Christopher Johnson

Will edit later

player information.

name: Justine
are you over 18?: Yep~
personal dw: onetruesikorsky
email/msn/aim/plurk/etc: AIM: SilverRustBucket, Plurk: Onetruesikorsky
characters in abax: Legion, Debra Morgan, Connor MacManus, and Executor Pallin


in character information.

series: District 9
name: Christopher Johnson
age: Estimated at 37.
sex: Represented as Male (Possesses both sets of reproductive organs)
race: Prawn (Poleepkwa)
weight: 174 pounds.
height: 7' 3" (Not including antennae)
canon point: Directly after being whacked in the head by Wikus in his shack.
previous cr: None!

history: Here!

personality: It is quickly seen that Christopher is of a higher intelligence level than every previously recorded prawn in District 9. He is clever, quick-minded, and surprisingly polite, though that may be because he's realized that aggression when dealing with humans usually ends with a bullet in your head*, when dealing with MNU (*Please see The Sad Story of Paul the Prawn). Where most every other prawn will allow aggression to overtake them if they are cornered or forced into a defensive position, Christopher will raise his hands in submission and will instead try to talk his way out of a situation, or simply go along with the aggressor's demands. The notable exception to this instance is if his son is threatened, and in that case he will fight to ensure his safety. Even when his house is invaded by Wikus, he is stern but polite in an attempt to avoid a confrontation.

He is loyal to those he knows personally and will trust them to cover his back in turn, but after his run in with Wikus, especially arriving in Abax just after being knocked out by said human, his level of trust for anyone will be particularly low. However, if he does trust you, there are no thoughts of back-stabbing for his own personal gain, because he considers an equal partnership is more likely to succeed. He will follow laws that are in place to help avoid detection by authorities, but at the same time he sees the lack of unity between humans and non-humans - and the ridiculous rules and regulations and lies that MNU spreads - as a reason to stand up against it in the little ways, like his self-made blog.

Christopher is single-minded in his goal of returning to the mother ship stationed over South Africa, and has dedicated twenty solid years of his life in sifting through the filth and slums of District 9 to collect a stunningly small amount of their own tech fluid, which is then transferred into fuel used for the ship he has under his shack. Although it is never seen in the movie, if this goal, along with his son, is stripped from him, he will exhaust himself in his attempts to return, and after that, he will be reclusive and resigned to whatever fate he's been given, however he will still keep to his own theories on how he could potentially escape, unless teamwork is required.

Like the rest of his species, he has an affinity for enjoying the taste of rubber (this is akin to like a harder version of a marshmallow to prawns), he eats any meat he finds raw, and has an unexplainable adoration for canned cat food. He also is a hoarder of sorts, and he has a thing for flip flops and will collect them and hang them from the ceilings of whatever housing he has. He also likes woven baskets and cardboard boxes.

abilities/powers: Christopher is a prawn, so he naturally stands at over seven feet tall, without stressing his knees (he can stand taller, but it's not a natural stance). Like insects, he has an exoskeleton, and breathes through the gill-like openings along the front of his neck. His exoskeleton is more durable in some parts more than others. His legs, for instance are very strong, and he has reinforced plates on his forearms with incredibly sharp spurs. He has quite a bit of physical strength despite the leanness of his frame (meaning, practically emaciated with how skinny he is). An average prawn is seen holding a human by the arm, kicking them in the chest, and consequently ripping off their arm and catapulting them multiple yards away. Although it is doubtful Chris will ever resort to this method of violence, the potential is there. They have also been documented throwing an oversized human over their head several feet away from a kneeling position with little effort, as well as vaulting from rooftop to rooftop, with at least a twelve foot gap.

As one of the leading prawns in the hierarchical cast, Christopher is extremely well versed in the chemistry of his people. He can set up complicated chemical labs using various pieces of junk, and he can rig complicated wires and tech together to help power his ship, including computers and walls full of circuit boards. He also knows how to interact with the human world wide web, as he created his own website called mnuspreadslies.com, and is capable of basic encryption to hide IP addresses. He knows how to fire weapons, notably his own species', but if given a hand gun he would figure out how to shoot it with little problem.

He can read English and understand it when it is spoken to him, but he cannot physically speak it. He speaks in a series of clicks, barks, and garbled noises native to his own species.

His body also twitches if you hit him hard enough.

first person sample:

[The video feed turns on with a clatter to a green blur, flickering in and out of focus as the tattered pieces of the paper gown partially fall over the screen. Loud warbles and clicks that don't translate into anything comprehensible in any other known language are heard as various morgue tools crash loudly to the floor in a shower of metal. The creature appears to be yelling, calling for someone, running itself into the morgue freezer wall, desperately opening, searching, then slamming each shut.]

[There's a flurry as the phone is abruptly picked up, but the video is black from the creature's palm obscuring the view. Panting is heard, along with the frantic pattering footfalls along linoleum. Another garbled yell, a frustrated series of clicks, and then the phone is abruptly chucked against a wall. Then just as quickly there's a head staring down at the feed. It's distinctly alien, and definitively insect-like as Christopher's antennae flick and twitch, the tentacles protecting his mouth moving in agitation. Intelligent alien eyes realize the thing is recording, and after quirking his head (and offering a view of the white and black painted tattoo emblazoned PROPERTY of MNU on the side of his skull), he picks it up, getting right up in the vid's face. The voice you hear is simulated for translation purposes. Barks and clicking noises, his true language, can be heard beneath the actual words.]

Where is my son? Where is my ship? This is not District 9, I do not know what this place is, or where. Who is this? Who can hear me? I must get back to my son, and my people. I need answers. Please help.

[And the feed ends.]

third person sample:

In hindsight, Christopher realized he should not have trusted the human as much as he had. At the time, however, he'd felt he had no choice. The fluid was confiscated, twenty years of work was down in the underground bunker of MNU Headquarters. He'd seen Wikus van de Merwe, his true colors, that first day the MNU began their eviction notifications. Trusting of the company, headstrong, and egocentric. But oh, it had shifted quickly in the face of utter panic. Desperation. Your entire race turning on you, showing their true colors. Wikus was too ignorant to see the irony. Wikus was his own brand of special, that much Christopher knew.

The actions of the entire operation would have been laughable if the humans were not so ruthless in their handling of his people. It had been this way for twenty years, and Christopher knew it would never change. Humanity would never change. Too invested in their own selfish need to improve themselves by stealing what was never theirs to begin with, abusing the poleepkwa's status as an abandoned species on the backwater planet just to grant themselves more time to find a way to use their weaponry.

Van de Merwe was a shining example of humanity, and it was all encompassed into that single whack of the board hitting him smack in the face. He rubs at the bridge of his plates with both fingers. Still feels the soreness of it. He snorts, shakes his head. None of it mattered now.

case no: 03-15-70