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Dillon Maxey

A mutant from birth, it rapidly became apparent that he was never going to receive the same opportunities as those who classed themselves as normal. In time, he learned to make his own.

0 · 2,304 views · located in Canti's Diner

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by AugmentationAudit

Description

Image

Tending to appear in many forms depending on how he chooses to disguise himself, though, when he is going without costume, he tends to take on one of two distinct forms.

Image

More human, though still clearly mutant with very dark skin that gives way to an odd harlequin-pattern in red, the marks are located specifically around the eyes and are clearly visible on other parts of his body when he chooses to show them. His eyes are very dark, but his pupils show red in direct light; he wears contact lenses to facilitate this appearance and hides the real colour of his eyes.

Unnaturally slender and frail, he appears stretched and spidery in his less common appearance; he does not take on this look by choice, more by overextension, and although he often looks stronger and far more mutant in this form, and will certainly say that this is the case, it is in fact a sign of him weakening through overuse of his teleportation, rather than some interesting new form. It is simply damage to his body.

His skin becomes red when all of the diamonds join up, secondary diamonds opening like lesions around his eyes and spreading as the condition becomes more severe. His eyes appear to be very red, though this is more because of subconjunctival hemorrhaging than any intimidating power.

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Personality

Mischievous to a fault, he seems to almost completely lack empathy for those unlike himself. In the mutant world, he has shown himself to be naughty, though not actively malicious, though the same cannot be said for his activities around humans. Tired of being classed as different, substandard, he has no compassion for anybody that he classes as better off than he is: humans.
Possibly a kleptomaniac, though his desire to rampant theft could be a continuation of his want for balance between his own situation and the human condition; he classes them to be privileged over himself and seeks to even things up by stealing from them.
He is not chronically aggressive around humans, though those who are arrogant or scathing by nature should beware, as should those who choose to tell him what he can and cannot do, no matter the species. He is rarely hostile towards aggressors, but will torment them mercilessly; sometimes causing physical harm.
He is almost certainly a sociopath.

Profile of a sociopath: (edited from: http://www.mcafee.cc/Bin/sb.html)

  • Glibness and Superficial Charm: He never seems to stutter or be ill at ease, perfectly comfortable when it comes to communication. He does appear to be charming, though he tends to use his charm to get what he wants and feels like he deserves.
  • Manipulative and Conning: They never recognize the rights of others and see their self-serving behaviours as permissible. They appear to be charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victim as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims. -he likes to ‘convince’ people to do his bidding. He’s certainly not above blackmail if the mood suits him. He has some knowledge of the rights of others, but disregards it as irrelevant.
  • Grandiose Sense of Self: He certainly has a highly overinflated ego when he deems to show it, and classes himself as no less than the most important person in existence. His intelligence and skill knows no bounds, as far as he’s concerned.
  • Feels entitled to certain things as "their right." –he will take whatever he wants, and has no sense of guilt in doing so, as he believes he deserves to receive anything taken and holds anyone who refuses to give him what he knows should be his in contempt.
  • Pathological Lying : Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests.
  • Lack of Remorse, Shame or Guilt .
  • A deep seated rage, which is split off and repressed, is at their core. Does not see others around them as people, but only as targets and opportunities. Instead of friends, they have victims and accomplices who end up as victims. The end always justifies the means and they let nothing stand in their way.
  • Shallow Emotions: When they show what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since they are not genuine, neither are their promises.
  • Incapacity for Love: In his case, the high-functioning nature of his condition allows him to feign love as he feigns the depth of his emotion.
  • Need for Stimulation : When left to his own devices and allowed to grow bored he tends to seek out new ways to entertain himself; usually at the cost of those around him.
  • Living on the edge. Verbal outbursts and physical punishments are normal. Promiscuity and gambling are common. –he doesn’t tend to gamble, but when pushed he has been known to be loud and physically aggressive. It takes some effort on the part of the antagoniser to get such a reaction.
  • Callousness/Lack of Empathy: Unable to empathize with the pain of their victims, having only contempt for others' feelings of distress and readily taking advantage of them.
  • Poor Behavioural Controls/Impulsive Nature: Rage and abuse, alternating with small expressions of love and approval produce an addictive cycle for abuser and abused, as well as creating hopelessness in the victim. Believe they are all-powerful, all-knowing, entitled to every wish, no sense of personal boundaries, and no concern for their impact on others.
  • Early Behaviour Problems/Juvenile Delinquency: Usually has a history of behavioural and academic difficulties, yet "gets by" by conning others. Problems in making and keeping friends; aberrant behaviours such as cruelty to people or animals, stealing, etc. –it is unclear if this is the case, as very little is honestly known about his younger life.
  • Irresponsibility/Unreliability: Not concerned about wrecking others' lives and dreams. Oblivious or indifferent to the devastation they cause. Does not accept blame themselves, but blames others, even for acts they obviously committed.
  • Promiscuous Sexual Behaviour/Infidelity: Promiscuity, child sexual abuse, rape and sexual acting out of all sorts. –he has yet to turn any of his attentions onto children, having little interest in them one way or the other at the present. He is, however, sexually promiscuous and doesn’t like to be told know. He has been known to believe that sex is his right if he wants it, regardless of his partner’s desires.
  • Lack of Realistic Life Plan/Parasitic Lifestyle: Tends to move around a lot or makes all encompassing promises for the future, poor work ethic but exploits others effectively.
  • Criminal or Entrepreneurial Versatility: Changes their image as needed to avoid prosecution. Changes life story readily. –his life story is rarely the same twice, and his image changes frequently, though he finds it hard to disguise his the fact that he is carrying the mutated X chromosome.

Equipment

Genetically suited towards teleportation:
This can be triggered manually over a limited distance, and it is possible for him to teleport inside locked buildings if he has at least some idea of the layout inside. It is unclear if he can teleport inside a wall or partially through an object by mistake.
Percussive force to his person or penetrating injury has been known to automatically trigger a teleport, though he never escapes completely unharmed from subconscious space-jump. If he has time to consciously initiate the move it is near-impossible to harm him unless the exact nature of his weakness is discovered.
It is possible to stop him, even when teleporting to avoid detection/attack, but the method of doing so requires trial and error. He knows his own weaknesses, but does not divulge them.

History

Generally difficult to determine, as any facts given by Max himself should be discounted as partial or often total untruth.
He spent some time with therapists and mental health specialists, and draws on their explanations and techniques in his own endeavours from time to time.
He has watched a great deal of medically-based television, documentaries on psychology, etc.
He spends a great deal of time people-watching.
He studied psychology, though his grade and learning method are unknown.
Most of his pastimes and past occupations have been for the sake of furthering his skills in emulation of emotion and normal social behaviour. He prides himself in his ability to appear normal and has extensively studied human emotional and psychosocial dynamics to make himself believable.

So begins...

Dillon Maxey's Story

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Dillon Maxey snickered to himself, selecting a few bottles and putting together a cocktail, which he merrily settled on Hope's table. "Aww, and here I was thinking you'd be happy to see me! I'm wounded!"

With a smirk, Max teleported over to sit on the bar counter, eyes dancing, smile shark-like. "And I'd love to tell you that Kendra's happy, healthy and successful right now, but-" Max winced, hissing in a breath through his teeth. "Well, you don't want to hear about that."

He winked. "And as for Damien: I ate him." Really, the blithering idiot should have remembered that his son was called Damon, not that Max was going to remind her; this was far too much fun.

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Dillon Maxey snorted at her disinclination when it came to the drink he had made her, and took a moment to extract his wedding ring and flick it at her head. It was not the first time he had replaced the stupid thing, nor would it be the last, so if she kept it/destroyed it, he wasn't overly concerned. He actually had a trusting relationship with his partner, so if he got a new wedding ring every few weeks because he'd misplaced the real thing, then so be it; there were more important things than jewellery.

"Oh, you'd be surprised what Kendra's allowed me to do, pet," he cooed. "Do try to remember that for all your 'one true love, mated now and forever' bullshit, she's my wife now, the mother of my children, and you- well, you've picked up another broad. Says a lot for your philosophy on true love, don't you think?"

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Dillon Maxey caught the ring easily and shoved it back down his underpants, because where else would he put it to keep it safe? Anything on his hands tended to vanish in a matter of hours, or got on his nerves and ended up in the bin. Things in his pants tended to stick around.

"Ooh, is this progress I hear? Wow, Hope, don't tell me that you've honesty gotten over your petty little pine-fest? Because if you have, I'm quite honestly shocked." Max flashed her a lazy smirk, and drained her drink for her. "Harmless."

Licking his lips, he put the glass back down on the table. "And tell me, darling; how's your son? Still completely out of your control, of have you managed to get a grip since the last time I saw you?"

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"Oh, bless you Hope; only you could equate good parenting to your son being taught how to use his guns properly. How old is this boy again? Ten? Twelve?" Max snorted happily; Hope always did make him feel so much better as a parent.

"And of course there's more of them since the last time I saw you! Tell me all about them; how did they come into being, did you spawn them yourself or steal them, all that sort of thing. I'm just dying to know."

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Dillon Maxey snickered quietly to himself as he took a seat beside her, kicking his feet up onto the table boots and all. Somehow he managed to miss the glass, but it was a near thing, and all the while his smile continued to expand to near-apocalyptic proportions.

"Ah yes, the glories of being ten. You know, when I was ten, people shirked at diagnosing mental illness, even if it was there, simply because they were dealing with a child. I guess you see the world a little differently. Really, Hope, shame on you."

Oh, but didn't he just love tormenting this woman? "And some day we must debate the logistics of a ten month old child being able to function as a thirteen year old. Obviously, a body can develop that quickly if the right amount of strain is applied in the right fashion, but I hate to tell you this, but a mind cannot grow to what you might think of as a thirteen year old psyche in just ten months. But I'll let you have your little delusions, seeing as they make me smile. You do brighten my day, Hope."

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Dillon Maxey just kept smirking, because it really was none of her business what he'd studied and what he hadn't. Normally, he would have shown his displeasure for her condescension, but given that she had already proven to him that she was a completely irredeemable idiot, he didn't actually feel the need to; better not to lower himself to her level.

"You keep telling yourself that you're smarter than me, pet, if that's what makes you feel better. I'll even agree with you, if you like." His eyes were sharp; expression entertained. "But you're the one who is happy with her ten year old packing heat so-" He winked. "Well, I think that pretty much makes my argument, don't you?"

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Dillon Maxey offered the poor deluded bitch his shark-yest grin, for the road, so to speak, and because sometimes a man had to humour the idiots in his life to get by. "Humans, mutants, people who decide to make animals into their children; the world takes all sorts, don't you know."

Extracting a cigarette from inside his jacket, Max sparked up, blowing a smoke ring at Hope. "Oh, don't let me keep you, Hope; run along to your gun toting ten year old and your cat. I'll be sure to tell Kendra you said 'hi' when I next see her, though it might take a while, given the fact that I've got her chained up in a basement somewhere. ...really is a shame I don't remember where, actually; I was going to feed her at some stage."

The setting changes from Vogel's Bar to Gambit's Bar

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March was the most boring month in existence, Max decided as he 'poofed' himself into the bar, materialising on a tabletop beside the door. Dressed casually in a grey hooded jumper (complete with slogan:Smother me in chocolate and throw me to the lesbians!) and black tracksuit trousers, he didn't cut a particularly sharp image, but it was March; there was no point in getting dressed up when everything was all March-y outside.

Humming to himself, and wondering silently when his wife's definition of his teleportation had managed to seep into his thought process ('poof'ing his arse), he stepped down from the table and headed towards the bar counter. At least Gambit's (eternal shit hole that it was) couldn't get any worse, despite it being March.

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Max, who was currently standing on the bar counter, bent double to retrieve a bottle from underneath, caught sight of the newcomer and grinned. In his current position, back bowed into a near-impossible angle, head practically resting on the bar-top as his arms stretched down in search of the bottle he knew as there somewhere, Max found it possible to get an uninterrupted view of the latest loser that had strolled into his personal sphere.

Really, even if the guy hadn't decided to give him a filthy look, Max would have zoomed in on him like a bee on a jam-covered child. There was absolutely nothing on earth that drew Max's attention quite so fast as an anally retentive dresser, because good god was it ever fun to muss them up a litte. Oh, he was practically having palpitations at the thought of it! March had suddenly become a whole lot less crappy.

Straightening up, a bottle of scotch tucked carefully into one patterned hand, Max proceeded to ignore his latest target. It was more fun when they thought they were making the first move, after all.

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Well, wasn't this one charmingly precocious? Max smiled widely, hopping down from his perch on the bar counter and onto a stool in a single practised movement. Content in his new position beside the overly forward and oddly dressed stranger, Max grinned widely.

"Do you always listen to what your father said?" he asked, only half faking his interest as he tried to work out just what was driving this man. Clearly, there was some sort of agenda; people without agendas didn't recoil and then deliberately choose to come and speak to him. Oh, this was going to be fun.

"You don't have a light, do you?"

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Pleased with the offers from both sides (where had the other one even come from? Clearly Max needed to pay more attention to his surroundings... then again, looking at the funny little creature, perhaps it was better not to...), Max nonetheless decided to ignore Sir Flyn; there were more interesting people for him to torment, and he didn't like getting mixed up with more than one freak at a time. In this case, Adam was more than enough for him to entertain himself; better not to push his luck with the March anathema hanging over his head.

With this in mind, he took the lighter from Adam, then promptly pocketed it. "Well, now you don't have a light. Does it still all make sense up there, or have I managed to confuse you?"

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Max set his elbows on the counter, turning just enough to keep his little friend in full view. It was true; the lighter was nasty, but Max couldn't care less about things like that. The vast majority of the things he stole were worth less than five pounds; monitory value meant nothing to him.

"Oh, do I seem unwell to you? Unhappy maybe?"

In the privacy of his own mind, Max was snickering gleefully; he was enjoying this game already. He had been tempted to ask if there was something on his face, but thought better of it; there would be plenty of time for that sort of thing later on.

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"A rash? Oh dear me, how awful! I do hope that it's not catching; some people are absolutely convinced that these things are, after all. Maybe I should get some cream for it." Sarcasm didn't even begin to describe the undertone of Max's voice, but at face value, he sounded somewhat sincere, despite the wide, leery way that he was smiling.

"Then again, I'm guessing that you're not all that well yourself, so maybe we can sit here and match, hm? I think you'd probably like that." Max's grin darkened. "I think you'd probably like quite a few nasty little things, actually."

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Smirking now, Max leaned in just a fraction, his eyes alight with a spark of malice. I wonder how long that leash is. Oh, but wouldn't it be fun to have you choke yourself on it... For a moment, he entertained himself with thoughts of Adam strangling at the end of a choke chain, before shaking the images away with a smile.

"Leash? I wonder whose dog you are, then... Care to tell me? I might be able to return you to them."

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Light eyes flicked down to the bare skin that Adam had revealed, then back to the young man's face. "When a person who tends to keep themselves covered up suddenly asks to touch you, the standard answer from anyone with half a braincell is a resounding 'fuck no'. Sadly, I have more than half a braincell, so we're not going to be playing that game. At all. Sorry, but I'm just not that stupid."

Max did not lean back, however; he wasn't afraid of this petty little creature, he just wasn't thick enough to let another mutant use its power on him without so much as knowing what that power was. Max had no doubt that he could overthrow whatever the little creeper tried to use on him, but frankly he didn't want to give Adam the pleasure of showing off.

"How about you stop being so woefully obvious and entertain me?"

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Lifting a single eyebrow (the left) Max continued to watch his companion with an expression that was somewhere between wicked amusement and contempt. "Oh dear, you're one of those are you... and here was me thinking you were at least a little more interesting."

Max settled himself back, arms folded, and proceeded to lecture. "Really, it's your use of 'are you frightened' that tipped me off, but I must say that I would have been wise to your being an idiot even if you'd kept that little faux pas to yourself. You see, you are an idiot, and shit like that's just impossible to hide.

"But back to the topic in hand," Max snickered. "I'm afraid you're going to have to do better than that. Calling me scared isn't going to make me any more inclined to touch you, I'm afraid (and yes, that was a little play on words, in case you didn't notice). You see I, unlike you, have more than one braincell to rub together, and I'm not so painfully insecure that a stranger asking if I'm scared will goad me into doing something mindless."

Long, patterned fingers danced along with his words; Max was clearly enjoying himself. "You see, it's your logic. It's broke. Hell, I think it died. Being in public is irrelevant; if I got it into my head to kill you, right here, right now, do you think our being in public would change anything? No. Just like my touching you. I'm not a wild animal, you cretin, and I'm not deluded enough to think that reaching out and touching a live wire would be any different to having one applied to my skin by force."

Max shook his head. "Idiot."

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"Oh, there's nothing 'mere' about you," Max chuckled, folding his hands under his chin, lips curled upwards. "Yes, you're a dog, but you're also dangerous. It's a shame you're stupid along with it, but that can't really be helped now, can it?"

It was fun, splitting hairs with someone who was just thick enough to think they were winning, but not so thick that they dribbled on the bar counter while trying to come up with a response. Max was having a blast.

He would have gone on, likely expounding on logic, but the sheer level of noise in the bar made him recoil a fraction, eyes narrowing. "Dear god, will you all shut the fuck up, or at least keep it down to a dull roar?"

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Dillon Maxey had a very special kind of hangover; the type of hangover, in fact, that could win prizes. This particular hangover was going to last for days, Max could tell (with what little section of his brain was still functioning after being soundly pickled during a twenty-four hour drinking marathon), and he didn't particularly relish that fact.

Grumbling to himself and narrowly avoiding walking into a wall (seriously, people needed to warn him before they moved those things), he made his way over to the bar, confident that a dose of dog hair would at least do something for his temper, if not his general well-being.

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Dillon Maxey paused with a glass of something blood red an inch from his lips and sighed, eyes closed and frownlines

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Dillon Maxey paused with a glass of something blood red an inch from his lips and sighed, eyes closed and frown lines etched deeply into his forehead by pain and the beginnings of frustration. What was it with annoying people and their tendencies to turn up at the worst possible moment, usually on mass? One day, that was all he asked for; one quiet drink to stave off a prizewinning hangover and no aggravations.

"Ah, Hope; just the woman I didn't want to see," he drawled, swallowing the last of his drink before setting the glass aside. "Though I must say, I'm surprised; I would have thought you'd progressed into drinking with your children by now. They must be, what, seven? More than old enough to get trashed, by your standards."