HOSTIS HUMANIS GENERIS -

WHAT'S RYKER'S VIEW ON RELIGION?

John is a sceptic that only accepts empirical data; he realises that a deity only exists in the minds of those who believe in them, as empirical data shows. To him, however, deities don't exist and when life is shit it's not shit because of the influence or absence of influence of a deity. It's because life is just shit. Needless to say, John is an atheist.

WHERE WOULD HE TRAVEL IF GIVEN UNLIMITED FUNDS TO DO SO?

John has, by his uncle's corporation, the unlimited funds to go anywhere on Earth and yet he stays at home as much as he can. If truly faced with unlimited funds (and means) to travel wherever he wants to, it would be far away from Earth, far away from humanity.

HOW MUCH IMPORTANCE DOES HE PLACE ON APPEARANCE?

There was the problem. Or, the thing with John was that he had many problems, many, many problems that made him unfit for society and socially unmanageable at best. There were problems about him that hurt both his environment and himself, none of which he would ever outright see as being problems, or even issues of any kind. There was the problem, though, that left him so very disconnected from the world, he might as well not belong to it for as long as the problem took precedent. The problem being his obsessive nature.

The way his obsessive nature manifested wasn't in any manic way. It was quiet, private, reserved, the type that wasn't noticed by an outsider until that outsider found out he hadn't slept in three days already because it was always just finishing this, which ultimately lead to different tangents and more of the type of finishing which was, essentially, never finished. The type of obsession that got you stuck in your mind, in your information, in your books and in your work. Without his family, his brother to jerk him back into reality, John would have a habit of working himself into the hospital wing due to dehydration, malnourishment or plain old exhaustion.

In December, the beginning stages of hypothermia could also be the cause. He enjoyed the crisp smell of the pre-winter air, though, the way the cold cut a near tangible course through his airways into his lungs, and every breath taken was like it was especially oxygen-rich, though he knew oxygen-levels inside and outside were exactly the same. The common room was as busy as the library during these cold days, everyone loathe to be caught in the chill of high Scotland's frigidity, huddling around fireplaces and lining their warmest clothes with heating charms.

John barely felt the cold. Granted, his clothes, too, enjoyed heating charms, but with wearing nigh anything but his uniform, the vicious winds that the British Isles knew very well cut through even that security James had provided all his little brother's clothes with; John himself wouldn't even think of it, could barely pull himself away from his mind into reality to function in it. Which made it such a surprise to him that, when he looked up, the ground sported a decent few inches of snow that he hadn't been aware of falling, his hands were a vicious blue-purplish in colour and proved essentially useless in the further recording of his thoughts.

He'd been seated on the steps of the castle's entrance hall, surrounded and coated in the frozen produce of the sky, noticing only now how uncomfortably clenched all his muscles were; his jaw hurt from how his teeth had been gritted together, his back tense and his hands and feet numb. As he stood up, his entire body started trembling and it was as though the cold had now even frozen his previously over-productive mind to a screeching halt. And the only thing he could muster about it all was confusion.

The reintegration with reality always left John disorientated and confused, and this time was no different. He sniffed his nose and would wipe it on his sleeve if he had the capability of using his extremities. Turning around, John pulled on the large doors of the entrance hall to the castle which promised warmth and a regenerative ability to his body, but the doors wouldn't budge. A frown slid onto his face as he looked up at the doors, pulling yet again, harder this time, but with the cold and the tensing of his muscles, he could only open it far enough to put his foot in between the door.

The heavy door hurt, but while the pain was real and felt, John didn't flinch or even so much as react to the stimulus. Instead, he wedged his arm between the door and used it to push the door open from the inside, enough to let him in. Once inside, the practically blue boy leaned against the door, not even moving when another student stopped before him, with the obvious intention of going outside.