Leandro
Damasceno
Pinto
Leandro
Damasceno
Pinto
Name: Leandro Damasceno
Surname: Pinto
Pronouns: He/Him/They
Age: 24
Nationality: Brazilian
Ever since he was young, Leandro has loved being out in the sun, enjoying the light and the effects that it has had on his skin. He nearly always has a bit of a healthy tan on him, which turns quite a bit darker nearing the end of summer.
His style has always been rather simple, usually liking clothing that is comfortable with some color - often bright reds or blues. He does have a bit of a tendency to spend money on things like watches, shoes and cars - purely for the looks.
Sometimes he gets a bit into whatever it is he is busy with, either making money, gambling, partying or generally just being alone and away from people - which often sees him developing a bit of a beard, which he likes and Keeps till he becomes irritated.
Leandro is a young man of exquisite taste and eternal distraction. Always on the look out for things to draw his attention he lives on the edge of things that most people would only dream of. All power one could have he has turned towards the pursuit of entertainment and self-improvement - and only then ever so when that improvement entertains him. Finding rare things and ogling them for a month before selling them at auctions, moving prized wears across borders - legally or no, obtaining secrets - all of it falls within not the realms of morality or justice but rather his own, internal justification for what he does. Is he allowed to do something? He would find that question to be the wrong kind of question - rather, if all could do what he does? Would they do the same? And the answer is yes. All talents are there to be at the service of the great and the powerful and all opportunities are there to be grabbed by the willful and the brave, and abandoned by the foolish and the cowardly.
This all has led to a man that is passionate about many things, music, art, poetry, sex, drugs, travel, parties, property, exploration, cars and so much more. To a large extent, he has come to forget how to deny an experience when it comes his way, having developed a near pathologic sense of angst at the idea of missing out. This has also come to affect the way his ego has develop over time, with many people from all over the world considering him - if not a friend, an asset at least - offering him many things in the past that he enjoyed with the simple intent of getting something out of him in the future. His desire to keep them as sources of all his vices has made him deeply paranoid over keeping people happy and making sure that their idea of him is as close to the idea of himself that he wishes for other people to have of him.
His lifestyle has also had him develop stress related insomnia, often leading to him sleeping rarely for more than four hours a night, often working himself dry of energy and inspiration for a week before passing out for another.
His powers seem to stem entirely from the phenomena of reflection - a concept long since throughout much of history considered with superstition and cultish fascination. He seems to have a near sixth sense when around them, seemingly distracted by them - not entirely unlike Narcissus, becoming preoccupied with the eyes that look like his own but who he, more than any other in this world, understands not to be his - but a reflection... a silvered shadow of himself.
He is able to move through mirrors and reflective surfaces into a middle world in-between - allowing him to step through as if a doorway into a different space. He of course needs to know of the other door before he is able step through.
If he should know where another mirror is, and while he has access to one through which to peer, he can look through and see and hear as if peering through a mirror into a different space. Should a person look into that mirror, they will see him there.
He can, should he so wish, collect a reflected object within the mirror and have it appear at a different space. This is more than just travel however, as he can store an object in a merrowed space, leaving it a single object unreflected in the real world.
History
Leandro was born somewhere along the coastline of southern Brazil, his mother and father having gotten in the back of a van with a group of migrant workers traveling north from the Uruguay border and towards Rio de Janeiro. Whether they knew he would be there sooner than not they never told him, but somewhere along the coastline his mother had felt his approach, and one of the women travelling with the group had escorted her out of the vehicle, and onto the beach - his father holding him for the first time as the sun rose up.
He grew up a happy enough kid, seeing beautiful things in the everyday - finding that even in simple pleasures one can find some way to explore and discover joy. His love of food, heavily spiced and colorful along with his love of running, jumping and playing anything under the sunlight made and kept him healthy and made him popular enough with the kids who lived with him on their somewhat impoverished streets. Kicking an old an run down ball down the road along old cars and graffitied homes, he rarely felt the troubles that came with his father struggling to hold a job, and his mother's - then still - unrevealed sadness.
He was never a good student and while his parents and teachers seemed to wish the best for him, his distracted nature and his boundless energy seemed to convey to them that he would never be one to sit still. A passing grade was a passing grade and that was good enough. He would still be able to find a job somewhere, and they would make do eventually - as they always did.
He was ten when his father left them, having to go off shore and work on an oil-platform south and away from him and his mother. He missed the man, and when he stopped coming home a few years later he accepted it with a stiff upper lip, for both his sake and that of his mother who seemed to struggle more and more.
Then, the dreams started. He saw someone in them - himself? A reflection of a person he felt he knew yet seemed so very foreign to him It took him a long time to finally tell his mother of the boy that seemed to watch him when he slept, having been unable to expect the reaction he got from her. She cried and shouted and blamed and ignored him - and in between the noise he managed to figure out that he was not the only one born on that beach so many years back - just the only one to survive the birth.
He had a twin. His mother then believed the spirit of his brother was haunting him, and Leandro quickly came to believe the same, as mirrors seem to show another boy more often than not - reacting, moving, talking - reflecting him... and sometimes others. The reflection showed Leandro people from far away, he saw forbidden things that people did when they thought no one was looking - and one day... he found that his brother could even take him away, through these silver doors to other places.
That was years ago, and much of this had become nonsense to him. His mother now lived retired and alone in a beautiful house in a protected resort, and they had not spoken in a while. He figured that the reflection was not his brother, but his own - simply offering him the powers that it seemed no other had. And he appreciated it. The power felt good. Curse or no, he magic or no, whatever it was - it was useful. It allowed him to travel. To see. To experience. To learn. To pack his bags, and step into worlds so distant and foreign.
He made friends. And enemies. Played cards. Drank with models. Shared secrets. Carried wealth and art and drugs and all those things all over - until those things became a job and so became boring and then were done only to keep the people with the power and the money at his side. And so the list of people who were unhappy with his unnatural advantages - secret they may still be - started hunting and tracking and trying to secure the boy that seemed to be everywhere, knew everyone and always had some sense of how the game was going to play out.
Until he finally got that damn letter - and he realised how tired he was from running. Tired he was of distraction. Tried of, in those dark moments, still worrying about Ordnael - his mirrored twin, and that one day, maybe, it would be him stepping through the mirror, leaving Leandro behind the glass.