Post by Gig♠ntick on Jun 9, 2011 11:33:49 GMT -10
»The Player
Is Tickeeh :3
»The Puppet
Name: Mance Arthur Black
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Hair Color: dark blonde with heavy highlights
Eye Color: Brown
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Cuban
Occupation: Kicker for the Wolves
Face Claim: William Levy
Appearance: Mance is 6'0" and 200 lbs. and utterly narcissistic. He is a workout addict, and more than moderately defined in the muscle department. He is a golden tan, denoting his regular tanning salon visits, and his dark blonde hair is always tousled artfully. He always has a spark of defiance in his eye and a debonair smile on his lips. His usual attire is purposefully constructed to appear as if he's always either on his way to or from a gym; gym shorts, and either a heavy college sweatshirt, a dark t-shirt, or no shirt at all. He wears no jewelry but a silver crucifix around his neck, which, just like everything else about him, is insignificant and for show.
Personality: Mance looks out for numero uno; that's him, of course. He's selfish to a fault, always the one with the newest toys in his hand and the prettiest girls on his arm. He isn't afraid to abuse his status as a professional football player to get where he needs to go. He's Debonair and chivalrous, always on the lookout for the damsel in distress. He's a wild soul, and as long as he has his strength, he has his youth. Not everything about Mance is necessarily bad, though. He's a careful person, and despite his lavish living is very financially prudent. He's respectful as well, willing to not just save a victim, but see that the victim gets every opportunity to overcome the incident, be it counseling, possession replacement, etcetera.
History: Mance never used to be such a dirty scum-bag. He was a hero since he was young, always helping where he could. It was at 18 when he rescued an especially grateful girl that he was ultimately corrupted. While he is a good hero in general, he's not above receiving certain forms of thanks when they're offered. As far as he's concerned, the Justice League hasn't swooped in to set down the hero code of conduct, and until that day he's a free man.
»The Side-effects
Super Name: The Black Poet
Class: Hero
Powers: Psychic Weapons and teleportation
Weakness: high-pitched noises, such as the whine of a mosquito, shatter his concentration. As for teleportation, he can't make more than a few trips in a day, which means teleporting in a fight is out of the question.
How do they get into their disguise? Teleports himself away to change
Suit description: A tuxedo with a black rose, black gloves, and a black half-mask.
»The Extras
Roleplay example: Rubber soles made only scuffing sounds along the empty road as Mance strode calmly along the street, both hands in his red "Indiana University" sweatshirt. He pulled out a near-empty water bottle and tipped his head back for a drink, taking the chance to glance at the skinny canine across the street. It had been following him for a while now, and he was certain that it was no ordinary street dog at this point. It was too wild-looking for that. Too small to be a wolf, as well...
"oof."
Mance's eyes bugged as he ran into another man. As he turned to apologize, he found he had to look up. The dark-skinned stranger was half a foot taller, much leaner, and very angry-looking. Not to be put off, Mance smiled charmingly at him as the strange dog approached his from behind.
"Sorry about that, I didn't see you there. If you'll allow me to be on my way-"
"I'm afraid I can't let you be on your way."
Mance heard the sound of a blade across leather, and didn't have to look down to know there was now a knife in the man's hand. He was much younger, Mance noticed now...
"Well, see, I have to get home. Could we do this again when I'm not in sweaty clothes?"
He heard the dog leap, claws scraping the ground, and instinct made him drop to the ground. The dog jumped over and the other man had to avoid being barrelled into by his own beast, giving Mance enough to roll away from the two and leap to his feet. Running seemed a silly idea, given the trained canine, so it looked like it was a fight. Mance looked up, committing to memory the man's outfit: Native American at its finest, with buckskin pants, feathered hair, and painted face.
The man ran at him with a grunt. Mance, with a mental push, pushed him aside lightly enough so he could dodge the other way and under the knife. The dog ran at him, and he was not so kind. With another mental push, a force resembling that of a swung baseball bat crashed into the canine's back leg. The beast stumbled, and strangely enough both dog and master grunted with pain.
Mance watched as the man ran at him again, amused by the limp. From that moment on, for a good ten minutes, he played a game. Man and beast chase him, and he mentally harasses the same limb. And still the man was determined to kill him. aside from a slim knife with edged hooks on either side of the tip, he had drawn a much heavier ceremonial dagger with feathers tied onto a leather thong around the handle.
But now, he was tired and bored with the younger man.
Now he moved in himself, still fresh and fighting fit, kicking the man in the stomach, and when he double over, pulling his knee and the man's face together with one deft motion. The man fell, and the dog, coyote he supposed, stumbled and fell.
The young man, face on the ground, breathed heavily and didn't look up.
"Next time, you're done for."
"I'm sure."
At that, he took another drag of his water bottle, turned, and walked away.
Is Tickeeh :3
»The Puppet
Name: Mance Arthur Black
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Hair Color: dark blonde with heavy highlights
Eye Color: Brown
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Cuban
Occupation: Kicker for the Wolves
Face Claim: William Levy
Appearance: Mance is 6'0" and 200 lbs. and utterly narcissistic. He is a workout addict, and more than moderately defined in the muscle department. He is a golden tan, denoting his regular tanning salon visits, and his dark blonde hair is always tousled artfully. He always has a spark of defiance in his eye and a debonair smile on his lips. His usual attire is purposefully constructed to appear as if he's always either on his way to or from a gym; gym shorts, and either a heavy college sweatshirt, a dark t-shirt, or no shirt at all. He wears no jewelry but a silver crucifix around his neck, which, just like everything else about him, is insignificant and for show.
Personality: Mance looks out for numero uno; that's him, of course. He's selfish to a fault, always the one with the newest toys in his hand and the prettiest girls on his arm. He isn't afraid to abuse his status as a professional football player to get where he needs to go. He's Debonair and chivalrous, always on the lookout for the damsel in distress. He's a wild soul, and as long as he has his strength, he has his youth. Not everything about Mance is necessarily bad, though. He's a careful person, and despite his lavish living is very financially prudent. He's respectful as well, willing to not just save a victim, but see that the victim gets every opportunity to overcome the incident, be it counseling, possession replacement, etcetera.
History: Mance never used to be such a dirty scum-bag. He was a hero since he was young, always helping where he could. It was at 18 when he rescued an especially grateful girl that he was ultimately corrupted. While he is a good hero in general, he's not above receiving certain forms of thanks when they're offered. As far as he's concerned, the Justice League hasn't swooped in to set down the hero code of conduct, and until that day he's a free man.
»The Side-effects
Super Name: The Black Poet
Class: Hero
Powers: Psychic Weapons and teleportation
Weakness: high-pitched noises, such as the whine of a mosquito, shatter his concentration. As for teleportation, he can't make more than a few trips in a day, which means teleporting in a fight is out of the question.
How do they get into their disguise? Teleports himself away to change
Suit description: A tuxedo with a black rose, black gloves, and a black half-mask.
»The Extras
Roleplay example: Rubber soles made only scuffing sounds along the empty road as Mance strode calmly along the street, both hands in his red "Indiana University" sweatshirt. He pulled out a near-empty water bottle and tipped his head back for a drink, taking the chance to glance at the skinny canine across the street. It had been following him for a while now, and he was certain that it was no ordinary street dog at this point. It was too wild-looking for that. Too small to be a wolf, as well...
"oof."
Mance's eyes bugged as he ran into another man. As he turned to apologize, he found he had to look up. The dark-skinned stranger was half a foot taller, much leaner, and very angry-looking. Not to be put off, Mance smiled charmingly at him as the strange dog approached his from behind.
"Sorry about that, I didn't see you there. If you'll allow me to be on my way-"
"I'm afraid I can't let you be on your way."
Mance heard the sound of a blade across leather, and didn't have to look down to know there was now a knife in the man's hand. He was much younger, Mance noticed now...
"Well, see, I have to get home. Could we do this again when I'm not in sweaty clothes?"
He heard the dog leap, claws scraping the ground, and instinct made him drop to the ground. The dog jumped over and the other man had to avoid being barrelled into by his own beast, giving Mance enough to roll away from the two and leap to his feet. Running seemed a silly idea, given the trained canine, so it looked like it was a fight. Mance looked up, committing to memory the man's outfit: Native American at its finest, with buckskin pants, feathered hair, and painted face.
The man ran at him with a grunt. Mance, with a mental push, pushed him aside lightly enough so he could dodge the other way and under the knife. The dog ran at him, and he was not so kind. With another mental push, a force resembling that of a swung baseball bat crashed into the canine's back leg. The beast stumbled, and strangely enough both dog and master grunted with pain.
Mance watched as the man ran at him again, amused by the limp. From that moment on, for a good ten minutes, he played a game. Man and beast chase him, and he mentally harasses the same limb. And still the man was determined to kill him. aside from a slim knife with edged hooks on either side of the tip, he had drawn a much heavier ceremonial dagger with feathers tied onto a leather thong around the handle.
But now, he was tired and bored with the younger man.
Now he moved in himself, still fresh and fighting fit, kicking the man in the stomach, and when he double over, pulling his knee and the man's face together with one deft motion. The man fell, and the dog, coyote he supposed, stumbled and fell.
The young man, face on the ground, breathed heavily and didn't look up.
"Next time, you're done for."
"I'm sure."
At that, he took another drag of his water bottle, turned, and walked away.
