InsaneJournal

User:

littleslugger (443322)

View all userpics

Name:

Angel Jaivin Gutierrez

E-mail:

sunset_skye@hotmail.com

Bio:

All around me are familiar faces,
Worn out places, worn out faces;

Name: Angel Jaivin Gutierrez
Nickname: Slugger
Birthday: November 19, 1994
Age: 14
Handwriting: Here.
Manner of Speech: Very obvious Hispanic accent. Angel is not very good at language, and thus his speech is a jumbled combination of broken English and slightly less broken Spanish.

Bright and early for the daily races,
Going nowhere, going nowhere;

Height: 4'10"
Weight: 108 lb.
Build: Average, a little bit underweight. Reasonably muscled for a boy his age.
Eye Color: Dark brown.
Hair Color: Brown.
Dress Style: Baggy cargo shorts, hoodies, t-shirts, and baseball caps, complete with various pins and ratty tennis shoes.
Possessions Usually Found on Person: Baseball bat and cap, rollerblades.
Identifying Marks: Curly hair, small-ish stature, golden baseball bat and rollerblades.

The tears are filling up their glasses,
No expression, no expression;

Birthplace: New York City - Bronx, New York.
Parents: Nina Gutierrez, unknown.
Financial Status: Poor.
Current Home: An alley.
Notable Possessions: A baseball bat, and rollerblades.
Family and Personal History: The story's beginning is not particularly glamorous, nor is it particularly special or unique. Nina Gutierrez was a native Puerto Rican with a pretty face and a glum future. When all she had to look forward to in life was a husband [hopefully employed] and a yard full of children, the arrival of an attractive stranger was a welcome reprieve. The few weeks spent with her foreign knight ended far too soon, and she was mourning the dimness of her life while her lover flew back to his home in America.

Two months later, certain test results came back positive.

That fateful double line was something of a motivator in Nina's life. Once the word got out of her debauchery, her chances of being respected in their small community were slim. Slimmer yet, would be the possibility of her father not throwing her out on the street. As many were prone to do when backed into a corner, Nina ran. Gathering all of her savings, her possessions, and whatever else she could carry, Nina hopped a miserable boat to the US, determined to find her lover and the father of her child.

Unlike the fairy tale cliché she was living, after braving the wretched sea conditions, Nina never did find the man she set out to track down. His name too generic, New York too big of a city--Nina was left alone, four months pregnant, jobless, and quickly running out of funds.

Several legal issues abounded and prevented Nina from much opportunity. She took shelter in a women's home, and it was there that she gave birth to her son, Angel Jaivin Gutierrez. The going was hard, but lackluster searching awarded her a job as a waitress in a crummy bar, and work that was fueled by exhaustion itself rewarded her with enough savings to rent an apartment by the time her son was two.

There was nothing traumatic about being poor that could have influenced Angel's growing up. While most children would regard a vermin-infested rat-hole, a shell of a mother, and little-to-no finances as unfortunate, confining, scarring, Angel viewed it as a blessing. With nothing to live up to, he was free to behave as he pleased. No higher-ups to impress, no parents to worry about--the people at his run-down elementary school didn't even care enough to make any sort of a fuss when he skipped nearly every day. Angel formulated his pre-adolescent life of innocent crime and misbehaviour free of correction, procuring toys by stealing from others, and entertaining himself as he so desired. It was a young boy's haven, and a tired mother's hell.

One day, when Angel was thirteen, he stood in his mother's doorway and looked at the woman who had anything but raised him. He really looked at her, with attention paid closely to her dull, brown eyes, the lines creasing her face, the corners of her mouth which seemed to melt down her jaw, the slump of her shoulders that never disappeared, even when her arms were raised. Her hair was grey, though she was barely older than thirty. Almost pragmatical, in a manner far beyond his years and maturity, Angel looked his mother in the eye, and with clear, brightly-spoken words, inquired of her: "Mama, ¿tienes feliz?"

Nina need offer no form of answer, for her son had known before he asked the question. The way she stared at him, too worn out to do more than slump--just like she always did. Slump. Through work, without play, through the nights and the mornings, through holidays and birthdays and summer heat and winter frost, she slumped through her life as if there was nothing left to stand for.

In a spiraling, inevitable cloister of fate, Nina Gutierrez had been forced against a wall, cornered by life and all of its bountiful misgivings. There was no escape for her; she realized this now, in the twilight of her single, final, monstrous failure to escape from nothingness. Dawning reality had stolen Nina's hope, and with it, her will.

Her job was taxing.

The rent was late.

Angel was a mess.

They were alone.

She was trapped.

Inexplicable knowing was what drove Angel to reach behind him into the hallway, to close his fist around the handle of the tarnished metal baseball bat, to pull it forth, step into the room. Angel looked his mother in the eye, and as he lifted the bat, smiled wide.

That night, Nina Gutierrez was battered within an inch of her life. She was never discovered by potential aid, and did not even make it to a hospital before dying two blocks away from her building, after attempting to seek out help herself. When they found her body the next morning, she was a nameless woman, without legal papers or explanation of death. Faceless, by means of the law. Unimportant and poor--the only reason they investigated her case was due to the foreign nature of her murder.

That night, Angel Gutierrez took off with nothing but his clothing, a pair of rollerblades, and a metal bat sporting a large dent that had resulted from the accidental collision with a bureau during a particularly vigorous swing. He ran, not particularly scared, but intelligent enough to be wary of his situation.

He hadn't killed her. Helped end her life, surely, but in Angel's mind, he had set her free. Free, in the way that he was. No more work, no more rent, no more child, no more loneliness--none of the bars that kept her cowering in the dank, merciless cell. Now his mother could understand the same release he felt every time he neglected class in the morning. Every time he did something worth punishment and got off without a scab. Every item he had lifted, law he had broken, misdeed he had undertaken, even as one so young. Nina had lived her life to give him freedom, and now he had returned the same to her. He had saved her.

Unfortunately, the cops would not see it in quite the same light.

Angel laid low for a while, living off the skills he had built up for fun in previous years. Existing in the city was surprisingly easy, he found, and it was a wonder that he had never attempted it before. Certainly, he would have freed his mother sooner and taken to the streets before this point if he had known how convenient it was.

Despite his rather lax approach to moral restrictions, never had Angel been particularly prone to violence. The incident with his mother was the first significant event he could remember, and after that there was nothing that arose in which fighting was necessary.

Not until, at least...

It had to be past midnight when he was rolling along the streets, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, bat hanging innocently, scraping the ground from time to time. There, hidden under the shadow of city damp, the howling wail of a woman reached his ears. Perplexed, and enticed, in some odd way that he didn't quite understand, Angel had sought out the source of the sound. He located her--bent double, against a muddy curb, sobbing in some sort of agony. With some sort of sadistic empathy, Angel realized she was terrified.

Terrified. Trapped.

Each sob had the ring of hopelessness in it. He knew without knowing her at all that she was in a bad situation, weakened and frail, one that would very likely get worse. It was the same way he had known about his mother.

With deliberate guile, Angel rolled slowly in her direction, stopping only a few feet before her, and asked the immortal words: Are you happy?

The empty look the woman gave him, confused, as she did not understand his Spanish, was almost one of disbelief. She didn't know what he was saying, but anyone who did would have found the mere idea of him asking a sobbing woman about her level of cheer was ridiculous in and of itself. The bat was heavy in Angel's hand, and its weight told him that he needn't ask anymore.

All it took was one swing to deliver her.

Following that incident, it seemed that Angel's eyes had been opened to all the suffering around him. If he could save his mother, if he could save the stranger he had met on the curb, why not others?

His bat was far too bloodstained to suit his new purpose. The next morning, he shoplifted a can of golden spray paint, which he used to renew his worn weapon, and his rollerblades, just for good measure. [Though he did have a few problems with the wheels sticking after that.] Angel's mission began with children's toys and a city full of suffering. He realized, decided, epiphanized that it was his duty to free those who had been forced into a corner, people who had nowhere else to turn, who were slowly becoming desperate. Angel knew them when he saw them, and his judgment was swift and merciful.

While Angel was creating his purpose, he was also inadvertently creating something else, in its wake. Repeated drive-by [or roll-by] attacks, all performed in the same fashion, were a cause for alarm in a country that lived for the surging ecstasy of panic. He didn't always kill his victims--sometimes, instinct told him that it was not right, and they still had life left after their delivery. It was this that gave witness accounts of the young boy ['no older than an elementary schooler!' as some claimed,] who hunted atop golden roller blades, wielding a crooked bat. The mysterious hit-and-run assailant. Face covered by the lip of a baseball cap, all most saw was the bone-shivering grin before their world went black.

All too soon, they were on to him.

Being small, quick, and strong from constant physical activity, Angel was able to avoid the cops for some time. His imminent capture occurred one night when he decided to attack the wrong victim. Despite his charm with a weapon, and the innate ability to catch folks off-guard, a fourteen-year-old boy was no match for the strength of a full-grown man. When a hit didn't land as it should have, and the target readjusted himself, Angel knew he had made a mistake. Running was no use, and he very quickly felt what it was like to receive blunt trauma to the head.

Waking up in the hospital was unpleasant to the extreme. Locked down, regarded with shock--could this child really be the violent attacker who had committed chains of unexplained assault? Angel tried to explain, irritably, that he had not killed them, he had freed them, but nobody ever understood.

It was rather quickly decided upon that he was obviously dangerous, and needed correction.

A visit to a psychologist informed nervous followers of his case that the boy was showing convincing evidence of being a sociopath, and was subsequently sent to the best estate in the business:

Cheshire Crossings.

In the end, Angel's fame was fortunate for him [--though he would disagree strongly.] His lack of legal registration or paperwork was compensated for, by sheer dumb luck resulting from the magnitude of his case. Obviously, he had been abandoned. Clearly this was a situation where a child had had no other guidance and was severely in need of help. Nobody listened when he tried to tell them that nothing was wrong with him. "My mother didn't abandon me," he would insist, trying to make words clear through his failed understanding of the English language. It was the first time in his life when he had wished for competence in language, something he had never before desired in school. Even as a Spanish speaker, his grammar was riddled with error and his handwriting atrocious. Angel was not prone to frustration, maintaining a natural relaxation as part of his personality, but the indecency of being ignored was more than enough to ruffle his feathers.

No amount of yelling for them to leave him be could dissuade the troupes as he was marched to his personal circle of hell. Forced into a rotten situation, for the first time in his life Angel would truly learn what it meant to suffer the repercussions of one's behaviour. One thing could be certain, however--he wasn't going down without a fight.

Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow;

Personality: Angel approaches the world with a very childlike outlook on life. Simplistic, in a way, where he believes that big problems can be rectified with very simple solutions. Whether it's due to his upbringing, or just part of his nature, Angel has no concept of accountability. He has never been able to understand the idea of being held responsible for one's actions, punishment, even law he finds unnecessary. Living without rules makes survival somewhat complex, but Angel has youth and cunning on his side--coupled with agility and speed, getting out of scrapes is almost seen as fun, to some extent.

It might be fair to say that Angel came out of the womb possessing a need for loneliness and privacy. Never one to seek out friendship or camaraderie, he tolerates it when it comes about, but Angel always maintains a secretive manner about his personal business. Luck was on his side when it handed him his otherwise unfortunate cards, because without much supervision, Angel upholds a secret agenda to the best of his ability. Like any sociopath, he finds authority rather constraining, and will do whatever he can to avoid or defy it.

There are not many things that can get under Angel's skin. For a kid, he is surprisingly relaxed and unconcerned. Being overlooked and oppressed are things that can raise his ire, but his easygoing nature helps keep his head cool in most situations. Despite acting rather serious for his age, Angel is not exempt from his moments of childishness. He's not been unknown to cry, but it only happens when he's particularly shaken up, which in and of itself is not a common occurrence. One of a strong opinion might maintain that Angel's entire life is immature acting out, but he prefers to think of himself as having immature "moments," like any other normal child. Tantrums, stumbles, lapses of sanity and general tricks of the prepubescent trade mark their once-in-a-while spots on Angel's calendar.

Angel would like to think he views relationships objectively, when in actuality he is rather amused by them. He has none, desires none, and has never felt any strong inclination for human companionship. Though he might have been expected, therefore, to like animals at the very least, Angel has zero interest in either living being. His relation to the world is purely connected through the broad side of his bat.
Outwardly: Generally good-natured, if not somewhat disturbing to be around. Prone to exaggerated grinning. Skilled with avoidance, without being too obvious about it.
Inwardly: Despite being very private regarding his personal business, Angel doesn't make a habit of hiding what's inside. Most of what he shows is how he feels.
First Impression: Weird, creepy, foreign kid.
Quirks/Habits/Mannerisms: Angel has a habit of tapping on things when he gets into any state of excitement; usually this involves scraping his bat along the ground, or knocking the edge against something. When his bat is not available, tapping his feet, or nails against a hard surface are also common. With so many problems with language, most of Angel's communication tends to involve inarticulate noises and gestures.
Likes: Roaming, exploration, baseball, rollerblading, urban legends, freedom, attention.
Dislikes: Authority, school, writing, linguistics, contradictions, being ignored.
Strengths: Sports and other physical activities. Independent.
Weaknesses: Not particularly good at strategizing or thinking things through, as his intelligence is average. Very bad at following any sort of rule.

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had;

Disorders: - Messiah Complex,
- [Potential] Antisocial Personality Disorder
Introvert/Extrovert: Introvert.
Pessimist/Optimist: Neither.
Faith: Brought up Catholic, with no particular faith of his own. Only real belief lies in himself as a saviour.
Linguistics: Barely fluent Spanish, weak English.
Eyesight: Excellent.
Hearing: Normal.
Left/Right/Ambi: Right handed.
Disabilities: None.
Drinks/Smokes: Neither.
Physical Health: Fit, strong for his size, but due to his living he is slightly malnourished.
Relationship status: Nonexistent.
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual, if anything.
Past Relationships: None of which to speak.
Best Friends: None.
Friends: None.
Enemies: None.

I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles it's a very, very...

Story Lines</b>

The Sagi Tsukiko. [open, f]

The Maromi. [open, m/f].

The Maniwa Mitsuhiro. [open, m]

The Ikari Keiichi. [open, m]

The Ikari Misae. [open, f]

The Makoto Kozuka. [open, m]

... Mad World.

PROFILE CODES FROM

tomorrow_brings.

Schools:

None listed

Friends:

	80:	_clockwork, a_lost_wolf, all_will_burn, allwaysmyways, angryjohnny, beast_prince, bookwormbeauty, boyneedstherapy, brianthedog, broken_doll, bunny_slippers, cheshiremods, cheshirenpc, deliriumwriting, diddlediddle, disregarded, door, edisjust, empathykills, exmeusmens, fallingskies, gentlearcher, giventhesun, glitter_god, got_no_strings, greg_housemd, hibernal, his_snotface, hitmehardjack, i_am_the_alpha, i_can_handle_it, justafool, lackofheart, lisac, little_lotte, littleslugger, lokiofden, lonelydagmar, loveisred, lpevensie, lucy_westenra, mad__cat, madashats, marching_hare, marionetic, medicalflowers, needs_an_alibi, neverduplicated, noimthedoctor, normalagain, notaglitch, notamother, of_mirkwood, penanced, perry__cox, petitleprince, red_hot_swami, sandwich_day, silvereye, spiritusimmunde, standarsh, stonewall, stuffedwithfluf, tabbysmeltdown, the_jabberwocky, the_sin_trade, theshockmethod, thewholeshebang, thinkology, timetooswift, toomuchpressure, towel_and_me, toyesterday, treacle_well, trunksbriefs, warriorprince, whitedove, wolf_athe_door, xeroxedcotton, yellow__bricks
	4:	ccrpg, preeverafter, spindlesend, wondersland

Friend of:

167: 6_six_vi, _clockwork, a_lost_wolf, aching_hour, alienatings, all_will_burn, allhailtheking, allwaysmyways, amifyouplease, angelofnowhere, angryjohnny, aur0n0m0re, backtoearth, beast_prince, bebop_ed, bitchisback, blanchedwhite, bookwormbeauty, boyneedstherapy, brianthedog, broken_doll, brokenmodel, buddy_the_elf, bunny_slippers, burdening, cajun_secours, chaotic_villain, chenille, cheshiremods, chiquitasirena, cptnharkness, criesforblood, deliriumwriting, deutschebasterd, diddlediddle, die_laughing, dontcallmebitch, door, draggedfromhell, drawn_that_way, drburke, dreamerbea, duly_noted, edisjust, empathykills, environmentally, fallingskies, forever_yuna, frostedheart, fullcure, gentlearcher, girlprince, giventhesun, glitter_god, got_no_strings, gravelysilent, greg_housemd, harleyquinnade, herr_doktor, hibernal, his_snotface, hitmehardjack, i_am_the_alpha, i_can_handle_it, itsineffable, justafool, justanecho, kairi_h_k, king_of_albion, lackofheart, ladyguin, little_lotte, littlebluelight, littleslugger, lokiofden, lonelydagmar, losthings, loveisred, lpevensie, lucy_westenra, mad__cat, madreason, maidenhood, marching_hare, marionetic, medicalflowers, messtomass, missthornberry, monkey_boi, monsieurerik, muninn, mygirlsname, needs_an_alibi, neverduplicated, noble_stargazer, nobody_roxas, noimthedoctor, normalagain, notaglitch, notamother, obsessing, of_amphipolis, of_mirkwood, ofmirthandmerry, once_delight, one__shot, onlyoliver, penanced, pentaquint, perry__cox, petitleprince, pigmaiden, puer_aeternus, purpletube, pyroshock, quirkygenius, red_hot_swami, royallystupid, sandwich_day, se7eneves, selectlymute, sendamessage, seraphicdream, sewingshadows, sexyheels, shadowofwander, siifyouplease, snotflicker, spacevalentine, spiritusimmunde, standarsh, stconnor, stmurphy, stolethequeen, stonewall, stuffedwithfluf, stupored, tabbysmeltdown, tallowdrops, tearstoshed, that_jones_boy, the_jabberwocky, the_sin_trade, thehappygoth, theodorehatter, theonlydaughter, theshockmethod, thewholeshebang, thexlamb, thinasdeath, ...

Member of:

4: ccrpg, preeverafter, spindlesend, wondersland

Account type:

Free Patient

(more details...)