Roll to Dodge: Not so normal life. READ FIRST POST
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Miggles
Data Realms Elite
Joined: Mon Jul 12, 2010 5:39 am Posts: 4558
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Started Tuesday, sue me.
contrary i didnt know you had such feelings for maarten
Mon Jan 20, 2014 6:37 am
maart3n
Joined: Tue Dec 23, 2008 8:04 pm Posts: 1545
Re: Epilogue post
Daemonofcaeks: Linus Robertson Get ready for work and start travelling there. "Aleksandrov Genetics? The rumors aren't good but they are doing some incredible work." The article looks tempting, but there's no time to read it right now, maybe during lunch. Hmm, you wonder if they'd have changed the horrible cafeteria food. That would have been one hell of a new years resolution from the big guys. On the way to your car you double check if your security card is still in the pocket of your lab coat, wouldn't want to be strip searched at the gate again, like in 2031.
The security guard looks different today, you don't know for sure and sure as hell don't bother asking. "First day of the year and we have to work while everybody else is sleeping off their champagne." "No rest for the weary...."
Funny, there's a biochemical transport coming in behind you, usually those things mean interesting new research opportunities. Maybe this is going to be your year after all.
Name: Linus Robertson Passive abilities: Steady hands: can not roll ones when manipulating delicate or small objects. Strong immune system: situational resistance Sex: Male Age: 34 Appearance: Linus is a thirty four year old male, just over six foot tall. Pale from much of his working life from working deep within the bowels of a CDC building, he is in shape from years of running to catch the morning bus on the way to work. He has several ring shaped scars on his right arm thanks to the annual CDC vaccination program for it's workers to ensure they are upto date incase of any disease outbreak. At work, he'd typically be wearing a white labcoat with several pens in it's pocket protector before suiting up into a class A hazmat suit, needed to work in the labs below. The suits are fairly heavy, so he has to remain in a modicum of shape to be able to properly move around in one, but years of handling glass vials containing world ending virological samples has left him walking around surefooted and careful - in his line of work it's better to carefully make ten steps than to make fifty steps and slip. Occupation: CDC virologist. Backstory: Linus's parents were both doctors, his mother a nurse and his father a surgeon. Blessed from birth with a strong immune system discovered when the flu went around his school and he not once got ill and in addition to enjoying helping people, like looking after his elder brother after he came down with the very same flu led to him quickly following in the family business of medicine. Graduating at the top of his class (Not getting ill and being pushed hard work wonders when it comes to studying), he quickly earned his scrubs in the medical profession as an intern at the hospital where his parents work before joining with the CDC as a virologist, naturally being suited to field work in areas of southeast Asia and war torn Africa where the spectres of Cholera, TB and Pneumonia still reaped. It was on one of these foreign aid missions where he met his future wife, a young lady named Cassandra Wilkins, who was a foreign aid worker from the United Kingdom. They quickly fell in love and she returned with him to New York, where she took up a job working at a nearby dentist. It was at this time that Linus's years of hard work finally paid off and he was removed from the field duty roster and instead transferred to working at the nearby CDC building with a slight raise. There he would fight his part in the ongoing war against the horrors of disease, horrors that he had witnessed first hand on his field missions. With his parents support, he would communicate with them to get their advice on things at both work and in his day to day life, such as how does Inhibitor Alpha-4 impact adrenal production or what would be a good colour to paint the baby's room? Speaking of babies, Linus and his beloved wife are now trying to start their own family after they moved into a bigger house in the suburbs following Linus's promotion. With everything looking so good for the family, what could go wrong?
Contrary: Jon Winters Search my apartment for candles and a lighter. ♥♥♥♥ him, ♥♥♥♥ the landlord, ♥♥♥♥ conforming to society. You're gonna light a candle, that sounds like a good calming idea. "Jon I swear to God if you do not answer this door right now I'm going to call the cops." Flames are such amazing things to behold, their random movements enacted by the smooth red-orange gradient. A thud like sound on the other side of the door, a bit like when the man across the hall comes back drunk again and closes the door with a little too much force. There is also a slight hiss, might be the flame though. Oh the beauty of the flame. "Jon Winters? Sir? We need you to open the door right now, there has been a gas leak in the building. We're lucky your landlord called just in time."
Name: Jon Winters Passive abilities: Child prodigy: Has the ability to learn new things one turn quicker. Penniless living: Being poor has made Jon good at haggling down prices. Sex: Male Age: 31 Appearance: 5'11 with light skin, tousled brown hair and hazel eyes. His wardrobe is dominated by cheap slacks and poorly ironed dress shirts in muted tones. Occupation: Unemployed. Formerly a data entry clerk for a landfill management firm. Back-story: Beginning life as a child prodigy, my parents and teachers had high hopes for Jon. He instantly picked up concepts his peers would struggle with for years and he revelled in his superiority. But he did little to capitalize on his head start and over the years his classmates caught up to him. Stricken by the realization that he was not special, Jon drifted through the rest of mandatory schooling, doing only enough not to draw attention to himself. He completed his schooling with passable grades and passable social standing but those who knew him noted that seemed distracted, as if waiting for something grand and interesting to finally arrive. Jon drifted into a job doing paperwork for landfills, a profession which did not offend him very much and therefore did not seek to change. Filling his day with work and his nights with Diet Cola and the Home Improvement Network, Jon successfully reached 31 without causing much inconvenience to anyone. This benchmark held no special importance for him, and like most of his birthdays went by entirely unnoticed by Jon. But on the first day of spring, in his first spring of being 31, Jon swivelled his desk chair to peer out his window. Windows were a rare privilege for workers of his level but seniority and luck had gifted him this several years ago. As he gazed down on the company parking lot, something stirred inside of Jon. He turned back to his paper work and with great calm and precision folded every memo and receipt and tax return and invoice into paper planes. He carefully placed those aside and scoured his small office for more paper. Filling his work space with the folded aircrafts he began to draw whispers from neighbouring co-workers, but they did nothing. Driven by something great and unexplainable Jon threw open his office window and let his creations take to the smoggy skies. The winds were strong and every piece of paper work embarked on a great journey across New York City. Jon was fired from his job and was fined heavily by the city and though this put him in a difficult spot financially, he did not seem particularly bothered. After cleaning out his office Jon went home to his apartment and waited.
The Kebbit: Ben Jawson Hustle Roland inside and stanch the worst of his bullet wounds with a towel, grabbing a burner phone to ring up some vaguely-trustworthy medical man. Preferably that Whirlow fella. "♥♥♥♥, ♥♥♥♥, ♥♥♥♥, not cool man, not cool..."
"whaaaaaaat?"
Roland's not going to live that much longer unless you do something. There's only one thing left to do, call doctor, a real doctor. Ryker! Maybe he could help you out, he does owe you for that time you got those angry gangbangers to back off after one of their homies died on his operating table. Thank god Roland had his burner phone on him, that's one less piece of evidence that can be traced back to you. "Yo Whirlow, yeah yeah it's me Ben. Yes the guy who shot those Mexicans last year, I told you not to discuss that over the ♥♥♥♥ phone. Hey man I need a favour, my buddy here is bleeding to death on my floor, he needs help bad. Can you do me a solid and patch him up?"
You throw Roland in the back of your stolen black Escalade and floor it on the way to the doc.
Name: Ben Jawson Passive abilities: Always drugged: Drugging Ben has a twice as high a chance of failing. Russian connections: Speaking Russian can have it's advantages in the underworld. Sex: Male Age: 26 Appearance: A broad-shouldered man of 6' with a shaven skull and sunken, bloodshot grey eyes, teeth visibly grinding to powder from a jaw permanently clenched. Occupation: Small-time Drug Dealer Background: Where there is a market there exists the consummate merchant, embodiment of their field. He does not care about the quality of his product except that it has the grade, качества, quality to satisfy the purchaser. He does not care about the end of his product, only that it is shifted to his gain. Jawson is a human consequence, an accident of birth that went too far, a crumbling shell limping into the future with a Kalashnikov for a crutch. From his cramped safe house flow packets of psychoactives, anesthetics, amphetamines, bricks of freebased cocaine, tranquilizers, crude heroin, ketamine - and for his fine work in redistribution, Jawson exacts some of the supply current for himself, spending days at a time locked outside of our reality. One day a vessel will burst in Jawson's brain and finally stop his misery; but for society, this day is too far ahead. It is noted that he has one ally within his field, a corrupt officer turned fellow drug dealer.
Harzipan: Roland Black Don't die of bloodloss/organ failure. "Man note rule men" Either Ben is talking bull♥♥♥♥ or you're in worse shape than you thought. A soft: "What?" Is all you get out of your throat before passing out again.
Name: Roland Black Passive abilities: Crooked cop: When encountering there is a 50% change that the criminal recognizes you as a former accomplice. Or a 10% chance to have been put in jail thanks to you. Walking bullet hole: Getting shot only hurts you half as much. Sex: Probably a guy but you never know these days Age: 47 Appearance: An aged, balding individual, whom the years have treated with a mild dose of respect. Coated with a partial head of black hair and a mild goatee, Roland has the appearance of a well meaning uncle. His years with the NYPD have kept him in the habit of personal fitness, which is evident on his toned, bullet-scarred body. Occupation: Former Cop/Drug Producer Backstory: Roland is a bad person. Or so he would like to think. Years of rejection and hatred from both his fellow officers, and his friends and family had led him to become a hateful being, especially towards higher authority. Why few ever loved or liked him, he never figured out. Was it his dampening, realist views? His lack of humor? Who knows. All that can be said for sure, is that the only ones who ever seemed to understand him were those that he arrested. The scum of the street. The dealers and the killers. Those that stalked and defiled. The beasts of the city. He could connect with them. He understood the hatred that was directed towards them. He started working the system. Those that truly appealed to him, he let free, or as free as one could be once caught and tagged. Assistance was given to those that understood him, and in return, he learned what it was like to be them. In return for his humanity (Or lack thereof,) Roland was taught how to properly produce the chemicals and drugs that were so highly regarded in the underbelly of the city which he called home. He learned from the tainted minds that ran the crooked, beautiful world of the night. Trust was earned between groups, and from that, he gained friends. They might not have been the best that humanity had to offer, but they were what he craved the most. While one world shunned him, another accepted him. And this made him happy. For the last three years, thanks to his new found skills, Roland has managed to acquire a modest sum of wealth. Enough to comfortably retire some distant day. But one day, on the eve of his 47th birthday, Roland let his guard down. And then his world came crashing down. A superior officer found out what he did in his spare time, and from that, Roland's web of lies began to unravel. His apartment was searched, ransacked, and put under watch. In it, police found both his stash of dirty money, and his extensive list of contacts, deals made, and those falsely let out of custody. From that, they were able to find and arrest many of Roland's former friends and business partners. He was now alone. While evading the police, Roland was fired upon by two former workplace associates. Although he was hit multiple times, Roland managed to return fire and escape. He went to the only place he knew he would be safe, at least for the time being. Ben Jawson. Riddled with bullet holes, and heavily bleeding, Roland reached his only remaining ally's home, and promptly passed out.
Cricket: Claire Sharp Classes shouldn't be starting until late January. Better check my work schedule, though. With all the parties last night you're surprised nobody has called you to fill in for them yet. Better check your schedule to make sure. Monday 31-12-35 [17:00-22:00] Tuesday 1-1-36 [06:00-12:00] And then nothing more. This could mean two things: One, the new manager is an absolute idiot and has no idea how schedules work. Two, the new manager is an absolutely worthless excuse for a human being and has not only fired you, but has also given you the worst possible shift as your last day. And with the other new kid and him as only other personnel on duty today is going to be great. Either way, you're going to be late if you don't hurry up.
Name: Claire Sharp Passive abilities: Computer geek: You have a 50% higher chance when attempting any action involving a computer. Inconspicuous: Unless they're looking for you people won't notice you. Unless you're doing something obviously out of the ordinary. Sex: Female Age: 20 Appearance: Pale skin, grey eyes, and long black hair that reaches halfway down her back. 5 feet 3 inches (160 cm). Her hair is usually a mess, purple bags under blood-shot eyes, and smile lines that make her look older than she actually is. Most of her time spent at a computer desk, in a classroom, and at a cash register has left her with a less-than-adequate diet and a lack of exercise, resulting in a thin body not suited for physical labor. For school she wears a wrinkled button down shirt and khakis, and for work, a blue polo shirt with khakis. Not a very diverse wardrobe. Occupation: College student/supermarket cashier Backstory: Raised by her father for as long as she can remember, Claire was an okay child. She went to school, got good grades, and stayed up til the crack of dawn messing around with the computer. Being the single child of a working parent, she never suffered from the whole "parents ruining my life" thing that the rest of her classmates seem to have to deal with, and her knack for programming and inability to get a good rest has granted her the ability to instantly fall asleep anywhere, and then wake up at a whisper of her name. Math and science were always easy, and it never took more than a minute to learn a new concept even when half asleep, though her ability to write coherent English papers wasn't exactly up to par, even at full capacity. Claire had maybe one or two people that considered her a "friend," but unless if they were asking a question concerning her areas of expertise, her response would be a simple stare with partially closed eyes. To everyone else, she was "that sleeping girl" that wasn't even worth throwing a crumpled piece of paper at, let alone socializing with. After finishing high school, her father gave her two options: She pays for her college and he pays for her living expenses, or she pays for the living expenses and he pays for college. She went with the cheaper option, and moved into a cheap one-person apartment and worked at the nearby supermarket for money. For transportation, she uses a robust 7-gear mountain bike with DIY-looking electric motor setup and rechargeable battery, good enough to get her from home to school to work and then back home with power to spare. If the battery for some reason goes out like that one time when she forgot to recharge it, her legs can pedal with enough strength to go a little faster than a jog. For keeping things in, a mailbag. Her father used to work for the post office and gave her a bag as a present for one of her birthdays. Holds all of her things, and it's one of the few things that she double-checks to make sure she has with her and ready to go. The other being the bike's battery recharging, because ♥♥♥♥ peddling. And finally, her keys, which includes the key to her apartment, the key to her father's house, a swiss army knife, an LED flashlight keychain, a USB flash drive, a pepper spray keychain because, well, you never know, and finally a carabiner clip to attach to her belt. The last of the things that she makes sure to double-check, because getting into your apartment is important.
Moggles: Ryker Whirlow Read the article. After tapping the icon a few times Linda points out that due to the firmware on her tablet and the format of the newspapers app the hyperlin...... It doesn't work that way because her tablet is cheap. While sweeping from right to left to go through the pages you are disrupted by your ringing phone. Your private emergency phone.
"Hello, doctor Whirlow speaking, how may I help you? Uhuh, the guy who solved the Hispanic problem last year right? Oh yeah sorry, my bad. How can I help you, you sound panicked? HE'S WHAT? Well can't you take him anywhere else? I mean sure, bring him over, but hurry! I can't operate dead people." Linda catches her tablet, which you dropped between "HE'S" and "WHAT?" and asks: "Doctor what is happening, who was that?" "Linda I need you to lock all doors and prepare the surgery for me."
Name: Ryker Whirlow Passive abilities: Classy: Wherever he goes, Ryker somehow always has an air of class around him. People will notice this. Street doctor: Being a doctor in New York is no easy feat. As such Ryker is able to attempt to heal any kind of wound, with a decent chance of success. Sex: Guy Age: 43 Appearance: A tall Caucasian man, standing at 6'5". He has a medium build - wide, with slumped shoulders. He's fairly muscular, but not in a bodybuilder sense, more in a working man sense. His haircut consists of well-trimmed hair that extends into a chinstrap beard which does not go over his mouth. He has a scar on his right temple, dark green eyes, a straight nose, and a very defined facial structure with a squarish (not absurdly square) jaw. He stands up straight 90% of the time. His outfit usually consists of dark brown slacks with a belt, a work shirt, and a brown leather bomber jacket handed down to him by his father. He often wears expensive sunglasses when he goes outside. Occupation: General Physician Backstory: Ryker was born to John Mc'Hale Whirlow and Linda Anne Mayel, his father being a mortician and bartender, his mother a manager at a fancy clothing store. Growing up, Ryker was fairly alone by choice, choosing to keep to himself rather than make many friends. He's not at all antisocial or anxious about social situations, he simply chose to avoid making friends with others. He gets along well with people, such as his coworkers and patients, though he can be abrasive and rude. Ryker never got along well with his father. John was an angry, sometimes abusive alcoholic to his wife, but never his son, who he tried to hide he and his wife's issues from. Because of this, Ryker grew to resent his father, despite [his father's] attempts to regain approval from his son. Linda was a very loving mother, and even in the face of an abusive husband, she did her best to make her son happy. While his father worked in the business of dead people, Ryker wanted to save lives instead, almost in an act of defiance. He started college at the age of 20. His parents funded his undergraduate work and 4 years of medschool, but it put them in a lot of debt. In an attempt to pay off his debts, John got involved in some Bad Things and went missing, presumed dead. His mother is still alive, and lives by herself in a small apartment. At 29, Ryker began an internship at a local hospital, and did 6 years of understudy from senior doctors. At 35, he finally finished all his studies and became a General Physician. He has worked at [name of new york hospital] for 13 years. Despite being a doctor, Ryker smokes and drinks, likely from influence from his father. He started smoking at 26 and drinking at 19. He tries to do both in moderation, in acknowledgement of the health risks, but he has some issues with that. He typically prefers to smoke cigars. He now lives in a comfortable apartment in a large highrise, by himself. He likes to hunt and travels to Canada to hunt bear, elk, and various birds annually. His preferred method of transport is an inexpensive red truck, which he's had for 8 years. It isn't doing well. He wears driving gloves when he drives, because he's an ♥♥♥hole like that. Ryker is beginning to suffer the effects of age and his addictions, and is generally more and more fatigued as the years go on.
We're getting somewhere people, this RtD is already a lot more fun to write than the last two. Hope you're having as much fun as I am.
Tue Jan 21, 2014 2:54 am
CaveCricket48
Joined: Tue Jun 12, 2007 11:52 pm Posts: 13144 Location: Here
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Started Tuesday, sue me.
> Whelp, better get going. Get dressed for work, make sure I have my keys, unplug my bike from the charging cable and get a move on.
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Started Tuesday, sue me.
Leave out three lit candles and walk out calmly, ignoring everyone.
(Muttering) "A birthday cake with no one to make a wish..."
Tue Jan 21, 2014 7:15 am
maart3n
Joined: Tue Dec 23, 2008 8:04 pm Posts: 1545
How does it feel to be in control?
Daemonofcaeks: Linus Robertson Park the car and head inside the building and start suiting up following protocol. Although the immense CDC-building as an equally enormous parking you always find yourself hard pressed to find a spot. Today is no different. Although, since for some reason the janitors decided for once not to park ALL their crappy cars in the reserved virologist spots, you manage to find a spot relatively close to the side entry of your own department. The outside door opens to a short hallway lined with chemical showering equipment and blast doors which will trigger and close shut in case of a virus outbreak. As you put your ID-card and hand on the pad next to the door a light blinks green and you are granted access into the oh so familiar dedicated break room. Not even ten minutes later you find yourself with one coffee in your stomach and donned in the heavy class-A Hazmat suit, exactly on time. Walking towards the labs you hear loud shouting from inside, no more than five seconds later the alarm goes off and you hear the tell tale gong like sound of the heavy steel doors locking into place. "Time to go to work." You mutter to yourself as you put the yellow hood on and lock it into place, sealing yourself from the outside world.
Name: Linus Robertson Passive abilities: Steady hands: can not roll ones when manipulating delicate or small objects. Strong immune system: situational resistance Sex: Male Age: 34 Appearance: Linus is a thirty four year old male, just over six foot tall. Pale from much of his working life from working deep within the bowels of a CDC building, he is in shape from years of running to catch the morning bus on the way to work. He has several ring shaped scars on his right arm thanks to the annual CDC vaccination program for it's workers to ensure they are upto date incase of any disease outbreak. At work, he'd typically be wearing a white labcoat with several pens in it's pocket protector before suiting up into a class A hazmat suit, needed to work in the labs below. The suits are fairly heavy, so he has to remain in a modicum of shape to be able to properly move around in one, but years of handling glass vials containing world ending virological samples has left him walking around surefooted and careful - in his line of work it's better to carefully make ten steps than to make fifty steps and slip. Occupation: CDC virologist. Backstory: Linus's parents were both doctors, his mother a nurse and his father a surgeon. Blessed from birth with a strong immune system discovered when the flu went around his school and he not once got ill and in addition to enjoying helping people, like looking after his elder brother after he came down with the very same flu led to him quickly following in the family business of medicine. Graduating at the top of his class (Not getting ill and being pushed hard work wonders when it comes to studying), he quickly earned his scrubs in the medical profession as an intern at the hospital where his parents work before joining with the CDC as a virologist, naturally being suited to field work in areas of southeast Asia and war torn Africa where the spectres of Cholera, TB and Pneumonia still reaped. It was on one of these foreign aid missions where he met his future wife, a young lady named Cassandra Wilkins, who was a foreign aid worker from the United Kingdom. They quickly fell in love and she returned with him to New York, where she took up a job working at a nearby dentist. It was at this time that Linus's years of hard work finally paid off and he was removed from the field duty roster and instead transferred to working at the nearby CDC building with a slight raise. There he would fight his part in the ongoing war against the horrors of disease, horrors that he had witnessed first hand on his field missions. With his parents support, he would communicate with them to get their advice on things at both work and in his day to day life, such as how does Inhibitor Alpha-4 impact adrenal production or what would be a good colour to paint the baby's room? Speaking of babies, Linus and his beloved wife are now trying to start their own family after they moved into a bigger house in the suburbs following Linus's promotion. With everything looking so good for the family, what could go wrong?
Contrary: Jon Winters Leave out three lit candles and walk out calmly, ignoring everyone. One candle is not enough. You can't have a birthday cake with one candle. One candle looks sad and pathetic. One candle is too lonely. Therefore it's only natural to light two more before calmly walking out your front door. As expected two cops are waiting for you on the other side. Your drunkard neighbour has apparently already left, as evidenced by his door being opened just a crack. There's a blood stain on the door, probably from when that pig came home black out drunk and forgot to open his door, again. Well, still better than him forgetting which side of the hall his door was on and then endlessly trying to ram his key into your lock.
The cops, oh yes the cops, they escort you out of the apartment where an armoured van is waiting to take you to safety. Funny, you didn't smell gas on the way down and none of them mentioned anything about the candles you left out. "A birthday cake with no one to make a wish..."
Name: Jon Winters Passive abilities: Child prodigy: Has the ability to learn new things one turn quicker. Penniless living: Being poor has made Jon good at haggling down prices. Sex: Male Age: 31 Appearance: 5'11 with light skin, tousled brown hair and hazel eyes. His wardrobe is dominated by cheap slacks and poorly ironed dress shirts in muted tones. Occupation: Unemployed. Formerly a data entry clerk for a landfill management firm. Back-story: Beginning life as a child prodigy, my parents and teachers had high hopes for Jon. He instantly picked up concepts his peers would struggle with for years and he revelled in his superiority. But he did little to capitalize on his head start and over the years his classmates caught up to him. Stricken by the realization that he was not special, Jon drifted through the rest of mandatory schooling, doing only enough not to draw attention to himself. He completed his schooling with passable grades and passable social standing but those who knew him noted that seemed distracted, as if waiting for something grand and interesting to finally arrive. Jon drifted into a job doing paperwork for landfills, a profession which did not offend him very much and therefore did not seek to change. Filling his day with work and his nights with Diet Cola and the Home Improvement Network, Jon successfully reached 31 without causing much inconvenience to anyone. This benchmark held no special importance for him, and like most of his birthdays went by entirely unnoticed by Jon. But on the first day of spring, in his first spring of being 31, Jon swivelled his desk chair to peer out his window. Windows were a rare privilege for workers of his level but seniority and luck had gifted him this several years ago. As he gazed down on the company parking lot, something stirred inside of Jon. He turned back to his paper work and with great calm and precision folded every memo and receipt and tax return and invoice into paper planes. He carefully placed those aside and scoured his small office for more paper. Filling his work space with the folded aircrafts he began to draw whispers from neighbouring co-workers, but they did nothing. Driven by something great and unexplainable Jon threw open his office window and let his creations take to the smoggy skies. The winds were strong and every piece of paper work embarked on a great journey across New York City. Jon was fired from his job and was fined heavily by the city and though this put him in a difficult spot financially, he did not seem particularly bothered. After cleaning out his office Jon went home to his apartment and waited.
The Kebbit: Ben Jawson ♥♥♥♥' WHEEL MY MAN TO THE DOC BEFORE HE GOES TO THA OTHERSIDE. With Roland somehow in a seatbelt on the back seat you violently pull open the driver side door and get behind the wheel. After fumbling with the screwdriver that you had delicately pushed into the ignition the night before the car comes to life with the sound of a roaring V8 and immensely loud hiphop. After making a mental note to find the original owner and putting a bullet through his head for making the car reset to that volume every single time your start it. You head off into the city and breakneck speeds. "Hold on, homie! I ain't gonna leave any of my goddamn squad behind!" Roland is softly muttering some strange and worrying things on the back seat. The two of you are going to have a serious talk soon.
The doctor's office is only six blocks from your place and you get there in less than half the time it should have taken you according to the GPS unit. Whirlow's building looks as if it's still locked. The good doctor has either fled or developed some sense of how to hide illegal business. Either way he'd have made a good decision. After throwing Roland over your shoulder you start frantically knocking on the door. A set of blinds part for a split second and the doors open. "Yo man he's hurt bad, what do we do?" You exclaim.
Moments later Roland is on the operating table, his shirt cut open and his hole riddled body exposed. Not much you can do now. "♥♥♥♥ man, did you close the door?" Whirlow doesn't answer, he's too busy trying to keep Roland from bleeding to death on his table.
Name: Ben Jawson Passive abilities: Always drugged: Drugging Ben has a twice as high a chance of failing. Russian connections: Speaking Russian can have it's advantages in the underworld. Sex: Male Age: 26 Appearance: A broad-shouldered man of 6' with a shaven skull and sunken, bloodshot grey eyes, teeth visibly grinding to powder from a jaw permanently clenched. Occupation: Small-time Drug Dealer Background: Where there is a market there exists the consummate merchant, embodiment of their field. He does not care about the quality of his product except that it has the grade, качества, quality to satisfy the purchaser. He does not care about the end of his product, only that it is shifted to his gain. Jawson is a human consequence, an accident of birth that went too far, a crumbling shell limping into the future with a Kalashnikov for a crutch. From his cramped safe house flow packets of psychoactives, anesthetics, amphetamines, bricks of freebased cocaine, tranquilizers, crude heroin, ketamine - and for his fine work in redistribution, Jawson exacts some of the supply current for himself, spending days at a time locked outside of our reality. One day a vessel will burst in Jawson's brain and finally stop his misery; but for society, this day is too far ahead. It is noted that he has one ally within his field, a corrupt officer turned fellow drug dealer.
Harzipan: Roland Black Death would be inconvenient. Avoid it while dreaming vaguely homoerotic thoughts. Being conscious or unconscious is no longer a matter of black and white to you. It's more like a grey area of this world and your own fantasies. Ben's muscular shoulders had lifted you up and thrown you into the black compensation-mobile, but his hands had tenderly secured your damaged body to the leather seats. Oh how you loved the touch of leather on your skin.
You lose grip on reality for a few seconds, a beautiful dream ensues where Ben and the mysterious doctor lay you down on the operating table, the masculine roar of the not quite stock V8 engine a constant. The dream is brutally disrupted by Ben once again hoisting you up onto his strong shoulders and carrying you to the door of what you can only assume to be the doctor's office. As the dream becomes reality you slip away once again.
Name: Roland Black Passive abilities: Crooked cop: When encountering there is a 50% change that the criminal recognizes you as a former accomplice. Or a 10% chance to have been put in jail thanks to you. Walking bullet hole: Getting shot only hurts you half as much. Sex: Probably a guy but you never know these days Age: 47 Appearance: An aged, balding individual, whom the years have treated with a mild dose of respect. Coated with a partial head of black hair and a mild goatee, Roland has the appearance of a well meaning uncle. His years with the NYPD have kept him in the habit of personal fitness, which is evident on his toned, bullet-scarred body. Occupation: Former Cop/Drug Producer Backstory: Roland is a bad person. Or so he would like to think. Years of rejection and hatred from both his fellow officers, and his friends and family had led him to become a hateful being, especially towards higher authority. Why few ever loved or liked him, he never figured out. Was it his dampening, realist views? His lack of humor? Who knows. All that can be said for sure, is that the only ones who ever seemed to understand him were those that he arrested. The scum of the street. The dealers and the killers. Those that stalked and defiled. The beasts of the city. He could connect with them. He understood the hatred that was directed towards them. He started working the system. Those that truly appealed to him, he let free, or as free as one could be once caught and tagged. Assistance was given to those that understood him, and in return, he learned what it was like to be them. In return for his humanity (Or lack thereof,) Roland was taught how to properly produce the chemicals and drugs that were so highly regarded in the underbelly of the city which he called home. He learned from the tainted minds that ran the crooked, beautiful world of the night. Trust was earned between groups, and from that, he gained friends. They might not have been the best that humanity had to offer, but they were what he craved the most. While one world shunned him, another accepted him. And this made him happy. For the last three years, thanks to his new found skills, Roland has managed to acquire a modest sum of wealth. Enough to comfortably retire some distant day. But one day, on the eve of his 47th birthday, Roland let his guard down. And then his world came crashing down. A superior officer found out what he did in his spare time, and from that, Roland's web of lies began to unravel. His apartment was searched, ransacked, and put under watch. In it, police found both his stash of dirty money, and his extensive list of contacts, deals made, and those falsely let out of custody. From that, they were able to find and arrest many of Roland's former friends and business partners. He was now alone. While evading the police, Roland was fired upon by two former workplace associates. Although he was hit multiple times, Roland managed to return fire and escape. He went to the only place he knew he would be safe, at least for the time being. Ben Jawson. Riddled with bullet holes, and heavily bleeding, Roland reached his only remaining ally's home, and promptly passed out.
Cricket: Claire Sharp Whelp, better get going. Get dressed for work, make sure I have my keys, unplug my bike from the charging cable and get a move on. The supermarket is empty when you get there, maybe the drunks had yet to wake up from trying to drink themselves to death yesterday. Or maybe they had succeeded, who knows. You fold up the scooter and head into the break room upstairs where you hang up your jacket, plug the scooter into a nearby wall socket and put on the hideous company uniform. A blue-ish shirt with black pants, a red and white blocked apron and a matching farmer's cap. "But you're going to college, remember that." Having to convince yourself that the job is worth it is never a good sign and you've been looking for something else for months. The boss and your co-worker are waiting for you downstairs, probably looking for an explanation as to why you were two minutes late. But no such thing, the men appear to be friendly and seem to have known each other for quite some time, evidenced by their childish jokes. Thankfully your job for now is to clean the backroom and check the stocks. The backroom has been a mess for weeks and the new manager is clearly looking to make a good start here. The forklift has also been broken for a while now and you suddenly wonder if you could fix it.
Name: Claire Sharp Passive abilities: Computer geek: You have a 50% higher chance when attempting any action involving a computer. Inconspicuous: Unless they're looking for you people won't notice you. Unless you're doing something obviously out of the ordinary. Sex: Female Age: 20 Appearance: Pale skin, grey eyes, and long black hair that reaches halfway down her back. 5 feet 3 inches (160 cm). Her hair is usually a mess, purple bags under blood-shot eyes, and smile lines that make her look older than she actually is. Most of her time spent at a computer desk, in a classroom, and at a cash register has left her with a less-than-adequate diet and a lack of exercise, resulting in a thin body not suited for physical labor. For school she wears a wrinkled button down shirt and khakis, and for work, a blue polo shirt with khakis. Not a very diverse wardrobe. Occupation: College student/supermarket cashier Backstory: Raised by her father for as long as she can remember, Claire was an okay child. She went to school, got good grades, and stayed up til the crack of dawn messing around with the computer. Being the single child of a working parent, she never suffered from the whole "parents ruining my life" thing that the rest of her classmates seem to have to deal with, and her knack for programming and inability to get a good rest has granted her the ability to instantly fall asleep anywhere, and then wake up at a whisper of her name. Math and science were always easy, and it never took more than a minute to learn a new concept even when half asleep, though her ability to write coherent English papers wasn't exactly up to par, even at full capacity. Claire had maybe one or two people that considered her a "friend," but unless if they were asking a question concerning her areas of expertise, her response would be a simple stare with partially closed eyes. To everyone else, she was "that sleeping girl" that wasn't even worth throwing a crumpled piece of paper at, let alone socializing with. After finishing high school, her father gave her two options: She pays for her college and he pays for her living expenses, or she pays for the living expenses and he pays for college. She went with the cheaper option, and moved into a cheap one-person apartment and worked at the nearby supermarket for money. For transportation, she uses a robust 7-gear mountain bike with DIY-looking electric motor setup and rechargeable battery, good enough to get her from home to school to work and then back home with power to spare. If the battery for some reason goes out like that one time when she forgot to recharge it, her legs can pedal with enough strength to go a little faster than a jog. For keeping things in, a mailbag. Her father used to work for the post office and gave her a bag as a present for one of her birthdays. Holds all of her things, and it's one of the few things that she double-checks to make sure she has with her and ready to go. The other being the bike's battery recharging, because ♥♥♥♥ peddling. And finally, her keys, which includes the key to her apartment, the key to her father's house, a swiss army knife, an LED flashlight keychain, a USB flash drive, a pepper spray keychain because, well, you never know, and finally a carabiner clip to attach to her belt. The last of the things that she makes sure to double-check, because getting into your apartment is important.
Moggles: Ryker Whirlow Agree to the operation, prep for surgery. As Linda prepares the operating room for surgery you wonder what got into when you hired a secretary with the same name as your mom. Was it some sort of strange need for her to protect you from the world or did you want to protect her from men like your father? He may have never laid a hand on you, but he couldn't keep it a secret that he was doing exactly that to your mother.
Either way, Ben is here. Good god could have taken a more obnoxious and vulgar vehicle? "He's going to be fine Ben, listen to me! He'll be fine! Now come with me and put him on the table."
Ben follows your orders to the letter and within seconds the man is on your operating table. He looks familiar, maybe you've treated him here before... No wait, he's that guy from the newspaper. "♥♥♥♥, that's a great start of my year." Well you've taken the oath and he's on your table so you better fix him up real soon. You signal for somebody to hand you a scalpel but neither Ben nor Linda are still in the room. Useless girl, no idea why you hired her.
Name: Ryker Whirlow Passive abilities: Classy: Wherever he goes, Ryker somehow always has an air of class around him. People will notice this. Street doctor: Being a doctor in New York is no easy feat. As such Ryker is able to attempt to heal any kind of wound, with a decent chance of success. Sex: Guy Age: 43 Appearance: A tall Caucasian man, standing at 6'5". He has a medium build - wide, with slumped shoulders. He's fairly muscular, but not in a bodybuilder sense, more in a working man sense. His haircut consists of well-trimmed hair that extends into a chinstrap beard which does not go over his mouth. He has a scar on his right temple, dark green eyes, a straight nose, and a very defined facial structure with a squarish (not absurdly square) jaw. He stands up straight 90% of the time. His outfit usually consists of dark brown slacks with a belt, a work shirt, and a brown leather bomber jacket handed down to him by his father. He often wears expensive sunglasses when he goes outside. Occupation: General Physician Backstory: Ryker was born to John Mc'Hale Whirlow and Linda Anne Mayel, his father being a mortician and bartender, his mother a manager at a fancy clothing store. Growing up, Ryker was fairly alone by choice, choosing to keep to himself rather than make many friends. He's not at all antisocial or anxious about social situations, he simply chose to avoid making friends with others. He gets along well with people, such as his coworkers and patients, though he can be abrasive and rude. Ryker never got along well with his father. John was an angry, sometimes abusive alcoholic to his wife, but never his son, who he tried to hide he and his wife's issues from. Because of this, Ryker grew to resent his father, despite [his father's] attempts to regain approval from his son. Linda was a very loving mother, and even in the face of an abusive husband, she did her best to make her son happy. While his father worked in the business of dead people, Ryker wanted to save lives instead, almost in an act of defiance. He started college at the age of 20. His parents funded his undergraduate work and 4 years of medschool, but it put them in a lot of debt. In an attempt to pay off his debts, John got involved in some Bad Things and went missing, presumed dead. His mother is still alive, and lives by herself in a small apartment. At 29, Ryker began an internship at a local hospital, and did 6 years of understudy from senior doctors. At 35, he finally finished all his studies and became a General Physician. He has worked at [name of new york hospital] for 13 years. Despite being a doctor, Ryker smokes and drinks, likely from influence from his father. He started smoking at 26 and drinking at 19. He tries to do both in moderation, in acknowledgement of the health risks, but he has some issues with that. He typically prefers to smoke cigars. He now lives in a comfortable apartment in a large highrise, by himself. He likes to hunt and travels to Canada to hunt bear, elk, and various birds annually. His preferred method of transport is an inexpensive red truck, which he's had for 8 years. It isn't doing well. He wears driving gloves when he drives, because he's an ♥♥♥hole like that. Ryker is beginning to suffer the effects of age and his addictions, and is generally more and more fatigued as the years go on.
EDIT: There was a typo in this post. ♥♥♥♥...
Last edited by maart3n on Wed Jan 22, 2014 6:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Wed Jan 22, 2014 5:56 pm
caekdaemon
Data Realms Elite
Joined: Sun Nov 01, 2009 3:00 pm Posts: 4144 Location: Hell.
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Three rolls in, making up time!
"God damn it people aren't allowed to argue in this line of work." Get to work, get those people to stop arguing in a lab that contains world ending viruses.
Last edited by caekdaemon on Wed Jan 22, 2014 8:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Three rolls in, making up time!
Death is bad.
Maarten, that was fantastic. <3
Wed Jan 22, 2014 7:53 pm
TheKebbit
Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2009 10:24 pm Posts: 3939 Location: NORTH
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Three rolls in, making up time!
>Stand guard, stay paranoid. Do anything the doctor requests.
Last edited by TheKebbit on Wed Jan 22, 2014 11:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Wed Jan 22, 2014 10:50 pm
Miggles
Data Realms Elite
Joined: Mon Jul 12, 2010 5:39 am Posts: 4558
Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Three rolls in, making up time!
>Get someone to hand me a goddamn scalpel, if none show up, get it myself. >Is he even on anesthetics? Am I wearing all my surgical clothing? Has he been disinfected?
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Re: Roll to Dodge: Normal life? Started Tuesday, sue me.
