sniggle's adoption centre

Name: Avery "Dream Weaver" Cooper

Age/Birthday: 17 years old. Born June 16th, 1994

Gender: Male

God Parent: Morpheus, God of dreams

Claimed: Yes.

Mortal Family: (mother)Eileen Cooper

Years in Camp: A few months

Brief History: Avery is a strange boy, and has been for as long as anyone can remember. As a baby he laughed more than he cried, as a toddler he tried building houses out of crayons rather than eating them, as a boy he liked to tell stories to anyone who would listen...even if that meant the city pigeons by the park bench while he tossed them french fries. As a teenager he wrote and drew out his stories, and posted them online. Most people he knew in the real world thought he was anti-social and weird. He had a small group of friends, but he didn't go to those crazy parties every weekend. He was perfectly fine playing video games at his house or a friend's, or staying home and writing some more. Very little could get him down, and he didn't ask for much. A parent's dream child.

Well, almost, anyway. On his 13th birthday his mother Eileen decided to let him in on the big secret about his dad. About how his father was actually a Greek God. Avery was ecstatic to hear about it; the news fueled his imagination for all kinds of stories and adventures.

But then school beat the creativity out of him. As he aged, he was allowed to write his stories less and less. His teachers didn't condone the senseless rambles and doodles all over his notes and papers. They took extreme measures and began taking away his notebooks if he was caught doing something off task. They ripped up his papers if he was caught doodling. He was sent home day after day with hours of homework, and that work, on top of his chores and grocery store job, left very little time for him to let the creativity to stem from his fingers. Eventually he became conditioned not to draw, not to write, not to tell stories. Papers no longer had to do with wizards and dragons and magical worlds, they were analytical essays. Pleasing to his teachers.

The grades began to go up again, but Eileen noticed a gradual change in his personality. He was less open, less happy-go-lucky and open. Less friendly in general. Sarcasm replaced imagination, and the real world took hold. He experimented with some things he should've have, and at 15 when his mother uncovered the 8 ball of crystal meth he had tucked away in a plastic bag under his bed, she confronted him. They argued, plenty, and she cried. He refused to give it up, and was sent to rehabilitation. 14 months later he was off the drug, but addicted to cigarettes. Sure, he's not legally old enough to smoke them, but they're a much healthier alternative, so people tend to let him slide.

A few months ago Eileen brought up an alternative to returning to school, which was going to Camp Half Blood. Unable to fathom the idea of being brain-washed by the machine and having teachers kick the creativity out of him, he eagerly agreed. He packed up and left his Florida home a few days after their conversation, and drove himself to camp Half Blood, where he currently resides.

Physical Appearance: Avery is slender and of average weight. He is 5'9 with short, dark brown hair and blue eyes. He often smirks and it's hard to tell his sarcastic smile from his real one. He has a few brown freckles/moles scattered across his face and deep dimples whenever he smiles. His lips are deep and red, rather feminine for a guy. He is relatively clean shaven, and doesn't have much hair on his arms, legs, or anywhere else. He can only grow a 5 o'clock shadow/stubble on his face, it seems. He is rather bony and without much curve to his body. His position is generally a slouched, uncaring one. His style isn't set in stone, he wears whatever he wants. One day he can be in a t-shirt and sweat pants and the next day he can be in a tuxedo. It all depends on his mood and how much effort he feels like exerting each particular morning.

Personality: The 14 months away from school allowed him to loosen up a bit. He got into writing again, making up fictional stories, monologues, and even recording diary entries of his time at The Watershed(his rehab center's name.) He softened himself, became more affable. He still uses sarcasm, but he can also be kind and even charming on occasion.

He does, however, still have an incredibly strong opposition again societal norms. Not in the hipster oh-that's-too-mainstream-for-me-to-like kind of way, but in the you're-beating-the-creativity-out-of-everyone-and-turning-us-into-brainwashed-clones. He has this theory that elementary and middle school are meant to take all self-expression and independent thought out of incoming generations. They are told they can't think for themselves, that when they think for themselves they're wrong. That they should look up to the leaders and authority figures, because they are all-knowing. He believes it's a load of crap and will get very intense arguing his point, due to his past experiences. Needless to say, he can be incredibly stubborn and hot-tempered when the wrong string is pulled. Most of the time, though, he's a rather laid-back guy. Mention school, though, and he'll probably hurt you.

Most people don't mean much to Avery, and it takes a lot to get on his good side. Most people are on his neutral side, but to get on his good side, where he would actually prefer to hang out with them than draw in his room alone, is a difficult side to get onto. It takes plenty of patience and perseverance. First, you're whatever. Bug him to be his friend, and he'll dislike you. Keep bugging, and eventually he'll grow fond of you, taking it that you actually give a crap about him. And once you've made it to the good side, you'd practically have to stab him to make him dislike you again.

Fatal flaw: He holds intense grudges. If you screw him over badly enough, he will stop at nothing to end you, even if he's destroyed in the process. He can also be quite bitter and his mood can turn on a dime. Needless to say, friends are not easily made.

Pets: None, although he quite likes birds. Specifically pigeons, and if he could get one he would.

Talents: Avery was born with the gift of dream infiltration. As a baby he'd use it by accident, invading his mother's dreams and replacing her more rational ideas with flying toasters and singing dinosaurs, the things he would think about. Over the years he as sharpened the gift and can magnify and project his own thoughts and dreams into others, but only when they aren't in a conscious state. Likewise, he can control his own dreams. Lucky, right? Trying to run from a murderer but your legs are stuck and can't move? Well, he can make himself fly away if he wants. There is no real use for this gift other than to keep himself from having nightmares. [/color]

Weapons: A Greek Xiphos sword that turns into a small silver key he can put in his pocket. Its name is Kaz and it has a globe carved into the hilt.

Year-round or summer: Year-round. School is too brutal for his liking.

Other: He has an addiction to cigarettes and will never be caught without a pack. He often keeps a spare one tucked behind his right ear.

Relationships:

---

I don`t see it in your eyes
Just a cold blank stare
And no one's asking why
Why you don`t seem to care
We`ve lost our way, lost our way


Grayson D. Bates;;
Gray, G., D.B., Bateman
Male
18 years in counting
March 12th
Son of Hephaestus[God] & Randi Bates[Mortal]

Wiry- A slim figure with slight muscle definition apparent in the lower torso area as well as the forearms and calves.
Russet- Wide-set eyes that are somewhat smaller than the "average." The iris' are a russet brown with miniscule flecks of rust that twinkle only occasionally, while under the substantial amounts of light. Gray's also got rather pronounced, sagging lower eyelids that cast shadows around the rims of his eyes.
Tousled-soft, black hair with a natural forward flow. Thanks to being only one to two inches long, the hair is not easy to knot. It maintains an appealing shine about two days after conditioning.
Clear-Blemish free, olive skin that provides a minor resistance to burns. When Grayson does burn--which will happen given several hours of sun exposure--his olive complexions darkens to a tan brown, with a minor mixture of pink. While it may not necessarily resemble sunburn, it still hurts to the touch, as any burn would. And it will still peel.
Pointy-Unlike his rugged father, Gray's got rather pointed, almost feminine features. He's been blessed with a semi-high cheek bones and an extremely pronounced jawline that curves into a soft, rounded chin. He's got a long, pointed, almost-pixie like nose and soft red lips. Seeing Grayson give more than half a bemused smirk is rare for anyone that he isn't particularly close to.
Inked- A green tattoo of two identical koi fish circling one another is stitched permanently into his left deltoid. They are woven into a modern, graffitied Pisces symbol, drawn into a radiating sun-shield. The tattoo spands approximately an inch from the center each way.


Imaginative- Among his most treeasured, valuable traits, in his opinion, is his imagination. G. believes that, without imagination, one cannot possibly wish to explore and discover. And without exploration and discovery, there is no accumulation of knowledge. Therefore, no human growth. He constantly dreams of other worlds, different, unique worlds with unique inhabitants and inventions. Unearthly, incredible things that, with current technologies couldn't be possible. This trait goes hand in hand with his analytical side.
Analytical- to scrutinize and decipher, in short. As is common of Hephaestus kids, G. has keen eye for technology and the way things work. He can see things piece by piece, sifting through and collecting information, connecting the pieces until he's aware of what he's handling. Challenges are to be broken down, using his rational, factual side.
Witty- Sharp tongued and quick to strike. Like a cobra Gray is ready to react with stingy comments. They're not always nice, but give intellectual credit where it's due.
Relaxed- Level-headed and almost charming in times of panic, Gray knows how to keep a lid on it when he needs to think, assuming he's given his space.
Impatient- He wants it, and he wants it now. They sad part about being a genius inventor is that you know how to build it, but you want it to be done without putting in the tedious work effort. Not only is he weak when it comes to waiting for his own work, but he's quite a pain when waiting on others, too. He wants things done in an instant--needs things done quickly or he becomes irritated.
Shaky- There isn't always a clear cut answer, and to ignore the possibilities of a negative outcome is stupid, to be frank. Even if he has the equation perfect, there is always some sort of doubt in his mind that it isn't. He has little faith in himself as a person and demigod to accomplish important tasks. His self-worth is almost non-existant and he is absolutely disgusted with his own personality and powers.
Skeptical- G.'s self-doubt is equivalent to his doubt in others. He is not easily swayed into believing other people, whether it be about the result of an experiment or how they feel about him or whether they are who they pretend to be.
Gentle- The deep rooted fear that he will fail and potentially destroy everything in his wake has conditioned Gray to treat people and things alike very delicately, despite his rough exterior. He is extremely gentle and soft-hearted deep down, feeling quite the sympathy for those facing problems and pains. It's safe to say that G. even has something of a nurturing side to him.
Adventurous- Curiosity and excitement will gleam in his when Gray discovers something new. He has a hard time saying no to questing and journeys, even if they've advertised as being deadly or extremely hard. Challenges are welcomed.
Reliable- Leaving someone behind is not an option. He will do anything in his power to ensure the safety and happiness of his companions. He has an especially hard time fighting old friends turned traitors as it just feels wrong and guilt eats him up inside. Whether he could actually kill a traitor has yet to be discovered--but it is clear that he has inner-conflict with doing so.
Rough- Heart and kindness isn't something immediately noticeable. Gray tries to keep up a rugged exterior so as to keep people from getting close. It spawns from his hatred in himself and, sometimes the world, and leave him giving off vibes of anger or, in the least, irritation, rather often.

Churning Gears- The ability to short circuit minor technology, such as microwaves and computers through a combination of thought and touch. He has to consciously think about the inner demolition of the wires, gears, and various pieces inside the technology, as well as touch it with some part of his body--usually his fingers but desperate times call for desperate measures. If he isn't sure of how it works, he can't break it. If it's extremely intricate, he can't break it. If he doesn't know the pieces inside of it, he can't break it.

When he can break it, he gets a second degree burn on whatever part of his body is touching the machine(this is a variable due to pressure sensitivity). It does become exhausting, and after busting three or four PCs, he's left feeling somewhat lightheaded. He is capable of abolishing the occasional car, but becomes nauseous, dizzy, and otherwise incoherent upon doing so, and he thinks he might have what it takes to take down a helicopter, but he's never tried under the impression that if he failed, he might explode or something else strange like that. His power boosts with adrenaline, so when extreme emotions are triggered, they amplify somewhat. And for what it's worth, Best Buy probably can't re-assemble your computer if he breaks it.

Buzz from the underground- Hadix is a high-functioning automatonic dragonfly with a slight glitch. Quite the large specimen he is, body spanding approximately 8 inches from head to tail-tip. The metalic body is painted a sleek black, with the exception of the wings. The wings were left unpainted and so they are gleam pieces of a thin, but powerful metallic mixture of silver and alluminum. They are extremely flat edged, thin pieces that, when beating, move so quickly that it's hard to actually see them at all. Touching the wings while they beat at full speed is something akin to putting your finger through a large spinning fan. Grayson has been known to throw fruit at Hadix to be made into smoothies.

Hadix was designed with eye sensory that can do a 280 degree scan about 15 feet in front of him. If something moves, Hadix can sense it and focus in. While Gray didn't think to give Hadix xray vision, the bug does have heat sensory and can pick up on increases in heat signatures. He also has two antenae on his head made semi-thin wires that can pick up on the vital signs of living organisms, given 5 full seconds of contact with skin.

Built with a F.E.E.L. program, Hadix can use his vision to pick up on body language, primarily of humans, and can read emotion on a basic level. He can also copy this emotion, using signals of his own that don't always align with the proper feeling--one of the glitches Hadix has. The second glitch lies in the self-destruct option. Hadix can serve as a small missle, using heat sensory to lock onto specific targets that Grayson either verbally or manually enters the codes of into Hadix's abdomin(Hadix is a mini-computer. Yes, he is a wifi hotspot, and yes, he can google your homework answers), but sometimes Hadix faces predetonation without specific target. Grayson isn't sure why, but when Hadix uses the F.E.E.L. program and grows excited--and he means really excited, Hadix begins to shake and vibrate, as if his server is overloaded. He buzzes--one of the sounds Grayson programmed into him--and shakes before finally explodes into many, many pieces. Grayson has tried assembling Hadix again and again, but somehow he faces the same glitch each time.

As a pet(when he isn't exploding) Hadix rests on Grayson's shoulder, wings folded in(they're of a slightly different design than an actual dragonfly, allowing them to find in and compact) making him almost travel convenient. He occasionally flies around Grayson's head, or if Grayson has no use for him he flies around CHB, chasing and analyzing creatures in the woods.Hadix is something of a derp, and has exploded on Grayson on more than one occasion, but still Grayson shares an awkward bond with the robo-bug, having had some copy of it since he first built its prodotype when he was 14.

Tools of the Trade- Grayson isn't a particularly complex fighter; A simple, bash-friendly object will do. And for that, he uses a particularly long wrench. It doesn't slice and dice like a sword, but it's still probably best to avoid contact with--especially when he's swinging it around. The boy has a particular giant wrench that he fancies made out of celestial bronze that he affectionately named Georgia. When Georgia isn't three feet long, she's a cute golden pocket wrench that, as suggested, Grayson keep's in his butt pocket. Under no circumstances is anybody ever allowed to touch Georgia unless they'll being brutally smashed by her.

Trial and Error- Nobody can be good at everything, but with plenty of effort and the sacrifice of some sort of time, you're bound to get good at something. Grayson chose to sacrifice social life--actually, socialization chose to sacrifice Grayson--and he picked up a few skills hermitting in his basement for years. First off, he's hella good at first person shooter games on the x-box. But probably more important, Grayson has a knack for inventing. It runs in his blood.

The boy's not very flexible or fast, but he's having so many machines literally explode in his face has given him a relatively high pain threshold. And the sleepless weekends of hovering over a new, shiny project has given him quite the level of stamina and endurance. He's average at throwing punches, but he can take a lot. Keeping him down is something of a difficult task, as monsters and inventions have discovered in the past. For Grayson, it's a game of outlasthing the enemy. Exhaustion can be the difference between life and death in a battle, and that's where Grayson triumphs.

Wrestling combat is something Grayson is average at. Likewise with close combat such as sword fighting or thumb wrestling. For him, lethality comes in the form of a small metal sling and a bag of heavy ammo. He's got percision down like it's nobody's business, having to cross and insert wires and tubing regularly, so the son of Hephaestus is gifted in methods of combat that require good aim but allow for silence and thought. He's good with a bow, and amazing with a slingshot. And when he's shooting rocks or shrapnel or acorns at you, it's sure to leave a bruise. If he gets you in the eye, expect to wear that eyepatch for a very, very long time. And he can get you in the eye, if he wants to. Never underestimate a genius whackjob with a rubber band.

Baby Steps- The funny thing about being a demigod is that quite often, your family avoids telling you until something goes terribly awry. Like, when you're in 5th grade computer class, and all the other students are writing "The Cat Stands Around In The Quiet Meadow Of Flowers." When they make a typo, simple, they delete it and carry on. When a demigod makes a typo, sometimes the computer explodes.

So maybe it wasn't just one typo. Maybe it had been about a dozen in a row and Grayson felt like he wanted the computer to be chucked out the third story window. Yeah, in theory he wanted the computer to explode. He wanted it to until it actually did in a fiery erruption of nuts and bolts and somebody's copy of Portal. Flames licked at the ceiling and Grayson stumbled out of his chair with an incoherent hiss onto the floor. His index finger seared with pain and, upon examination, it was bright red and raw to the touch. He let himself fall backward, his head touching the cold tile floor and he looked up at the ceiling and tried counting the ugly tile pattern. One, two, three, nonono, he had counted that one. Start over. One, two, no, no he skipped like four of them. How was this difficult? They were different colors.

But the colors swirled together and faded in light, and Grayson couldn't get the shrill ringing out of his ears. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he let out a final groan before passing out.

Later that day, Grayson woke up in a hospital bed, faintly hearing a woman's voice through the other side of the door. Being the curious mind that he was, he sat up to listen. As the grogginess and diziness went away, the voice grew more clear. It was certainly familiar, and struck a bell has his mother's voice. The crazy old bat was at the hospital with him, and she was clearly angry with something.

"You, YOU let this happen to my son!" She boomed, and Grayson could imagine her jabbing someone in the chest with her stubby little finger. "Your technology shouldn't explode in the students faces. That could've killed him! Bam! Boom! Dead, dead, dead!"

"Ma'am I assure you I-"

"Oh no, don't you dare oh no me. There are so many lawsuits against them and I guarantee you will be hearing about every single one of them! I pay good money to get my Graybear into private school, and for what? This is ridiculous!"

Gray grimaced at his mother's use of his petnamed. No PDA, Mom, no PDA. He imagined that whoever his mother was talking to probably held a high position on the district's school board.

He heard an audible sigh from the other party, and then something about free Tuiton for the next two years--it sounded like a mumble. Obviously, they weren't happy about giving out money.

His mother cackled. "Tuitition? That would imply I'm leaving my child in that wretched, flammable school! Oh no, I expect a wheel barrow of gold bricks at my door in a week. Or a fully payed trip to Disneyworld! Or a cab to Long Island!"

"Long Island?"

"Yes, Long Island. I intend to move Graybear to a private school there. Maybe by the Sound it'll be more peaceful, and he'll have a body of water to roll into, Gods forbid the teachers light him on fire!"

"Nobody lit your son on fire."

"Your computer lit my son on fire! Technology is evil! BWAGH."

Suddenly Grayon's door opened and his mom stomped in, smashing it closed before the other character, an older man with thinning brown hair in a gray suit, was able to say any more. She smiled sweetly at Grayson, and winked. "Guess who's going to Long Island?" He thought she'd been kidding about Long Island thing...But his mother was a strange woman--she'd nearly been institutionalized when he was 8.

Apparently going to Long Island wasn't debateable. When he'd returned home from the hospital later in the day, two bags were packed and waiting at the door. His mother cackled, and hurried forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the car. "Come! Come! We've much to discuss!" She practically sang, grabbing one of the bags and Grayson took the other and followed obediently.

"Mom...?"

"You're the son of Hephaestus."

"Mom..."

"And you're a demigod."

"Mom...."

"Graybear?"

"I gotta pee."

They took a stop at the gas station and Grayson tried to wrap his head around what his mother was saying. He came to the conclusion that she was a total nutcase.

They passed the building in Long Island, and then the towns, and then some woods. Grayson had no idea what he was supposed to do, especially when his mother stopped the car in front of a dusty old sign and told Grayson to get out. His bags were thrown from the car, and he turned around to look in the window. His mother grinned sweetly.

"Have fun, honey! Don't forget to wash behind your ears and pray to your crazy father at least once a night. Also, watch the satyrs! They'll eat your invention materials." With that, she made a U-turn on the road. "Love you, Graybear~" And she drove away.

Gray just stood and watched, not entirely sure how to continue with himself. Finally, he let out a sigh, and turned to face the trees again. His mom would probably be back for him later once she realized he was punted from the car. Until then, he thought he'd explore. Lugging his bags behind him, he moved into the shroud of trees and brush. He pushed foreward, maybe for half an hour, until he found himself in front of a large house. On the deck was an old man in a wheel chair, who gave Gray a smile. His eyes showed wisdom, and understanding. Gray could see he had been expected.

"Your mother told me you would be arriving soon. Come, let me show you around." Grayson gave a slight nod, and brought his stuff onto the deck. He finally arrived at Camp Half-Blood, and the rest is history.