast his gaze her way. A tingle went up her spine, and she quickly submerged herself back into her work, trying not to dwell on the moment her eyes had connected with his. When she looked up again, he was gone.

A week later, he appeared again, though this time there was the promise of a storm in the air. The wind blew the sand gently around the tents, and Marion was trying furiously to secure everything down. So intent on not losing a thing to this storm she was, she didn’t notice that male, quietly watching her from the side of the tent, watching her until she accidentally bumped into him that is. The tension in the air was thick, as the two traded a gaze, neither able to tear their eyes away from the others. The wind howled, her brown hair blew into her face, but still the gaze held. When he advanced a step she instinctively took a step back. Over the wind she could faintly hear him shout the words, "Please just…stand still," in an almost pleading tone. Curious, she stood, eying him carefully. He advanced and before she knew it, his lips were upon hers. When they drew back, either from need for oxygen or surprise, both were tongue tied and shocked. When she took a step toward him, he recoiled, expecting a slap or something of the like, and she responded with a shout of, "Stand still you idiot!" And the kissing commenced. The storm got worse, and the two had to run for cover in the one of the sturdier tents. They huddled together under a desk, waiting for the storm to pass. When the last rumble of thunder faded into the distance, the two headed toward Marion’s jeep and to a bar. They then proceeded to get wasted, and finish what they had started before, and ended up sleeping together. Neither remembered anything in the morning.

Marion left when her three weeks were up, headed back to New York with a lucky find, some sort of prehistoric bone. The hills of New York were home to her small cabin, where she lived and researched when not digging up finds. She had moved there when she go the job, leaving her mother and younger sister in the city. Within a month of arriving home, she discovered herself with child, and although no memory of whom the father was, she guessed this was the outcome of her enormous hangover a few weeks before her departure.

St. John’s hospital in New York November 13th, 1980, a baby six pounds seven ounces was, named Ryan Lukas Darcy, to a mother not a minute older than twenty one. After filling out the necessary paperwork his mother brought him home to the small two room cabin that had been her home alone for years. Marion did the best she could to raise her baby boy, considering her age and her low income, she was doing pretty well. Ryan was a smart baby and his development was slightly faster than other children his age. His mother was so proud that he was hers and she made him her world. Or at least she tried.

Two years old for Ryan was the turning point. A scandal at the museum cost Marion her job, and the cabin. Living in motels for almost a year, she finally found a apartment in the very heart of the city that never slept, New York City. Her mother refused to let her into the house, furious at Marion for having a child when she was just a child herself. Her apartment was on the bottom floor, which meant they were lucky and had sole possession of a small basement/cellar. Or maybe not so lucky. At least, not so lucky for Ryan. Marion could not find a job, and coupled with the frustrations of taking care of a toddler, drove her to drink. At first it was only once a week, and when she arrived home she would not be totally wasted. Then as the months wore on, it morphed into bar hopping every night and coming back completely smashed. Ryan was only a toddler, so it was well expected that he would not know to keep out of her way during these times. He begged to be picked up and received a slap. He spoke his first words and was thrown into the basement. He looked up at her with pleading eyes and she held no mercy. At only three years old, he was already a shadow in his mothers wake, disappearing into the basement to be comforted by the darkness as his mothers searing hot voice screamed over his head. He tried so hard to be good, but she always found him. He could never seem to escape.

The years rolled by in agony and soon Ryan was five years old and ready for school. His kindergarten class was small, and the teachers-or the excuses that were teachers-managed to teach him his basic ABC`s and some numbers. By the end of that year Ryan could read, and often begged dog eared picture books from the school librarian. His teachers never questioned the bruises that appeared upon the child, or the way he would flinch at even the slightest movement, or at the sound of a voice if it carried over a whisper.

Ryan endured his beatings stoically, never questioning them, his wide murky eyes never leaving his mother’s as she threw blow after blow upon his thin frame. When he was seven and became a little bit more outgoing, his mother threatened him, told him that if anyone found out what mommy was doing, he would be dead, and no one would know. Death was the only thing Ryan feared so he kept quiet, and endured his abuse. After all, he must have deserved it. It was the only logic that made sense to him.

His mother would stay out every night now, and he often came home on the bus to an empty locked house and sat upon the steps, slipping inside when his mother stumbled home before she could close the door. The bus drivers never seemed to care that he was left alone.

The night of November 12th 1994, his mother came home wasted far worse then Ryan had ever seen her. She approached him, fist raised and called him every filthy name he had ever heard and then some. And then, as if bursting from a newly lit flame, all the anger of the past seeped deep into his eyes, so intensely that it almost broke through the drunken stupor his mother was in, and she stopped her pounding for a moment. But only for a moment before and then she was back at it. And he fought back, fighting with all he had, but his muscles were not strong enough to fend her off. She won, of course she won, and he was locked down the basement, a cut to his head and barely conscious.

When he awoke the next morning, he scrambled up the steps and somehow managed to pry open the old oak door, using the last reserves of strength he had, and ventured out into the apartment. It was a mess; his murky eyes swept the room dancing with anger and pity. It looked as if a tornado had hit, yet he knew what had happened. Apparently beating him wasn’t enough and she had to go and trash the place, leaving he would clean it up unless he wished for another beating. The cleaning process was more or less automatic by now; she would be out searching for a job by now. For some reason his eyes were drawn toward the corner of the apartment, beneath a painted shut window. A muffled cry left his pale lips, and he dropped to his knees scraping them upon broken glass. There was Marion Darcy, slumped in the corner, a broken bottle hanging loosely from her hands, her skin the pale color of death. She wasn’t breathing, she was gone. Even though she had hurt him, beat him, Ryan felt lost, as if his soul was being torn to pieces little by little. With a strangled cry he fumbled toward her, and finally stopped when he was resting right up against her his back upon the wall. He gripped her hand with all the will power and strength he had, hoping that maybe it might bring her back.

[Ryan D a r c y]

She died on November 13th, 1994. His birthday.

And he cried, he cried so long that day turned to night and the sky rumbled with distant thunder and rain poured down in sheets. He was empty, hollow, by the time the tears had run dry. On weak and unsteady legs, he headed toward the city to a pay phone, ten minutes from his house. The house phone had been shut off years before.

The police arrived a hour later. They examined the scene and carted off the ice cold body. Ryan watched, eyes darkened with a look far too sad for a boy of his age. The police noticed the bruises, the cut upon his head, his painfully thin frame, and tried to coax him into the police car, being as he was underage. He fought, twisting and turning, frightened by the loud noises and strong grips. He failed once more his strength and poor body condition giving him no advantage over the officers. He was driven away with cuffs on his hands and tears hidden behind emotionless eyes, from the only home he had ever known.

He stayed at the orphanage for over a year, and slowly, painfully he developed into a well muscled, handsome fifteen year old. He still had problems though; he needed counseling to get him over his nervous nature and violence. He never actually hit anyone, but he came close, though if one were the victim they would be able to see the fear in his eyes each time he lowered his fists. After a grueling year of intense therapy, the pain was only a memory faded in the past.

On his fifteenth birthday the dean called Ryan to his office. A man in his early thirties with jade green eyes and jet black hair stood nervously in the corner. Ryan was to be placed in foster care with him, He was hauntingly familiar to Ryan, but so distant that immediately the similarity was discarded. With the papers signed, Ryan was now in foster care of Sam Lucas.

Sam was understanding, patient and kind, and Ryan was well enough at ease with him. Over time the two bonded, and were like father and son. Ryan attended a private high school and though he was a bit behind in his studies, he was able to climb his way to the top ten of his class.

Enter Elizabeth, black haired, blue eyed with the personality of a wild child, yet so sweet and gentle one could not imagine her sneaking out at night He was eighteen and withdrawn. She approached him one day in the parking lot of a local grocery store and just leaned over and kissed him. No questions, no answers, just kissed him. And he kissed her back. Suddenly he found himself head over heels. And he couldn’t find his balance. The romance blossomed and the two were inseparable.

On his nineteenth birthday he received a silver jeep from Sam. The rest of the year he concentrated on graduating, which he did in the top five percent of his class.

His twentieth birthday approached quickly. Elizabeth was still right by his side, and they were both in love. He had something special planned his birthday weekend. Though they were young he proposed. She said yes. He drove her to her favorite restaurant in his jeep, and they celebrated. Alcohol was consumed. They headed home. It was raining. The roads were slick. They were in love. The tires slipped, the engine stalled, the wheel turned, the rubber burned. The tree blocked their path, the screech of metal against solid mass met his ears, the sharp cut of glass in his skin bit like a knife. The scream of pain and anguish from someone next to him, and finally the blessed darkness. He awoke hours later, the rain soaking through the torn roof, his head resting upon steering wheel.

He awoke hours later, the rain soaking through the torn roof, his head resting upon steering wheel.

And his breath escaped him, his Lizzie, next to him, pale as death, blood trickling down her forehead, hair slicked back with the crimson liquid. He had managed to get to her side, she was still breathing, but he knew she was dying. There was pain in his leg, but he ignored it, clutching her hand with all he had in the hope that it would bring her back. Her pale blue eyes opened and looked upon him, and suddenly he trembled, heart cold and soul withering with silent agony. He gulped and made a movement to back away from her empty pleading stare.

"Don’t, don’t leave me." she whispered, her voice nothing but a soft cry midst the pouring rain. He gathered his courage and stayed by her side, his eyes filling with tears that he would never shed. "Kiss me." she had breathed, and so he did. He kissed her with all he had, and all he knew, he kissed her with all the love, fear and pain, sadness and agony he had ever felt. She kissed him back with her last breath, and then he knew she was gone. Her last breath had warmed his lips. He struggled from the wreck, the rain pouring down in sheets, washing over him, numbing him to the core. He was alone. Water dripped in rivulets down his pale cheeks, his leg badly injured. He stood for hours before a car came and called the police and hospital. He watched as they took her away, and they had to wrestle him into the ambulance.

He went back to Sam’s apartment that night. His leg needed surgery, pins and rods, and still it is not completely healed, so he will now be forever cursed with pain, but he has medication to dull it. He tried drugs for a month, but after almost killing himself, he got smart and stopped. Ryan pursued his career as a doctor, and went to the Harvard School of Medicine, Sam putting him through, along with the scholarship he earned. After he completed his four years, he took an internship at John Hopkins hospital.

He did pretty well there and got himself some credit as a doctor. It was there that the symptoms started appearing, and his attending physician sent him to PPTH, because they knew Doctor House was a good doctor, seeing as he had studied here, and the only reason Ryan hadn't gotten treatment from John Hopkins was because they couldn't figure out what was wrong with him.



Pets?
Nope
Married?
Nope
Homeowner?
Nope
Average Salary?
N/A at the moment.
Favorite Color
Black
Favorite Band
Rolling Stones
Your character frequently says…
“When you’ve been kicked around as much as I have, you tend to get used to it.”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“I’m notlonely.”
Is your character in general satisfied with their life?
No. Not at all.


Roleplaying Sample:
You know the kind of exhaustion that make`s you so tired that you can barely keep your eyes open ? The kind that seeps into your bones and make you curse the moment you accepted that double shift at work. Well, okay, maybe that was just Ryan. That would explain however, why the man, with thick dark ebony hair and a stoic face was sitting on a bar stool, music blasting in his ears from distant speakers, clutching a steaming cup in his hands. Or hand. His other hand had a few fingers bandaged and splinted. Ah, yes. What can you expect to find at a club, partying teens filled with booze, music, DJ`s, and of course dancing. Oh yeah, and a bone tired doctor with a cup of coffee. Yup, you heard right. A cup of coffee. At a club. Black coffee to be exact. No sugar, sweeteners or cream for him. Straight up caffeine was what he needed. I guess I should start off by explaining why this exhausted doctor is currently hanging out at a club.

It all started at five am a day ago. Ryan had just arrived at work, and he was putting his coat and other varied item`s in his office, when he was paged. Another routine case, his presence required in the emergency room ASAP. That means, as soon as possible, if you haven`t already caught that. Normally, that would just be something normal, as normal for him, as getting the paper in the morning is for some people. So, he had done what he has always done best, he went to the emergency room and helped with some poor teenage girl who had been involved in a drunk driving accident. At five am in the morning. Hah. Yeah, Ryan was pretty much as bugged by that as everyone else. I mean, come on. Drunk driving. At five in the morning ? What the hell was his small, bubble like world coming too ? The hours had passed as he fixed internal bleeding, comforted the patient when she awoke, and did all the other doctor stuff that was required of him.

That had taken about three or four hours of his time. Then he had found himself pretty much without a job as the day approached eight o`clock am, and the hospital slowed down to almost a complete and total stop. Which was odd. Because, you would think it wouldn`t matter what time it was, that the hospital would always be buzzing with people needing to be diagnosed and patched up, and the like. But, it was pretty much quiet. That led him to his first break, which consisted of throwing coffee stirrers into the waste basket from across the room while he lounged in the break room, his feet on the desk. Ten o`clock and he had another emergency, a boy fell out of a tree trying to save his cat. The cat was two feet in the air. The boy, seven years old, was afraid of heights. It didn`t end too well. Fractured collar bone and a broken wrist. Once Ryan had been able to stop the kid`s crying, it went rather smoothly. He thought. At least, until he had been kicked in the shin.

Ouch.

Yeah. That had hurt. A lot actually, considering that it had been his bad leg. Once he had finished swearing, quite loudly, in his mind, he had calmed the kid down and got him to sit still for the x-ray. Then, he had been called off to examine one of the ladies in the waiting room, who, happened to be pregnant. And complaining of cramps. So after getting his hand nearly squeezed off, hey, he was a nice after all, and diagnosed her as, 'in labor.' He had her transferred to the maternal ward. Where she then proceeded to request he deliver the baby. Seriously, most woman were too quick to like him. Besides, her doctor who was original supposed to deliver the child had gone on vacation. The woman`s husband was somewhere in England on business, but he must be cheating on her. He had been pretty distant for the past few months, and hadn`t called her as often from England that he had the last time he was away. Not that he, er, asked. She just happened to tell him as he wheeled her to the delivery room.

Three hours later, a very curse filled room, from both doctor and mother, a little baby boy was born.

The woman, he found out, had been quite touchy-feely when in pain. He had a rumpled shirt and a slightly wary expression to vouch for it. He didn`t really appreciate being grabbed by the collar and snarled at by a lady he did not know.

Oh, yeah. Ryan fractured his middle and forefinger on his left hand as well. I`ll just let you guess how that happened. Anyway, it was about one o`clock in the afternoon then. He had gotten a splint on his poor fingers, and then took his next half hour break. This time he drank a coffee and made paper airplanes with napkins. Yup. The life of a doctor. The rest of the day went by routinely, a few more cases, a dog bite, allergic reaction, and a runny nose. He had been getting ready to go home at about midnight, when a nurse caught him and asked him if he`d be willing to pull another shift. Of course he would, because after all he was Ryan.


You can’t always get what you want.

+Decided Ryan has Epstein-Barr Virus which of AIWS is a symptom and a chronic panic disorder. His symptoms included a fever of 105 degrees, which coupled with his poor eating habits, caused him to faint while at work. When he woke up, he noticed his visions were affected, and with his panic disorder, he blew it out of proportion. He still has the fever, and the medicine they gave him at John Hopkins was not working. methemoglobinemia, is causing a blue tint to his skin, explaining the muscle weakness and CFS like symptoms.+

[Dr. House]

I <3 you forever. Amazing application and you get the little red thing that says patient so I'm excited.