Ghost IS Offline
dean everett hughes
" Who cares what these creeps think? They don't decide who you are, you do. You are who you choose to be."
thirty-five - dean mccoppin - wes bentley - lads
And miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground.
I always planned on leaving Maine...just always thought it would be different when I did, y’know? They didn’t understand me, or what I stood for, especially not in Rockwell. They didn’t know what to do with someone like me, an artist. Sure, I made sales, but do you know how hard that was, before the internet? You couldn’t just put up an ad and get anyone in the world, and locals just didn’t know what they were looking at half the time. Sometimes I got lucky. Someone would come through in passing, or have family who might like whatever it was I was doing out in the scrap yard. I did, of course, run it like a real scrap yard. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but in some ways it was a blessing. It wasn’t like the big city, where I was fighting against about ten or twenty other people who could do the same thing, only hoping I could do it better. And I did have an advantage, I guess, in that my father had been a mechanic, and my mom? Well, we both managed to stay state-side in World War two. She found herself picking up a rivet gun, or a welding torch as the need arose, and me? I found myself marked 4E, and sent to a work-camp for the majority of the war.
You might be asking yourself how I managed that one. I was a well read kid, despite the hard-working nature of my parents. Part of it was because they wanted me to be. Part of it was because I wanted to be. In my reading, I came across texts concerning Buddhism, among other religions outside of Christianity that promoted peace, and when the surveys came, right around draft time, I marked myself for Conscientious Objector. That, of course, led to a whole other survey, where I admitted that I wouldn’t mind helping if I could, but just couldn’t imagine myself in a combat position, or even anywhere near one, based off the principles of Buddhism, which I was at least familiar enough to pass for practicing. Then again, that wasn’t really hard in the 40s. Buddhism was still just a little bud, when it came to what it would be later on, in the states.
Of course, by the time Korea rolled around, Buddhism was just about to get bigger, and so more people knew about it, but by that time, I was actually pretty much a practicing Buddhist, so when I kept that up, it wasn’t really just a way out of war. That time around, I wasn’t put in a camp, but basically put on list, just in case. My classification changed, but only because the military shuffled them all around, trying to make it easier on the paperwork jockeys. I was still reading, but it was more than that. There was art.
I moved away from my parents as the Korean war ended, almost roaming until I found an old man in Rockwell selling his land. It wasn’t long before I set up the scrap yard, and kept quietly to myself, aside from the odd purchase or sale. My reputation began to follow, though I suppose it didn’t help that when asked about the second world two I mentioned I’d been a C.O. stationed at one of the work camps. People didn’t exactly like when you turned down the military back then, and it was a small town, with a small town mentality. Not that I minded, much. It wasn’t exactly as if they were fully wrong. I wasn’t a coward, but military service rubbed me the wrong way. It just wasn’t for everyone, and I was more than willing to admit that it wasn’t for me.
Of course for some people, it was not only for them, but they wouldn’t return. I didn’t ever ask, but I watched as people around me dealt slowly with the loss of those they loved to the battles that had taken men and boys from us, counting myself lucky to have not gone, hoping they would find peace.
Beyond that, however, it all started with a squirrel in my pants.
It was a normal day, winter fast approaching, and the diner coffee wasn’t enough to keep me awake. Lucky for me, I’d somehow learned to keep a paper up in front of my face, so most people didn’t know I was even asleep in the first place. I’d seen the kid before - most of us had, and had learned to ignore him when he came in. He was always into something, coming in to bug his mother while she worked, so we all just shook our heads and looked away. That day, however, whatever it was he was bugging her with got away, and found me. It turned out to be a squirrel, and well, let’s just say the incident that followed wasn’t one I expected, and drug on much longer than when I stood up and unzipped my jeans to let the furry menace free.
I’ll find a map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
It was a whirlwind of activity after that. I didn’t know anything was going on, until the kid showed up. Crowbar poised, you’d think I’d have been in the wars I’d narrowly avoided. Apparently violence wasn’t beyond me after all. Maybe giving a nine year old espresso was a mistake, but I’m not his father. Wasn’t like I was the one parenting him. His mom let him just wander around, and well...okay, I should have taken more responsibility. That was on me, but I’d like to think I did better as time went on.
I think I panicked the first time I saw the big metal guy, but after bit, once we both realized we weren’t a threat to each other, it was okay. I wonder if I should have gone to the lake with the kid, but...I did, and that’s how we ended up in New York.
When the water settled, and I went to tell them it was time to head back, we saw it - the Giant and I first, well aware of threats, in comparison to the kid. I didn’t have time to protest as big and metal grabbed onto us both. I can still hear the kid screaming as we left the town behind, and I tried to explain. How the Giant knew to flee, I don’t know. I’d felt a sense of dread when I saw the shadows. They just...weren’t right.
We traveled quick, until we were pushed through a portal. We weren’t separated until then, and I tried to fight it, as we were brought to the compound, questioned. I hadn’t even gotten a good glimpse at them, but I had of me. They told me I was in New York - which I could believe - and that it was in the year two-thousand and something. I didn’t really pay attention, much too distracted by the fact that it wasn’t the tail end of the fifties anymore. They shoved a bunch of papers my way, and I sighed, setting about creating a new identity. It wasn’t until that was done that I had a welcome packet shoved into my hands, and given an apartment.
I wanted to look for Hogarth and the Giant - I did. They’d come over, hadn’t they? They were with me when I was shoved through, but...but now, they weren’t. I tried to ask, but wasn’t given any information, and it wasn’t long until I fell into a rhythm, and a job. There were a lot of artists in New York, and while a part of me longed to create, I just didn’t have the space to do what I had done what felt like so long ago. Not only that, I was still learning. So instead, I just got myself a job at a gallery. Nothing fancy, just working the floor. It keeps espresso in my coffee maker, and I guess that’s enough, for now.
My fingers in creases
of distant dark places
Name: He kept Dean. I couldn’t get him to let go of it. Honestly, he wouldn’t let go of the rest until I started looking at the year 1957, and he latched onto Everett, and decided to go with Hughes, which the last name is partially in a hope of making it easier to find Hogarth, but also because sometime in the year 1957, Hugh Everett published the first scientifically founded Many Worlds theory. And since he just came through a damn portal
he says he is a definite believer. Everett is also a nod to Ruth Fuller Everett, one of the people who helped develop Buddhism in the U.S.
Job: I debated a lot on jobs for him, and ended up just deciding to do this, because he just doesn’t have it in him to create anymore, so he helps those who can. He’s hoping he’ll be able to sooner rather than later, of course, it’s just a lot going on.
PB: I went looking for the perfect PB, as usual. I spent some time with Dean’s, because I just wanted to get it right and I’m looking at people he reminds me of, and they’re just too old. Too old. And then I went: Forget this, and looked at Hollow Art...which led me to Wes Bentley, and staring, I just couldn’t help it. It stuck, and there he is.
Background: Dean was easily somewhere in the 26-30+ range in the movie. He was settled in his business and his art, independent, but not too old, which was why it was so easy for him to be a Beatnik. I could have gone through several ways to get him there, but when I realized he could have been a part of two wars, and that his father more than likely was, I knew he wouldn’t have wanted to be, and had to get him out of it. Hence Buddhism - which honestly fits the character, though he’s kind of a lax Buddhist. Of course, he had to get to Rockwell somewhere, and after a while, I just put it to happenstance. His mother’s involvement in WW2, as well as his father’s mechanic profession yield help to his whole scrap yard artist thing, if only because it makes it easier to actually maintain, but he doesn’t have to worry about that now. Beyond that, I tried to follow the line, and I hope I did him justice.
Birthday: Honestly, just an arbitrary day that would have had him be 18 before December 1941, for draft purposes.
about GHOST !
GUESS WHO’S BACK, BOILS AND GHOULS! THE GHOST WITH THE MOST. Since our intrepid young writer last graced the halls of DERP, she has had a job change (from McDonald’s to Wal*Mart Deli), a State Change (from Texas to Louisiana), gotten engaged to an old RP buddy (Boston, whom she has drug to Derp with her this time), gained two cats (Rocket and Jade), aged (now 25 going on 26), and just generally fallen in love with life again. While still haunted by why she left DERP in the first place, she felt comfortable coming back to a screen near you - truth be told, she missed you all bunches, and decided not to let the actions of a jerk in her Real Life stand in her way. While there are some things she misses and may avoid, Ghost is back, and happy to be here. Contact is still PM/AIM/Skype. A lot of you already have these. They haven’t changed.
Also, she has plans for at least one, maybe three+ other babies as time goes on, if they're not taken, and hopes this app is okay. She's also sort of coming back from a hiatus, and all the babies in her head were being difficult.
spiffy details !
The Iron Giant
birthday: August 17
nickname(s): Deano, Mr. Cool.
powers/abilities: Does being able to imbibe large quantities of espresso, and make art count?