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Asher Croft

Life is a dream that keeps me from sleeping.

0 · 552 views · located in Camp Liberty, California

a character in “Welcome To Camp Liberty”, originally authored by ฮ•pฮนmetheus, as played by RolePlayGateway



โœ Image

LOLโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ” โ—Š โ—Š โ—Š

      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ NAMEโ‹ฎ XX ASHER CROFT
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ AGEโ‹ฎ XX SEVENTEEN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ ETHNICITYโ‹ฎ XX SPANISH
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ GENDERโ‹ฎ XX MALE

      ๏น™ โ™” ๏นš

      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ EYE COLORโ‹ฎ XX GREEN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ HAIR COLORโ‹ฎ XX BROWN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ HEIGHTโ‹ฎ XX FIVE FOOT ELEVEN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ WEIGHTโ‹ฎ XX ONE EIGHTY NINE


Image๏ผฐ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผณ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน โœ

He wakes up sometimes in the kitchen wondering how he got there. Not from sleep. He's always awake, always conscious in these situations, but there's a flip in his brain, he's sure, that's been switched, labeled 'autopilot.' If he seems out of it, it's because he is. Dreaming, probably. But not sleep dreaming, no. Awake dreaming. It's strange, the dreams he collects. When he's dreaming, what he's really doing is listening to people talk. He gathers and collects the snippets and bits he hears and fills in the rest. It's a fun past-time. Terribly distracting, though, makes it impossible to focus on the one conversation that really matters, which is, of course, the one's he's meant to be participating in. He's better than he used to be, though, and can focus on the task at hand now. The trouble is, it just gets so awfully boring sometimes. People aren't strange, not the way the world is. Well, that's not true. People are strange, but the world is less shy about it.
He's not as weird as this sounds, promise, even if he'd like to be. Just a little dreamy, a little eccentric, a little like smoke in dim lit room, a little like fog on the night of a full moon. He's not as weird as this sounds, even if sometimes he gets the feeling he'd like to live forever on the seashore and watch the ocean devour the world one inch at a time.
He's just easily fascinated, he thinks. It's all one big magic trick to be unraveled. Half of him remains convinced he could make the moon disappear with the right sleight of hand. He has trouble, sometimes, formulating the exact mechanics of his thoughts into concise sentences. Like he feels he should be capturing more. Some people tell him, sometimes, that he just ends up sounding a little poetic. And he has an impish, dreamy half-smile. They tell him that too. And then they tell him, when he does a little slight of hand, that they think he would make an excellent Robin Goodfellow. He read the play after that, and he can't help but agree. Or maybe wish is the right word. How excellent it'd be to be a faerie, screwing around the lives of mortals, ever living and ever enjoying.
He's soft-spoken with silent footsteps, and appears sometimes like a ghost. He imagines this, paired with his other traits, gives him an air of mystery. He's not terribly hard to crack though, no Amsec CSC 1913 safe with built in retinal and fingerprint scanning. Simple, comparatively. He'd just like to live in a slightly stranger world than the one he's in, and he's doing his best to generate that illusion.




xx โ˜†๏น—๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผซ๏ผฅ๏ผณ
It stands to reason that any person seeking magic will make it the first thing he learns. For two reasons: to not be fooled by false magicians, and to become a false magician. He's learned many a magic tricks and sleights of hand, and he's always willing to demonstrate his prowess to others. But these are, of course, only false magics. He seeks the true magic in the strange marvels the world has already crafted. For this reason, he loves to travel, and thoroughly enjoys sightseeing in all the places he goes. He cannot help but capture them through the lens of a camera, so photography earns a place among his passions. One need not travel far to see beauty. He adores hiking, an excellent way to discover some sort of oddness. He loves autumn, although snow has a special place in his heart as well. The ocean, frightening as it is, remains one of his great loves. And the vastness of the universe, seen when he goes stargazing is always stunning. He cannot help but search for magic in the quiet crooks or rustic foreign cities, and old bookshops tucked away into unseen corners have always held a sort of mysticism. And he really, really loves berries and cream.

xx โ˜…๏น—๏ผค๏ผฉ๏ผณ๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผซ๏ผฅ๏ผณ
He is a man of softness and subtlety, an admirer of the quiet nature of the world. As such, he tends to veer away from the extreme, things like bright lights, strong smells, or loud noises. As for tastes, he much prefers the sweeter fruit of the vine, and he holds a disdain for particularly bitter or spicy foods. He is also an imp of mischief, and detests boredom and all its friends. He doesn't like much to think about the future, as he winces to think about the rigidity it may impose upon his life. He likes looseness, spontaneity, and he hates schedules and plans that impose preplanned activities. He also doesn't like being forced to make a decision in advance, as he feels it limits his options and takes away some freedom.
โœ ๏ผฑ๏ผต๏ผฉ๏ผฒ๏ผซ๏ผณ | ๏ผจ๏ผก๏ผข๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผณ
โ˜† Because he likes to practice his sleight of hand, he has a bad habit of picking people's pockets or lifting other items when he talks to them. He always returns what he takes, but it's weird anyways. Beware any unnecessary contact; he's quite good. โ˜† He likes to take naps outdoors, in grassy fields, or forest groves, or near river beds. โ˜† He plays the flute, but only when he's sitting high above the ground on a tree branch.

โœ๏ผด๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผด๏ผณ | ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผฒ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผง๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผณ
`โ—‡ INTELLIGENT ; For all his strange eccentricity, he is actually very intelligent. He's a quick study when he's learning something he's interested in. For example, he has a knack for figuring out the secret to magic tricks and recreating them. He's very good with languages-- fluent in three, conversational in two-- even if most of those languages prove obscure and relatively useless (Spanish, Czech and Romanian, and Hungarian, Danish, and Italian, respectively. He picked them by how veiled in mysticism the countries seem to be.).
`โ—‡ OBSERVANT ; A by-product of searching for magic in the mundane. He likes to people watch and listen in on strangers' conversations, which is...well, creepy, a little, yes, but also thoroughly entertaining. He often picks up on the little things no one noticed, and that can come in handy.
`โ—‡ SANGFROID ; Dangerous situations are really just exciting ones in disguise. Pressure doesn't get to him, because if it's entertaining, then it's entertaining, and if it's not, then it doesn't matter anyway. Besides, nerves never helped anybody figure a situation out. He prefers to observe with calm eyes; after all, you find what you are seeking when you are looking least.
`โ—‡ OUT OF THE BOX ; They say children come up with the most creative solutions because they're not as rigid in their thinking as adults. He's spent most of his years trying to erase the rigidity of reality, so it stands to reason that he's with the children on that one, except plus a lot more knowledge. The result is frequently clever solutions to difficult problems.

โœ๏ผฆ๏ผฌ๏ผก๏ผท๏ผณ | ๏ผท๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผซ๏ผฎ๏ผฅ๏ผณ๏ผณ๏ผฅ๏ผณ
`โ—‡ ADRIFT ; Which is to say, the opposite of grounded. He floats around like a hot air balloon with no weights, drifting his way through the clouds and the days. Reality serves no purpose in his faulty constructed world, and he pays little thought to real problems with real consequences. They can wait.
`โ—‡ SOLO PLAYER ; He has something of a communication problem. And while clever solutions to problems are all very fine and dandy, they don't do everyone much good when he sets off to implement them without telling anyone else. It's easier to him that way, cutting out some of the steps, but it complicates things eventually.
`โ—‡ SELF-SERVING ; Good luck trying to get him to do anything he doesn't want to. If he does something, it's because it interests him. Not because it'll help someone, or because it's for the greater good. He's far from likely to do something without some incentive to motivate him.
`โ—‡ MISCHIEF ; When the world doesn't provide him with enough entertainment, he takes it upon himself to artificially fabricate some. Like his great hero Puck himself, he's not above meddling in people's lives (love lives, friendships, anything) to spark something of interest. Not many people appreciate that.

โœ ๏ผฆ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผณ
`โ—‡ SWALLOWED BY THE SEA ; Endless darkness, aching lungs, years of silence, drowning is a terrible way to go.
`โ—‡ NO MAGIC IN THE MUNDANE ; Spare him the daily routine of monotonous moment after monotonous moment, he hungers for so much more. He could travel the world if reality wasn't so stifling. It scares him, leaves him breathless and vexed.


He is not a changeling, nor the child of a faerie, nor anything strange to be whisked away at some point to some whimsical world. Sadly. Contrarily, he is the offspring of a normal mother, and the product of (what he considers to be) a fairly normal upbringing. His mother was born in Spain, though she moved to America shortly after her college graduation. She met his father young, made decisions only the passionate youth can make. She moved away from the great city of Chicago all the way to Seattle, Washington with her still yet unborn child.
She was a good mother, great even. Certainly exceptional for a first-timer going it alone. But she raised him well, and he didn't find himself in any sort of real trouble. Not any real trouble at all, no, no, he was just...a little restless. Yes, restless is the right word. A little bored. And he'd come home covered in scrapes and bruises from traipsing around the forest, and he was just so eager to see more and do more, that eventually she decided he had that right.
She did a little research, found out the best place for him to spend his summers, somewhere he could what he did at home, just with a bit more of a safety net. That was four years ago and he's been going ever since.
No, he doesn't always have the best time doing all the activities and figuring out the teamwork, but he's always eager to go back anyway. Something about the air maybe. There's just something magical about breathing air that's just different from the air you spend most of your life breathing.

๏ผ†O1 ๏ผฏ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ


So begins...

Asher Croft's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asher Croft
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                        He wasn't going to say that leaving home was hard. It wasn't. Asher was always eager to leave somewhere to go somewhere else; it was his nature. Forever the traipsing magician. And he wasn't going to say that leaving his mother was hard either. It wasn't. Aside from the fact that he'd been attending the camp for years now, he never had difficulty leaving people behind. It wasn't out of a callousness or a lack of attachment. On the contrary. He was always secure in his belief that he'd meet these people again someday, and when he did, he'd have all new stories to tell.

                        As it was, despite the fact that Asher's leg was shaking, his fingers twitching, the car door already open, his mother was holding onto his shoulder, saying a lengthy teary-eyed goodbye. The two of them had always made the trip down to California a road trip, and he's driven most of the way down to give his mother rest for the ride back up. His neck was stiff and his legs ached for movement, anxious and restless less to arrive at camp and more, at this point, to just get out of the damn car. Midway through her long checklist of things he should have packed, he leaned in and gave her a hasty kiss on the cheek before quickly climbing out through the open door and into the fresh air. He breathed deep, enjoying the crisp breeze blowing through the trees and the consequent rustling of the bright green leaves. He loved the sounds of the forest. Definitely one of his favorite parts about the camp.

                        He ducked his head under the frame of the car door, still smiling, to say his own goodbye to his mother. "Viszlรกt, Mama. Talรกlkozunk kรฉt hรณnap." A farewell in Hungarian, his latest endeavor, that she may not have understood the exact meaning of, but knew the general gist of the words. He said the same thing every year. Two years ago, it had been in Spanish, last year in Czech. She smiled back and, at last, let him leave, shooing him away from the car and towards the camp grounds.

                        It didn't take him long to reach his cabin; in his four years there, he'd found the quickest way there, a route that didn't involve following the dirt paths crafted by the camp staff. He unpacked quickly, leaving most of his things in his bag, which he threw up onto one of the top bunks. He liked the top-- better vantage point, good for observing all the people that came in and out. Same reason he often climbed trees, really.

                        He didn't stay long after laying claim to a bed. There were no people in the cabin anyways (boring), and he knew there'd be the welcoming program outside. Every year, like clockwork. Also one of the few times everybody was gathered in the same place at the same time, making it an event of particular interest. If one was paying attention, there were plenty of secrets to be discovered when the entire camp population was put together.

                        His walk towards the main hall was fairly uneventful. He picked out a few familiar faces in the crowd, held short conversations with a couple. Even to him, the amount of people he'd met there over the years he could now call something akin to 'friend' was surprising. He was strange, or, at the very least, others treated him that way. He was perfectly content on his own, of course, hardly noticed the difference between having company or not, but it was always curious to him the way boundaries seemed to be broken down within the camp grounds. Sometimes he felt as though it were an entirely separate world from the real one, the one everyone went back to at the end of their summer stay. He wondered how many of these people he would be speaking to under normal circumstances.

                        Still, he saw no sign of the two people he was eager to see most, both close members of his team. He was unsure, though, if they simply hadn't arrived yet or if they'd already made their way into the main hall. He drifted, half letting the crowd carry him, indoors, searching for either of the familiar faces of Garrett or Eleanor.

    Characters Present

    Character Portrait: Eleanor Madden Character Portrait: Jane Ellingford Character Portrait: Asher Croft Character Portrait: Alec Spencer
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    Location: Entrance of Camp, Cabin Area,
    and the Main Hall
    Interacting With: Jane Ellingford and Asher
    Mentioned: Alec Spencer
    Outfit: 1 plus a lightweight, grey sweatshirt


    Eleanor stepped out of Rain's mother's car, glancing around as she did. She touched the wrist of her prosthetic arm, making sure the sweatshirt was covering it. Despite loving her new arm, she felt uneasy about all the new campers who might stare at it. At least she had it on and wasn't left with just the stump of her wrist. The dark haired girl walked around to the trunk, where she retrieved her backpack, violin, and one of her bags. She could try and carry the other one, but she doubted that would end well. Instead, her cabinmate and good friend Rain picked up Eleanor's remaining bag as well as her own bags. The older girl was an even six feet tall with an athletic build. Carrying three bags was no problem for her.

    As the two walked, they passed numerous campers. Some were friends, others acquaintances, and of course there was always a group of newcomers readily identified by their confused faces or young age. Eleanor was torn between looking at the ground to avoid eye contact and keeping her head up so as not to fall or run into anyone. As she walked, she kept her gaze to the ground, only looking up if someone seemed to be coming very close to her.

    The two arrived at the cabin they had shared since Eleanor's first year at camp. The other two girls that had previously stayed with them had graduated and thus were no longer attending the camp. Rain set her bags on the bottom bunk, as it was too much of a hassle for her to climb onto the top bunk without hitting her head. Knowing that Elle wouldn't be throwing her bags onto the top bunk, Rain set her friend's bag beside the ladder. Elle set the bag she had been carrying next to it, before gently setting her violin down on the ground. After taking off her backpack, she tossed it up onto her bed.

    "Are you going to unpack or go to the Main Hall?" Elle asked her friend. Rain began unzipping one of her bags as she answered Elle. "I'm going to unpack before going. I'll catch up with you eventually. Don't get into too much trouble." Eleanor chuckled and left the cabin. Like herself, Rain was one of those Grey Team members who had a habit for appearing out of thin air. There was no doubt in her mind that her friend would show up in the Main Hall later. Just how much later was the real question.

    Eleanor began the walk to the Main Hall. Other campers were flooding the area. Some were going to their cabins, others to the Main Hall. Some just stood in small groups, talking as the world around them passed by. Eleanor stood for a moment, listening to the snippets of conversation that caught her ear. It was mainly greetings and occasional gossip which carried from the teens' mouths. Though she would normally stay to listen to the campers around her, she was intent on finding Asher and Garret to show them her new arm.

    The young woman began to weave her way through the sea of campers on the path which lead from the cabins to the Main Hall. She slipped between groups of people and dodged oncoming traffic. A group in front of her caused her to slow her pace. Not wanting to wait for the snails in front of her, she quickly walked around them. She kept up her quick pace so as to clear her distance from them. She did not want to be engulfed by them and be forced to maneuver around them again. As she turned her head to make sure she had cleared the group, she ran into the back of another camper.

    Eleanor let out a soft, "oof!" Facing forward again, she found that she had run into a brunette whom she did not recognize. "Sorry," she told the other girl before quickly walking away, cheeks feeling flushed. Well, that was embarrassing. Of course, it was just an accidental bump in reality. But in her mind, she'd just left a terrible impression on the poor girl who happened to be standing there. Hopefully the girl wouldn't be mad at her and come after her later. Elle really didn't need or want to deal with that.

    Once at the Main Hall, Eleanor diverged from the other campers. She preferred not to be stuck in the horde entering the main doors. Instead, she decided to go in through the backdoors of the basement level. The doors were unlocked, as staff had been busy moving things into the Main Hall in preparation for this year's events, injuries, hungry campers, and piles of papers. It seemed that not a soul was on the basement level at the moment, giving the young woman a chance to experience the calm before entering the storm that surely awaited on the first floor. She let out a small sigh, preparing herself for the overwhelming amount of people she was about to face. Of course, she'd likely only talk to a handful of them, while others she would politely say "hi" to before breezing on in search of one of her good friends. But the thought of being in a crowd, a group of people that might make fun of her or stare at her because they didn't know her yet was still unsettling. Eleanor was painfully aware that she would always be different than everyone else, leading to a sense of isolation.

    Perhaps Alec will be upstairs if I can't find Garret, Asher, or Ash, she thought to herself as she walked to the staircase. He'd been kindly helping her to overcoming her anxiety with crowds, which really had made a difference. It took baby steps, but she felt ten times more comfortable being in a room full of people as she did when she first came to the camp.

    Fortunately for her, Asher was relatively close to the stairs to the basement. Eleanor made her way though the throng of students standing between them. When she finally reached her friend, she couldn't help but hug him. She was not typically one for physical contact, but she was overjoyed to see her fellow Grey Team member. "Asher!" she cried as she embraced him, her head resting perfectly below his. After letting go of him, she held up her left hand. "Look, I got a new arm." She proceeded to begin showing him the different gestures and positions it was able to perform, a significant improvement from her previous hand which could only open and close the fingers in one movement.