---Player Information

Name/Alias: Talkback
Gender: dude, I suppose. As it so appears.
Site found: Kit (Hayden/John) told me.
RP experience: More than none but less than a lot.


---Character Information

Name: Ashley Calhoun

Age: 18

Birthplace: Olau

Position: I think he’s standing up at the moment. University student.

History: Marybeth and Frank Calhoun were never the most sensible or peaceful of parents. From the day they were married they couldn’t agree on anything long enough to be logical about it; they had their first married argument about how to cut the cake.

Their illogical sniping didn’t come close to stopping when it was found that Marybeth was carrying a son; for once they had agreed on something, and that was that they both wanted a little gurl to be born first. They’d figured it out that they wanted to have a daughter and then, two years later, twin sons, because Marybeth liked twins and Frank wanted the boys to have a nice female to explain the female view on things. The daughter was going to have Marybeth’s dark red hair and the boys Frank’s dark brown locks, and all three were going to have Marybeth’s mother’s beautiful round green eyes, which tended to skip a generation. So they’d already picked out a name: Ashley Marie Calhoun, red-haired and green-eyed, five foot nine and well-proportioned, gurl-next-door pretty and guaranteed to have a sweet disposition

What they got was a scrawny copper-haired little boy with Frank’s father’s almond-shaped hazel eyes – not a bad mix, but not the one they’d agreed on, dammit. How dare little Ashley be born male, small, and hazel-eyed? And furthermore, Ashley had freckles. Marybeth, red head that she was, had the milky complexion but for generations there had been nary a freckle in sight. Who was this squalling little scrap of fishbait to change an honored tradition?

So they decided, at least, to keep their name. They hadn’t had time to pick the boys’ names yet, and the one they’d chosen for the gurl was a perfectly respectable name; they called their son Ashley Calhoun, no middle name, and that was that. There had been male Ashleys in the past. He could go by Ash. It’d be cute.

Ashley was always a strange little boy and refused to be called Ash or Lee as soon as he could form coherent sentences; even before, in fact, as whenever anyone referred to him as any form of Ashley that wasn’t the name verbatim he’d just shout “no!” His first word was ‘no’. The way he saw it, his name was Ashley and nothing else; why should anyone call him by the wrong name, even if Ashley was an odd name? He was an odd boy. He deserved it.

When he started school, Ashley’s contrariness only grew worse; he seemed to take delight in disobeying his teachers, at least until third grade. In third grade he got Mistres Petereson.

Peterson was notorious in at the Olau Public School; she played favorites and didn’t like smart children, and Ashley was smart. She also didn’t like strange or unique children, and Ashley fell smack in that category, too. She was merely sharp with the little boy, however, until one day things finally came to a head. She shouted at Ashley, calling him a mistake of birth – little did Peterson know that that particular insult was the one thing that could really get to the little boy.

Ashley knew full well that he was supposed to be female From offhand remarks like ‘Well, you were supposed to have a big sister’ – Ashley had two little sisters, twins even, dark-haired and green-eyed like the boys they were supposed to be – and things like ‘if you’d been a gurl, I could have –’ really hurt him. Though Marybeth and Frank loved their eldest son, Ashley knew full well he wasn’t what they’d wanted.

The one thing that Calhouns hadn’t intended for any of their children to have was the Gift, and apparently, getting embarrassed in front of his whole class for the billionth time was enough to wake the fire. Much to everyone’s surprise a stack of papers on Peterson’s desk erupted into flames.

At the age of fifteen, he entered the university and has been there ever since. Attempting to study. His gist specialties are illusion and fire. It’s moderately strong.

Personality: As a person, he’s somewhat entertaining, if a little strange; in school he barely scrapes by any class, though outside of it he reads history and historical fiction avidly. He could, for instance, recount all the battles of the Scanaran War if you asked him to, unless you were a teacher. He’s chronically afraid of teachers and freezes on tests; in fact, he doesn’t do well with authority period, or for that matter anyone over the age of thirty. He gets this deer-in-the-headlights expression and his eyes widen until you’d swear they took up half his face, and he just sits there staring until you leave.

He thinks a lot, too. He’s not one to talk endlessly about nothing; when he does speak, it’ll either be something profound or at least thought-provoking, though the thought it provokes could be (and often is) “God, is he on crack?” ((Or Tortallian equivalent there of))

Ashley believes that all human actions can be traced back to purely emotional reasons. He doesn’t hold much by logic and would rather that it didn’t guide so many peoples’ actions; he finds that often the best course is the illogical one. It may not be the intelligent course, but it’ll be the most entertaining, certainly. He’ll do anything and everything to keep in touch with his emotions and fears, even more than teachers, becoming numb and jaded. He sees this as a fate worse than and sincerely pities anyone who believes emotion can only hold you back. Though sadness and pain suck when they’re happening, how would you know you were happy unless you had unhappiness to compare it to? Ashley believes that every iota of pain you feel is precious, because it will make your happiness, when it comes, that much sweeter.

He also believes that all the good guys find a happy ending eventually and the bad ones get their comeuppance. His faith in this “divine justice” is unshakable – no matter how much evidence you present to him proving that sometimes bad things happen to good people or vice versa, he’ll studiously ignore it until you bugger off. He’s not a great debater, but his skills in planned ignorance are unmatched when he chooses to unleash them.


Only a few things make him really, truly angry – those who can’t justify what they say or any mention of his freckles. He doesn’t like it when someone just slaps down a statement and can’t tell you why they believe it. He thinks they should have a reason. Also, if you try to tell him that this belief – that you need a logical reason – and his dislike for logical reasons in his own arguments are directly paradoxal, he’ll turn a deaf ear. He can’t deal with criticism of anything but his music – his personality is sacred ground that no one is allowed to talk about.

He often has problems getting close to people, because he constantly thinks they’re going to leave. He also is unable to accept that he’s the “right guy for the job” or that he’s right for anything in any way. He always thinks he’s a bad replacement for someone else.



Physical Appearance:

Ashley as previously stated in the unfortunate bearer of brand new, perfectly shiny penny red hair. It is somewhere betwixt wavy and curly. It is somewhat longish, but not too long as other way it would be untamable. It separates into loose corkscrew curls and generally everywhere. It is just long enough to fall into his hazel eyes. And it’s a nervous tick of his to shake it out of the way, even when it’s not in the way, and the former is rarity. His facial features are all in the right place, which can be mistaken for handsomeness. He’ll be the first to admit that he isn’t handsome, and never will be. However, he can actually be quite attractive when he smiles. He has a very distinctive smile when it’s the genuine one and not the quick, small fake ones he uses to please people. His smile lights of his whole face and makes the corner of his eyes crinkle a little down playing their largeness. A spray of delicate freckles covers hthe bridge of his nose and stray onto the cheeks. Over the years, he’s become somewhat Zen about them. It doesn’t mean that he likes them, tolerates them, yes. But if anyone has the audacity to comment “Aw your freckles are so cute,” he has however been know to break noses.

Ashley is a mere waif of a thing only 5’8” and weighing all of 144 pounds.



A look into the past . . . .


Ashley shook his hair out of his eyes. His fingers were speckled with ink and were more than likely permanently stained thus. He had never the time nor any desire to see if the ink would wash off properly. All the someday, he just might. Seemingly unaware of the fact that there was still wet ink on his finger tips, he idly scratched his nose as he re read the last paragraph of his theory paper. Theory was without a doubt the most incredibly boring thing that ever had to do with the Gift. He didn’t like it.

It was so . . .logical. Ick.

Needless to say, theory classes weren’t his best. But essays were mostly his only hope. Any time a teacher asked him a question the answer left his mind and swiftly and as completely as a someone ing out a candle. Sigh.

A yawn snapped at his jaw, widening his mouth until it hurt. He flicked open a pocket watch. Eleven-fifty-nine. He should go to bed. But he was nearly done. He sent his bed a pathetic longing look, but sighed and picked dup his pen again determinedly scratching out the final sentences.