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Mar. 29th, 2013 11:39 am
remixthisbusiness: (I'm bulletproof | Nothing to lose)
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NAME: Beca Mitchell
CANON: Pitch Perfect
CANON REFERENCE: Pitch Perfect Wiki
AGE: 18
GENDER: Female

Beca doesn't tend to make the best first impression. She uses her sharp wit and negative attitude to push prospective friends away. She's an introverted loner and would love to keep it that way, thank you very much. She doesn't even make a big effort of making friends. People shouldn't take it personally, though. Circumstances in her life have given her the idea that it's better to keep people at a distance rather than get burned from letting them too close.

That doesn't mean people don't make an impression on her, though. People that are persistent are most likely to worm their way into the very small circle of people Beca considers friends. Her sarcastic sense of humor doesn't go away with those she's close to. Rather, she knows they can put up with it and uses it more often. She also allows them to see the more fun-loving, awkward side of her that she keeps heavily guarded. The quickest way to get on Beca's good side is to talk about music. Music is and always has been her one true passion, even if she doesn't sing anymore. No matter how hard she tries, she can't stop herself from getting happily involved in any conversation involving music and music theory.

Despite her front of not really bothering with people, if she cares about a group or cause she'll devote herself to it unconditionally. Almost too much, in fact, as she'll have no problem letting those in charge know when they're not performing up to their best standards. Beca doesn't do things half-assed. If she's going to be part of a team, she wants it to be the best team possible. If that means ruffling a few feathers, so be it. She’s also usually the first one to think of new radical ideas to help improve things. The way she sees it, everything has to evolve and adapt.

Beca is kind of awkward and uncomfortable in public activities, especially if she's somehow been roped into singing. This stems from insecurities concerning her mutant abilities, particularly the fact that she blames herself for practically driving her mother away. What she needs are people who’ll stand behind her and support her despite her sometimes harsh attitude. If she had the support she doesn't know she needs, her rough outer shell could be polished to a brilliant shine.

Sonic Scream: Beca's primary ability. She can generate highly destructive and deafening sounds from her mouth and vocal cords. While it's mainly an offensive power, if she could learn to control the destructive component she could use it for echolocation.

Limitations: Her Sonic Scream is useless against abilities that absorb sound or when she’s gagged. It can also be reflected off objects, like mirrors, which could be helpful or harmful. She also has to wear ear protection and take extremely good care of her vocal chords so they’re always ready to use and don’t get damaged after practice, leading to her drinking much more than the average daily amount of water. She also avoids most dairy products, takes the herb slippery elm to prevent soreness and uses honey as a natural lubricant. Without proper control, her Sonic Scream could cause accidental damage to nearby objects and people, particularly ones with sensitive hearing.

Soundwave Perception: Beca can perceive soundwaves as colorful lights. This passive ability is helpful with her learning how to find the non-destructive frequencies of her Sonic Scream. [Note: It looks like this, only much more consistent. She would see most every noise in those scenes.]

Limitations: Unlike her Sonic Scream, she can’t turn this ability off. Depending on the noise levels around her, the soundwaves can appear blinding. Thus, she almost always ends up wearing sunglasses and never goes anywhere she knows will be extra loud, like clubs or concerts.

For as long as she could remember, Beca Mitchell was surrounded by lights. She didn't know anything about them except that the louder it was, the more there were and the brighter they shone. She would always try to catch them and find what sorts of sounds made which colors. To everyone outside her family she just seemed like a noisy precocious child forever occupied with catching “fairies”. To her parents, she was a mystery. Her mother always wanted her to go to a doctor, but her father insisted she was perfectly normal. After all, what child doesn't play pretend?

Her mother, however, would have none of it and secretly took her to a doctor when she was twelve years old. The doctor was certain that Beca suffered from Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder, or HPPD and prescribed her the proper medication. Her father was furious, but Beca didn't want her parents to fight and tried to go along with the medication regiment. The problem was that she didn't seem to be reaping any benefits. Instead, she became riddled with side effects like depression, nausea and suppression of REM sleep. She didn't even feel like participating in choir, her favorite part of school. This went on for two years, with her father insisting on dropping the medication and her mother constantly switching her to “better” pills. It reached a point where not even Beca could see the benefits of staying medicated, but her mother refused to believe that she didn't need some type of medical help. They just needed to try something new, she said. Clearly they just hadn't found the right treatment yet.

That was when Beca snapped. She pitched a fit and screamed more than she ever had in her life. She screamed so loud, in fact, that the force of her soundwaves tossed her mother across the living room and shattered all the nearby glass objects. They were all stunned, but none more than Beca herself. Fourteen years old and she’d never once experienced something like that when using her voice. The events of that day couldn't be ignored by either parent. Beca Mitchell was a mutant. But while her father still loved and supported her, her mother drew away from the family, eventually moving out and filing for divorce.
Like most children, Beca blamed herself for the split and withdrew from everyone around her. She and her father moved to a different neighborhood to escape the rumors, but she didn't see it as a fresh start. Instead, she kept to herself. She didn't speak with her father very often and drew away even more when he started dating again. She had very few friends at school and earned a reputation for being a weird girl after she started wearing sunglasses to block out the lights, which she figured out were soundwaves one day during science class.

Her father was greatly concerned for her well-being as he just wanted his daughter to be happy. When he found out about the Xavier Institute, he sat down and had a talk with her about enrolling. Having become fairly pessimistic since the divorce, she assumed he was just trying to get her out of the way so he could do as he pleased. He assured her he wasn't thinking anything of the sort and was just looking out for her. Wouldn't it be nice, he said, to be around people like herself? To not have to hide all the time? Besides, maybe they could teach her how to control her power. Despite her negative outlook, a part of her had to agree that anything would be better than her current situation. When she got to the Institute, though, she made absolutely no effort to connect with people for the first half of her senior year. Frustrated, her father made her a deal: if she would seriously consider making some friends by the time she graduated, he would seriously consider letting her move to Los Angeles to start her music career like she wanted. Provided that was what she still wanted after graduating, of course.

[Beca seems to be a little perturbed on this fine day.]

Okay, so. I've...misplaced a flash drive.

[She holds up her thumb and pointer finger as if trying to hold an imaginary flash drive.]

It's about this big, black, holds 8 gigs and is attached to a purple stretchy bracelet...key ring...thing. If you find it, please give it to me. Beca Mitchell. Since...I'm pretty sure most of you don't know I exist.

[A slightly panicked look crosses her face for a moment.]

The drive's full of personal stuff, so don't look at it. Seriously. That would be super rude and invading my privacy and...all that awful stuff.

Being a senior really had its perks at the Institute. Beca sat on the foot of her bed and looked around her private room, thankful she didn't need a roommate. It was bad enough that Dad wanted her to socialize, but having a roommate would've cost her much of her precious privacy. This school was already ridiculously open. She hadn’t seen so many color variations since before she started taking the diazepam. Of course, that just meant she had to wear her sunglasses more often. At least here people wouldn't bother her about it. They’d just assume it was a mutant thing and move on. Hopefully.

Beca sighed and fished her iPod out of her pocket. She removed her sunglasses and leaned just enough to the right to drop them by her laptop. Her thumb spun over the wheel and she watched song after song scroll by on her screen before settling on one of her favorites. She hit play and fell back onto her bed, the top of her head just missing colliding with the wall. The guitar and synth were pumped directly into her ears by a pair of pretty high-end headphones. She tapped her finger along to the bass and stared up at her new ceiling. She couldn't help but dwell on what-ifs. What if she’d just been normal? What if she’d actually had HPPD, but her mutation was messing with the diazepam? What if she hadn’t screamed at her mother four years ago? She wouldn't be at the center of this huge mess, that was for sure.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, then another. With each breath she stopped focusing on everything but her and the music. That was all she needed: the music. She took a few more calming breaths before opening her eyes and softly started singing.

“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose, fire away, fire away…”

She watched every sound take shape and float away, each note a different shade of green, blue or purple. They curled almost lazily in the air, like seaweed drifting toward the surface of the ocean. She used to try to catch them, like fireflies. Of course, that was back before she knew what they were. These were just small soundwaves, nothing like the kind she saw from car alarms or televisions or anything like that. And they certainly weren't big enough to do any damage. She knew from experience.

“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall, I am titanium…”

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, someday it would come true.

“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall, I am titanium…”


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Beca Mitchell

March 2013

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