InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "my spleen hurts"

Randall James Calloway (powerplay) wrote,
@ 2009-01-11 14:20:00

Can't get the stink off, he's been hanging round for days;

Name: Randall James Calloway, Jr.
Nickname: Randy.
Name Origin:"Randall" is an old German name meaning "wolf shield". "James" is of English origin and refers to "one who supplants", or schemes to take the place of another. "Calloway" is an old English name with connotations of war and battle.
Birthday: September 25th, 1986
Age: 22
Handwriting: here.
Manner of Speech: Briefly put, Randy nearly always mutters. He can be very difficult to understand, as he will often toy with his face while he speaks, sometimes impeding what little sound comes from his lips. He is very quiet, and speaks in an almost halting way, so that if you want to really get what he's saying, you have to shut up and give him a minute. He gets there eventually, but it's no quick journey.

Comes like a comet, suckered you but not your friends;

Height: 6' 1/2"
Weight: 165
Build: Lean, a little more muscular than not.
Eye Color: Bright blue.
Hair Color: Honey blond.
Dress Style: Since he is mostly accustomed to prison garb, Randy doesn't particularly pay close attention to his dress style.It tends to be jeans and t-shirts, hoodies, etc.
Possessions: Whatever few things he managed to hoard in prison were lost in the shuffle when he moved to Cheshire. He will probably amass some possessions over time, right now he's just grateful to have his journal and a pen.
Home: Ramona, California
Parents: Randall Calloway, Sr. (deceased) and Eileen Calloway.
Siblings: None.
Financial Status: Mother is lower-middle class. Randy himself has nothing.
History: Randall James Calloway Jr. was born September 25th, 1987. It was a fairly humble beginning - his mother Eileen was an elementary school teacher, his father Randall Sr., a brick mason. The had a house, but it was small, just barely big enough for the three of them, squeezed between two larger houses with bigger yards in the small California city of Ramona. In an effort to spend more time with her new son, Eileen resigned her position with the school, which left Randall Sr. as the sole income provider. He didn't mind; he took a few extra contracts and Eileen clipped coupons, and at the end of each month, the bills were generally paid.

Young Randy loved his mother very much, but like most little boys, he possessed a special adoration for his father. The elder Randall was a large man with hair like a flame and eyes the color of summer grass. His face was kind, laugh infectious, and when he pulled his boy into a hug or tossed him up on his shoulders, his hands were rough with labor. The moment the elder Randall came home from work, no matter the stresses of his day, the house was instantly suffused with his energy, his laughter, his life. He would kiss his wife, tickle and wrestle his boy, and later, when dinner was finished and the dishes were dried and put away, he would read aloud to his son until none of them could keep their eyes open anymore. Randall Sr. was an avid lover of books, and he communicated this love to Randy with gusto, so that the boy was reading well before he entered school, ingesting his father's love of words with an insatiable appetite, the product of a fierce love.

Of course, they say that the good die young, and the happiness of the little family certainly couldn't go on forever. When Randy was just eight years old, his father was involved in a horrible accident on the site where he was working. He spent a few days in intensive care, but in the end, there was simply nothing to be done, and no doctor could save him. Randy's mother received a fairly generous settlement, which allowed her to pay off the house and support the two of them for a few years, but if it was going to last, she needed to work. So she resumed her job at the elementary school, as much for her own distraction as for the meager but adequate paycheck it provided.

Needless to say, Randy did not fare well after his father's death. His grades (which had always consisted of a smattering of A's and B's) dropped dramatically, he began acting out in class, and perhaps most troubling, he stopped reading. The boy had shelved upon shelves of books but refused to read any of them, and in fact, would barely be forced to flip through a magazine. The school suggested therapy, but they couldn't really afford it, and so his mother begged him to stop acting out and to talk to her if he felt bad, and though he didn't do either for very long, he at least tried.

As he grew older, Randy's behavior mellowed slightly, and it seemed as though he were just the stereotypical teenage male; a little wild, a little reckless, a little stupid, but nothing to worry about, right? Except that Randy was always just a step worse than the other boys, just a step worse than anyone expected, and that step, in the end, would make all the difference. While everyone else was coercing older friends and relative to buy booze for their graduation parties, Randy was saving up to buy a pound of weed. The only person who knew of this plot was his girlfriend at the time. He broke up with her a few weeks before the graduation ceremony and, in a fit of vengeance, revealed the information to her new boyfriend, who promptly convinced her to call the cops. They found a pound of marijuana in his locker, and Randy was charged with his first felony.

Eighteen and full of the invincibility of youth, Randy shook it off and, about six months later, went down to Tijuana with his best friend to drink and generally party. It was a wild weekend, full of enough stories to last for years of parties, enough alcohol to lessen the sting of humiliation of girls who weren't really girls. When they finally left for home, the boys were pulled over for Randy's broken tail light. The cop noticed the empty beer can on the floor, which prompted them to search the car, which led them to the stash of pot, which led Randy to his second criminal possession charge.

About a year later, at about twenty years old, Randy was living in an apartment in Ramona, barely scraping by as a clerk in a gas station, all available money going to support the partying he and his friends had become accustomed to. During one of their loud, boisterous parties, a neighbor called the cops, a move that resulted in the arrest of several of the partygoers, and a citation for Randy. The boy was mad, the friends were made, but whereas they would only sit around and complain about the intrusion, Randy would take the extra step. Randy would do something. A few weeks later, once the proverbial dust had settled, Randy bought a few cans of spray paint and took them to his neighbor's car to teach the man a lesson.

But he didn't just spraypaint the car, he got carried away, broke out the windows, spraypainted the seats. The car was a Mercedes. The damage was over $5,000.00. It became a third felony, and with the three-strikes California justice system, Randy was sent to prison for twenty-five years. In denial and absolutely reeling, Randy was led to his cell, a tiny space with two beds, a toilet, and a sink, all of it to be shared with another man.

Hence, the nightmare began.

Prison in an of itself was abhorrent. Prison with Randy's room mate, Jake, was a never ending cycle of physical and psychological torture. The man was charismatic in a frenetic way, demanding that Randy talk to him, tell him things about himself, claiming to be in prison for slitting his wife's throat, claiming that he had no other choice. When the boy explained to him that he was in prison for spraypainting his neighbors car, Jake found it more than a little amusing, laughing before berating him for the stupidity of his actions, claiming that Randy deserved what he got and should have known better. His first night in that new place, Jake overpowered Randy, raped him mercilessly, and threw him to the floor. When Randy crawled under his bed to avoid Jake's eyes, hands, words, the other man pulled him out and demanded that he talk to him. Randy sat and listened to him talk with a dawning horror; he would be stuck with this man for up to twenty-five years, this merciless monster of a man, and there was no escape, and there was nothing that he could do to change his situation. He was stuck.

Jake, meanwhile, enjoyed toying with Randy, torturing him sexually, psychologically, and emotionally. He would degrade and abuse him and then tell him time and again that they were friends and that Randy's only chance to make it in prison was to stick by him. But what the man wasn't counting on was Randy's own ability to think, to fight back. Realizing that he was physically incapable of tempering the abuse, the younger man began to use what he knew of Jake to attempt to take control of the situation. It was a clash of two minds, two personalities, two spirits, and for nearly two years, the prisoners struggled against each other, fighting for dominance, Randy fighting for his sanity. occasionally, the abuse and torture would be more than Randy could feasibly handle, and Jake would wake up with a sharpened pencil pressed into his jugular, Randy wild-eyed and furious, but always, the man would be able to talk him down from this desperation, talk him into going to bed.

That was, until the night Randy snapped.

Jake had been particularly vengeful that day, not only raping Randy but beating him when he tried to resist, berating him with his words, humiliating him before the other inmates. Randy doesn't remember what happened that night, and only knows that when he came to, there were guards everywhere and Jake was crumpled on the floor, that sharpened pencil through his eye. But there was no time for relief; Randy was charged with murder, something that would have extended his sentence to life. But it was standard procedure to order a psychological evaluation, and in just a few sessions, the doctor had pronounced Randy to be extremely traumatized, that the murder was the product of a brief psychosis, that he needed help that the prison couldn't give him. After conferring with his mother, it was decided that Randy would serve the rest of his sentence in Cheshire Crossing.

One day he'll get to you, and teach you how to be a holy cow;

Personality: What most people don't realize, not anymore anyway, is that beneath that horribly shy exterior, Randy actually does posses a personality. He can be rather funny, a bit of a daredevil, likes to flaunt authority, and he is even fairly intelligent. It's a shame, then, that most of that gets overlooked. He can be very kind to people that he cares about, and has a soft spot for people who are nice to him, even if it's difficult for him to show it.

But Randy has a dark side as well. He can be manipulative and violent, a side that is mainly only seen when he is threatened, but he still possesses it. He carries so much rage and trauma inside of him, there's no question that he is capable of severe violence. Fortunately, it's so far beneath the surface, it's unlikely to come out...any time soon.
Outwardly: Randy is, in a phrase, painfully quiet. His lack of volume isn't painful in the traditional sense, but rather because it's overwhelmingly obvious that his mind isn't quiet at all. You can see the thoughts swimming behind his eyes with astonishing clarity, but all that comes out are a few mumbled phrases. It's difficult to tell how long it takes for this to change around people he feels he can trust, especially now, post-trauma, when trusting is rather unlikely at best. He is jumpy, visibly skittish, and very protective of his personal space.
Inwardly: A pressure cooker, a volcano, and a very terrified little boy, the inner workings of Randy Calloway are, at best, a tangled mess. He isn't a genius by any means, but he is certainly more intelligent than anyone gives him credit for. He often gets so lost in his own mind that he doesn't notice things that go on around him, in which case he will seem almost catatonic until someone attempts to approach him. Prison taught him to analyze the things that go on around him almost constantly. He is always, always suspicious of new people, though he has a much easier time speaking to women than men.
First Impression: Awkward, nervous, and more than anything else, scared as hell.
Quirks/Habits/Mannerisms: Any conversation with Randy is going to be rife with nervous tics. He will tuck his hair behind his ears, rub his lips, nose, and eyes, cover his mouth, wrap his arms around his waist, laugh nervously, clear his throat, etc.
Identifying Marks: One small black cross on his wrist, a few scars here and there, nothing terribly memorable.
Likes: Writing letters, reading (which he started up again in prison), drawing, observing people (from afar).
Dislikes: Men, prison food, talking about his past, highly energetic people.
Strengths: Randy is very smart and very observant. This gives him an edge in many situations where he would otherwise flounder. He used to have more strengths, more charisma, more confidence, but he's been stripped of all of that now.
Weaknesses: Where to begin? Despite being almost cripplingly shy, Randy has a very difficult time articulating his thoughts, especially around people that he doesn't know, or who make him uncomfortable. He also has an enormous amount of repressed rage, which makes him somewhat of a time bomb. He has a very difficult time connecting or relating to other people, and when he does, he has a tendency to become overly dependent.

You do it to yourself, and that's what really hurts;

Disorders: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Brief Psychotic Disorder, perhaps other as-yet undiagnosed, trauma based disorders.
Introvert/Extrovert: Extremely introverted, though naturally an extrovert.
Pessimist/Optimist: Pessismist.
Faith: Undecided.
Phobias/Fears: Randy has a deep fear of men, especially of men who are loud, forceful, charismatic, or domineering. He can fear women with those same characteristics, though it's much less likely.
Eyesite: Fair
Hearing: Fair
Left/Right/Ambi: Left.
Disabilities: None.
Drinks/Smokes: Both, though of course, he can't drink in the asylum.
Physical Health: Good, all things considered. He works out fairly regularly and has developed some muscle, but he does smoke and sometimes to excess, which causes the laundry list of smoking complications.

You do it to yourself, just you and no one else;

Relationship Status: Single.
Sexual Preference: Right now, sex is kind of not on the options list.
Past Relationships: A few short-term girlfriends, nothing serious.
Friends: TBD.
Enemies: TBD.

You do it to yourself.

SL's

The Jake.

The Mother.

PROFILE CODES FROM

tomorrow_brings.