![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Quick Info
Aug. 3rd, 2017 09:22 pm[Appearance: Fisher is just under 6'3", in his early thirties, thin and gangly and often hunched over to conserve space. He walks an odd line between slovenly and appearance-conscious--he has longish hair that falls in his eyes despite the impracticality of it at work, an ungroomed beard that nonetheless never varies in length, and when he's off the clock (and sometimes when he's on it), a variety of facial piercings, including a lip ring. His nails are always bitten to the quick and often painted black, and his off-duty wardrobe involves a lot of leather and chains and that sort of thing.]
Colin Fisher, whose first name is used by his mother and almost nobody else, is the sort of guy for whom depression has become more of a lifestyle than the illness he was first diagnosed with at age eleven. Or at least, that's the impression he deliberately gives his colleagues at the Jeffersonian Institute, where he's slowly finishing his internship to earn his Ph.D in forensic anthropology. It's a chronic, permanent part of him, something to make peace with and to joke about with deadpan gallows humor, and to downplay with callous, smartass remarks every time he returns to work from yet another stint in the mental hospital. If his friends can laugh about it, it's not threatening.
He likes people, though he refuses to really believe, despite any and all evidence to the contrary, that they like him back. Humanity is fascinating, intimacy with others uplifting--he's wholly an extrovert, even when he's too drained of life and energy to get out of bed for more than two hours a day. He's slept with a hundred and three women, at last count, and it would never occur to him that he could be thought a womanizer, because it's always as much about the talking and the laughing and the connection as it is about the sex--it's about not being alone with his thoughts all night, about sharing in the vibrancy of another living being and reminding himself that there's a purpose to being alive.
He's fascinated by death, too, or he wouldn't be a forensic anthropologist, but what intrigues him more than anything is murder, suicide, the all-too-frequent human influence behind a person's demise. He likes fantasy and science fiction, tales about the commonalities between human and alien. As much as he tries and pretends to embrace his depression, he's fighting it with every fiber of his being, and he doesn't even realize it.
Colin Fisher, whose first name is used by his mother and almost nobody else, is the sort of guy for whom depression has become more of a lifestyle than the illness he was first diagnosed with at age eleven. Or at least, that's the impression he deliberately gives his colleagues at the Jeffersonian Institute, where he's slowly finishing his internship to earn his Ph.D in forensic anthropology. It's a chronic, permanent part of him, something to make peace with and to joke about with deadpan gallows humor, and to downplay with callous, smartass remarks every time he returns to work from yet another stint in the mental hospital. If his friends can laugh about it, it's not threatening.
He likes people, though he refuses to really believe, despite any and all evidence to the contrary, that they like him back. Humanity is fascinating, intimacy with others uplifting--he's wholly an extrovert, even when he's too drained of life and energy to get out of bed for more than two hours a day. He's slept with a hundred and three women, at last count, and it would never occur to him that he could be thought a womanizer, because it's always as much about the talking and the laughing and the connection as it is about the sex--it's about not being alone with his thoughts all night, about sharing in the vibrancy of another living being and reminding himself that there's a purpose to being alive.
He's fascinated by death, too, or he wouldn't be a forensic anthropologist, but what intrigues him more than anything is murder, suicide, the all-too-frequent human influence behind a person's demise. He likes fantasy and science fiction, tales about the commonalities between human and alien. As much as he tries and pretends to embrace his depression, he's fighting it with every fiber of his being, and he doesn't even realize it.
