Isaac Foster

[isaacf]

Isaac Alan Foster


PB: Michael Fassbender

[/li][li]~My Name is Static
[/li][li]~I am 20 years old.
[/li][li]~I found the site through mutual friend (Julian on here)
[/li][li]~If you wish to talk to me, the best way to reach me is through PMing this account
[/li][li]~I have been role playing for 7 years and I am moderate (little bit rusty unfortunately)

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~*Full Name: Isaac Alan Foster

~*Alias: Isaac, Izzy (hates this nickname)

~*Age: 57 (appears to be early 30s)

~*Race: Werewolf (turned)

~*Gender: Male

*Appearance: Isaac has the decisively non-supernatural power of seeming to appear as whoever the onlooker wants him to be. At first glance or out of the corner of your eye, you would say he's a handsome man, with a conventionally square jaw, long nose, defined cheekbones and the like. His hair is middling between short and medium, shaggy and swept back and, though he'd glare at you sourly if you used the term, rather scruffy; his cheeks often sport a short wash of stubble that has been carefully trimmed as to look careless. He has the complexion of your stereotypical Englishman, pale-skinned with brown hair tinted with auburn, especially on his face and temples. A hair over six foot, he has a well-built body slightly on the leaner side of normal, though not wispy in any sense of the word; with eyes a shade of light hazel that often appear green or amber depending on the light, he seems to throw off an almost big-cat-like vibe. This seems to be solidified with his usual smile, which is more of a baring of teeth than anything else.

As a person walking down the street, he could easily pass as a charming man on his way to a date or work, approachable and honest, although a closer look at the often predatory intensity in his eyes often deters people who wander too close. There are some people who, upon close inspection, simply throw off a vibe that resonates with untrustworthiness or plain creepiness, and Isaac is one of those people. A psychologist observing him would no doubt be able to give you a full essay on his stereotypical 'assertive' posturing and body language, which range from subtle poses to his entire manner of moving, depending on the intensity of his mood.

He tends to be very nondescript in his clothing, gravitating towards either blacks or whites. Jackets and collared shirts seem to make up the majority of his wardrobe, which is definitely not loose enough to be casual but by no stretch of the means is formal either. He seems to have an innate fondness for tight clothes and rolled-up sleeves, no doubt silently hinting that yes he has nice arm muscles and yes you should look at them and be jealous. Even though his body temperature tends to run a little warmer than normal, he is an absolute sissy when it comes to cold weather and has no qualms about heaping himself with scarves, turtlenecks, and hats when the weather threatens to be chilly - anything that covers his neck seems to be preferable.

As a werewolf, he has many features taken from the Eurasian wolf, including a broader head, shorter ears, and shaggy fur that is marked with points of rusty red. Particularly around his eyes and muzzle, the color tends to darken into almost a mask-like shape, against which the olive of his eyes stands out quite strikingly. His build is much as when he is human, well-muscled without being stocky. He is missing the tip of his right ear, which is also visible when human. There are multiple small, shallow scars on his arms and chest, most of which are nearly impossible to see unless you happen to look. The most prominent of these is a more obvious welt across the back of his neck and onto his trapezius; the skin is knotted and raised there. Don't stare at it. He can tell.

~*Personality: Isaac likes to consider himself a man's man - he likes his women, his booze, and his guns. He seems to have an almost picturesque view of himself, putting him in the boots of Western films where the hero abides by no laws, pisses off the entire town with his reckless ways, gets the girl and then rides triumphantly off into the sunset as fanfare plays him off. Cue credits.

Unfortunately for him, life is not a movie, and the brash, arrogant gunslinger is more often than not told to piss off and wait in line, you creep. Isaac walks that fine line between anti-hero and just plain antagonist, with an attitude that takes major offense to anything he construes as authority. He has your classic alpha-male syndrome and seems to become uncomfortable in situations where he is unsure of himself or the surroundings; this fear is almost immediately translated into defensive aggression, and he'll proceed to belittle or taunt things around him until he finds himself once again in an advantageous position. He has no qualms with fighting or physical violence, particularly if he's on the receiving end - he's generally smart enough to avoid flat-out instigation, although God help you if you overstep your boundaries or lay hands on him.

Which is not to say that he's straight-up aggressive or always going around punching people. Rather the opposite; at his core, Isaac is a man who likes his peace and quiet and prefers to avoid. The problem therein lies with the fact that he believes he must fulfill the role of the alpha and is constantly racing through conflicts in his mind, creating an underlying layer of stress that makes him prone to rash decisions and poor long-term consideration. He's a very on-edge person, and vents that on the people and situations around him. Though it's hard to spot and you'd get the Earth to stop spinning before he admitted it, Isaac is scared. Like so many people, this isn't something that changes. But there's a point where you mask yourself so long that you too start to believe it, and he passed that point long ago.

Overall though, he's generally a fairly low-key guy, assuming you understand how to get along with him. Though quite cold and extremely choosey about who he spends his time with, he's got a sense of humor and has a love for the subtle, snarky back-and-forth dialogues from people who understand how to dance around your limits. As long as you don't pry or act clingy or try and assert yourself over him, he's a passable friend. Of course the number of people who can do that - as well as having no other random qualities that he decides makes you intolerable. Isaac is an introvert at heart in that he loses energy from being in social situations - he needs his space and his time to roam, and if you try and press too hard it's one of his quickest triggers to snap. But he is a human at heart - werewolf, that is - and craves social interaction, often leaving him wavering between his desire for company and the fact that he hates most people. It takes very aware, empathetic people to learn how to skirt around his various mood-swings and peeves, which few people are willing to take the time to do (let's be honest, he may not be a cackling villain but he's still a jerk for the most part).

Although he has near-full control of his lyncanthropy, like so many other things in his life, Isaac elects to ignore it and pretend it's not there. He doesn't have problems using it if the situation is dire enough, but he seems to have a sort of grudge towards the wolf side, trying to prove to himself that he as a person is good enough that he doesn't need it. Unfortunately when you live a life based on assertion and stress, the line that must be crossed to trigger it tends to veer dangerously close. If riled up enough and truly well and pissed off, he makes a formidable werewolf and can go on quite the rampage.

~*History: Isaac Alan Foster was born in Northern England in 1955, moving just before he turned two years old to a suburb just outside of Detroit, Michigan. His father was a somewhat prestigious lawyer in his time, and had started up his own firm in the states, although his wife was less than thrilled with the prospect of living in an entirely different country with their young child. For all intents and purposes, Isaac was your average American child, though somewhat of a bully in school - small for his age, his father laughed it off and joked that why with that attitude, he might just stand a chance at the family business when he grows up. His mother was more displeased with it, but pretty much everything in her new country displeased her, and the school systems were no different. With the Foster firm rapidly gaining ground, Isaac saw little of his father and was very much a momma's boy. At age seven, his mother was diagnosed with Melanoma and by the time his tenth birthday came, he no longer had her.

The next few years were trying for poor little Isaac. His father's solution to being a single parent seemed to be to double his work hours and throw money at his son at the end of every week. Isaac's grades began to steadily slip down through middle and high school, though not for lack of material - you are smart, his teachers told him every year, the same old mantra, if you would just put forth some effort. His school conduct continued to slip, and by the time he was 17 he was suddenly no longer the laughable, weedy kid who kicked others in the shins; a growth spurt started to take hold and within a matter of a year he had filled out considerably, dropped out of school and been estranged from his father, and developed a healthy appetite for cocaine.

The next dozen years were remarkably predictable for a person with his backstory; he worked odd jobs that each lasted shorter than the last, got the crap kicked out of him and kicked the crap out of others, hitched rides around the country and found himself seeming to never be able to adapt to the new landscapes around him. Isaac turned into a vagrant, never staying long in one place and having few people who tolerated his presence. Although he eventually kicked the drug habit (though not for moral high ground - drugs were expensive and stealing from men armed to the teeth with knives and guns turned out to be a bad long-term plan) he still found himself stuck in an ever-spiraling loop of doing absolutely nothing. One fateful night in the early 80s, walking down a stretch of highway at night, he found himself stalked and subsequently chased by some sort of large animal, which proceeded to drag him off and bit him on the junction between neck and shoulder. This was, of course, his werewolf bite, and after a lot of wandering around and trying to figure out just how many hallucinogens he's taken in the last few years, he eventually accepted his new fate with the help of some others of his own kind, met by chance.

With his newfound health and vitality, Isaac made, if not a full recovery, than at least a partial one. Though not entirely happy with his newfound wolfiness, it did give him a solid foundation on which to start over upon. For the last few decades, Isaac has gone from creepy druggie drifter to somewhat-creepy irritable drifter. He nomadically travels between cities, working whatever job he can that gives him enough of a boon before he's ready to move on when he feels too comfortable.

~*RP Sample:

It may have been the excessive amounts of alcohol cycling through his system, but to his credit he did not flinch... or show much emotion at all. If there was one thing Sig could say he excelled it, it was being as slick as oil in any situation. This woman now raging at him probably couldn't say the same, roaring up to his face like a tidal wave threatening to crash down and drown him and the entire bar with him. 

Oil and water have never mixed together well.

Tilting his head up to look up at the snarling face above him and to keep his eyes out of sight, Sig let her rant in his face without moving a muscle, aside from his ears which he rubbed one hand over in response to the thrumming base in the background – much more of this and he’d feel like they wanted to curl back into his skull. When her last word had left her mouth, her younger companion standing and ready to fight behind her - was she making a fist? Was she seriously making a fist? 

Oh my god. They wanted to fight. They wanted a legitimate, honest-to-god barfight. Holy crap.

Lips puffing out briefly, he let out an exasperated chuckle. Look, he addressed the woman in front of him, Lassie. I don't know which, ah – he gave a sideways glance out of habit finely established living arrangement you two seem to have crawled out of, but around here – he gestured with his hands in a circle as if talking to a small child – we don't get sand in our vaginas over someone telling us to be quiet when we're the loudest fucking people at the bar.

He swiveled his stool back to the bar. Oi, refill of Scotch over here?

Optional

*Likes:
- Guns
- Music, particularly acoustic (plays the guitar)
- Food in general, but particularly sweets. Has a secret store of Werther's he carries with him like an old man in denial.
- Being left alone.
- Boobs
- Roaming
- Respect towards him. Absolutely loves to be in charge, provided he can boss you around and then leave.
- Heat/sun
- Physical activity, of most any sort


*Dislikes:
- Children, babies, teenagers, anyone very young - he's horribly awkward with them and gets defensive
- Authority figures/being talked to - he takes it personally
- Overly clingy people
- Cats. It's mutual.
- Small spaces (claustrophobia)
- Cold weather
- Dancing / romance / art / "girl things"

*What you want to see happen to your character:
I'm open to pretty much anything; this fellow is mostly just an excuse in trying to dip my feet back into the roleplaying pool, as I used to be quite an avid player but in the last few years haven't had any time or motivation to keep it up. I'm a fan of character-driven plots and one of my friends on this forum (who plays the werewolf Julian) convinced me to join, so a plot between the two of them or including others would be fun. I'm pretty flexible.
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