Henry James Nathaniel Carter, Son of Hermes

Full name: Henry James Nathaniel Carter
Nicknames: Henry, James, Jimmy, Nathan, Nate, Chameleon, The Hidden Storm, Quiet Thunder, Gentleman B*stard, Locke Lamora, Thorn of New York
Age:16
Years at Camp:Three months

God and mortal parent:Hermes and Helena Bonham Carter. Fiona Elizabeth Hannah Rachel Carter.
Date of birth: 29 February 1996
Place of birth: Switzerland. He doesn't know where.

Appearance:

Da face and hair (Not the tattoos or facial hair, but he could draw those/whatever on):

Eye color:Blue-green
Hair:Kind of long, keeps it kind of slicked back.
Height:5'9"
Body type: Strong but small
Distinct markings:He has a heart-shaped scar on his left ankle that he normally covers with make-up.
Personality: Henry doesn't like telling anyone who he really is, so his personality changes based off of the role he masks himself with. Whenever I have him play a role, I'll explain how he'll be.
His true self is very anti-social and very protective of secrets, but still passionately for human rights and logic in general. Henry hates being opposed, and he hates being forced into big decisions. He can be very brash and insensitive, but he always cares for how people think of him.
Style: When Henry's normally walking around, he tends to dress in formal to casual-formal clothes, typically donning a nice suit coat or blazer independent of the weather. When he's doing sneak-y business, he changes to match the environment he's in. (Jungle fatigues in the jungle, a business suit for when he's acting high-class, or ratty old clothes for a hobo)

Powers:None.
Fatal Flaw: Henry has acted as so many different people, he can't accurately answer questions about his own past.
Flaws: Henry hates trusting people and will oppose anything he doesn't like by trying his best to annihilate it. He also hates when those in power lie, and typically abhors wealth in general. He's not great at social interaction except when playing a character or telling other people what to do. This is not technically a flaw, but I definitely disables him; Henry is diabetic, so he has to check his blood sugar often. He has an insulin meter thing that has a tube into his stomach the automatically injects it, but he has to refill it. He doesn't have incredible stamina, so he relies on getting away quickly and hiding rather than trying to outrun anyone.

Weapon(s:(Two black spray-painted hook swords, spring-propelled hidden wrist knives, and two long daggers. All Celestial Bronze, but he has copies of all of them in mortal metals as well. He has a technicolor suit that can change into just about any clothes, including armor.
Pets:None, but he's good with animals.
Talents/Skills:He's great at disguises (i.e. Wigs, facial hair, scars, and wrinkles. He can make himself look like just about any age or station.), including making good clothing choices to fit in with certain groups. He's an excellent climber and a good computer hacker. He's really good at leading people to get things done, and he's great at anticipating other peoples' reactions. He also knows several different languages fluently, and knows something pertinent for just about every culture of the world. Henry is an excellent climber and great at free running, as well as parkour. He's a rather good sword-fighter, as well, and is great at hand-to-hand combat because he knows several pressure points.

Biography:Henry's mom was a humble, Italian bank-teller in Switzerland when he was born, and made (and stole) enough money to keep them in a happy state of living. That didn't, however, last very long, because when Henry was about two, his mom took him to work with her. If the bank hadn't been robbed that day, Henry might have had a normal life, but the robbers weren't looking for money. They were looking for geniuses, and unfortunately for Henry, that's exactly what his mother was. Unbeknownst to the rest of the bank, Fiona had been gradually stealing money by taking all of the money their computer systems rounded off in their transactions. No one there noticed it, but a international coming agency did when they were shorted two cents, and Helena made it so the bank didn't give them their two cents. This particular group of criminals was called the Gentlemen B*stards, and had been stealing money from banks all over the world by this same process for years. Their most recent hacker had died in a terrible accident; he went for a long walk on a short pier. Very sad. They decided this woman would be just as good, so they tracked her down and kidnapped her. For appearances, they stole all of the money from the bank's vault, and hit all of the other employees hard enough to make them have intense amnesia. They were, however, gentlemen, and couldn't possibly separate a mother form her baby. So they took Henry, too, and helped Fiona raise him. They taught him their trade.

When he was young, Henry watched the Gentlemen B*stards forsake their name several times. He said brutal murders and the breaking of several ethical rather than governmental laws. He created his own morals, completely separate of the rest of them. They realized how smart he was, but they didn't like the way he rebelled against them. He happened to set it up so that his minor infractions, that were forgiven, set up the perfect escape route for him. At the age of twelve, Henry escaped from imprisonment amongst some of the smartest criminals in the world. He didn't however, manage to get his mother out with him. He succeeded in getting away, but he also discommunicated from his mom.

Henry had heard about America before, and it seemed like a terrible, awful mess to him. New York was, he thought, the worst, so he went there. He already knew English and enough about the culture to fit right in, so he did. He started out on the streets, doing little things like pick-pocketing, and slowly worked his way up to more elaborate crimes, like stealing entire clothing racks and inheriting a penthouse apartment from his great aunt Wilfred, who didn't exist. He infiltrated any company he thought was doing anything slightly corrupt, and fixed them. He would work his way up to corporate if he had to (he was great at acting like an adult), and would then remodel the company entirely until it suited him. Most of the time, he worked alone, but occasionally he recruited people from the streets to help him. One team was the catalyst to his growing lack of trust in humanity, and it didn't help any when he got them all killed. (Anecdote about this in the RP Example)

Henry realized that he needed someone to confide in, lest he lose himself in all of these lies. Something felt different about this group, so he decided to use them more often. He dropped his disguises and showed his true self, helping them out and forming them into a more cohesive group. Eventually, everyone was sharing everything, because they'd finally found a home away from home. On one particular job, though. Henry had to make an impossibly hard decision when the entire group had been captured by the Gentlemen B*stards, who had expanded their syndicate to not only steal from the American Government, but also to involving elite tracking teams. They decided to provide Henry with the worst ultimatum they could create; he had to choose to personally kill every one of his teammates and get away, and never have to be followed by the Gentlemen B*stards again, or have them kill him and torture his teammates for any information they needed about him. Henry thought about it for a long time, but eventually decided emotional attachment was bad, and would get him nowhere. He personally killed all of his team, and his finger only hesitated on the last kill. Chelsea.

She didn't simply accept it like the others. She wrestled free of her restraints, and kicked him across the face. He dropped the gun, and she towered over him as he sprawled on the ground. She slid a minuscule knife from her fingernail and drew a heart drew into his ankle, and said "I don't blame you, but this is so you always remember, no matter who you are, and no matter where you go. You killed someone who loved you, because you couldn't love them." She then picked up the gun and pressed it to her temple, and shot herself. She'd positioned it so that her dead body fell perfectly on top of him.

(Now, we go forward in time a few days to where the start of the RP Example is.)
After the betrayal fiasco, Henry couldn't exactly do jobs anymore. His mind couldn't focus, and he couldn't move that quickly do to a limp. When he settled down on a park bench one day, a man who appeared to be a cripple came up to him and told him of how much danger he was in. Having never heard that his father was a God, Henry naturally dismissed the satyr's speech. As the satyr spoke more, he realized that, even if this was some bizarre trap, it wouldn't matter. If he ended up dying, he'd be happier than he was, and if he ended up finding a place where he could focus and get back on his feet, so be it. He left with the satyr.

RP Example:I sat down on a park bench in the unassuming clothes of a typical New Yorker, and bent over, head in my hands. My mind was ringing with so many thoughts at once that I was starting to get a headache. I should never have grown attached. I should never have trusted them. I should never have gone so low as to have them killed.

It had started out as a normal group; some fresh faces, some repeated ones. This time, however, there was some undertone of familiarity, of synergy. I had taken it as a good sign, hoping that this complicated mission would go well. There was Penny, the document forger; Harold, the driver; Jackson, the locksmith. The newest face, the one I'd never seen before, and that had instantly caught my eye, was Chelsea. I didn't know her name at the time, she just went by "Jackie of All Trades," but the desire to know her name had been there isntantly. She had a head of shockingly red hair and a body that was perfectly proportioned. I had to wonder why she wasn't a model, but I figured with a title as the one she'd been given, it must have been because she was better at a lot of things, rather than just at looking good.

Recognizing my authority, Chelsea came up to me and introduced herself, stating her name as Jacqueline. I froze for a second before replying that I was The Chameleon. I shook her hand, and she kissed the green ring I was wearing as part of the Chameleon gettup. Whenever I worked with the same people, I became a new person. Right now, I had a fake red goatee on, with a rainbow-coloured wig and my technicolor suit. The more ridiculous of characters I made, the more ridiculous of clothes I wore, the less likely people would be to remember me. I'd had so many personas now that I couldn't even remember who I used to be that well. Was I really born in Switzerland, or was that a fabrication? My true hair colour I knew, but I knew so many languages and dialects and had created so many back stories to hide who I was that I barely know who I was. I knew, in the moment of meeting Chelsea, that I needed someone to confide in. To share my secrets with.

But I also knew that I could trust no one. If only I'd been able to remember that.

Other Notes: He's currently in a state of depression due to PTSD over killing his only friends. He should get better.