Editing Syd Lev

{{Character
| faction = illuminati
| status = pc 
| species = wandering maenad
| player = syd lev
| nickname = wildhaunt
| image = NoImageAvailable.gif
| organization = disorganized
| job_title = free agent
| aliases = syd, squid
| twitter = 
| gender = agender 
| age = 30s
| nationality = 
| residence = museum oddities wing
|}}

=• Early Life •=
*a familiar dreamy far-off voice trails in from deep a deep echo-ing twist in their mind*

You remember that feeling you get when you're only ... kinda there... all your processes are running on auto pilot. You know that thing where you're so distracted by whatever inconsequential bullshit is going on that you're just ... floating? 

You get up, go to work, grab a drink, grab another drink, go home, wash & repeat. The word routine is bandied about a lot these days- with only a moderate amount of disgust. 

Remember dude, the routine is important, without the routine you're back to: leaving your keys in the pantry, melting your favorite pot holder on the burner, accidentally eating that weird bug you're pretty sure is going to melt your brain, asking yourself how long it's been since you last washed that hoodie...

*the voice starts to murmur off again as mysteriously as it came*

Syd had almost forgotten about the bug, almost. They don't really remember much about their life before. They can just remember the day. Not clearly just pieces. Memories and puzzles and riddles to untangle and reorganize.

Now they're going to obsess over it. You should see them- panicked googling the dangers of eating bugs. How many did they eat as a kid? Countless and they turned out fine ... ok, mostly fine. People eat bug every day and are fine. They keep repeating over and over: it's all fine. It was probably a beetle they outnumber us a billion to one, or a bee ... wouldn't that hurt though?, or a spider - oh Gods are they the new Spiders Georg - 

They can see the headline now: Some fucker living in the city eats a bug and becomes new beacon of arachnid utopia. Spiders from far and wide come to take up residence in this poor bastard's mouth. 

WebMD tells them, "you have horrible brain melting disease" where your brain just melts out of your head. They decide to just wait and see if they break out into hives... fuck did their nose just start running? Is it allergies? 

They mostly hope whatever they just swallowed isn't going to give them a parasite. They unlock their phone and googles "Leucochloridium paradoxum". 

It's been several hours and their brain doesn't seem to be melting- after a few calls they're pretty sure that they would feel it melt. They have a drink, microwave their exciting dinner for one, and pass out on their old blue couch watching nick at nite reruns. 

*the distant echo of Lucille Ball's familiar whine, "...but Riiiicky!" morphs and stretches jarringly with the laugh track into loud hissing static as the picture shifts into a moving melting speaking pitch* Nothing new.

Their pupils blossom wide-open in the darkness. It's 3 am, they can feel their scrawny arms lifting their too too heavy body from the cushions. Drool slicking the pillow and their face. Their blue hair tangled and mashed in weird directions. Bleary they flail around for the remote on the floor. The television turns off before the dark viscous-looking screen attempts to speak.

They blink, their vision sharpening and blurring like a novice twisting a camera lens - movements unsteady. 

Vaguely aware of their feet - dragging their stiff aching legs and cold, tired, protesting body along with them. Exhausted and confused they walk because they don't have the energy to fight it. Their rhythmic plodding is quiet, purposeful; past the park and the 24 hour laundry, not far now. They're absolutely certain they need to get a brain scan and that whatever they ate is probably making them hallucinate. This is all a dream or like a really fucked up cry for help. Had their anxiety gotten that bad? 

They shiver in the cold overcast of the bay. Distant sound of cars and early morning traffic in the city that never sleeps. Even the subway's rumble is quieter than usual, subdued by the subconscious focus to just keep moving.

The rough concrete sidewalk is both damp and freezing; their sneakers do fuck-all to keep their toes from going numb. Their conscious focus is so so far away from their surroundings ... they feel like they're moving along and not in control of their own self. Like they are watching this person walk away inside their body...

Until they realize - they're trailing down, down, into the dim, wet, dripping darkness of this curiously labyrinthine sewer.
 


=• The Secret War  •=
''How did your character become part of the Secret World, and what have they been up to since then?''

They don't recall the war too well .. they don't recall participating too fully aside from - go to work, go home, hope KG doesn't call them up at 2 am because she needs them to go on a fetch quest for a still beating heart, again. What is she even ''doing'' with those things... 

But one can't complain too much when it means feeling the warm flesh resist and seize then go slack - fibers pull and tear... that slick, wet, sheen on everything. 

They feel themselves panting, mouth open and wet, eyes pinpointed and focused in naked blood-lust. They shake their head with the vigor of a child with an etch-a-sketch - trying to remove the shadow print of their time in company of a drunken cavalcade. 

Perhaps they haven't forgotten quite everything about some of their time in the war. 


=• From TSW to SWL  •=
''If your character existed in TSW (The Secret World) before coming to SWL (Secret World Legends) -- how do you treat the transition?  Are they exactly the same?  Did they suffer memory loss?  Are they some 'alternate reality' version of themselves?''

It's strange to ask, are we aware of the transition? Are they me? or are we just the same? Which is impossible- each instance is different and whoops there I go again. The Mobius Ship - ok ok it was just a Freudian slip got out of hand - but how does one instance of oneself not influence another?   

Sometimes there is a distant memory - like the faintest whiff of something familiar, a headache with pictures... 

It's less that there's memory loss - and more trying to piece together rooms and spaces that they were certain to have been in but know that can't possibly be true. Deja vu but extra foggy. 

After the shift they spent most of their time hiding around Transylvanian forests observing fungal growths, local fauna, and local custom. 

*that too-familiar voice chimes in inside their head* 
We know what happened: 
You're finished.
Exposed! 

Getting fired sucks. 
Getting fired by a woman with the ability to call a hit on you? And worse - end your whole career? 
That sucks in a whole new magnitude. 

You find a bar, you go there, you drink. 
You find another bar. You drink! *toasts* 
You find a buddy! 
Your buddy finds a bar! 

You find yourself with your buddy in a tavern in Transylvania in the presence of a God. YOU DRINK! You smoke! You eat some tasty mushroom risotto that tastes like music and flashing lights. 

Give in to a little frenzy. 
Once you fell in line for your faction - here you are shuffled just off center from where you came... get it together and you can just float along and sate the hunger in your own terms 


Now that doesn't seem so bad does it?: jobless, hunted, always a little elsewhere ... but flowing free as your feet will take you.
---

They just want to enjoy things. Most times they're a little spacey. 




=• Known Associates/Affiliations  •=
 
They've been coming out of the woods and back into the world. 
Mostly only going to music shows and enjoying the change in scenery. Dancing to expand their ability to enjoy various other forms of intoxication and ecstasy. 

Appeasing the urge for destruction and rage by participating in some general group slaughter. 

They can be found most often: interviewing for various Orochi corps, studying global flora/fauna, sprawled out in a hammock swinging behind a palette and some sheeting in their Oddities Wing. 

Pets: Synthetic Pseudanthium - Steve, '''Stevedore Q. Greenbriar'''. They found him on a dock in Kaidan, near the Orochi tunnels. He was so hungry. Nipping and bobbing at anything that came near.  His little purple leaves and petals curling and uncurling the sick sweet smell of honey and rot sticky on his ... well i guess you'd have to call them stamens .. it was love at first sight. So of course they fed him some random limbs they came across in Maine. He's their favorite dance partner, he doesn't step on their toes and they only bite a little. Feed him whatever, he's not picky. One time he ate a junkyard tire after a case of Dante's spilled on it. 

Partners in time killing: '''Door Coleman'''. Recent Bee, he never knew the old world. He's not tethered to the memory. 


=• Special Notes  •=
''Are they demon-possessed?  A skilled Elementalist?  Want to describe their awesome powers or trademark equipment they always carry?  This is the place to do it.''

Tries to always wear their mask. You can't accidentally eat bugs that way.

Their focus oscillates wildly. 

Sometimes a little late to the party but an excellent detective.  


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=• Just Some OoC Stuff  •=
So this character started out (in TSW like 10 years ago) as just like a personal avatar - mostly because I was playing with some friends in a more - urban fantasy kind rp setting. That kinda fell apart as things do but they were the one I main-ed. Since then they've kinda become a different sort of character with a little more focus and a little less wool gathering. 

IRL I'm just a nerd hanging out with my partners and working on puzzles, obsessing over food, or working on some fiber art project.  


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