Rawls, Dr. Vergil

[Guest]

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CASE FILE: Alchemist/Creig Militant

"We ran like vampires from a thousand burning suns."
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FULL NAME:
→ Dr. Vergil Rawls, PhD

AGE:
→ 41

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Indianapolis, Creta

RACE:
→ 1/2 Creig, 1/2 Cretan (occasionally claims that he was/is the chosen one of ancient Gelemortian lore, but this may or may not be refutable)

DEPARTMENT:
→ Creig Archaeology Department

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ April 3rd, 1972

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HEIGHT:
→ 5' 11"

WEIGHT:
→ 13st 6lbs/188lbs

PICTURE:
→

Vergil:

→

Tammy:

DESCRIPTION:
→ The good doctor stands at 5' 11" high with a toned and athletic body from many years of scaling ruins, and, in earlier life, climbing up trees and scaring the shit out of his parents. He is not overtly muscular, but strong enough for his job - or simply strong enough, he would insist - without being a steroids freak.

As an aging archaeologist, having just broke forty and gotten "over the hill", so to speak - a fact that Tamara likes to consistently remind him of, calling him "old man" frequently - his hair is beginning to grey at the roots, but consistently still possesses a light-black sheen. Usually it is close-cut and spiky at the edges, with an au naturale bedhead look that Vergil actually obtains by sleeping and occasionally forgetting to shower.

Vergil possesses a pair of striking and circular dark brown eyes, slightly larger than average. They of, specifically, a deep hazel tone, and rather nice to look at, might one add; his brows are usually well-trimmed as he knows certain women despise great big bushy caterpillar eyebrows, and a rolled cigarette is usually often seen hanging from his mouth, quite often limply due to his consistent being in a rush. Vergil also has what some would describe as "eternal stubble" - never is he seen completely clean-shaven, there's always some making of a beard - but never quite enough to be a described as a full-fledged piece of facial hair.

Dr. Rawls tends to wear, day-to-day, a a black suit with a grey shirt and a red tie, usually loosened for the "intense pressure" of his work and untucked, looking just scruffy enough for it to be charming and not completely messy. On his archaeological digs, Rawls tends to go for more casual attire to allow freedom of movement; dusty tan slacks, a tank top, and occasionally a jacket or a lab coat will do. Even in less-hospitable climates, Rawls always seems to wear thin clothing, which is somewhat strange, but he always asserts that he has a natural habituation to the cold. Maybe he's just insane.

Vergil speaks in a deep, baritone voice, gravelly from twenty-odd solid years of smoking, abusing his larynx on a day-to-day basis.

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PERSONALITY:
→ Vergil's a blast.

Between the ADD and the general absent-minded nature, some could say that his antics could get irritating, but this is nothing; several times, strained lab workers under his employ have quit in a very vocal and offensive manner purely for the fact that this man does not make sense. He shouts out random words pertaining to discoveries at any time, is in awe at such simple principles, yet can swallow intensely complex theories without batting an eyelid.

It has often been said around the workshop of the Creig Archaeological Department that IBM's Watson supercomputer is only the second most complex and exasperatingly non-understandable mechanical structure of all time, with Dr. Vergil Rawls' brain being the second. Some of his actions seemingly have no connection with any form of logic whatsoever, and it seems that he is something of a goofy idiot savant, often, whilst working on the latest design for a universal skeleton key or something morally shady like that, he will accidentally set his lab coat on fire, yet somehow escape unscathed.

This brings us to the next point: Vergil Rawls' insane luck. Aside from the antics with his ex-wife, Vergil is seemingly unwitting of the fact that he will walk along a tightrope after seven men have deemed it impossible to cross, writing on his notepad, and manage to keep his footing the entire time. It's these sorts of things that no-one seems to be able to comprehend and that bemuse people entirely - he can get away with some of the most ridiculous things, and somehow is totally unaware of it.

That said, Dr. Rawls is a very learned and competent man (sometimes), with a consistent and confident smile on his face. Vergil loves to laugh, and it's this which buffers his blissfully ignorant yet perfectly appealing charisma. He's a very friendly man, consistently laid back in ninety-nine percent of cases and consistently difficult to aggravate or efficiently antagonise. That said, certain things will grate on him - but why dwell on the negative? After all, it's the positive that Rawls cares about.

Some of his habits are slightly less-than-correct, such as the occasional "misread" on the inventory list collected from the dig which appropriates his habitual kleptomania. Rawls joined this business because, basically, he likes shiny things (alongside ancient lore and all that crap), and is a human magpie, so he figures, having made some of the greatest archaeological breakthroughs in the entire world in the past two decades, or at least having had a hand in them, he occasionally deserves to take the odd item home to add to his collection. For this reason, there is a "trophy room" in his house which is triple-locked at all times, which few people have seen, and fewer people have escaped from alive.

When he or, god forbid, his kin, are seriously threatened, any potential assailants will find that Vergil Rawls' lackadaisical and aloof attitude can very much be just an attitude, and he will determinedly and efficiently ensure that no-one will hurt him, his friends, or his daughter. If there's one thing Vergil can take seriously, it's that in the absence of his wife, it's his family, and other people. Self-defense is a requirement for any father: and like any human being, bend him far enough and he'll strain to the point that he can become almost ruthless, but this is very difficult. Like any father, there are a handful of circumstances where he will take action, but he can think of two that have arisen in the past ten years.

Vergil's sanity has been doubted at points where he has claimed to be the chosen, enlightened, and prophetic "seeker" of Gelemortian lore, and rather casually to boot. No-one can find any such mention of a "seeker" in any historical Gelemortian texts of any time period, but when this is brought to him, he waves it off and simply tells them to "look harder". Either he's unearthed a great secret that none are privy to, or his mind is deteriorating at a surprising rate. Ask him about this and he will the nature of his "enlightened" status and this "divine choice" as if you were discussing the best coffee shop in Dublin. When pressed about the details of this claim he will clam up completely, and the same about the events of a shady archaeological dig a few hundred miles of the coast of Gelemorte in the 90s.

On the whole, Vergil is calm, laid-back, personable, cheerful, charismatic, and a bit of a goofball, but intelligent, generally lucky, and somehow consistently remains an archaeological genius, and one of the 'greatest minds of our age'.

Even if that mind does think that the human it belongs to is an Gelemortian prophet.


LOVE:
→ Digging, shiny things, archaeology, spider monkeys, money, nice suits, fedora hats, sudoku, when everything goes to plan, lost ruins, ancient ruins, Gavin (good guy), making things up as he goes, learning languages, Tammy, ancient artifacts, smoking, video games, books

HATE:
→ Snakes, terrible movie endings, bullwhips, having to use his gun, teaching, boulders, traps, Amestrian militants, uniforms, school, college, lists, wearing glasses, his eyesight, textbooks

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ His wife left him and his daughter because of his obsessive nature with his work. Since then, he has had to cope as a single parent, but deals with it just fine and is, by any definition of the word, a very good dad.
→ That he has been chosen as the Gelemortian seeker of hidden ███████ lore to ...clearance level below required standard. DATA REDACTED.

IDOL:
→ Yes, all of them. Preferably golden.

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HISTORY:
→ A large amount of Vergil Rawls' life history is for some reason tentatively ambiguous, but the facts are as follows.

Vergil Rawls was born in Indianapolis in 1972 to parents Mariah (née O'Connor) and Kent Rawls. Mariah was an up-and-coming existential philosopher who had studied under Jean-Paul Sartre in his later years, and Kent himself was an independent paleontological authority who worked around London.

Vergil's birth to two (albeit wealthy) parents who were disconnected from life each in their own different obsessions - Mariah with the future, and Kent with the past - was by some objectively viewed as a tragedy, but by most seen as the seed for a genius' true blossoming. He had no brothers, no sisters, and, for the most part, no parents to play with, so Vergil Rawls lost himself in the depths of his own imagination. He constructed his own adventures, racing around in ruins constructed of cushions and pillow forts, and this behaviour was consistent to an almost odd age - even by the time he was on the cusp of his teen years, Vergil was still allowing himself to become totally absorbed in false memories he created through painting, writing, sculpting - by any stretch of the imagination a talented and creative mind.

His parents took his education very seriously, and thus he went to some of Indianapolis' best private-funded institutions through his childhood, never staying in a school for more than a year; and whilst the other children seemed to see school as a drag, for him, it was just a way of extending his canvas when it came to imagination. Expanding what he knew expanded what he could implement in his daydreams and adventures as he smiled blissfully off into the sky.

At around the age of 15, Vergil, with his parents' permission - his mother at best skeptical to rival his father's true enthusiasm - took on an Archaeology course after-hours at school. The professor, one he had for History class during the day, was one of the most compelling. That much he knew already; but that first Archaeology lesson changed things forever for Vergil.

Archaeology was not the study of humanity nor the study of unearthing mythical history; to him, it was the study of unearthing the imagination of civilisations past. So many people working interconnected had painted these cave drawings of mystical creatures, the existence of which was dubious at best, but never disproved... of legions of clay men, or demons that lived in rivers or behind waterfalls; and with that he saw the light, and everything opened up for him.

Mouth agape, Vergil sat through every Archaeology class for six months like no other he'd ever experienced, absorbing every word - in entirety - that came from his professor's mouth. And once the course finished, Vergil couldn't help but find himself wanting more; his imagination had been expanded, and now the writing, the painting, the sculpting couldn't sate it - nothing could. He just needed to learn more about other people, and what they had thought, and created.

Ancient literature served to tide him over, and occasional visits to art galleries; his parents were absolutely ecstatic that their boy was taking such an interest in the creativity of eras past (his father moreso than his mother) and it came of no surprised when he said he wanted to study Archaeology at university. It did, however, come as a surprise when he told them that he wanted to eventually study it to doctorate level, and in a university outside of Creta.

It raised some eyebrows, and they assured Vergil he wouldn't have a PhD in Archaeology until he was at least thirty, but he had no problem with that; eventually everything was finalised, and wet-nosed Vergil Rawls traveled to Cork, in Carraig, the land of his mother, where he studied at the university, and promptly finished his undergraduate degree a year early. After that, he continued on for a Masters, and passed that with flying colours.

It was then that an archaeological institute in Dublin promised to sponsor him a full scholarship for a part-time doctorate - provided he did six years' work with them. Being the son of the great paleontological consultant, Kent Rawls, and apparently an archaeological prodigy, this was an opportunity everyone was vying for. Vergil was considering it until he saw that the course would have six months of every year abroad working on excavations and dig sites.

Then he knew he was going to take it.

The next six years were incredible for Vergil; not only did he get some of the greatest field experience he could have asked for, he explored some of the most legendary ruins of all time: a fallen shrine found underground off the coast of Xing, old Creig burial tombs, one of the potential sites for the creation of Excalibur - he even traveled to the land of Gelemorté where they took a week with an offshoot anthropological study of Doe'ann culture.

And not only that, he met the woman who would later become the love of his life, Miriam Hoult, Cretan anthropological student who traveled with the expedition as part of her four-year course from Oxford in Creta. The pair of them were a perfect match with their intellectual games to keep the pair of them entertained through every overnight ship journey (amongst other things, of course). Vergil was in paradise.

In the year 2000, Vergil graduated from the University of Cork with his PhD at the age of 28, widely recognised as an archaeological prodigy for the work he'd done on those expeditions, the artifacts he'd uncovered, and the way in which he tied certain things together. On the third year, he - a student - had made team leader for the next three without a single argument from his crew. No longer was he Mr. Rawls, but now Dr. Rawls. Dr. Rawls of archaeology. He celebrated that night by going out to dinner with his girlfriend, Miriam - and made the day one of two very big events.

He proposed. The ring in the champagne glass was a first. The pair of them spent six months doing nothing, Miriam having graduated a couple of years prior, two years junior to her fiancé, the good doctor, and likewise possessing a Masters. In 2001, they were married, and though things were tough with the pair of them both shooting off to various corners of the globe so often for work, they always had time for each other. And then in 2006, the pair of them both growing older and wealthier with very prosperous qualifications and jobs each, in spite of their perpetual childlike romance, a small baby bump came along. Nine months later, Tamara Jade Rawls was born in one of "the most flawless births the hospital has ever seen", as a quote from the midwife.

But from there on there came trouble in paradise.

With the child, Miriam abandoned her work as she had said she would to raise Tammy. Vergil continued to provide for the family, but his consistent five-day-a-week absence left his wife feeling lonely and neglected, not to mention jealous that he had been allowed to continue his prosperous career whereas she had been forced to abandon her for her child.

She was growing older and less jaded than she had been as a child, barely a little girl falling into Vergil's arms. And his daydreaming immaturity was slowly growing far too much for her to take. She was spending all her time alone with a gargling toddler so her husband could continue to follow his dreams with a constant shine in his eyes and that desperately idiotic grin. Yes, she was envious of his comparative freedom. And two years down the line she felt like she'd had enough of that, five days a week, every week, for fifty-two weeks a year.

So without so much as a note on the fridge, one day, Vergil woke up to Tamara's gargling to find that half of the clothes in their wardrobe had disappeared, half of the suitcases had gone, half of the books in the shelf - even half of the money in his bank account, though that was less than desperate. There weren't even divorce papers pinned to the kitchen table. Just one thing left. A single golden wedding band. Traditional Aerugese. That had nine years ago sat at the bottom of that champagne glass that had begun it all.

But Vergil wasn't angry that he'd been left; no, for the doctor was a man not of anger but creativity. He realised and accepted that he'd done Miriam wrong, but there was no point chasing after her. At least she'd left Tamara; and in that, he could begin to try and pay both his ex-wife and his child back for what he'd done. He held his toddler daughter close and promised her he'd never let her go like he had again.

For the next three years, Tamara and Vergil were inseperable. At five, like any other child, Tammy started school, naturally shining - just like her dad - but after every day, he'd pick her up and take her back to the office, where she was always welcome, and always happy to be. Her father was fair, letting her decide what she wanted to do, but every time, she just wanted to be with him.

Life as a single parent was tough, especially when he had to continually take breaks to ferry Tam over to the digs every day and sit her down and explain why they had to eat Chinese food in the car every night, but his little soldier never faltered; she was just like him. Kaleidoscope eyes, rose-tinted glasses. Could see the silver lining in everything. That cheerful bubbliness that reminded him of a young boy playing in the dirt and building pillow forts. She was nutty, imaginative, and with a defiant streak a mile wide. But he could see himself in her, and she loved to hold the brushes and dust off the little flecks of shattered china and rusted metal, just like he did.

With a mother or without one, she'd grow up just fine.

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TRIVIA:
→ Has a PhD in Archaeological Science and an Honours in Anthropological Studies, both from the University of Cork. And he will always talk about them. Both of them. All the time.
→ Has a six year old daughter, Tamara. Calls her Tammy or Tam.
→ His wife, Miriam, ran away four years ago, and Vergil hasn't heard from her since.
→ Rolls his own cigarettes as a habit.
→ Owns glasses, and needs them, but almost never wears them.
→ Speaks Creig (palegold), Cretan (crimson) Xingese (Yi Dialect) (palepurple), and Aerugese (Kansaiben Dialect) (skyblue). Through archaeological shenanigans and the investigation of various ruins and such, he knows (usually hilariously) broken/fragmented Tiberian (gold), Samaltaan (forestgreen), Ishvallan (tan), and Lokhyn (salmon).
→ Has mild Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Predominantly Innatentive (ADHD-PI). Colloquially, this is often branded as ADD, but that's incorrect.

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ALIAS:
→ Ross

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Ayden Derocha, Thaddeus Lawes XXVI, Calvin J. Knox and Zen Howler.

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ Personal reflection, I feel like this app is possibly the best one I have ever written. Ever.
→ Points: Take them from Calvin.
→ For Aki and Andrea.

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]PERSONA 4[/b]/[i]Doujima Ryoutarou[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ X MARKS THE SPOT

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ Excavator - The Excavator Alchemist

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[Csilla Angelis]

{APPROVED}

"Snakes. Why does it have to be snakes?!"