Description
Ezra is about as average looking as they come...
Though he is officially Doctor Ezra Kohlberg, he doesn't look the part at all. For one he looks way too young for a Ph. D, and secondly, he doesn't dress like you'd expect a psychologist with all the bells and whistles would. His indifference to uniform rivals that of Dr. House's.
Personality
He isn't necessarily street smart, or anything like that, but he sure knows his DSM-IV. Which is a blessing and a curse, considering that while he knows his shit and is very good at his job, he also has a tendency to over-analyze people, and will often diagnose them with some form of personality disorder. That floozy in a short skirt by the bar? Histrionic. That business man on the streetcorner with the pressed suit and bluetooth? Clearly a megalomaniac.
A constant dialogue of the sorts runs through his head all day and only ends when he finally gets home and spends alone time with himself.
If he can't talk about psychology or his job, Ezra is incredibly awkward about most things. It is probably why he can't get laid. Poor chap.
Ah, but you said PARA-psychologist up in the description!
Do ho! You caught me!
Ezra does indeed have his doctorate in the matters of the mind, but he specializes in a certain kind of mind in particular, that is the mind of the demon, the monster, the ghost in the attic. All sorts of things that go bump in the night.
Why?
Well jump on down to the history tab!
History
Fun fact #2!
Ezra is a psychic. He's been that way for quite some time, since he was 5 and some ghost bitch wouldn't leave him alone. Instead of being terrified like a 5 year old would, Ezra, a prodigy for his age, actually managed to talk to her, find out what was troubling her, and then, resolve the issue and have her move on in peace.
Realizing this talent, he started charging money for his services, bouncing around from haunted house to haunted house, dispelling evil spirits and talking down demons and poltergeists. He became somewhat known for being the littlest Ghostbuster. The talent caused some people to look him up, and he was mentored by an older gent that went by the alias Doc Spector who allowed him to hone his talent.
Ezra's psychic abilities are primarily supernatural-based. He can see and commune with the dead and the unclean, he has mild telekinesis, and he can plant subliminal thoughts in your mind if you want him to. These sort of things get him into a bit of trouble, which brings us to...
Fun fact #3!
Ezra is the human slaveboy of Mermur, a demon of music. A long time ago, Ezra fooled himself into thinking he could be in a jazz band and rock the House of Blues. But he was terrible at saxophone. So he sold his soul to a rookie Mermur, but Mermur pulled a fast one on him. Now all Ezra can play on the sax is the main riff from George Michael's "Careless Whisper". Instead of taking his soul off to Hell, Mermur decided to hang onto it, making Ezra his slave.
Their relationship is...uh. Ridiculous, carnal, obscene, and depraved. And pretty ambiguously gay.
Currently, Ezra works as a in-house shrink and counselor in Wing City's Department of Integration, helping the cities newest supernatural denizens become adjusted to interacting with the human population. And YES I did kind of rip that from Ugly Americans.
One last thing, if you hear Templewick bitching about his counselor, it's this guy.
So begins...
Ezra Kohlberg suffled into the bar, shaking off his umbrella in the door and closing it up. Today was merely a paperwork day, no sessions involved, so he'd figured he'd treat himself to a beer during his lunch break! He popped himself down on a stool and ordered a Guiness. He smelled charred feathers and grunted. Just another day. Another day indeed...
Sip.
Ezra continued to drink his Guiness, watching the goings on in the bar with half-interest, holding a pen in the other hand, drawing circles and scribbles on a notepad to have something to keep himself occupied. Demons. Undesirable beings that refused to integrate cleanly into society...but that wasn't his job making sure they kept in line.
Ezra leaned in to the Zippo's flame and lit up before giving a nod to Tobias. "Thanks, mate."
He puffed on the cigarette and ordered a second Guinness. The weather was turning crappier by the minute, from what he could see through the slatted bar windows. Maybe he'd call out the rest of the day. That was the beautiful thing of having high merits and practically owning a department, you could do just about whatever you want.
His notepad seemed to be full of notes, observations he made. If he could write it down, it kept his mouth shut, and he could keep himself out of trouble. Lists of symptoms, things he's noticed in the patrons, possible diagnoses..
Ezra Kohlberg supposed he just blended into the landscape. A hipster wannabe smoking at a bar? Stop the presses! He glanced at his notepad before hurriedly closing it. He jumped as the doors flew open and a minotaur, of all things, clopped on in. What had he been missing, those long nights in the office? He puffed on his cigarette, and debated chainsmoking a second one, but alas, his lighter man seemed to have disappeared.
With a glance at his watch, he glugged down the rest of his stout. Something might be going down, and the woefully human psychic definitely didn't want to stick around.
Ezra Kohlberg had already taken his seat at the bar, and clutched his half-Guinness, a cigarette lit up in his right hand as he did so. His notepad of observations was open on the countertop, though currently there were no patrons to observe. He wondered if perhaps he should take all his notes and write a book of sorts, a psychological field guide to the types of personalities that inhabited the city. Or maybe he'd just keep them and read them to himself for a good laugh when he needed it. It was, quite, 'whatever, man'.
Ezra's lull was cut short by the entrance of the masked man and the filthy weapon. Honestly? Couldn't people be discreet about their killing toys anymore? Of course not, this was Wing City, this was Gambits, discretion was a rarity, if not practically non-existent. What did you expect when demons and other monsters ran rampant about the place?
When Smiles placed the sign down, Ezra's look of skepticism could easily be made out, even on the complete opposite side of the bar. Phony doctors? This should be good. Shame that any sort of policing that Wing City had seemed to completely gloss over Gambits. But that was half the reason he took to haunting the place. In addition to the paranormal mind, he had a morbid fascination with the criminal psyche as well.
He made a note in his pad, scribbling something out before scratching it out. No, that didn't seem right...
"Another Guinness, please," he finally spoke, flagging down the lone NPC bartender.
Ezra wasn't oblivious to the looks the 'doctor' was giving him. He spent more than enough time with colleagues to know the look of a studying eye. He was being examined at a distance, which was only fair being that he was doing the same thing. It was a silent showdown, as his own hand made to take notes of his own. Though his were more behavioral observation than a physical study. [i]Sets self up as a Doctor, appearance fearsome, flaunting blood-stained equipment around. Likely delusional. Possible superiority complex? A common occurrence in this location.[/url]
His writing seemed practically illegible to anybody who wasn't Dr. Kohlberg or a colleague.
Against his better judgment, Ezra glanced up from his pad to Smiles. If all else failed, at least he had the granddaddy of all life insurance to back him up. He did see some rather powerful clientelle, after all. (And he may or may not be roommates with a certain Prince of Hell, but that's another story).
With a practiced smile, he flagged the gentleman over, "It seems we are of a similar profession! Come, have a drink on me, my friend!"
He could only glean so much from behavior, but he could gather so much more through conversation, and playing with -he was certain to be- fire. He tucked his notepad away for now, into an inner pocket of his coat.
Ezra immediately withdrew his hand that had been out for a greeting when Smiles whipped out the calipers. "Er...yes...no..." This was a mistake. You are going to die.
He gestured to the bartender, regaining his composure. "A drink here for this man, whatever he wants, just put it on my tab."
He consoled himself with the dark taste of the Guinness, unaware of the fact his cigarette had burnt out a while ago. To answer Plade's rhetorical question? Ezra was here at this time because his superior was stuck at home in the snowmageddon, and so every session of Ezra's had been cancelled. Ezra avoided the snow somehow, but that too was another mystery.
Somebody hose that bloody bitch off!
"Ah, understandable, if there's anything else you'd like, let me know- wait, what am I doing?"
It didn't matter as he seemed to have been swept into a test. Well, better than losing a limb. Speed writing was something he excelled at. He had written more than enough reports and theses, preferring to write as opposed to type. He clicked his pen and nodded.
"Very well, let's do this..." The letter didn't look formidable, as to be expected. Who actually sent letters anymore?
It wouldn't take long for Ezra to copy the letter, well within time limits. His writing wasn't the half-legible shorthand he reserved to himself, but refined cursive...kind of feminine to be honest. Each 't' was crossed and 'i' dotted, flourished and lovely. He was done with a good 10 seconds to spare, which he used to fine-tune certain lines. He may have been somewhat anal retentive about his handwriting.
"And to what purpose am I doing this?"
"Oh no." Ezra countered at the sight of the calipers and needle, jumping up from his stool and moving several more down, away from Smiles. "No, no, no, no, nooooo," he admonished.
Glasses and bottles on the bar seemed to hum the instant Ezra had stepped back, vibrating slightly with potential energy.
"You can do your little writing tests and whatever, but I'm not too keen on you sticking needles in me!"
He doubted very much that Duriel would want even the smallest bit of his 'property' stolen. He glanced at the door of the bar, wondering if perhaps he should make a quick exit. His pondering caused the vibrating bottles to increase in volume, as if some huge machinery was sitting outside the bar, jostling all the bottles. He'd send them flying off the shelf if he felt too threatened.
Ezra was only slightly more than a mere human, but just barely.
Ezra shuffled in shortly after, removing the knit cap he had been wearing to keep the cold out to reveal reddish, messy hair. He'd just gotten off work, lots of papers again, and he fancied a drink. A hot drink...A hot toddy, to be precise, he thought to himself as a backgust of wind whipped into his back from the closing bar door. Settling in a chair, he did just that.
Though the timing would be a dead giveaway, he really didn't feel like acknowledging Mermur, as he took a glance around the bar as well. Empty. Eerily so.
Determining that there was nobody who would object to his company, he waved Mer over to sit at the bar with him. "What tonight then? Going to torture some housewives by rattling cabinets?"
"Nothing. I've got no imp up the- oh okay." He allowed the demon to lean against him, leaning a little bit into the counter himself, even as the hot toddy came and he blew away the steam before taking a sip. That was better.
"So what then? I know you, you don't leave a night untouched." The circles under his eyes were testament to this. Ezra hadn't slept in nearly five months. Something about selling your soul rendered you an extreme insomniac, and yet you never died. Hallucinated sometimes...but Ezra was a doctor, he had methods of control.
"And yet my band broke apart and now all I can manage to play is the riff from Careless Whisper. Excellent deal." He replied sarcastically, sipping his drink again. "I blame my near inability to read cursive in 6th grade."
He stole another glance around the empty bar and the inattentive bartender. "It's unusually quiet in here..." Thank you, Captain Obvious.
"I stand corrected." He announced quickly, eying Joseph's gun warily. Though technically he wouldn't die a second time (or so he was told), his survival instinct was still intact. He cleared his throat and kept facing the bar. No eye contact, they won't have a reason to shoot you...
That you MAKE me wear.
Oh goodness was that parapsychologist whipped. Sometimes willingly, but for the most part...
"There's thorough weapons checks at work...and protection spells all over the Department just incase the checks don't work. Plus- there's actually security and police there. Not here. This place is a fucking cesspool. But I can't help coming here. I am a glutton for punishment..."
He smirked and ran a finger lightly across the very tip of one of Mermur's headwing feathers.
"I have some pasta-roni sitting around that I've been meaning to cook up..." he nodded. "And a chilled bottle of wine that needs opening."
He glanced at the list and then the people around the bar, a red fluster rising in his face. "No-no we don't need to be going down the list."
The Orc's entrance distracted him somewhat. He'd worked with an Orc before...he eventually gave up and turned him over to another doctor. Good job.
"You've known me for how long? Please, like I'd buy a box wine." Ezra scoffed, finishing his hot toddy. "But I will tell you I got it from one of my clients. One of Bacchus' bastard great-grandchildren or something or other. Sex-addict, as you can expect."
He took note of Doryn's sarcasm with a chuckle. Seems Ezra was just as dreadfully cliche according to the man. Though full-fledged human."
"Yeah yeah, rub it in why don't you?..." Ezra joked, drinking his typical Guinness and whiskey sour before reaching behind his sitting himself and ruffling Mermur's hair. He seemed oddly affectionate tonight, which was either a good or bad thing depending on how his demonic 'master' took his human's playfulness.
RPG
