An older member of the Cruzzola, Wesley stands like a tall, once-proud oak on the verge of withering--by his passive stance, it seems as if he has begun to be charred by a darkness, a turmoil induced by the voracity so prevalent in his younger peers. There is youth retained in his face, yet it is offset by hair and hooded eyes of a stormy grey hue, the former of which lost its black luster at the edge of his adolescence. He is a lanky fellow; his early training had been redirected from physical matters, assuring no sturdiness in his form and leaving only scars in its wake. They are the marks of love affairs and misguided selves. They are long, jagged monsters etched into his torso and back, marring the winged tattoo that creeps past his shoulder blades. It is a piece of body art born from manic impulse, carrying the burden of a tale that he cannot recall to save his life.
Wes is almost vain when keeping up appearances, spending a great deal of care in his dress. Loafers, leather belts, and fine-pressed shirts are treasures that he simply could not do without. Rings adorn his slender fingers. Both ears are holed with multiple piercings. He is seen wearing frames on the occasion that he isn't in the mood for contacts. Curiously enough, he possesses no animal forms, but to those who are aware, this is hardly a hindrance.
Personality: He is the epitome of composure. He strings blue notes and wayward tales from the upright bass. Wes, at first glance, struts with lackadaisical flair, laughing to ease the troubled times. But there is a constant sorrow in his gaze that permeates even the brightest of smiles, that stiffens the casual steps--this is a sorrow the Father savors as if it were aged wine, prodding and tearing at mental grievances, stirring them whenever the chance is present. An odd closeness surfaces at times in what is an otherwise strained, distant relationship between son and the alpha. One would be incorrect to relate it to that of Wesley's superiors, and what remains are the dying embers of the demon days, the days in which he once learned to seek comfort--no, pleasure in the physical degradation, as shameful as he is to admit. Quiet envy and admiration burns in his heart toward those who are regarded more favorably.
Tantrums aren't his style. Although he does not mind it in the least, violence is not a mistress he often serves with his own hand, nor is it an obsession he falls easy prey to. Jam sessions are more his vibe, frankly. At best, he is an infiltrant, a lure to those who will follow. Unlike his peers, however, no knives or poisons await them; instant death does not linger like war within the mind. If there is any good that has benefited from the bipolar diagnosis, his "talents" are, at the very least, a testament to this.
Speaking of which, one should not be offended if they so happen to find him in an altered state. It's not as if the Cruzzola are treating him properly, you know. One man's hypomanic episode is another man's key to victory. For this, he apologizes. He'll buy you a drink some time, make it up to you.
Powers: Psychodynama: Also known as empathy or spectrum control, this is the ability to induce crazed euphoria or depression in his victims. The change is a slow burn, as the target initally feels comforted by his presence, gradually showing signs of the effect.
Psychoanima II: The power to translate hallucinations into reality. It is said that his animal transformations manifest themselves in this talent, though no one can be certain. Grotesque beings are produced to do his bidding, fueled by deluded agony. A major depressive state must be achieved in order for this power to be effective.
Psychoanima I: As the pinnacle of his abilities, this is also the most costly. Those nightmarish entities become extensions of himself, but where he is most powerful, vulnerability rears its head. A full-on manic state consumes him, all glorified with flashes of grandiosity and irritation, and he is drained quickly of strength. To reach such a threshold, he must be direly provoked.
History: His induction was not the bane of his early days, as it happened later in his life, beyond the wake of boys' years, parental confusion, and social exile. By the rewritten, invisible texts of Cruzzola history, Wesley was born to a mother and father who condemned the idea of mental illnesses, frightened of the sudden otherness that had their son in its hold. But he was not stolen from the nest; in reality, he had reached maturity long before the Mother's rival in all things claimed him. A kind boy of the south, his promising future was continually marred as he walked roads of mania, driven by tameless passions and wild dreams of no logical backing.
The Father, so he claimed, could cure him--he could bless normality upon him and cleanse the darkness away. The Father could erase the past as he had erased histories from the earth. Memories became harrowing, exaggerated, awash in white lights and whiter walls. As the Cruzzola began to mold him into one of their own, the torture of the present, too, was turned into antiquities. But their patriarch's interest dwindled. New recruits were always at his disposal, ready to be dissected and reborn. Like those before him, Wes became an omega in a family of wolves, his motives lost among sheep.
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