Aaron Jefferson-Asthana

Description:
“They use force, to make you do, what the deciders, have decided you must do."
—Eldridge Cleaver

“Defy, I’m a brother with a furious mind
Action must be taken
We don’t need the key, we’ll break in”

—Zack de la Rocha

“Your body can stand almost anything. It’s your mind you have to convince.”
—Unknown

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Physical Profile


Tattoos cover his arms, neck, hands, chest, and back, a canvass filled to the brim with images and messages. What do they all mean? Not even he can say. Some just felt right, images chosen off a wall. Some came to him in dreams. Some are beautiful, works of art by masters of their craft. Some are little better than prison tattoos, blurring, fading, not dark enough against his dusky skin or not consistent. He doesn’t regret any, not even the ones he doesn’t particularly care for specifically. They tell a story, contain a message, about who he is.

He’s not tall. He’s not short. Decidedly average. Thin, lankly, unhealthily so. The product of too many missed meals, of starving days and nights where he blew what little cash he had on a new tattoo or a ticket to a show instead of a dinner. Better to feed the mind. The body can do without. Has done without. Will do without. He doesn’t need to be strong to fight. What’s that quote, ‘made weak, but strong in will’. It’s ideas that are strong. He needs to open eyes, not bash skulls.

He suffers nose bleeds and tires quickly. Don’t ask him to run or hike. That’s not his scene. Work out? You mean like some tool? Colds and coughs linger for weeks. He blames it on the drugs he was on for years. The way they ‘messed with his system’. Maybe he’s onto something. Maybe he should take a multivitamin and eat more fruits and vegetables. But that would require he spend money on it: easier to push through microwave dinners (the fried chicken isn’t bad, the others don’t tend to heat well) and Top Ramen (he likes the shrimp flavor).

Clothing, torn, tattered, worn. Jeans with holes worn through at the knees. Shirts with cut off sleeves that showcase those of his own. It’s supposed to look that way. Dark colors, blacks, grays. Bold colors, reds, golds. Stars. Revolutionary imagery written not only across his skin but also across his clothing. He’s out of place. Not from around here.

In the end it’s the eyes more than the rest that draw you in. Piercing. Fierce. Dark pools that smolder like a still burning fire seeking fuel. They’re framed by a mouth that doesn’t smile, but occasionally smirks. The smirk that claims it knows too much, that it’s always in on the joke. What joke? Whatever joke you were making of course. Hair buzzed short. A recent affection. It’d gotten too out of hand. Unruly. Difficult. Oh, how like him.

Demographical Profile


Name: Aaron Jefferson-Asthana (Aaron Jefferson III)
Gender: Male
Race: Caucasian-Indian
Birth: December 25th, 1975
Age: 23
Height: 5’10
Weight: 165
Eye Color: Black
Hair Color: Black
Complexion: Dusky
Bio:

Historical Profile


Note, this is half complete, half stream of consciousness

Aaron Jefferson-Asthana (Aaron Jefferson the third) was born in 1975 in Sedona Arizona to Aaron (Jr.) and Navya Jefferson. The heir to a fortune that included a major stake in Nostrum Enterprises, Aaron Jr. and his newlywed wife were fierce advocates of new-age science and the supernatural and traveled specifically to the town for her pregnancy due to its alleged new-age ‘energy vortex’ properties. They spent much of Aaron’s childhood traveling, supported by the impressive family fortune.

Throughout his childhood Aaron was immersed in the new-age science that obsessed his parents, learning of energy fields, vibes, crystal energy, spirits, and the like alongside basic skills such as arithmetic and reading. His synesthesia was readily explained by his parents as energy and aura reading. His childhood fears such as monsters under the bed the product of spirits that could be cast out. Bad dreams were warded off with dream catchers, positive outcomes assured by rituals, and ‘healing energy’ generated by crystals, incense, and musical tones. With the innocence of a child he bought fully into his parents’ teachings, fiercely isolated by their ‘homeschooling’ of him, memorizing their ‘teachings’ and spouting them as fact to their delighted new-age friends.

This near innocent childhood continued until 1987 when Aaron Sr. passed away from a heart condition and Aaron Jr. returned to Wikito Falls following the funeral to see to an array of questionable practices related to the other family business with his wife and son. The trip was intended to be short. It did not remain so. If Wikito Falls Aaron Jr. and his wife found plenty of new age phenomena to investigate and the town’s own ‘unique’ mysteries that called to them. They settled in for the long haul, buying a large home on the outskirts of town, but had little opportunity to do so. Only a few months later Aaron Jr. suffered some kind of psychotic breakdown, degenerating into raving insanity over the course of only a few months and eventually attacking his wife and son in a psychotic rage. Eventually restrained, though not before nearly beating Navya to death, he was eventually committed.

Whether from the disintegration of her family life, the trauma of her own husband’s assault, or due to unknown reasons Navya went missing shortly thereafter, leaving Aaron at home one night to wake up to an empty home and a phone number to call. Not that he ever had the chance. Descending more like a vulture than his namesake, Phineas Crane, the longtime business associate of Aaron’s grandfather swooped in in the absence of his mother and madness of his father to pick over the family carcass. Arriving in the late morning with a collection of suited associates he assured Aaron that he’d be taken care of even as he swept up control of Aaron Jr.’s shares of Nostrum Enterprises to maintain his position on the company’s board of directors.

In the hands of Phineas, directly or indirectly, Aaron went through several minders, lashing out increasing on his own (and continuing to advocate the same crazy beliefs his parents raised him with) and was increasingly medicated throughout it for a couple years until a particularly egregious set of actions (as he became more and more disconnected from his childhood, got exposed to public school, realized how mistaken he was) led to his own institutionalization from a time (allegedly to prevent time in a juvenile facility as much as anything, according to his minders). Upon his release (now deep into his teens) he was moody and sullen until dropping out and fleeing WF when he was 17 for the west coast rock / punk / rebellion scene.

There he fell in among others in a similar age demographic as he shifted from San Diego to Seattle, often chasing the music scene, raging against corporate America (with a particular emphasis on big pharmaceuticals). He made money in all kinds of ways, sometimes telling bootleg copies of live shows, sometimes scalping tickets, sometimes as an unlicensed food vendor selling easily made food items like sandwiches at reasonable prices just outside of concert venues (because fuck those bullshit rip-off corporate places!). Along the way he gets caught up with some more radical voices, like former Washington Post journalist turned Seattle Times ‘freelancer’ Edger Hughes.

Circa 1998 he burns some bridges, loses some friends, and feels a calling to return home to try and begin to ‘settle the score’ in Wikito Falls. He wants to know what happened to his mother and father. He wants to get back at Nostrum / Phineas. He wants to lash out. He gets into his 1989 Chevy Celebrity and heads back to the town where before long he falls in with the girls in the Towers (where formally he was pseudo-squatting).

Psychological Profile


Aaron is fueled by rage, by righteous indignation at the cruelties and realities of 90s America, and particularly at the power of corporations and the government to interfere in the lives of individuals, and at the callous way in which both do so. Tempted to attribute the actions of both entities towards pure greed, he begrudgingly admits that in the case of some individuals (particularly in the government) there may be a perception or an intention of pursuing the greater good, but holds to the insufferable arrogance of such individuals. Other people don’t get to decide what constitutes the ‘greater’ good for everyone else. People should be free to make their own choices. In the face of injustice he feels compelled to both lash out and speak up, to spread the word with all the fire of a zealot spreading the truth of the faith.

The truth of his faith though is that his anger is deeply rooted not in the ills of corporations or the government as a whole, but in the ills of his own experiences. When he speaks about corporate greed ignoring the needs of people, of corrupt systems that rob individuals, of a callous government, of the ills of modern pharmacology, what drives him is not their far flung impact across the world, but the impact they have had upon him. At the end of the day his ‘crusade’ is quite personal.

The anger doesn’t stop there. Indeed, the time he spent institutionalized did, in his mind, have one positive effect: that of revealing just how deluded his own parents were, and how they were on a course to ruin his life long before others got involved. He’s come to believe nearly all the ‘supernatural’ ‘nonsense’ they filled his head with was just that, that they were deeply delusional, affected, and ultimately unworthy of respect or even love. They are, in his mind, as much an example of everything wrong with the rich as the men and women starving on the streets of major cities are an example of everything wrong with the country as a whole. He hates his parents. He hates their weakness. Hates how they didn’t prepare him. Hates how his mother ran out when he needed her the most – not that he thinks she could have actually helped him.

Part of him wishes he could forget the nonsense they tried to fill his head with. Part of him is just as happy to remember just how delusional he once was – a reminder of how easy it is anyone to be misled by those they trust. There is no magic, no auras, no chakras, no third eye, or healing crystals. There are no monsters under the bed or creatures in the night. Man is more than terrible enough, and those that cling to or advance the idea that there must be more to it earn both his scorn and pity.

The ‘lies’ he was filled with, ‘abuse’ he suffered at the hands of psychologists and medical professionals, and his own previously sheltered upbringing have left him with difficulty forming deep and lasting bonds. Everything is superficial, skin deep. Intimacy is physical. There’s a distance to him and a coldness to him that gives him many acquaintances but few friends. If you don’t let them close, they can’t lie to you. If you don’t let them in, they can’t see how broken you are. That same lack of intimacy cripples his ability to read others and understand deeper social dynamics at play. He can be friendly enough, but he’s often reaching around in the dark to understand motives. Some has mistaken it for an affliction: it is, one called life.

On a deeper level still, much of his dwelling on the injustice of the world, on the evils of the system, and on resistance to it (and the virtue of it, even if it brings about negative outcomes for the resister) is rooted in a refusal to come to terms with the life he might have had, the potential he lost, and his own trauma. It’s easier to call the entire system a ‘phony baloney carnival ride run by blood sucking clowns’ than justify to himself that had things gone differently he might have lived the rest of his life in privilege and power. It’s easier for him to lionize starvation and deprivation, to make a martyr of himself, than to admit that he wishes things were different.

Personal Relationships


Emily “Millie” CorbinFrom Wikito Falls, with family living in Shoney Pond that she no longer speaks with. Works as a cashier-grocer at Shop-Plus and occassionally as relationships with local stock boys (including Rick Novak) and clerks (including Amy Crawford). Spends a great deal of time online on message boards and her blog, where Aaron previously connected with her.

Heather Peckman Formerly lived near the Green Lady River. Always cold and wearing multiple layers. Rarely showers or baths, drinks heavily, and smokes pot. Millie and Luke are quite protective of her.

Lucas “Luke” Lingle Aaron’s (of late) girlfriend. Works at Niccolò’s Pizzeria as a cashier and receptionist. Aspiring graffiti artist. Nonnative of Wikito Falls that arrived in her teens and hates it here (safe her friends). Running from her own past. Enjoys her small collection of VHS tapes. Hates corporate America and the local government (particularly the mayor of WF). Real name is Lucy.

Aaron Jefferson-Asthana

Witiko Falls: Disillusion Parasomniac Aluroon