(no subject)
Your Name/Alias: abfluvver/ABF
Age: 18
Character: Badou
Series: DOGS
Character Age: Around 20 (mod permission given)
Canon: It's hard living in a crazy dystopian future where genetic engineering has gone wild, violence runs rampant, and you can't take ten steps without running into a disgruntled member of one mafia faction or another. Well, at least it's hard if you're Badou.
See, Badou is a private investigator-slash-mercenary with a streak of bad luck several miles wide, and a heavy dose of cowardice to match. And while he may spend most of his time sneaking around the bad parts of town and taking pictures of "scandalous behaviour" to sell at high prices, he's a laid-back, casual kind of guy (read: lazy and frequently late) who'd rather be sitting around chain-smoking and watching movies than getting caught up in all the chaos. He's also all sorts of immature and seems to think that yelling (sometimes in anger, mostly in terror) is the appropriate response to everything from being shot at to being mildly offended. So it's a real pity for him that his partner Haine has the tendency to get the both of them into trouble, because really, man, all Badou wants is love and peace. And money.
...and cigarettes. He really needs those cigarettes. You don't want to see what happens when he doesn't get them.
Sample Post:
It'll be an easy job, he says. Easy money, he says! Well SCREW YOU, HAINE! This is what they call non-consensual, you see?! I did not consent to be here! Not even in the slightest! If he blames me for this, DON'T BELIEVE HIM! He's a liar! Lying liar who liiiiiieeees!
. . .er. But, uh, hey. Maybe I should backtrack a bit and introduce myself. I'm Badou, aka Eyepatch, aka Hey There You Bastard Stop Running, and as of this moment, aka The Biggest Sucker This Side Of The Buon Viaggio, and I've got a job to do here--we've got a job to do here, actually, but my partner's not exactly down with that whole "teamwork" thing. And to backtrack my backtracking a little, I'm an intelligence agency: sneaking, taking pictures, occassionally rescuing kittens from tall ledges, and getting shot at... all part of the job. And that third one's part of it a hell of a lot more than I would like it to be, but that really isn't my fault.
Speaking of things not my fault, I sort of stumbled onto a little bit of a situation back there, if you know what I mean! Accidentally found myself in some sort of field and saw something pretty gross. I mean, there in broad daylight was a sight to make your eyes sore; two of them big monkeys doing unmentionable things to each other in broad daylight--whips were involved, if you absolutely got to know. I barely had time to take a picture before they were on my tail, and maaan, they were pretty fast. Never underestimate the land-speed velocity of an unladen primate. I managed to get away, but they spooked me something fierce. Stole my smokes, too. . .
But it looks like I'm in the clear now! And the air here is nice and fresh and everything is so green and calm and. . . and. . .
--ZOMBIES?! Geez, man, I can take gangsters, I can take the damn mafia. . . but the walking, oozing, falling apart undead? Fuck that noise, I didn't sign up to be in no Romero movie. Geez, just look at 'em go, shuffling around like that, enough to give anyone the creeps. . . huh. Kind of sad, actually. And really, who am I to judge what someone's lifestyle or level of decomposition is? Damn, I need a smoke. So, any of you fine, upstanding (kind of) gentlemen got a cigarette? Geez. . . don't you guys speak English. . . Sigaretta? Cigarillo? Ciggy? Fag?
. . .yeah, that's not quite what I meant with that last one. If anyone needs me, I'll be hiding in that bush.
Voting was hurr! In at 87%!
Age: 18
Character: Badou
Series: DOGS
Character Age: Around 20 (mod permission given)
Canon: It's hard living in a crazy dystopian future where genetic engineering has gone wild, violence runs rampant, and you can't take ten steps without running into a disgruntled member of one mafia faction or another. Well, at least it's hard if you're Badou.
See, Badou is a private investigator-slash-mercenary with a streak of bad luck several miles wide, and a heavy dose of cowardice to match. And while he may spend most of his time sneaking around the bad parts of town and taking pictures of "scandalous behaviour" to sell at high prices, he's a laid-back, casual kind of guy (read: lazy and frequently late) who'd rather be sitting around chain-smoking and watching movies than getting caught up in all the chaos. He's also all sorts of immature and seems to think that yelling (sometimes in anger, mostly in terror) is the appropriate response to everything from being shot at to being mildly offended. So it's a real pity for him that his partner Haine has the tendency to get the both of them into trouble, because really, man, all Badou wants is love and peace. And money.
...and cigarettes. He really needs those cigarettes. You don't want to see what happens when he doesn't get them.
Sample Post:
It'll be an easy job, he says. Easy money, he says! Well SCREW YOU, HAINE! This is what they call non-consensual, you see?! I did not consent to be here! Not even in the slightest! If he blames me for this, DON'T BELIEVE HIM! He's a liar! Lying liar who liiiiiieeees!
. . .er. But, uh, hey. Maybe I should backtrack a bit and introduce myself. I'm Badou, aka Eyepatch, aka Hey There You Bastard Stop Running, and as of this moment, aka The Biggest Sucker This Side Of The Buon Viaggio, and I've got a job to do here--we've got a job to do here, actually, but my partner's not exactly down with that whole "teamwork" thing. And to backtrack my backtracking a little, I'm an intelligence agency: sneaking, taking pictures, occassionally rescuing kittens from tall ledges, and getting shot at... all part of the job. And that third one's part of it a hell of a lot more than I would like it to be, but that really isn't my fault.
Speaking of things not my fault, I sort of stumbled onto a little bit of a situation back there, if you know what I mean! Accidentally found myself in some sort of field and saw something pretty gross. I mean, there in broad daylight was a sight to make your eyes sore; two of them big monkeys doing unmentionable things to each other in broad daylight--whips were involved, if you absolutely got to know. I barely had time to take a picture before they were on my tail, and maaan, they were pretty fast. Never underestimate the land-speed velocity of an unladen primate. I managed to get away, but they spooked me something fierce. Stole my smokes, too. . .
But it looks like I'm in the clear now! And the air here is nice and fresh and everything is so green and calm and. . . and. . .
--ZOMBIES?! Geez, man, I can take gangsters, I can take the damn mafia. . . but the walking, oozing, falling apart undead? Fuck that noise, I didn't sign up to be in no Romero movie. Geez, just look at 'em go, shuffling around like that, enough to give anyone the creeps. . . huh. Kind of sad, actually. And really, who am I to judge what someone's lifestyle or level of decomposition is? Damn, I need a smoke. So, any of you fine, upstanding (kind of) gentlemen got a cigarette? Geez. . . don't you guys speak English. . . Sigaretta? Cigarillo? Ciggy? Fag?
. . .yeah, that's not quite what I meant with that last one. If anyone needs me, I'll be hiding in that bush.
Voting was hurr! In at 87%!