#zahir and osiris

[acidheaddd]

In other news, I am incredibly disappointed in myself for not realizing sooner that most Egyptians have four names instead of three. So. I added Kosey's grandfather's name to his.

[runrubyred]

open to m / f / nb gist possible set up for fake dating / catching feelings / everything to go wrong... or right

“Sandra wasn’t in today,” Oz explained. “And not to be all John Travolta in Grease or anything, but...” Eyes like glass moons, he looked over at the other, smiling demurely. 

Oz was no stranger to bursting into song. His mother had a fond affection for movie musicals and greatly encouraged her tiny duet partner to express himself. (Osiris was indirectly named after the Judy Garland classic.) He’d practice his tap dance routine as he set the table, the aroma of macaroni béchamel wafting happily from the oven. His father wasn’t as encouraging of his seven-year-old. An impatient stomach and Osiris' past incidents with heirloom glassware made it near impossible. Oz could never compare to his talented father. His father looked and sounded like a dream. It was no wonder Hapi Zahir had caught his mother’s eye. They had met at a showing of Footloose in ‘84, in the kind of meet-cute that people wrote screenplays about, the kind of divine happenstance that could fuel a child’s idealistic perception of love for the rest of his life. 

Osiris sighed and lay down on the floor, contentedly keeping his croaky vibrato in its cage. The room’s tilt settled and his jelly-like limbs finally solidified into something real. But still, he wanted more. He dug his fingers into the carpet. “She’s my therapist,” Oz reminded his friend. “I think she went on vacation. Barbados or Jamaica. Somewhere like that.” Tufts of lint caught at the jagged edges of his nails. “Maybe you can be my therapist for the day." With a soft snort of laughter, Osiris placed his hands behind his head. A certified therapist needing therapy. Revolutionary. 

“Sometimes you just need a stern face and an 'Osiris, maybe you shouldn’t call your mother three times a day.’ But I can’t bother Sandra, and I still don’t know what to do about my parents’ anniversary,” he explained. “I mean, I am going. I can’t not go. But...” The impending scenario drew across the ceiling. He saw his parents’ smiling faces, heard the inevitable questions about his love life. He saw his dash to the bathroom medicine cabinet and the mark on his palm from the childproof cap growing redder and redder. He swallowed. ”Hey, do you think you could go with me?” Oz sat up, gently rubbing at his temple. “It’s just for the weekend. It’ll be painless, I promise.” 

[paranormalrp]

THE HARVARD INSTITUTE FOR PARANORMAL RESEARCH IS PROUD TO WELCOME , OSIRIS ZAHIR,THE THERAPIST, TO OUR FIELD TEAM.  PLEASE REPORT TO  WITHIN 24 HOURS FOR YOUR FIRST CASE BRIEFING.

Hi Denise! The Therapist is such a complicated character and your para sample was exactly what I was looking for. You incorporated the plot point perfectly and executed it so well, well done!  Your application was excellent and I’m thrilled to see where this character will go from here!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias: Denise

Age: 32

Pronouns: She/Her

Triggers: N/A

Timezone: EST

What drew you to Paranormal? Honestly, the plot with the older FCs was incredibly refreshing to see.

IN CHARACTER

The skeleton you are applying for: The Therapist

Your choice of fc: Rami Malek

Your 2nd choice of fc: Riz Ahmed

Character Name: Osiris Zahir

Character Age: 37

Character Gender: Cismale

Character Pronouns: He/Him

IN CHARACTER IN DEPTH

“What is evil?” Professor Zahir surveyed his class. Tender amusement backlit the blue of his eyes. “Alright, alright.” he relented after a few seconds. “Let’s try this again.” With a leisurely grunt, he hopped off his desk. “Look, I know it’s way too early for most of you, and my voice is,” he used finger quotes, “ASMR crack…” Oz grinned, smile lines as deep as the bags beneath his eyes. When was the last time he had a full night’s rest? A week ago? A year? “Yes,” he informed his class sweetly, “I read your teacher reviews—thank you for that—but dreamy monotone aside, the question I posed needs an answer, doesn’t it?” Hands refused to raise; Oz didn’t mind. “The definition of “good” is simple enough, isn’t it? Being kind. Selfless. Righteous. But what is evil? True evil? Is it merely the opposite?” The interrogation trailed into a tangent. “Is morality strictly black and white? Or does gray exist in our world? Are all murderers, rapists, thieves, liars unconscionable? Is their childhood trauma less valid because of what they’ve done?” He turned to write the words on the chalkboard. “What. Is. Evil.” White dust faded into black with an underlined squeak.

“…Am I evil, Osiris?”

The chalk snapped in his hand. “Mom?” Oz was back in his childhood home, consoling his weeping mother. Her face was in her hands. “You’re not evil,” he soothed. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re a good person.” He embraced his mother tightly, head against her heart. He didn’t feel her hug him back. He shut his eyes, fingers digging deep into her skin, refusing to let go. “I love you,” he choked. But the soft pounding beneath her skin was gone, replaced with devilish whisperings of “I loved her more. I loved her more. I loved her more.” Oz pulled back with a gasp and his mother finally lowered her hands.

Osiris awoke in a cold sweat. Evil, he decided, was hearing his mother’s voice only in his dreams.