OWENS, emerson

[emerson owens]

emerson michael owens

name: melinda
age: old enough
writing experience: i was born rp'ing
how'd you find us?: i'd be worried if i DIDN'T know about us
other characters: not yet...
where do you most want to travel to?: we won't judge if you don't pick iceland! ;]

name: emerson michael owens
age: 18
job: primarily for adults - put n/a if this doesn't apply
year: twelfth (senior)
canon or original: original
housing: do they live with any other characters? or family? We have five locations where characters may live. Please visit the residence claim and choose one.

hair color: chestnut that shows hints of caramel and strawberry in the sunlight
eye color: a warm brown with subtle green flecks
height: 5'9"
clothing style: Emerson prefers a classic style and is often found in a button-down shirt and khakis or jeans. He is also a big fan of ties and will wear one whenever an opportunity presents itself. His prized possession is a vintage leather jacket that once belonged to his father -- Emerson found it in the closet and adopted it.
distinguishing marks: A small scar above his right eye -- the result of a being hit by a baseball bat during a game as a boy.

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likes

reading j classical music j playing the guitar j poetry j girls j outdoors j spending time alone at goðafoss j hanging out with friends j chocolate j the scent of vanilla

dislikes

public restrooms j processed cheese j skinny jeans j people who push their beliefs on other j math j girls who complain about their appearance j chalkboards

quirks

Emerson often looks like he is upset when he is deep in thought -- his full lips will purse and his brow will furrow. When he has one of these moments, people tend to think that he's either not listening or upset. Neither are true. It takes a lot to upset him, this is just his way of analyzing a situation.

He often picks at the sides of his thumbs when he's nervous. Few people know that he does this as he is skilled at hiding this trait by either stuffing his hands into his pockets or hiding them behind his back.

As a result of his ability, Emerson is loathe to provide a lot of physical contact with another person. Usually, the other person will have to initiate -- he has become an expert at keeping that contact brief.

When he's frustrated, Emerson often runs his hands through his hair. This usually occurs when he's just experienced someone else's memories or is fighting the urge to touch a person and learn their secrets.

dreams

list them here (at least two)

secrets

list them here (at least two)

main

list them here (at least eight)

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ability: memory absorption

development

Emerson was fifteen when his ability first manifested itself. At the time it terrified him and destroyed everything he held sacred. The ability disappeared after that, not returning again until he was sixteen. Again, he blames it for destroying his world and heart. As a result, he hasn't spent much time honing his ability, allowing it to strengthen on its own. He still struggles to gain control of his ability on a daily basis but it no longer overwhelms him.

beliefs

Is it possible to love the thing that destroyed your world? For Emerson, this answer does not come as a simple "yes" or "no." He believes that a persons mind should be their sanctuary -- the place where their secrets are safe, their memories treasured. He hates that a simple embrace can destroy these secrets. Still, memories are the puzzle pieces that form a person and a part of him enjoys knowing these things. He no longer has to wonder what happened to a person to make them who they are, but rather, he questions why they opt to hold that piece of themselves back.

As a child, his mother would whisper tales to him of returning lights and gifts that they bestowed on those that beheld them. Her soft voice would lull him to a sleep filled with images of people who could change the world -- still he never thought the stories were true. Even once his own ability started to manifest itself, Emerson opted to keep silent about it. After all, who would believe a boy who said he could see the memories of others?

He is still coming to terms with what this ability means to him and the rest of his life. He hopes it simply ingrains itself into who he is and doesn't ruin any more parts of him.

important people

Anna Owens ,, 43 ,, mother -- lives with
Nathaniel Owens ,, 50 ,, surrogate father -- lives with
Michael Kennedy ,, 45 ,, biological father

history

As a child, Emerson believed that all good stories started with once upon a time…—he used to pray that his would one day do the same. However, unlike the stories he once loved, he has come to the realization that his will never conclude with, and they lived happily ever after.

Emerson Michael Owens was born on a dreary night in Vancouver, Canada. His mother often told him how the soft drumming of the rain against the plated windows was her saving grace during labor as his father was too worried to be of comfort. Nathaniel Owens would always interject at that point that he did hold her hand, and has a scar to prove it. As a young boy, Emerson would lie in bed, listening to the rain, and wonder what that night had been like for them. How must it have felt to be waiting the arrival of your first—and to be only—child? Although he had no point of reference, he imagined that the night had been filled with anticipation and excitement. He never doubted his parents love for one another. Still, he often found himself wondering why they never had another child—Emerson desperately wanted a little brother or sister to play games with.

Then, one night, the shiny, pristine image of his family shattered before his eyes. Emerson was never the same—his family still has no idea why.

Both scientists concentrating on environmental studies, Nathaniel Owens had been ecstatic when he arrived home on a warm May evening with news—he'd been offered the opportunity to study the phenomenon of the aurora borealis in Eventide, Iceland. His lab had created a theory that their return was a result in a change of pollution levels in the water and he had been asked to head up the research. Nathaniel had even been able to secure a position for his wife, Anna, as an analyst claiming that her previous work there would be invaluable on this study.

Anna had turned from the dinner she was preparing, a fake smile painting her delicate features. "Honey, that's amazing," she'd breathed, her fingers tightening around the knife's handle.

Nathaniel's face had clouded with concern—his wife looked more upset than he'd ever seen her before. Crossing the room, he took her into his arms and asked what was troubling her.

"It's just…Emerson…Iceland is so far away from all his friends…" Her eyes pleaded with Emerson to agree with her from her position in his fathers arms. But he hadn't understood the desperation in her eyes, and had assured them that he'd be fine—it would be an adventure. Without waiting for his wife's reply, Nathaniel had left the room to make a reservation for dinner. He wanted to celebrate and discuss this "once in a lifetime opportunity" with his family in a better environment.

Nothing more was spoken on the subject. Anna had a change of hear over dinner and the family had prepared for their move.

One night, while his father was still at work, Emerson heard muffled sobs coming from his parents' room. When his soft, urgent knock had remained unanswered, he burst into their room. His mother lay crumbled by some moving boxes, her face buried in a pillow. Cautious, Emerson crept to her side. He'd never seen her this way and it scared him. "Mom?" he'd whispered, reaching to touch her arm.

His world exploded in that moment. Vibrant colors swirled before his eyes and try as he might, Emerson couldn't dislodge his hand from her arm.

Anna was much younger—twenty-three—and kissing his father goodbye before she left to study rocks in Iceland for a year. Hope and promise engulfed him as he watched his father lower himself to one knee and request her hand in marriage. Tears filled her eyes as she'd fallen to her knees to embrace him. "You have my heart forever," she'd cried.

The memories shifted then—a blurred montage of her time in Iceland; her time with another researcher. At first, Emerson wasn't sure why all of his mother's memories involved this man known simply as Michael. But as the memories became clearer, so did the attached emotions.

He didn't recognize the building—it appeared to be old and abandoned—but love, in the purest and truest form, colored each thought his mother had. That night the sky had erupted in brilliant shade of pink and green as Michael drew Anna close and whispered words of love to her. She promised that she would leave Nathaniel for him—that she didn't know what true love was until she'd met Michael. Then, on that warm July evening, under the brilliant glow of the returned lights, Anna and Michael had made love.

The memories continued to swirl before him—Emerson wasn't aware that he was yelling for them to stop. It was all too much—blending and swirling together, blocking out everything else. Anna had discovered she was pregnant the night before she was to return to Canada. Scared that Michael would attempt to take the child from her, she lied and called things off. She couldn't do this to Nathaniel, she'd said. He had loved her their entire lives and she loved him, too. They were going to be married—it was what she'd wanted. And then, with the bitterest of tears streaming down her face, she'd returned to Canada, unable to forget the man that would forever hold her heard miles away. Her first night back, she'd made love with Nathaniel, days later telling him that she was pregnant. Nathaniel had never doubted that Emerson was his—Anna would never betray him like that…

Anna shifted then, pulling away from her son's vice-like grip. Staring at his blank, troubled eyes, she knew that he knew her secret. The boy she'd given life to now had the ability to destroy hers. "Emerson," she'd whispered. "I have made many mistakes in my life, but you were never one of them. Please believe that. I love your father…if I told him…"

Emerson staggered to his feet backing toward the door. "He deserves to know," he'd croaked.

"Please…"

It wasn't his secret to share—Emerson always knew this. Anna, had no idea how her son could have ever discovered the truth—she'd been so careful to keep Michael's identity a secret. Then she remembered the letter Michael had sent her—the one that detailed the strange abilities people from Eventide were exhibiting; the same story that she used to tell Emerson to put him to sleep at night. Something had happened to her son—perhaps Eventide would provide them with the answers she needed. She had hoped that her family would find solace in the small town, now she feared it would tear them apart.

That night was never spoken of again and Emerson was left to wonder what had caused him to be consumed by his mother's memories. Perhaps she'd simply told him and his imagination had overreacted and caused him to visualize everything. Yes, that was the only plausible explanation that he could think of.

The Owens' family transitioned to life in Eventide with relative ease. The strange occurrence from Vancouver still haunted his memories, but there was never a reoccurrence so he attempted to put it out of his mind. If he didn't think about it, his life could remain the same—even if his family was now splintered shards of glass. Emerson credited that night to the fact that the truth needed to come out. Perhaps his knowing saved his parents marriage… Her preferred not to concentrate on how since their arrival in Eventide, his mother often worked later hours and there were times his father could not get a hold of her at the lab. One night, Emerson embraced his mother hoping to discover what was going on—when nothing happened, he was plagued with guilt for weeks.

Despite the crumbling foundation of lies that his family lived upon, Eventide agreed with Emerson. He loved the stunning vistas and when not with friends he would spend time with his guitar along the shores of Goðafoss. It was there, that he met the girl who would ruin the remaining pieces of his heart. If Emerson could create his perfect woman, Siobhan would have been her. The moment he saw her raven hair dancing in the breeze, the mist sparking in the strands like diamonds, she had his heart and he didn't even know her name. That all changed, though. What started as a flirting banter soon transformed to a love that few ever experience—at least that's what Emerson liked to think. Still, both knew that their time together was short—Siobhan was part of an extended learning opportunity for the summer. But they were young, and still believed that love would sustain them, no matter the distance.

A few nights before Siobhan was scheduled to return to England, Emerson brought her back to Goðafoss—the place where they'd met—for a romantic picnic under the stars. He hadn't planned on making love to her that night, but as everything fell into place, neither wanted to say no, if for no other reason than to remember their love once she left. As they lay wrapped in a blanket and each others arms beneath the stars, it happened again.

The sky was alight that night, and as Siobhan leaned over to kiss him, Emerson's world exploded. His own pain smothered beneath the weight of her memories. Siobhan—the girl he loved with each breath—was making love with his best friend. He knew it was love and not an accident—her memories were too vivid, too rich with emotion.

As she pulled back, her blue eyes clouded with questions—something was wrong and she didn't know what. It took all of his willpower not to yell at her and demand answers to all of his questions. Nothing she said could change what had happened. Smiling, he assured her that he was just upset that he couldn't wake with her in his arms for the rest of his life. For the rest of her final week, he pretended everything was fine. Then, the night before she left, as she wrapped her arms around him and whispered promises of love—lies—to him, he kissed her tenderly. Pulling back he smiled wryly, "I know everything," he assured her. "I lied too. I could never love a whore." Ignoring all of her desperate pleas to listen to her explanation, Emerson turned and never looked back. That night love died for him, a friendship crumbled, and the memories never went away again.

play-by: john hayward
leande exists within admin edited

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[WHISPER KEEPER]