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Ryan Joshi

It has to be done, and somebody's got to do it.

0 · 99 views · located in Scarmouth

a character in “Blinding Lights”, as played by phosphene

Description

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RYAN JOSHI
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"If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people."
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.-Virginia Woolf

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xxxxx|| Name || Ryan Joshi
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xxxxx|| Nicknames || N/A
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xxxxx|| Gender || cismale
xxxxx|| Age || 26 xx
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xxxxx|| Sexuality || asexual demiromanticxx
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xxxxx|| Hex || #3B5998xx

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xxxxx|| Height || 5'10"
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xxxxx|| Build || average/thin
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xxxxx|| Description || Ryan takes a lot of pride in his looks, and it's very clear from a glance that he takes care of himself. He's got bright eyes, nice skin, his wavy hair is a little on the longer side, though it's been much longer in the past. Everything about him seems to be carefully curated; from having just enough facial hair to avoid a dreaded "baby face," to the way his hair frames his face. He has an expressive face, which people have used to accuse him of being broody his entire life.

He has a very... Experimental sense of style. It's hard to guess at what he'll wear next; he's just as comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt as he is in something loud and bold and attention catching. His is the type of style that made his mother raise her eyebrows and ask, "is that really what you're wearing?" His left earlobe is pierced, but otherwise he's not done much of anything to adorn his body.
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As a child, Ryan was painfully shy, and while he’s mostly overcome that intense need to hide whenever someone looks his way, interacting with the world around him can still be difficult sometimes. People tend to expect him to be louder than he is, as he’s very comfortable and confident in his skin, but he just doesn’t tend to open up easily, though he is an excellent listener. He’s a pleasant enough person to talk to, though perhaps a little impersonal before you get to know him. He’s found that using a camera as a buffer between the world and himself is a great way to feel a little more in control, though.

He can be a little intense, especially when he sets his mind to something. He’s the sort of person that knows what he wants and what he needs to do, and consequences be damned, he’ll do or say what needs to be done. It might not be easy for him, but it is important to him. He fought hard to be able to stand up for himself and what he wanted. Luckily for the people in his life, Ryan isn’t overly ambitious. He’s the sort that will carve out a nice, comfortable life for himself and happily settle in, digging in his heels to keep people from disturbing the nice little life he’s so content to lead. Maybe he’s a little set in his ways, but he likes things the way he feels they’re meant to be.

Overall, he is generally known as being pretty easygoing, if not a bit on the serious side, and though he’s worried that he’s gone and ruined his entire life these days, he tends to face the world with a remarkably calm demeanor. Ultimately, he’s a quick thinker. If people could see what goes on in his head, they may not consider him particularly calm anymore, but he’s gotten pretty damn good at faking it.

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Ryan was a fairly typical child, if not shy. A middle child, he mostly floated through his childhood, keeping up with what was expected of him while trying not to draw any undue attention. Everything changed for him when he discovered how much he loved art, and eventually he got to the place where he was no longer afraid of being seen. Instead of hiding in a literal sense, he started hiding behind a camera. It worked for him. He could view the world as an art project, frame it the way he wanted it to be. Or he could use his camera to show everyone else the way he saw the world. It became something of an obsession for him, and he knew that photography was something he wanted to do for as long as he could do it.

Working for a news station wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he thought of his future, but it paid the bills, and he got to use all sorts of nice cameras and equipment. For the most part, he was content with his life. The revolution changed everything. He was sent out to capture some footage when it first started. It was bloody, violent, shocking, and he was out there mostly alone. Sometimes with a reporter. Every time he watched what they had to say about the unrest, he felt more and more wrong about it. His parents had raised him to do what he thought was right, though he doubted they would have imagined he would take his own pictures, save a copy of the raw footage to upload to the internet himself. That was supposed to be it.

But people started asking questions, they wanted more. They wanted to know the truth, and Ryan supposed he wasn’t afraid to tell it. He lost his job over it, but he didn’t really have time for it anymore, anyway. He spent all of his time taking pictures, video, recording interviews when he could. He tried to be as objective as possible; he wasn’t out to change anyone’s mind, just to be honest. The most important thing to him was to keep everything as high quality as he could with what limited equipment he had, so that everyone could see for themselves what was happening out there.

He’s struggling now. He didn’t have a career to go back to after the dust settled, and now he's been scrambling to pick up the pieces he dropped to do what he thought was right. He doesn't want to report the news, he never really did, it was a matter of doing what had to be done. Someone had to do it, it may as well have been him.

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cs: phosphene - fc: Avan Jogia - hex code: 3B5998

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So begins...

Ryan Joshi's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Hatch Williams Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk Character Portrait: Ryan Joshi Character Portrait: Camilla Rhodes Character Portrait: Magnolia Wrenley Character Portrait: Danika Orlov Character Portrait: Miles Caal Character Portrait: Ashleigh Barnes Character Portrait: Damien Moore Character Portrait: Blake Langston
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

4.00 INK

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noah lawson
the medic - #879788 - outfit

i hear the voices when I'm dreaming
i can hear them say
carry on my wayward son
there'll be peace when you are done

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The last thing Noah wanted to do after yet another long shift was go to some awards ceremony for “significant figures in the revolution.” He’d seen enough of the revolution in person and he didn’t particularly want to be reminded of it. But Gabriel had said that they’d invited representatives from the Emergency Department after their role in things, and so Noah had agreed to go. Apparently there was going to be free alcohol and free canapes, which was at least something.

It had been six months since the revolution ended, and things were being rebuilt. They had a new government that was already implementing sweeping changes. It wasn’t official yet, but word around the hospital was that in the next few weeks, the healthcare system was going to move over to publicly funded. Public housing had already been implemented and the number of homeless people on the streets was dropping rapidly by the day. The damage caused in the rioting and fighting was long gone, just a memory.

But it was a memory that was sticking in Noah’s head. The nightmares weren’t as intense as they had been in the initial aftermath, but they were still very much there. The scar on his stomach was healed, but there were mornings he awoke and for a few seconds, the pain was still there. When he walked down the street, he was waiting for an ambush, for an explosion, for anything. The entire group of emergency med residents had stopped going to bars after work because every time a glass shattered, they all flinched and almost launched back into action.

Thankfully, the awards ceremony didn’t seem to dwell on the actual fighting too much. It seemed to be more government focused, awarding and recognising those who had protected their communities throughout the fighting. Someone who had helped smuggle people out of the fighting, someone who had created safe spaces for their community... They were in what appeared to be the last few awards when they began describing a scenario that was uncomfortably familiar.

“The next award we’d like to present is to someone who was selfless and brave on the front lines. We are deeply grateful to all of the staff of Scarmouth’s Emergency Departments who put themselves in harm’s way to save lives and minimise loss of life. But this man drew attention for his actions after he was photographed treating the wounded, even as a government soldier had a gun pointed at his head. Stories from those who served on the front lines tell us this was not the first or only such of these incidents, and that this doctor fearlessly and selflessly treated the wounded indiscriminately. Tonight, we would like to recognise Dr. Noah Lawson of SUH for his bravery and thank him for his service with the Medic’s Hero award.”

Noah glanced over at Gabriel, and the man’s small smile gave away where all this had come from. All around him, people were applauding, some even getting to their feet. Noah just wanted to climb under the table and wait until the moment passed, but he couldn’t. He managed a smile as he stood up and made his way up to the stage, taking the statuette and shaking the presenter’s hand. And then one of them smiled and said, “Would you like to say a few words, Doctor?”

Noah could feel the blood drain from his face. He instinctively looked back towards Gabriel, whose smile had slipped slightly but who nodded, somewhat encouragingly. Noah swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he felt what had to be hundreds of eyes on him. He wanted to shake his head and run back to his seat or possibly just straight out of the room, but everyone was watching, waiting, waiting to see if he lived up to what they expected. He knew he wouldn’t, but he cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for this aw- w- w- for this recognition.” He started. He tried remembering every single bit of advice he’d been given on how to minimise it, but his head was blank. And anyway, the rising discomfort and anxiety in his chest as he saw people glance at each other at his stammering was going to completely counteract anything he tried. He kept it as brief, knowing it was probably too short, but he couldn’t get off the stage quickly enough. And then they moved on to some other award, and eyes were finally off him.

“Noah, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise there would be a speech-” Gabriel said as Noah made it back to the table.
“It’s f-fine,” Noah said, sitting back down. The statuette was clutched so tightly in his hand it was starting to dig in, and he released it, stretching his hand a few times. He could feel Gabriel watching him for a few seconds, but his attention eventually turned back to the stage. As they announced the final few awards, Noah was restless, unable to concentrate or focus on anything around them. As the awards wrapped up, the hosts invited everyone to mingle and have a few drinks and canapes in the adjoining bar. As everyone moved, rushing to the bar at the promise of free food and alcohol, Noah slipped away, saying something about the bathroom to Gabriel. The bathroom was quiet and calm, exactly what Noah wanted and needed. He wet his hands and ran them down his face. For the half a moment his eyes were closed, he saw the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, saw his hands coated in blood- was it his own or someone else’s? He shook himself out of it, almost physically. He dug in his pockets, fishing out the pills he knew he had. There was one almost heart-stopping moment where he couldn’t feel them- and then his hand closed around the bottle. He tipped two out and swallowed them dry, taking a deep breath. And then he stashed them back in his pocket and headed back out towards the bar.


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hatch williams
the mechanic- #400026 - outfit

i wasn't born yesterday
a bloodsport but I'm a saint
it's time to consider
there are no winners

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Hatch hadn’t specifically received an invite to the awards ceremony, but an open invitation had been publicly issued for people to celebrate those who had been nominated and recognised. And the promise of free booze had been enough to lure Hatch into attending. And besides, she was curious to see the types of people who were getting recognised.

Choosing an outfit had taken her a while. She didn’t tend to get dressed up all that much and finding something she could actually stand wearing for a while was difficult. She’d contemplated a dress for a while, but nothing seemed right. And then she found the suit and everything fell into place. Roger looked confused for just a second as she stepped out of her room in heels and makeup. And then he jumped off the couch and ran towards the door.

“Not this evening, buddy.” He whined a little. “Trust me, buddy, I’d love to bring you, but don’t want to draw attention to myself. Not this evening. You look after the house for me, okay?”

By the time Hatch reached the hotel, she was fashionably late. She thought that she might have been out of luck with regards to getting a seat, but apparently the organisers had anticipated the demand as she was shown to a seat at the very back of the room. Her view of the stage was somewhat obscured, but that didn’t overly trouble her. She sat, her legs crossed, and watched the awards with some level of scepticism and interest.

They had an interesting range of awards for sure, and one thing that she noted was that the range of people that were being recognised was significantly broader than the old government would have recognised. There were people of all ages, all areas of the revolution, from all areas of the city. The focus seemed to be on bravery and loyalty, and things took a turn into the overly patriotic for Hatch. The speeches were at least kept brief and non-preachy. There were a few figures that she had heard mention of somewhere along the way, but none of them seemed to match what she imagined. One thing that struck her was the fact that none of them stood out. She'd walk past half of them in the street.

Eventually, the awards wrapped up, and Hatch followed the surge of people towards the bar. Her first priority was to get her hands on a glass of champagne, and then she turned to scan the room, seeing if there was anyone of interest to talk to. She new there had to be plenty, but scanning the room, nobody particularly stood out to her. She took a long sip of her champagne and stayed watching the room.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Noah Lawson Character Portrait: Scott Feltikk Character Portrait: Ryan Joshi Character Portrait: Miles Caal
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

29.50 INK

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every word has consequences.
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zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzevery silence, too.
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Ryan had been to a few events like this: he used to cover them. You show up, take a couple pictures, do a little eavesdropping, write a piece about how good the speeches were and how happy you were for all the award recipients, and that was it. He learned pretty early on not to dress a certain way, or else you might be mistaken for the event staff, which was a hassle that he’d once preferred to avoid.

The past six months hadn’t been easy; Ryan wanted his life to go back to normal, but it had become increasingly obvious that wasn’t going to happen. Either no one wanted to deal with him at all, or they wanted more out of him than he wanted to give. So far he’d survived by selling some of his unused shots from the revolution- some of his shots had turned out to be a bit too artistic for rogue news websites. He would have preferred to go back to being unknown by everyone besides the sorts of people that actually cared about the sports and entertainment pieces published to the media streams.

He’d been invited to this event. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be there, or that he even deserved to be there. In his mind, he hadn’t done anything extraordinary; he’d done what anyone who had the nerve to call themself a journalist should have done, he told the truth. Apparently his work had helped catch the attention of the governments who’d sent aid to the revolution. The seemingly endless work he’d done in those long months had accomplished something, at least.

Ryan knew many of the people who were receiving awards: he’d taken their pictures, heard their stories, in one case his pictures had brought major attention to them in the first place. Ryan genuinely felt bad for Noah; while he couldn’t begin to understand what it was like, he did know how uncomfortable being put on the spot could be. How you never forgot the way the other children mocked you when your ears turned red, your eyes welled with tears, and you couldn’t spit out the words no matter how badly you wanted to. Some people refused their awards, and Ryan could understand their reasonings. He felt very much the same, in some ways. When called up to receive his own award, Ryan looked visibly uncomfortable. All those eyes on him made him wish he could run and hide; he stared wistfully at a fire escape, wondering if he could make it out before someone stopped him to ask if he was okay. He also considered using the moment as a platform to speak up about how disappointed he’d been in journalism in Scarmouth, how so many people should be ashamed, and how little faith he truly had in the new leadership.

Instead, he graciously accepted the award. “This is very nice... I’ll try to make sure my cat doesn’t break it.” Someone chuckled. Ryan hadn’t meant to make a joke. He grew a little more uncomfortable, and it struck him that this was the first award he’d ever received for his work. He wasn’t sure this was what he wanted to be known for. He wasn’t sure he ever really wanted to make a name for himself in the first place. He also knew he probably needed to say something else, “I, uh…” Why was it so hot? Was he speaking too quickly? He was speaking too quickly. “I did nothing more than what I felt I had to do, but thank you.”

Once all the awards were finally distributed, Ryan, like everyone else, made a beeline for the bar. Being the homebody he was, he never got out much, and he didn’t really know what to ask for. He wound up with some fruity monstrosity- tasted pretty good, though. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself, but he saw Noah and made his way over. “Hello,” He said, and after a beat, “It's nice to see you again.” Ryan had never just attended an event like this, and Noah was the person in the room he felt most comfortable with at that moment. Whether this was a good or bad thing had yet to be seen.


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he seems to feel his own worth,
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zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzand the greatness of his fall.
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When you’re given a chance to integrate back into society- especially after a particularly bloody (and successful!) uprising- you take it. Attending a stuffy awards ceremony for the very people you’d once actively worked against seemed like a strange decision, but Miles knew he wasn’t that important. Not really. So he went to the award ceremony. These were the heroes of the revolution, and ultimately they weren’t all that impressive. (Well, aside from Damien. Sure, he turned down the award, but good for him.) Nobody seemed larger than life, several seemed like they would rather be anywhere else. Something about seeing it all laid out in front of him like that made him feel like perhaps he hadn’t done enough.

He thought about just leaving after the awards were given out, but there was something about fancy party food that was impossible to pass up. The free booze wasn’t really his thing, but Miles had never let himself feel ashamed for sipping a diet coke at a party before, and he wasn’t about to start now. As it were, he was pretty content to sit back for a time. There was plenty to take in, after all. Sad as it may have been, Miles knew that if life had played out how it was “supposed” to, he’d be very used to events like these. And probably in prison. Sometimes things really do work out, in the end.

Two things happened: first, Miles spotted Magnolia, and considered walking over to say hello. Then Camilla Rhodes approached Magnolia. An interesting mixture of dread and anxiety filled Miles’ stomach, and he immediately knew that there was no way he was going to go anywhere near that if he could help it. Cam was likely to be on her best behavior, but Miles was sure nothing good would come of it.

Second, someone came and took the empty seat next to his. Now, in years past, this wouldn’t have bothered Miles in the slightest. Now? He was in a room full of people, and though he knew he could leave whenever he wanted, he was beginning to feel a little trapped. He didn’t know if this would pass, if he would ever get used to being free again. He shot Scott a look that pretty accurately communicated his thoughts: ‘what do you want?’

Pretty quickly, though, Miles thought he understood: Scott wanted to sit down with someone nobody here would be looking for. If you look busy enough, people will leave you alone. It’s true at work, parties, the grocery store. So he smiled; bright, brilliant, and genuine enough that most people wouldn’t question it. “I think I would rather be at the lab right now, but you know how I live to disappoint.” He leaned over so he could speak lower and still be heard, “We’re all adjusting, aren’t we?” Other than that, he mostly dodged the question of how he’d been: the past year of his life had been a nightmare followed by some kind of listless twilight. Things were starting to look up for him now, but it wasn’t hard to guess that Miles had had a rough go at life, lately.

He shrugged, settling back into his seat, “But enough about me,” He said, as if he had actually said anything personal or noteworthy, ”What about yourself?”