Severin St. Georges (yes, the "s" is silent) was born in the Southwest
Kensington area of London to a well-off established urban family. His
father, Stuart, and eldest brother, Stuart St. Georges, Jr. worked
together as barristers in the private family practice. St. George &
Sons had been established in 1842, and had been going strong ever
since. Severin, however, was not destined to be a second in the legal
calling.
A very bright child, both his parents had extremely high hopes for
him. They sent Severin at age 7 to join his older brother Stephen, age
9, at Primary School (Stuart, Jr., being much older, was already in
Secondary school, and his youngest sister Emma was just five).
Unfortunately, over a period of two years, Severin was repeatedly
admonished for being difficult, anti-social, a back-talker, and on at
least one occasion, even physically abusive. At their wit's end, his
parents Stuart and Beth finally removed him from the exclusive school
(much to Stephen's relief) and enrolled him at a "special" school,
where analysts at first misdiagnosed him as having ADHD and placed him
on what turned out to be disastrous medications for most of his youth.
It didn't help, though he retreated into his own world for the most
part and managed, through private tutoring, to pull his grades back
up. He found the private world in his head much more fascinating than
the one on the outside, which only seemed to criticize and reject his
behaviors and patterns.
The thing that fascinated him most was chemistry and molecular
patterns. His parents both hoped this meant he would become a surgeon,
but Severin cared little for their hopes and instead zeroed in solely
on chemistry. Having been accepted to the exclusive Oxbridge College
at Oxford University, he immersed himself in his work there, leaning
heavily towards a growing fascination with pharmaceuticals he loved
the structure and delicate balance that occurred in the marriage of
the chemicals.
While in his third year, however, his roommate Daniel - another Chem
major - convinced him that they should perhaps start creating their
own drugs. Daniel was so far Severin's only friend, and he had to
admit that it sounded like a good plan. He stopped taking his own
prescribed meds cold turkey, knowing in advance that they did nothing
to benefit him anyway, and figured he may as well try something that
may be fun instead.
It was a disastrous decision though going off his ADHD meds in and of
itself did not do much more than exacerbate his already addled mind,
the meth he cooked up increased his aggression and impulsively
ten-fold, leading him to attack one of Daniel's friends, get expelled
from school and only avoid criminal prosecution due to his family's
connections and the school's desires to keep things quiet.
Severin was sent to a "spa" by his family at this point-- a glorified
asylum where he finally discovered part of the puzzle to what he
thought of as his dysfunctional brain: analysts diagnosed him as
having AS, or Asperger's Syndrome. A little-known issue that had just
entered the DVM in 1994, it was often misdiagnosed as ADHD. They told
him that no, he was not a brat or being difficult, although the
decision to cook and do meth was still not something to shrug off, of
course. But having nothing to keep those impulsive actions in check
had led to his "difficult" behavior - the active, yet clumsy and odd
actions, the insistent and often inappropriate fixed eye contact, and
the equally odd steadfastness with which he'd insist that others
conform to his strict rules that indicated he wasn't being a brat, but
rather, he had a strict mindset which he himself was being forced to
follow.
Though he found some peace in this answer (and proper medication),
Severin never felt total acceptance from his family. He felt as if he
were broken somehow, and yet the part of his brain that knew he was
smart enough to get by on his skills as an uncertified chemist - if he
watched himself - led him eventually to hook up with some associates
in East London who were more than happy to put his skills to use, and
pay him well for it.
Severin never touched meth after his disastrous college experience,
though he was fond of drink in moderation (he normally does not let
himself have more than two at a sitting, knowing that to do otherwise
is counteractive to his meds). When he voiced a desire to move to
warmer climes to his employer, he had Florida in mind, but got San
Francisco instead. He stayed there for about two years, unhappy,
before relocating to Los Angeles. He was there for the remainder of
time until Captain Tripps broke out, growing more and more bored and
dissatisfied with mixing simple crystal meth in dingy, unsafe
conditions - he longed for something more challenging.
As the sickness spread, he found himself raiding pharmacies for his
neighbors, frustrated that the drugs wouldn't work and the people -
though he cared little for them personally - died. He wanted it all to
work the way it ought to. He had disturbing dreams of a man in Las
Vegas beckoning to him with a clean laboratory in which to work, and
though the promise was tempting, Severin did not like the desert and
found the idea of Las Vegas tacky. He preferred the other dream for
some reason - the quiet of the mountains. Boulder, he thought it was.
They used to go to Switzerland for ski vacations when he was with his
family - maybe it will be like that there.
He's found a quiet, empty two-story Craftsman-style home on a
mostly-vacant street in Boulder, where he's been keeping himself busy
trying to figure out how to reproduce more complicated
medicines...specifically, the ones he'll need. He's not contacted
anyone, nor does he really wish to right now. He's not sure why, but
there's something strangely reassuring in working alone. Either that,
or he's too afraid to go outside.
