Ackerman, Timothy

[TIMOTHY ACKERMAN]

TIMOTHY ACKERMAN



࿂

[/b]: Timothy
SURNAME: Ackerman
ALIAS: Tim, or Timothy
TITLE: No title

AGE: 30
AFFILIATION: Military
BRANDED?: Of course not!
RANK: Midshipman
SHIP: None; at the moment, I am awaiting my next assignment.

࿂ DESCRIBE YESELF![/color]
Well, I don't suppose I look especially remarkable, but I have dark, dusty brown hair that hangs just below the top of my ears and I am constantly running my hands through it unconsciously; so, it's always a mess. My mother would frown in that way of hers, but I've let some stubble grow since I've been out at sea. I have her eyes as well, 'clear skies' blue-grey, she calls it. My nose is rather large I've always thought, but it has served me well enough, I suppose.

I am not very tall for a man, only 5"7, but I'm a strong farmer boy with most of my muscle in my legs and arms. I have large feet and I'm of average build, and I suspect I look rather more like a stronger version of a fisherman than a soldier.

I don't have very much money, and what money I have goes toward food or my family instead of clothing. I generally wear my brown boots since they are good for any terrain, and long coal-colored pants I can tuck into them. I have a worn beige waistcoat that once belonged to my uncle and a new jacket with an embroidered trim given to me by my cousin, which is likely the nicest thing I own.

Otherwise, I do not feel like I have many other defining characteristics, unless hairy arms count.

࿂ WHAT GIVES YE PLEASURE?
Mostly, I like the simple things. A meal on the table and a friend to share it with is a welcome thing, and I have no desire for grandeur and nobility. It's an odd hobby for a man of my profession, but I enjoy art. I love to sketch things, but mostly animals, birds being my favorite. I also like to cook, and though I'm certainly not very imaginative with what I make, I've a few dishes I can make well.

I enjoy being so tired at the end of the day that I fall deeply asleep and my limbs feel as if they are buzzing. Also, as most men do, I love women. I prefer the strong and intelligent over the dainty and fair, but often I simply take what I can get, as I certainly haven't met anyone who I feel like settling down with.

In addition, I have somewhat of a soft spot for children. I have a few younger siblings who I've had to take care of, and their innocence and energy have always melted my heart.

If there's anything I love most, it's the thrill of the hunt. A little friendly competition can't go amiss, either. As much as I appreciate the beauty of an animal, a man's got to eat, and that's an art I've perfected beyond any other I know.

࿂ WHAT MAKES YE ANGRY?[/color]
Pirates. You can't trust any of them, and even the ones that start out good are quickly corrupted. They think of themselves only and do not care who they have to go through on their way to riches. I believe what you have must be earned through hard work; I disdain thieves and beggars for this reason.

I hate cruelty and torture of any kind; when I plan to kill, I do it, and I cannot stand to watch my victim suffer.

That being said, I despise cowards. Any man that begs for his life or sacrifices others to live is not worthy of my respect. Those who manipulate others for personal gain never fail to enrage me, and nothing makes me angrier than a person who uses and abuses their child.

I also hate laziness, arrogance, and those who have no sense of duty. People who do not claim responsibility and do what needs to be done are foisting their portion of the work onto others. I work to take care of myself and my family; I do not work so others can sit back and benefit from my labors without ever doing anything themselves.

࿂ WHAT DO YE HIDE?[/color]
When I was young, about eight years old, my house was raided by pirates, men that my family owed money to. They intended to take me, the firstborn son, as payment, but my father traded his life for mine. I had always looked up to him, but after that we never saw him again. I have always regretted being helpless and unable to defend my family, and I have always resented the selfishness of pirates.

My biggest secret is that I once had a friend whose family was poor, but they had a family heirloom that was worth more than their house. It was an amulet that had been in their family for generations, and my friend, intending to show off his father's new gun, accidentally unearthed it. He hastily put it away, but I later came back in the night and stole it. I presented it to my mother, thinking we could sell it to buy more food and clothes, but she told me to give it back right away. Instead, I kept it, but I soon felt the cold burn of shame and guilt. After a few days, I intended to give it back and went to the family's house, but they were gone. I have had the amulet ever since, keeping it as a reminder that it is never right to simply take what you want. No one ever knew it was me who stole it, and my mother never knew it wasn't returned.

If I have any fear, it is that those closest to me will be used against me. As with what happened with my own father, if one of my children was ever threatened, I know I would do the same thing he did, even if it would leave my family to fend for themselves without a father. I am also deathly afraid of being incapacitated, paralyzed, or otherwise unable to act. Loss of limb, eyesight, or hearing have been the substance of nightmares for me for a long time, and I cannot stand the thought of being helpless.

࿂ WHAT SKILLS DO YE POSSES?[/color]
First off, I'm a skilled hunter, if I do say so myself. I'm not so good with a sword, but give me a gun of any sort and I'm deadly. I'm fairly lithe, fast, and accurate, but I lack in brute strength. My weapons of choice are usually pistols or double barrel shotguns. I'm good at navigation and keeping track of stores, but I'm not so great at steering a ship or managing the crew itself.

࿂ HOW DO YE ACT?[/color]
I have a very keen sense of right and wrong, which usually governs my actions. The laws of the land are important, but when they violate my own personal moral code, I will not hesitate to break them.

My loyalty is given first and foremost to those I have a responsibility to: my family, my crew, and my country. I often don't take care of myself enough since I'm too busy serving others. I have a strong sense of duty, and I respect people who are the same, but I have a heavy prejudice against those who don't. Those who cannot earn my respect will also never gain my allegiance.

I'm not particularly sensitive, but I'm fiercely protective of those who are. That being said, I tend to avoid being involved in a physical fight over petty things. My forte is fighting from afar, a carefully planned and executed strategy that strikes quick and deadly. Spur-of-the-moment actions are rare for me, and I am not angered easily.

I have no patience for the non-working man or woman, and I ignore beggars and oppose pirates with the same general disdain. Ever since I was a child, I have studied and practiced and worked, which has brought me all the things I require in my life, and those who seek to cheat those things from me are too foolish and weak to obtain for themselves.

When I love, it is complete and consuming. I have not yet found a wife, but the members of my family are currently the worthy benefactors of my care. I would do anything for them, and their safety and comfort is paramount. On the other side of that same coin, I do not take well to betrayal. Once you lose my trust, you might never gain it back.

I'm very adaptive, and I respond well to change of situation or philosophy. If I am wrong, I will admit that I am wrong, but I am not always sorry. I'm averse to arrogance, but I do have my pride, and humiliating me is a sure way to make an enemy out of an ally.

I value my privacy, but cherish camaraderie. I like to have many good acquaintances and a small number of friends I can stick with at all times. I like to include others, but I hate having my attention divided amongst too many people at one time. Then, I feel like no one is receiving enough of my time and I begin to detached from them.

I am rarely bored, as I can always find something to do that will occupy me. At the end of the day, I like to have fun, laugh, and relax. Though my voice isn't exactly that of a songbird, I'm not afraid to sing or dance around and generally make a fool of myself in the interests of entertainment. I enjoy making other people smile, and I'm very good at lifting spirits when they are close to despair.

࿂ WOULD YE BE MISSED?[/color]
I have a good relationship with most of my family members. I admired my father, George Ackerman, greatly before he was taken away from us, and I suspect I hold him in even greater esteem now then I did then. My mother, Ann Bouchard, has always been thoughtful and yet strict, and she has had a large influence on my moral compass. I love her very much, and though she worries too much and berates me about my lack of spouse and always harrumphs at my 'boyish attitude', as she likes to call it, I wouldn't trade her for anyone else in the world.

I have three younger sisters, two of which have a different father: Greta, Marianne, and Regan. Greta is the oldest at 27, and she is very much the delicate housewife type. She is pretty in a plain way, and I have often admired her ability to be unfailingly kind to everyone she meets. Marianne is the middle sister at 26, and she was recently married to a very well-to-do politician, which was no surprise since she is by far the most stunningly beautiful of all her siblings. I have always been civil with her, but she is a bit of a diva and likes to brag about her talents, which are few and far between. Regan is the youngest, aged 24, and she is extremely shy, and often sickly. Of all my sisters, I feel as if she is my closest, as I have often taken care of her. She is also the most like me: stubborn, but loyal and generally optimistic. However, her illnesses weaken her greatly, and it has been assumed they will eventually claim her life.

My step-father, Christian Bouchard, is a businessman who makes his living repairing guns and any other types of machinery. He married my mother shortly after my father disappeared, he being one of the only people who could see past the rumors that our family was 'cursed'. He is an honorable man who works hard, but he has the habit of drinking. He is patient, but his anger is fearsome when it emerges. I have found him to be overbearing at times, but for the most part he has supported his family and accepted the two fatherless children as his own. I revered my own father, but as far as I'm concerned Christian was as good a father as I could ask for.

As for friends, I left most of them back home. I will just have to see who I meet, now won't I?

࿂ YER STORY![/color]
I was born in the middle of summer to Ann and George Ackerman. In the last sun rays before night fell I came into being on the windy hills of Iverness, Scotland, but shortly thereafter my family moved to a small port town to the east by the name of Burghead. I was raised there all my life, and when my father disappeared my mother considered returning to Iverness to live with her parents. Nearly two months after my father disappeared, Christian asked for her hand in marriage. His knowledge of guns is what led me to pursue the mastery of them, first as a hobby and then as a profession. Christian taught me the proper way to aim, what to shoot and what not to shoot, and he helped me develop a strategist's eye for finding weaknesses and carefully constructing plans of action before they happen. He fueled my passion and encouraged my drive to be strong and fearless. When I turned seventeen, I longed for adventure; I loved the sea and all its perils and wonders, I being young and full of life. I started out working on a myriad of small fishing boats, mostly helping haul in catches and plotting the courses in a way that would help us avoid pirates, a skill I acquired with experience, as we were accosted many times and our ships stripped of anything remotely valuable. Eventually, I learned to avoid them and sabotage them, becoming a valuable asset to any commercial crew. One day, a friend told me I should join the Royal Navy, as my motivation to be rid of pirates and my insight into their techniques could well be useful. And that is what brought me to where I am now, my decision to enter the military, and may my journey be swift and profitable.

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18 YEARS OLD ࿂ EWAN MCGREGOR ࿂ SIX YEARS
LARRY/MADDIE

RP SAMPLE. <3

He thought he should be happy, but, as these things frequently went, he was anything but.

Life was quiet. The air was still and calm; people spoke softly in serene whispers and carefree laughs. Shopkeepers opened their windows and children wandered from their mothers to peer at various trinkets on display. The sun seemed to enrich customers and stimulate their bodies to animate, as if their strength were tied directly to their intake of light. Money flowed freely, as did smiles and small gestures like the steady focus of the eyes, the way their fingers rested on the neck of a bottle. Faces were smooth and expressive, for they had nothing to hide and not a thing to worry about.

Severus knew that such a generalization was rarely truth, but he was feeling the weight of other people's happiness more and more as the days went on.

Going home was a different story. It always rained at that exact time of day, when he locked up his own lonely shop for the day, turning the key and walking away. The walk was short, but laborious. Most of it was uphill, and the rain created pockets of mud to sink into. Severus would watch the droplets as they slid through his hair and leaped away from the ends to land on his chest and absorb into his cloak. He didn't need to look behind him or conceal himself in some way from prying eyes. It wasn't necessary, and it was likely impossible for a man in his position. Nobody was watching him; they were all too involved in their own business and their own pleasures to be bothered by a broken man who owned nothing but his own soul. What worth was he to those carefree, delighted faces who scrambled down the polished streets of Hogsmeade?

He was not sure what he had expected, but the era of peace after the war seemed to him a lifeless existence wherein laziness and a lack of vigilance were prevailing heavily upon the world. Perhaps his jaunt as spy had left him feeling superior, but he preferred to think that other people were incompetent or plain insensitive. In that, he was frequently correct. He had had quite enough of his only customers for the day being curious Hogwarts students wishing to get a glimpse of the legendary terror of the school, which he gathered was a rather taboo subject amongst the staff members. Severus began shutting himself in his office and hiring someone to man the counter. Unfortunately, that only seemed to drive more would-be customers away.

Opening a Potions shop had seemed like a good idea when he had started. The building was in a good location for exploiting the curiosity of Hogwarts students coming in from the train and drawing forth the slightly wealthier scum from the lower side of Hogsmeade. He had rounded up a sizable stock of potions from his Hogwarts days and planted a small garden beside his solitary house. He wrote Pomona from time to time for rarer ingredients, but he found he could mostly manage with what he had.

As the months and years progressed, it became apparent that opening a shop was not as good an idea as it had first appeared. The potions he was selling were not in very high demand, and the potions that could have made him money he was unable to make.

Unable. Severus hated that word with more ferocity than he had ever hated anything in his life. Whenever it crossed his mind for even a moment, he felt like screaming and his hands would burn with white hot rage, wanting so badly to do something, but knowing he couldn't. Couldn't. Unable. Disallowed. Useless.

The worst thing about surviving the end of the war was not the reporters, the trial, the intermediate jail time, the waiting, or the public scorn. It was not really even the exact moment when he heard the snap of his wand, a sound which had truthfully shocked him to his very core. No, the worst part of it all was walking out of the building, looking up at the sky, after being released, and realizing that he would have to go on for the rest of his life living in a magical world without magic.

His front door greeted him coldly, and he quickly let himself in out of the rain. It was horribly late; far later than he usually got home. He had intended to leave hours before, but he had simply sat in his office and stared at the wood markings on his desk until the sun sank out of sight and he emerged from his stupor. It was likely well past 2 in the morning, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was apparent that he was going to have another sleepless night. Exhausted, wet, and cynical, he lit a match and threw it into the fireplace, falling into his chair and gazing with wide eyes into the flames.

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[AMAYA O' HIERLIHY]