BARCLAY, todd {civilian}

On the whole Todd looks quite average, if a little disgruntled. His height is perhaps below average by a pinch at 5’8”, though he seems to think that he’s much taller and certainly carries himself like he’s a big important giant of a man. He’s fit and healthy as the job often requires—especially in the bustle of Chicago, where any one work shift could require him to run fast and squeeze through gaps and pick his way through dangerous areas. He does a little bit of working out, but mostly relies on the job to keep him in shape. Even though thirty’s creeping up on him, it’s worked so far. He can live with that.

His hair is on the brown-blonde border with a reddish tint; evidently his family have been mashing hair pigments for generations. He was pretty much ginger as a kid but is perfectly fine with the mellowing of his follicles, thank you. His face is as average as his overall body, with the brightly intelligent (and often fiercely determined) green-blue eyes being the slight discrepancy. Usually his brow is furrowed slightly in concentration and his smiles tend to be quick and half-hearted, especially on the job. He always moves fast, even when off-duty, and tends to be a little jerky in his movements: he never seems to really relax. He does, however, have very steady hands, so rest easy when he’s patching you up.

With clothing, he tends to be pretty lax. It’s either his city EMT uniform or casual things; jeans, a shirt, maybe a hoodie, sneakers. His fashion sense isn’t utterly in the realms of slobdom, but he puts more effort into sprucing his hair into something weird and gravity-defying than he does into picking outfits.

Science over art sums up his way of thinking—and Todd thinks a lot. Maybe more than is good for any bit-player in the large-scale war that is Chicago, even if in secret. Todd’s an inquisitive type, always wanting to learn more, and can crunch through sci-fi novels at an alarming rate. Psychology and evolution tends to be his bag, especially relating to the beasties that come out at night. He’s not really that great at anything emotional or artsy or, heaven forbid, romantic, but he sure can analyse the crap out of an open fracture.

He can be a bit of a manchild and tends to freak out over the little things while letting the big things fall apart in his personal life… but if Todd is anything, he’s good at his job. Some people detect a little bit of Hero Complex going on when he goes off the rails and takes far more personal risk than necessary or expected of an EMT to ‘save’ whoever needs him. It’s funny—he isn’t exactly pleasant, somewhat sarcastic and a bit of a brat—but he’s extremely stuck on saving the lives of whoever and whatever might need it. Maybe it’s a daddy issue thing. Either that or it isn’t the saving he’s after; the adrenaline rush seems to send him into another plane of being. He becomes cooler, calmer, even seems cleverer when that stuff kicks in, like he always knows exactly what to do. Unlike when he’s off-duty, when he flounders at making nice, friendly small talk like an ordinary human being. Possibly he just feels more at home in an emergency than he does in an everyday situation. He can cope with it better.

Todd’s a bit on the neurotic side and doesn’t like losing control of situations, or just being stuck in a situation that bores or annoys him. Unfortunately for Todd, he’s really quite fun to annoy. He doesn’t do much about it and he’s far more patient than he lets on, but he can get pretty snippy and sarcastic, and a snippy and sarcastic Todd is a Todd at his best. That big old brain has to be helpful with something in social situations, and so it is; wit. To a point.

Upon first meeting he mostly comes across as a kind of dorky but overly sure-of-himself, bitter young man that refuses to chill out and loves a bit of word-sparring. But he doesn’t take himself too seriously. If you can’t beat them, after all.

Born in a Chicago hospital, Todd’s not really left Illinois for the entire span of his life. Some people might think that as a bit sad. But Todd considers Chicago… safe. It’s what he knows. It’s all that he’s known. Besides, he has an apartment of his own and a good job here, and—well, not so much friends as co-workers and people who can put up with his grumbling, but that’s good enough, right? His entire life is here.

But back to the beginning.

He was raised single-handedly by his first-generation Slovak immigrant mother Judy Pekár in Cicero, in the poor-but-cheerful suburbs of the town. Todd always figured his father had bailed on them after finding out Julie was pregnant; he never really got the full story, but wasn’t sure he wanted it. He always knew enough to know that Judy had always had a very devil-may-care approach to life.

Nevertheless, he was well enough provided for, and having lived his entire life within the ‘peaceful’ times of the truce, he has never been threatened any more than an average citizen of Chicago. He went to university in the city, learning not only all the nooks and crannies and shortcuts but how to save lives along the way, and moved right into his own apartment downtown a few years ago after the EMT pay started rolling in. It’s a dangerous job, and with a lingering paranoia starting to set in that PTSD is a very real possibility in his future, he thinks he kind of deserves to make a decent amount of money.

A lot of the more traumatising, gory sights he’s witnessed have been events blamed on werewolves, vampires and the like. He hasn’t let it completely poison his opinion of them like some people do, but he is wary of the supernaturals. It’s only natural, after all, right? He’s always done a lot of study on evolution and survival. They are the Big Threat. He doesn’t get too involved politically, but he supports the truce because… well, if the truce goes down, his job gets a whole hell of a lot harder.

Oh, and that surviving thing too.

“...and so the relief effort is continuing in the Gulf of Mexico. Don’t forget! It’s not in the news but the oil is still everywhere and the New England Aquarium is still devoted to its cause and the development of chemical dispersants that won’t cause damage. And the research on lobster shell disease is still continuing! You wouldn’t want lobsters like Dewey to go untreated, right?” Adam Walsh gave a smile filled with hopeful sunshine. “Please donate generously and thank you for listening!”

The rather thin smatter of applause brought Adam down from his aquarium-induced euphoria, though he didn’t allow the smile to fade. The presentation room was mostly empty, with a few families scattered about and a few bored-looking kids crouched below the stage. Dolphin shows were what they wanted, what they’d had their parents pay the entrance fee for, and that was what they would get, damn it.

The glow that had risen in his mind at talking about his true passion—the ocean, conservation, research and the creatures thereof—began to ebb as people shuffled for the doors. The screen behind him blinked into blackness as he pressed the button his small controller once. His smile faded ever so slightly but didn’t leave: it never left. The optimism was irrepressible.

Picking up the tank with Dewey the lobster in it, Adam moved to the edge of the stage. He tapped the lobster on its hard, moist back.

Adam was chosen to give almost every presentation in the aquarium slots because he was the youngest marine biologist in the facility and apparently had a little more charisma than the others despite the slight aura of social awkwardness that radiated from him. The others came across as a bit stuffy and lecture-y, he supposed. He knew that the board were trying to go for the ‘cool older brother’ vibe, but Adam was—well, Adam. Perhaps he’d work as a brother, but he’d never be cool, exactly.

Ah, well. He tried not to think about his master’s degree gathering dust in his apartment and sat down on the edge of the stage, whistling softly to himself. He’d take a breather for a bit, he thought, and then maybe go see if any of the kids by the stingray pool had any questions.