User Profile

name: Keil Jefferson
age: 26
d.o.b.: May 15 [gemini]
blood type: O
family: Travis (father, deceased), Maria (mother, deceased), Charity (sister, deceased)
alignment: neutral
religion: atheist
city: Los Angeles

Keil has a hand which he can change to any shape, such as a gun or a sword, or even something more miniscule such as a lockpick. These objects can either be directly connected to his arm or can appear to be normal objects which he holds like any other person migh. The catch to this is that whatever he changes his hand into must remain touching his body in some way; if it is detached, while his hand itself may regenerate or remain unharmed, the pain will be as intense as having a limb ripped away.

Keil used to like to think of himself as lucky. He was the sort of guy who managed to make it through school without a scratch on him, not weird enough for the bullies to pick on but not well-liked enough to get roped in by the popular sort. Keil simply existed through his childhood years, never making much of a ripple in the landscape anywhere he went. He never made an impact and never cared to, simply letting life take him along.

Then, his parents and his younger sister were all killed in a car accident when he was 21. They'd been headed out of LA to visit a relative, and Keil hadn't cared to go. Accidents happen all the time on California highways, and Keil ended up the sole survivor of his family, save a few aunts and uncles that he'd never met and he didn't intend to let near what was left of home.

Keil took to sorting out his family's matters, finding that his parents were much wealthier than they'd ever boasted, and had left behind more than enough money for him to get by for several years, were he to keep his job. He chose to drop it instead, selling off the things of little value that remained. He took up smoking, drinking, tried drugs once or twice, and moved to one of the shabbier apartments he could find to make his parents' money last longer. He got a new job, a shittier one than he'd ever had, earning just enough money for groceries and buying everything else with his parents' fortune. His smoking habit, his deteriorating physical health, everything was paid for with what his family had left behind.

It was when he was having a checkup (one that Keil thought of as more of being scolded and threatened with lung cancer) that he mentioned the odd pains he'd been having in his dominant hand, his left. The doctor took X-rays, but could find nothing except some oddities in bone structure -- but nothing that should have been causing such pain. Keil was attacked on the way home by a couple of muggers, and when he went to fight them, he found that his hand had grown a knife, seemingly right out of the middle of his palm. The muggers, a pair of kids, ran away, and the knife in Keil's hand melted right back into his flesh. He knew better than to take his story to the doctor -- he'd been on meds enough as it was, thanks -- so he just headed home and tried to figure out what was going on. He never really did.

People that know Keil might say he's never been the same. But then, there aren't a lot of people that have ever known Keil well enough to care.

Keil is quiet, almost always silent, and jaded as all hell. He doesn't like people, preferring to keep to himself, sitting inside all day except for his part-time janitorial job that he uses to supplement his parents' money. He's a bit of an asshole, or those who have never met him would call him as such on first impression. He doesn't care to make very good impressions at all, really, and fuck other people if they want to hate him.

There is always the occasional person that finds themself attracted to or interested in Keil; when they look closer, they'll find a lot of pent-up self-hatred, and a lot of pent-up hatred toward his dead family, his coworkers, and everyone who, in his mind, has fucked him over in some way. He doesn't believe in revenge, so he just hates, and hates harder for the deeper he's been hurt.

He's never been much of a romantic. But when he falls, he falls hard.

Keil is fairly well-built and tall, with dark brown hair he tends to wear fairly long, most often tying it in a ponytail. He has dark blue eyes, and a narrow face with an often-hard expression. He smokes and drinks, and both are visible in the way he cares for and carries himself. He seems to have very little reverence for his own health or hygiene, and it shows in how frequently he appears disheveled or tired.