FRICKER, RADLEY JACKSON

[radley jackson fricker]

NAME: radley jackson fricker
AGE: 24
HEIGHT: 6’2
WEIGHT: 190
EYE COLOR: left eyes is a light, soft brown, almost tan. his right eyes is a deep, dark shade of brown
HAIR COLOR: brown
ETHNICITY: scottish and canadian
LIKES: women, writing, reading, sketching, music, acoustic guitar, cross fit, running, boxing, sailing, surfing, arguments, black and white movies, fishing, the smell of fresh coffee, the ocean, quiet mornings, moonlight, people who can take a joke
DISLIKES: a lack of a sense of humor, writer’s block, isolation, smoke being blown in his face, the taste of coffee, windless days
SECRETS: he only wishes that he could have seen his father die in a more painful manor
GRADE AND/OR OCCUPATION: writer; novels and contributing articles to various publications
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: straight
PLAY BY PLAY: ryan reynolds

PERSONALITY:

Radley is layered into a deeply complex web of unexplained behaviors and outlandish thought patterns. Although he is outspoken with his wide array of smart ass remarks, he doesn’t like to talk about himself. His father once paid for him to see a psychiatrist for three years. He spend the first year silent, simply staring at the psychiatrist behind the mask of his interlaced fingers. When he finally spoke, he asked an opinion based question but didn’t allow the psychiatrist to explain his opinion, only to state it. For Radley, asking why has always fascinated him more than knowing why. The exact reasons are unknown.

Because of his social upbringing, Radley has a tendency to distance himself emotionally. He doesn’t allow people to fully understand what he’s thinking or understand his beliefs and views. Having never grown up with a strong connection to anyone it’s hard for him to open up and relax. There is a strong tendency for him to be either standoffish, or overtly mysterious and quiet. To him other people are more interesting than himself, so he craves to know more about them and chooses to ignore the fact that the pendulum swings in both directions.

PLACE OF BIRTH: atlanta, georgia
DATE OF BIRTH: january 21
FINANCIAL STATUS:a family inheritance is tucked away, but he makes enough from his writing career to survive
FATHER: jason fricker, deceased
MOTHER: julia tahoe, deceased
SIBLINGS: unknown


HISTORY:

Radley was never an intention, in even the slightest sense. He was born an accidental culmination of a drunk seventeen year old girl and a thirty three year old business executive who just wanted to find an easy girl. Originally he was supposed to be a hasty abortion, but Radley’s grandmother, on his mother’s side, convinced her to reconsider. That was perhaps a mistake. Radley’s birth was too much for his young mother, and she died during childbirth. It was his grandmother who tracked down the father and told him to take care of his child. Reluctance was there was, and had it not been for the threat of legal actions he would have turned the child away. Alas, now Jason Fricker had a son to care for.

Radley originally was raised to lionize his father in every aspect. It was a lonely life, filled with disposable friends, temporary mothers, and unfamiliar houses that never lost their freshly built scent, since they were always moving into a new one before it could wear away. Radley spent most of his early years with private tutors and under the watchful eyes of business advisors as if he were a project investment. However even from a young age the seeds of rebellion and defiance did sprout. Radley spent most of his time ditching classes and business meetings his father tried to bring him too, only to stow away with a notebook and a pen. At first all he wrote where ideas and faint notes that ran through his mind at countless intervals throughout each day. As his years grew so did his ideas, and his ability to string them together. While still in high school, he was already writing articles for local newspapers and compiling original works to publication. At first his father rejected the idea of him being a writer, saying their was no solid investment in such a field and that it was a waste of time.

Although writing, drawing, and music all offered an escape from his father’s consistent ridicule and disapproval, it wasn’t enough. His deep seeded anger for his father caused him to act out. If he wasn’t transferring to a new school because they moved than he was being expelled throughout his high school tenure for fighting or vandalism. It followed him even through college. Emerson kicked him out for hitting a professor. Although his father pulled some strings to get him into Stanford, he blew the interview with one well placed finger. Eventually he settled into a low grade meaningless community college after his father cut him off. It was Radley’s first real taste of freedom, independence, and poverty. He loved every second.

Through the years Radley worked several odd jobs, never sticking to one location or temporary job for long. Seems that a life filled with constant moving and the inability to settle down had an effect on him. It also made him hard to track down, at least for awhile. Radley’s father hunted down his son, the two of them refusing contact with one another for two years. His father, having followed his son’s numerous smaller publications all the way to his contributing articles for large scale magazines, wanted to make amends. The two reconciled, although Radley never fully felt a strong attachment to his own father. Even the following year later, standing by his side as he breathed through a machine, curtsey of an SUV driver who felt that alcohol tasted better as it poured down your throat on a highway. Jason Thomas Fricker, age 54, died in a California hospital due to his injuries. Radley didn’t shed a single tear for him.

Shortly afterwards Radley learned that his father had left him as the sole heir to everything he owned. It didn’t matter, that wasn’t enough to buy his forgiveness or respect. However, it was good for helping him to self publish some of his literary works gathered from over the years, as well as relocate him to his new home in Hawaii, where he has lived for the past few years. Radley now lives on the island, still writing both nationally and locally, simply because he enjoys it.

ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE:

“Out’ta my way Wilson! I got no time to deal with you!”
“Oh, come on Loggy…who else is gunna play with me? All the other kids call me names and tell me I have poop breath…” Anger surged from the eyes of the ferial natured mutant as they narrowed on adversary. Teeth gritted together, his muscles tensing until blood boiled and his veins pumped battery acid. Why? Why was he standing in his way? What stake was there for him in the matter? What could he possibly gain from all of this? Questions ran briefly through his mind and were left unanswered. Trying to make sense of the workings of a senseless mind was futile. No one ever could make heads or tails of his mentality or thoughts, not even the man they belonged too.

The sun drenched street ran over the two men. One stood tall, clad in red and black with his face completely masked. The had his knees bent, further reducing his height. Both of his hands gripped into fists, his knuckles burning as they shaped themselves white. His anger took a step further, the flesh between his knuckles tearing itself open as three long, metal coated claws ripped forth from each hand. Six razors lifted, crossing into an x before his face. “Look bub, I ain’t gunna warn ya again. Step aside, or I’m gunna step through ya. I’m not letting’ Sabertooth get away again, and you’re not gunna prevent me from settling our score.”

A crimson red glove lifted, the index finger wagging side to side. His free hand cocked at the wrist, resting comfortably against his belt. “No can do Tim Buck Tu. Sugartooth is my kitty to wax on Daniel -san. And if I can’t wax off that pussy, no one can!” His nonchalant mood instantly changed, the a wave of seriousness breaking forth upon the completion of his words. Each hand was thrown up and back, taking hold of a braided hilt. At first the draw was slow, both blades just barely breaking free of their peaceful slumber within their scabbard. Simultaneously, each blade broke free, stretching itself out in the sunlight. “This is for you Mr. Miagi! I’m gunna paint the fence and sand the floor all over his ass!”

“That’s your reason for getting’ in my way Wade? You just want him for yourself?” howled the angered, and now slightly confused mutant. “Uh, duh Einstein., I just said that didn’t I? It was like, five panels ago? He doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Hey, sometimes neither do I. But I always do! No you don’t. If anyone would know it’d be me. I am you jenius. Haha, you spelled genius wrong!

“Alright wolfy, time to rub your nose in it for not going on the paper.” His words fell on deaf ears as the enraged mutant charged forward. Eyes widened as the figure leapt up, sailing through the air as if he were gliding on it. “Oh shit…” he muttered to himself. I forgot, he doesn’t like waiting around. Wonder what it‘s like when he‘s waiting to be seated at a restaurant? Six adamantium claws shred through the air, tearing downward, only to be met by adamantium blades weld by their target. “Hey krazy-kanook, mind telling me what size my boot is?” Suspension in the air meant it was harder to evade an attack, especially one at close range.

Legs bent, his left foot stepping out as his weight shifted to the ball of it, spinning his body while their blades distracted one another. His right leg lifted, flashed through the air, and thundered the heel towards the head of the ferial man. “Boot to the head!” he screamed. Although the kick was swift, it wasn’t enough. ‘Loggy’ pulled his right arm back, defending against the move with his elbow. Deflecting the strike was easy, but the force still threw him off course from his target. Both men planted their feet firmly, turning to face off one more. Gathering bystanders watched on, forming small crowds to inspect the fight which was now occurring.

“Hey! I said ‘boot to the head’ not ‘boot to the elbow!’ That’s cheating! I’m telling my mommy on you!” the childish jeers from the crimson clad comedian echoed through the streets as he took one step back, pointing his katana at his opponent. “That’s it Wolverine, no more Mr. Nice D.P. Mr. Wilson is here to kick your little ass Dennis!” “Are you ever gunna shut up or do I have to cut out your tongue?” retorted Wolverine. “Cause I’m sick of hearing your voice.” “Oh yeah? Well that’s just too damn bad, cause you’re always gunna hear my name. We both know that I’m better at whatever the hell it is you do. That’s why they always sing my song:
D-E-A-D-P-double O-L yeah!
Deadpool! Deadpool! He’s our man!
If he can’t do it, then sweet Jesus help us cause it means we’re screwed!
Come on, you know the words, so sing along!”

The tune continued to emit from his lips, head bobbing slightly to the rhythm. Soon his shoulders followed, his hips beginning to sway, both katana tapping against one another lightly, his feet lifting up and planting down. Yeah…the crazy S.O.B. was dancing. An infuriated Wolverine watched, closing his eyes and shaking his head in embarrassment for being seen with him. Rage overtook him once again, the song slowly pushing him further and further, deeper and deeper towards a berserk rampage. “Enough already!” he cried, barreling forward, claws poised and ready to bury themselves deep into Deadpool’s flesh. Wolverines thirst for blood awoke Deadpool from his singing in time to rip him back to reality. “Not this again…”

All six claws met…nothing. Not a damn thing. “What?! Bastard used that teleportation device of his.” Wolverine sniffed the air. Deadpool could move fast but it wouldn’t mask his scent. Soon the familiar stench reached the nostrils of Weapon X. “Found you!” he cried, turning around swiftly. However, his target was not directly behind him. “Ah yeah, can I get three number four combos, two large fries, a large soda, and I mean large. Freakishly huge if you’ve’ got it. Annnnd…a happy meal for my buddy outside.” Deadpool pointed his thumb over his shoulder jeeringly. Leaning forward, he lifted the back of his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered to the young girl behind the counter. “He’s a little cranky right now. I think the toy might settle him down.”
“Wilson!!!!” screamed Wolverine.
“Gotta go.” in that moment he vanished via teleportation and was once more outside, standing behind Wolverine. “Hey! Stop yelling my name Tom Hanks, we’re off the island already! Oh, by the way, you’re paying for all that food I just ordered. Now, where were we again?” Will it continue in the next issue? “Maybe…” Opps, I said that out loud didn’t I? “Yep.”

NAME: randall
EXPERIENCE: almost five years now on all sorts of boards
WHERE DID YOU FIND US? the sister site, just dickin’ around