Cyrus Tager

[Ethan Rom]

Name: Cyrus Tager

Age: 30

Occupation back home: I was an actor. Sorta.

Appearance:







Nationality: Born in Canada, raised in America.

Residence: Wherever I want.

Skills: Strong. Fast. Seductive. Inspires loyalty. Well...I wasn't always like this, just in the last two years or so.

Weaknesses/bad habits: He'll do more or less anything for the cause. He can go too far, leading him to clash with Benjamin several times, and can get too involved with people he shouldn't. He had no real love has a child, and in his adult life, tries to compensate.

Frequent moods/expressions: Deceptively goofy and kinda charming, but can turn ruthless in an instant.

Reason for flight: I wasn't on the plane, I'm one of the 'Others'

Item from wreckage: I wasn't on the plane, for God's sake.

[Cyrus]

Eugene Tager sat in front of the TV, the screen the only light in the darkened room. A beer can in one hand, the remote in the other. A ten year-old Cyrus lingered by the door, waiting for him to turn the volume up so he could get past.

He hated Eugene. He was disgusting. He smelled of a strange mix of sweat, beer and chip fat. Enormous. The most revolting human being to ever glue himself to the sofa with his own sweat. Idle. Lazy. Angry. Bad-tempered. Racist. Homophobic. Misogynistic. Awful.

Cyrus couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted to get up to his room and lock the door. His father was fairly drunk now, and the volume was up. Someone on the TV cracked a joke. Canned laughter.

He made a break for it, trying to reach the stairs. He was almost there when he heard the slow, drawling voice of his father. “Cyrus…why didn’t you tell me….you were…home?” His father yawned.

“I needed to go to the toilet, I was going to come right back down.”

“No you weren’t. No you weren’t, you’re lying to me.” His father stood, and faced him. The man was a mountain of fat, sweaty, food encrusted flesh.

Cyrus didn’t want to be hit again. He ran at full speed up the stairs, and his father followed. His father was no fast runner, but there wasn’t exactly anywhere Cyrus could hide. He ran to his room and locked the door. “Get out here! Get the hell out here!” yelled his father, slamming his saucepan-sized fists on the door, almost knocking it off the hinges. The lock held, and Cyrus hid in his wardrobe, listening to the loud shouts at his father gave up, and went back to attacking his mother.

Cyrus cried softly, not trying to be too loud. Crying is blackmail, good boys don’t cry.

[Hollywood Heidi]

Aw, that is so very sad! I remember this flashback. My heart still breaks for him. Poor Cy. *hugs*

[Cyrus]

Name: Cherry

Age: 29

Occupation: A waitress at a diner.

Appearance:





Nationality: American.

Residence: L.A

Skills: Intelligent, quick-thinking, rational and helpful.

Weaknesses/bad habits: She sometimes makes wrong decisions, even if she knows they're wrong at the time. She's loyal to her boyfriend, Cyrus, even if he sometimes does bad things as his financial situation drags him deeper and deeper down into the gutter. She lies to herself, believing Cyrus will make it big one day.

Frequent moods/expressions: Friendly, helpful, thinks the best of people.

I'm going a bit Firefly cast crazy....but we never saw Inara and Mal together!

[Cyrus]

Eugene Tager sat in front of the TV, the screen the only light in the darkened room. A beer can in one hand, the remote in the other. A ten year-old Cyrus lingered by the door, waiting for him to turn the volume up so he could get past.

He hated Eugene. He was disgusting. He smelled of a strange mix of sweat, beer and chip fat. Enormous. The most revolting human being to ever glue himself to the sofa with his own sweat. Idle. Lazy. Angry. Bad-tempered. Racist. Homophobic. Misogynistic. Awful.

Cyrus couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted to get up to his room and lock the door. His father was fairly drunk now, and the volume was up. Someone on the TV cracked a joke. Canned laughter.

He made a break for it, trying to reach the stairs. He was almost there when he heard the slow, drawling voice of his father. “Cyrus…why didn’t you tell me….you were…home?” His father yawned.

“I needed to go to the toilet, I was going to come right back down.”

“No you weren’t. No you weren’t, you’re lying to me.” His father stood, and faced him. The man was a mountain of fat, sweaty, food encrusted flesh.

Cyrus didn’t want to be hit again. He ran at full speed up the stairs, and his father followed. His father was no fast runner, but there wasn’t exactly anywhere Cyrus could hide. He ran to his room and locked the door. “Get out here! Get the hell out here!” yelled his father, slamming his saucepan-sized fists on the door, almost knocking it off the hinges. The lock held, and Cyrus hid in his wardrobe, listening to the loud shouts at his father gave up, and went back to attacking his mother. He could hear screams, and then the sound of fist against fragile flesh.

A scream. A shout. A punch. Then, after a few minutes, silence which didn't last. The quiet moment was swiftly followed by the creaking of floorboards as Eugene approached. And then the door splintered, the door breaking from it's hinges as his father ripped forward, bellowing like an enraged wild animal.

Cyrus tried to bolt past him, but massive hands seized him, and a fist came flying. Blood flew from his mouth as he hit the ground roughly, coughing, inhaling the dust on the floor. A foot, encased in a thick working boot, slammed directly into his stomach as he lay on the ground. And then Eugene stopped playing around. He really went to work.

* * *

Several hours later, Cyrus awoke slowly. He could feel pain all over his body.

One of his slightly worse beatings, but not the worst. The worst had been....indescribable. He could barely move afterwards.

If only he could’ve stayed unconscious. Or better yet, if he’d died. Like his brothers, two years ago. All three. Bus accident. He could still hear them, the screaming, the blood and the broken glass. Willy, dead instantly when he was thrown from the bus and onto the roof of a passing car that had ridden with his body on top for the next few miles. Ray, who’d screamed and screamed and screamed his little lungs out as the paramedics tried to cut him from the vehicle safely, which meant trying to amputate his legs. Anything to put him out would mean he’d stop fighting, and he’d die.

And lastly, Dallas. Dally. Dally, who’d managed to keep screaming even after a pole had gone straight through his heart. And the screams of all the other children. Some dead, some dying, some who wanted to, just because the pain was too much.

And of course, him. Cyrus. Who’d lived, without a scratch on him. That was the day he’d realized he was special.

[Cyrus]

Name: Kurt

Age: 30

Occupation: A talent agent.

Appearance:



Nationality: American.

Residence: L.A

Skills: Smart, funny and can weasal his way out of things easily.

Weaknesses/bad habits: He might be the worst talent agent in the history of the world.

Frequent moods/expressions: Clueless, friendly, loveably hopeless.

[Cyrus]

Name: Eddie

Age: 23

Occupation: Videos, I....I rent videos.

Appearance:

Nationality: American.

Residence: L.A.

Skills: He's smart, he's sensible (at times) and will do anything for his friends.

Weaknesses/bad habits: He's too trusting, and easily manipulated.

Frequent moods/expressions: Clumsy, bumbling, in-ept but good-natured.

[Hollywood Heidi]

You forgot to mention "can climb walls and spin webs" in his skills.

hehe, another great character. Dang, Cy has a whole history going.

[Cyrus]

Yep, but these characters will really come into play.

Name: Dodgeson

Appearance:

Overview: A mysterious, violent and experienced criminal.

[ana]

admin said:

Aw, that is so very sad! I remember this flashback. My heart still breaks for him. Poor Cy. *hugs*

Am I missing something here? Is this a character from the old RPG?

[Hollywood Heidi]

Yah, Cyrus was in the old RPG and in that one, he was going after Kate. He's lowered his standards. (Just some good ol' fashioned self-deprecating humor) ;D

[Vivian Waters]

Great Cyrus post :-) Looking forward to many more.

Maybe a Future Death for that Abusive Bastard...something bloody.. ;D

[Benjamin Linus]

Name: Paul Stockwell

Age: 68

Occupation: He owns a small but successful company.

Appearance:


Nationality: American

Residence: Los Angeles

Skills: He has unsurpassed skills for negotiation. His business always comes first for him, and as a result, he does whatever it takes to keep it in business. He has a fierce determination, having worked himself up from the lowest scum of the low, to become a rich and successful businessman.

Weaknesses/bad habits: He is an alcoholic, his prescence usually pre-empted by the tinkle of ice in a glass. He also has a touch of sociopathy, finding it difficult to love, care about people or feel empathy. When he gets close, but can't go further, he becomes confused as to why he has so few friends.

Frequent moods/expressions: A friendly personality with a smooth tone of voice that invites confidence without demanding it. He has a slight edge of coldness he cannot help. At times of unhappiness, he has a sad, soft old face that makes him appear and feel small in the social world.

[Cyrus]

Fourteen-year old Cyrus slugged through the mud of the long driveway, up to his house. It was still raining, and it drenched him, driving a coldness deep into him, while everything below his knees was caked in thick mud.

The driveway was long, a steep, muddy slope, with rows of thick trees that reached high in the sky lined on each side.

He looked up ahead, trying to see past the streaks of rain that obscured his vision, and he could see the outline of the house. That wasn't all he saw, though. Twin blue flashes of colour, atop a white vehicle. What was an ambulance doing here?

Immediately, two prospects ran through his mind, and he picked up speed, the mud slowly him down considerably, making him sluggish. The first prospect was the good one. Eugene had died. Maybe he'd gotten drunk and fallen down the stairs again, maybe all the drink finally got to him or he'd died of his own innate stupidity. The second prospect was not so welcome. Eugene had finally done what he'd been threatening his mother with for so long, and 'choked some use out of her'

He started to run faster, dropping his schoolbag, not caring about the books and notes that spilled into the brown sludge.

It seemed like it took forever to get to the house, and before he did, he slipped, falling face first into the filth. He recollected himself, and waded through the mud, finally reaching his house, just as the doors of the ambulance closed. One of the paramedics saw him, and jogged up to him.

"Are you Cyrus?"

Cyrus confirmed that he was.

"Your Mom took a nasty spill, she'll be fine, we're just taking her to the hospital to patch her up, right and good." The paramedic took a second glance, noticing the dark bruise on Cyrus' chin. In a genuine, concerned tone, he asked, "You OK, short stuff?"

Cyrus glanced up at the man. This man who could actually help. He opened his mouth to say something, and then saw movement behind the paramedic. The obese, unmistakable figure of Eugene in the doorway of the house, just standing there. Motionless. Watching.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Cyrus shook his head. "I'm fine." The paramedic looked unconvinced. "What happened to Mom?"

"She fell down the stairs, according to your daddy."

Cyrus nodded, and before he knew it, Eugene was right there, in the conversation. "Man, this boy. Late again. Worried 'bout his momma, is all." He gave Cyrus a forced hug with one thick arm. The paramedic gave an equally forced smile, and after one more moment, he turned, and walked back to the ambulance.

[Cyrus]

Name: Eugene Tager

Age: 66

Appearance:

Overview: A waste of a human being, Cyrus Tager's biological father.

[Hollywood Heidi]

Fell down the stairs, my ass. What a bastard!

Poor Cy. *huggles Cyrus*

[Cyrus]

I'm just pointing out that the paramedic who was nice to Cyrus and suspicious of Eugene was in fact Wade Preedy.

[Cyrus]

Cyrus stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. He could hear so much, when he was silent. For example, right now he could hear the wind blowing through the thick trees which surrounded his home. He could Eugene's dogs outside, barking at their own damn shadows. Vicious mutts. And now, the slam of the screen door as Eugene trudged through the mud in his thick boots, and the whimper of his dogs as he proceeded to beat them to quiet them down.

Cyrus hated those dogs. It dated back to one incident, where Eugene locked him out of the house and the dogs broke free of their chains. He could remember being chased by them, with mouths full of uneven, sharp, yellow teeth, and foamy saliva dripping from their deep, black jaws. He could remember quite clearly the pure panic and burning adreniline when he scrambled up the drainpipe, with those creatures snapping at his heels.

He didn't believe Eugene would even kill him. Not on purpose. Although he had at times come close. Eugene had accidently killed one of his dogs once, and for a long time, Cyrus feared he'd be the next dog in line.

His mother was still in the hospital. This meant Cyrus not only cooked for himself (as he usually did) but cooked for Eugene, and of course, anything he cooked was less than satisfactory. Eugene fielded his complaints to the chef with a swift punch to the cheek, or a boot to the stomach. And then he would get angry that Cyrus wasn't hurrying up with his second meal.

By the time all the drama and the pain was over, Cyrus was back where he started. Hungry and bruised. Today, though, he'd been lucky. Chinese take-out, Eugene had passed out before he'd managed to finish, and the leftovers were plentiful.

Cyrus hated the world most of the time. Normally, it was just enough that Eugene was walking about, and hadn't been caught. That he actually had friends who laughed as their fat master would send his mother to the floor with a fresh bruise. They would laugh and clap, as if he'd done something commendable or heroic, instead of something disgusting.

But it wasn't just that. The constant apathy everyday. People who didn't want to help his situation because they didn't want to be involved. Cyrus had been convinced the day that Eugene had taken Cyrus to the doctors. He had kicked him in a waiting room full of patients. Children. Parents. Old folk. They had all pretended not to see.

[Hollywood Heidi]

Aw, oh man, I wanna hug him so badly. I feel so bad for him. What a terrible childhood. Makes me appreciate how good I've had it.

[pearl]

Sorry but that picture of Eugene Tager made me laugh a lot ... what instantly stopped as I continued reading. Now it's plain: Awe, poor Cyrus!