Post by Emily on Sept 18, 2015 12:48:31 GMT -8
Full name: Joshua Andrew Gable
Goes by: Joshua
DOB, current age: 02/22/1984, 31
Occupation: Self-employed architect, idle artist
Immediate family: Larry and Nan Sorenson (step-father, mother); Andrew Gable (father, deceased)
Face: Jonathan Kroppmann
Screen name: None, NPCed by Emily
Webpage, optional: N/A
Story
Don't call him Josh; his name is Joshua. He never figured out how to get on with his step-father, so like every other kid who came from a home that didn't quite feel whole in Austin, Texas, he hit the skids the second he turned 18. He's always been too quick on the draw for his own good. There are reasons for that. Most of them are IQ points.
Despite an astronomically high score on the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale, Joshua's community college and university transcripts are nothing to boast about. He barely walked away from five years worth of pretending to give a shit about things like APA vs. Chicago Manual and grade point averages with the degree that makes his resume somewhat believable. He assumes that degree is why he was offered an exclusive contract to handle the rebuilding and/or restoration of centuries-old Shepherd University in South Bank. It isn't.
Joshua Gable is not book smart. Neither is he particularly wise. In fact, he's done some really stupid things. He'll probably continue to do some really stupid things. He has a smart mouth, though. And the cogs in his head, they grind at considering possibilities and probabilities a million miles a minute. You'd think a psychic would want a sneak peek of his own future, but knowing everything about what's going to happen to him next is one of his greatest fears. "Life should be abstract," he says. "I don't fuckin' wanna know where to put the paint brush next. Just lemme feel it out."
He also has a thing for Mexican beer, southern rock, tattoos, dirty tequila and brunettes, not necessarily in that order but preferably all in the same night, and that's what lead to his current predicament. What was supposed to have been a drunken, carefree one night stand in the backseat of somebody else's car parked in a bar's lot with Hyacinth Griswold has turned him into a family man. He enjoys impressing questionably appropriate life skills upon Hyacinth's eight-year-old daughter as her biological father doesn't seem particularly... around, and relishing the consumption of everything that Hyacinth can't eat or drink for at least the next year and a half. In front of her. Obnoxiously. He probably has no business raising children, honestly. That was definitely not one anyone ever saw coming.
Oh, and check out his collection of vulgar and perverted statement teeshirts. It's pretty impressive.
Despite an astronomically high score on the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale, Joshua's community college and university transcripts are nothing to boast about. He barely walked away from five years worth of pretending to give a shit about things like APA vs. Chicago Manual and grade point averages with the degree that makes his resume somewhat believable. He assumes that degree is why he was offered an exclusive contract to handle the rebuilding and/or restoration of centuries-old Shepherd University in South Bank. It isn't.
Joshua Gable is not book smart. Neither is he particularly wise. In fact, he's done some really stupid things. He'll probably continue to do some really stupid things. He has a smart mouth, though. And the cogs in his head, they grind at considering possibilities and probabilities a million miles a minute. You'd think a psychic would want a sneak peek of his own future, but knowing everything about what's going to happen to him next is one of his greatest fears. "Life should be abstract," he says. "I don't fuckin' wanna know where to put the paint brush next. Just lemme feel it out."
He also has a thing for Mexican beer, southern rock, tattoos, dirty tequila and brunettes, not necessarily in that order but preferably all in the same night, and that's what lead to his current predicament. What was supposed to have been a drunken, carefree one night stand in the backseat of somebody else's car parked in a bar's lot with Hyacinth Griswold has turned him into a family man. He enjoys impressing questionably appropriate life skills upon Hyacinth's eight-year-old daughter as her biological father doesn't seem particularly... around, and relishing the consumption of everything that Hyacinth can't eat or drink for at least the next year and a half. In front of her. Obnoxiously. He probably has no business raising children, honestly. That was definitely not one anyone ever saw coming.
Oh, and check out his collection of vulgar and perverted statement teeshirts. It's pretty impressive.
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