LIVEWIRE.
Character Information
General
Canon Source: Trigun Maximum.
Canon Format: Manga.
Character's Name: Nicholas D. Wolfwood.
Character's Age: 16. Looks around 25.
What form will your character's NV take? The network will be added into his giant gaudy sunglasses. Little buttons will be put on the arms for digital navigation.
Abilities
Character's Canon Abilities:
Born a normal human, Wolfwood was put through various experiments by an assassin organization named the Eye of Michael. Due to those lovely and predictably inhuman experiments, his bones were strengthened, his pain tolerance hiked up to absurd levels, some increased strength and disgustingly heightened senses. He's also capable of instant regeneration, though he has to drink a special vial of liquid (which he has about seven doses of on him) to do that.
He's been extensively trained as an assassin, too, but that isn't anything too supernatural.
Conditional: If your character has no superhuman canon abilities, what dormant ability will you give them?
While Wolfwood is a rather apt character, I would like to give him a dormant ability of tracking, bloodhound style. With practice, this ability would allow him to find anyone or anything on the island, just as long as he has something to go off of (an apartment, clothing, frequently used utensils). If the target's in some clean area, like a park, he wouldn't have any trouble tracking down which bench they were sitting at, but if they're in some chemically cluttered place - say, a shoe factory - he'd be limited to only finding the general area, such as the factory itself. As it's a scent-based ability, he'll probably have a super sensitive nose up until he learns how to control it. Whoops.
Weapons: Because symbolism isn't fun until you go all the way, Wolfwood's weapon of choice is the Punisher. To date, it has a few small handguns, two machine guns and a rocket launcher built in. It's also good for throwing at people.
History/Personality/Plans/etc.
Character History: The planet of Gunsmoke always made the lives of its human inhabitants difficult, so the fact that Nicholas was an early-age orphan wasn't very special. He was shuffled town to town, traveling on his own, until he settled into a small orphanage in the minor city of Carcasses; being one of the kids who was never adopted, he typically took care of the other kids in the place. At the age of ten, an organization called the Eye of Michael "adopted" him and put him through rigorous training/experimentation, speeding up both his abilities and his aging. It came to a point that he crippled his teacher - Chapel - during a fight, trying to make it look like an accident, and ran off disguised as Chapel to join Knives. Finding Knives a complete monster, he attempted to kill him, too. Unfortunately, Knives' presence terrified him enough that he was unable to pull the trigger. Fortunately, he was sent out as a type of babysitter for Knives' brother, Vash the Stampede.
During his travels with Vash, the pacifist showed him how to get by as a non-killer, though Wolfwood has yet to be fully convinced of its merits. The priest (and he was a priest, certified to run through any number of ceremonies, though it doesn't take long to figure out that he rarely acted like one) worked to protect and fund the orphanage he came from, as Knives had agreed to leave it alone so long as Wolfwood did his duty, which had at first seemed like an easy enough task. Vash turned out to be the literal magnet for trouble, though.
And the rest of the story can be found here.
Point in Canon: Right after leaving the hovering SEEDS ship, before Meryl gets kidnapped.
Character Personality:
Wolfwood was a pessimist who dearly wished to be an optimist. To compromise, he turned into a realist. His ultimate goal in life was to be survive, and surviving was so far what he had done best. Being self-reliant was nearly a passion of his, inner stubbornness and a ton of will keeping him aloft. Acting the part of the fool came easily, sure, but it would always have an end purpose in mind - and he had a few past times, yes, but he wasn't exactly entertained by frivolous activities. He liked to do what was necessary in the most efficient way possible, often without thinking beyond 'what needs to be done.' This could lead to him taking the apparently "easiest way out" in dire situations- that is, to kill instead of compromise- and since he had the skills to do it, he would do it without a shred of remorse. But all of this was only when it was absolutely necessary - he would haggle someone to half the price for their produce, but he would still pay.
In a normal setting, however, Wolfwood was usually an easy-going, independent sort of character; if he needed something, he could become extremely out-going and friendly, if a bit forceful, but that didn't happen too often. While he was stand-offish in usual crowds, hanging back and observing, he had a mean underlying protective streak. This protective streak tended to only extend to the people he felt were his 'own,' though he held a depressingly giant weak spot for children (giving them money or food, for instance, even if it meant potentially starving himself. though he'd stave off the starving bit by bargaining as much as possible with adults). He might have thought in an analytical and cynical sort of way, being prone to somber observations or blunt, nearly tactless statements, but that side would often be covered up with a 'normal guy' routine. A normal guy didn't mean he was a normal priest, and everyone was free to point that out, but at least it was something.
In truth, for all of his rough talk and contradicting attitude, Wolfwood could be surprisingly childish. He wouldn't always speak up if he didn't understand something (due to wanting to learn it himself and not wanting to seem stupid), would stay stubbornly silent if he was asked something he didn't want to answer, would have a few outbursts of temper if someone got on his nerves, didn't fumble with name-calling and had a hard time being lauded down with praise. When first meeting someone, he could seem utterly in-control and as cool as a cucumber, but he was actually fairly easy to rile up with indignation. He could be confused, too, particularly when it came to technology or concepts he just can't comprehend, though he does generally work things out if given the time. As mentioned, he liked to be independent; he liked to take care of others, but the idea of someone having to take care of him was embarrassing and nearly an insult. He could hold a grudge, too, though they were usually over smaller things (since wasting time thinking about the past wasn't something he often did).
So he might've acted the part of Big Brother alongside everything else. Didn't mean he would ever coddle, though; no, his realist side stuck out most with the people he cared about, since he usually ended up making suggestions that, while not the one others necessarily wanted, would work out for surviving the most. "If you have enough time to cry," he once told a boy, "you have enough time to help in the kitchen." Everything seemed to round back to necessities, which was understandable considering the world he grew up in, but it left little time for any kind of reflecting or complete processing.
As such, he never really took care of his own feelings. No, more like he pushed them away, to the point that he doesn't really know what to do with them, in himself or in others. Not locked them away, since it's obvious he still cares greatly for the people who make it into his 'friend' category, but understanding them completely was a slow and stumbling process. He could put up a front of what to do very easily, in the role of adult-confident-whatever, but once something crossed the objective line, everything grew messy. Maybe because of this, when he began to spend more time with Vash, a hardcore pacifist who really didn't kill people, the man's ideals sunk in and took some root. Where he could have once killed without a thought, he was now beginning to hesitate. He'd still kill to survive, could probably still follow orders to maim and torture, but there were a few problems in making him follow that path. For one, Wolfwood was undeniably a hopeful sort of person (and hating himself for it), for all that he believed life to be nothing more than a struggle toward death-- and he was completely, utterly terrified of death.
He liked to think that he made himself accept everything that happened and moving on, but reality was constantly reminding him that it didn't work like that. For all that Wolfwood would never regret taking the life of another person- or, if he did, he was buried deep enough that all that would come out was anger over the notion- he did wish a bit that he didn't have to, if only because he believed he'd become so much of a demon that he couldn't interact with his old, more innocent friends. But even that isn't thought about with regret: he did everything with furthering their lives in mind, after all, and as far as he knew, he was doing fine with it. Sure, his ultimate wish might've been for a nice place to live a peaceful life out in, but he knew it wouldn't ever happen; that cynical line of thinking made it difficult for him to honestly connect with others, too, especially with an indifferent police of "easy come, easy go" toward strangers. When someone did manage to grab his attention, he was a guaranteed friend for life, but that wasn't an easy point to reach.
If anything, all those pent-up hopes and dreams ended in anger (an easier to deal with version of sadness), though it was generally all directed as contempt toward the people who caused destruction around him rather than himself. He didn't let it slow him down, of course, but it would probably always be there, right under the surface.
Character Plans: Culture shock is going to be a big, big problem with this fella, along with the fact that he won't immediately believe... anything or anyone. Haha, Earth. How could he be spent to Earth. -- In any case, he'll need to find some sort of homebase to settle into, whether related to another orphanage in the city or someone in particular, which may or may not come easily. In the future, though, I'd really like to get him involved with "normal" things, alongside joining in the company struggle (though he'll probably need some incentive), possibly as a turncoat in both AGI and SERO.
Appearance/PB: Snazzy devil.
Writing Samples
First Person Sample.
[a quizzical, gruff man is staring into the camera, still for one second before tilting the picture on its axis.]
... Really? Really? - Oi, pops! You've got to be kidding here!
[looking over his shoulder at the greeter, who only gives a shake of the head. the fellow starts to say something, but he's standing too far off to be caught by the mic and the camera's officially upside down. the annoyed noise Wolfwood makes is definitely caught, however.]
Doesn't even make any sense, putting something like that in there. For talkin' to a bunch of strangers, seems like a... - Eh? [a beat.] Green light? That shows--
[blinking on down, then giving a bit of a start. oh, so much grumbling, but he's obviously trying to smooth the irritation away, twisting awkwardly to look backwards again before redirecting his attention down. pausing.]
[and laughing, if seemingly just because.]
Would you look at that! How long's this been recording? Well... Geez, what do you say into these things? Introductions? Sure, alright.
The name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood, traveling priest. Good to meet you, faceless strangers.
Third Person Sample.
Wolfwood was calling bullshit.
Complete utter hopefully temporary bullshit. There were too many buildings, the sky was too blue, there was one sun and these people just didn't know how to give a man some space, grabbing and pulling and bustling him to a looming gloomy-looking apartment building as if they really had a reason to get him there. And maybe they did, but he'd gone so far as to try that stupid pinch-yourself business to get out of this dream, and whatever they might've wanted wasn't seeming too important.
He'd asked where the nearest plant was, had gotten a are you dim look and about fifty variants of what 'plant' could mean. He'd been tempted to stomp on the guy's foot for all of that, but the man was just trying to helpful after what must've been an obviously long day and it must've been all his irritation acting for him, anyway. He had enough sense left to see that.
He had enough sense to feel the cold chill run down his spine, too, whether the Punisher was digging into his shoulder blades or not; he had enough sense to realize that everything was as far into wrong as was possible, and for once, it wasn't some idiot's fault; he had enough sense to nearly grind his teeth into dust and shake the greeter's hand as he walked off, kept an eye over by the small ring of guards in the middle of the baseball field and discard any immediate ideas of breaking that ring and getting at what had apparently brought him- them- here.
He also had enough sense to spin on a heel and flag the retreating greeter down to ask where the nearest convenience store was, on top of whether or not they'd be willing to open a tab to an out-of-towner-who-would-never-be-an-out-of-towner-again, which, if anybody asked him, was a pretty impressive grip of sense. It would be about when he dead bolted the door and propped himself up against the window to see if creepy crawly monsters really would appear when the single moon rose up that the chill down the spine turned into an outright steel block on his chest, that his good sense broke into nonsense and he near ran right on down to that baseball diamond with its ring of guards to break the line, snag the Thing That Brought Them Here (Core), shake somebody into fixing it and maybe get back to his proper life.
Nonsense got him to the baseball field. Seeing his breath fog up in front of his face - a little thing that never registered when he'd been busy thinking about shaking the greeter down until he started talking sense - made him stop.
... It really was cold, wasn't it?
Goddamn it, he might've said, or some other curse. Couldn't really remember, didn't really matter. He really should've gotten a hold on himself sooner-- it'd been, what, near two hours and he hadn't heard a single gunshot? Yeah. Somewhere around there. And he was the one who had been about to break that.
...
The whole place was complete, utter, had to be temporary bullshit.
General
Canon Source: Trigun Maximum.
Canon Format: Manga.
Character's Name: Nicholas D. Wolfwood.
Character's Age: 16. Looks around 25.
What form will your character's NV take? The network will be added into his giant gaudy sunglasses. Little buttons will be put on the arms for digital navigation.
Abilities
Character's Canon Abilities:
Born a normal human, Wolfwood was put through various experiments by an assassin organization named the Eye of Michael. Due to those lovely and predictably inhuman experiments, his bones were strengthened, his pain tolerance hiked up to absurd levels, some increased strength and disgustingly heightened senses. He's also capable of instant regeneration, though he has to drink a special vial of liquid (which he has about seven doses of on him) to do that.
He's been extensively trained as an assassin, too, but that isn't anything too supernatural.
Conditional: If your character has no superhuman canon abilities, what dormant ability will you give them?
While Wolfwood is a rather apt character, I would like to give him a dormant ability of tracking, bloodhound style. With practice, this ability would allow him to find anyone or anything on the island, just as long as he has something to go off of (an apartment, clothing, frequently used utensils). If the target's in some clean area, like a park, he wouldn't have any trouble tracking down which bench they were sitting at, but if they're in some chemically cluttered place - say, a shoe factory - he'd be limited to only finding the general area, such as the factory itself. As it's a scent-based ability, he'll probably have a super sensitive nose up until he learns how to control it. Whoops.
Weapons: Because symbolism isn't fun until you go all the way, Wolfwood's weapon of choice is the Punisher. To date, it has a few small handguns, two machine guns and a rocket launcher built in. It's also good for throwing at people.
History/Personality/Plans/etc.
Character History: The planet of Gunsmoke always made the lives of its human inhabitants difficult, so the fact that Nicholas was an early-age orphan wasn't very special. He was shuffled town to town, traveling on his own, until he settled into a small orphanage in the minor city of Carcasses; being one of the kids who was never adopted, he typically took care of the other kids in the place. At the age of ten, an organization called the Eye of Michael "adopted" him and put him through rigorous training/experimentation, speeding up both his abilities and his aging. It came to a point that he crippled his teacher - Chapel - during a fight, trying to make it look like an accident, and ran off disguised as Chapel to join Knives. Finding Knives a complete monster, he attempted to kill him, too. Unfortunately, Knives' presence terrified him enough that he was unable to pull the trigger. Fortunately, he was sent out as a type of babysitter for Knives' brother, Vash the Stampede.
During his travels with Vash, the pacifist showed him how to get by as a non-killer, though Wolfwood has yet to be fully convinced of its merits. The priest (and he was a priest, certified to run through any number of ceremonies, though it doesn't take long to figure out that he rarely acted like one) worked to protect and fund the orphanage he came from, as Knives had agreed to leave it alone so long as Wolfwood did his duty, which had at first seemed like an easy enough task. Vash turned out to be the literal magnet for trouble, though.
And the rest of the story can be found here.
Point in Canon: Right after leaving the hovering SEEDS ship, before Meryl gets kidnapped.
Character Personality:
Wolfwood was a pessimist who dearly wished to be an optimist. To compromise, he turned into a realist. His ultimate goal in life was to be survive, and surviving was so far what he had done best. Being self-reliant was nearly a passion of his, inner stubbornness and a ton of will keeping him aloft. Acting the part of the fool came easily, sure, but it would always have an end purpose in mind - and he had a few past times, yes, but he wasn't exactly entertained by frivolous activities. He liked to do what was necessary in the most efficient way possible, often without thinking beyond 'what needs to be done.' This could lead to him taking the apparently "easiest way out" in dire situations- that is, to kill instead of compromise- and since he had the skills to do it, he would do it without a shred of remorse. But all of this was only when it was absolutely necessary - he would haggle someone to half the price for their produce, but he would still pay.
In a normal setting, however, Wolfwood was usually an easy-going, independent sort of character; if he needed something, he could become extremely out-going and friendly, if a bit forceful, but that didn't happen too often. While he was stand-offish in usual crowds, hanging back and observing, he had a mean underlying protective streak. This protective streak tended to only extend to the people he felt were his 'own,' though he held a depressingly giant weak spot for children (giving them money or food, for instance, even if it meant potentially starving himself. though he'd stave off the starving bit by bargaining as much as possible with adults). He might have thought in an analytical and cynical sort of way, being prone to somber observations or blunt, nearly tactless statements, but that side would often be covered up with a 'normal guy' routine. A normal guy didn't mean he was a normal priest, and everyone was free to point that out, but at least it was something.
In truth, for all of his rough talk and contradicting attitude, Wolfwood could be surprisingly childish. He wouldn't always speak up if he didn't understand something (due to wanting to learn it himself and not wanting to seem stupid), would stay stubbornly silent if he was asked something he didn't want to answer, would have a few outbursts of temper if someone got on his nerves, didn't fumble with name-calling and had a hard time being lauded down with praise. When first meeting someone, he could seem utterly in-control and as cool as a cucumber, but he was actually fairly easy to rile up with indignation. He could be confused, too, particularly when it came to technology or concepts he just can't comprehend, though he does generally work things out if given the time. As mentioned, he liked to be independent; he liked to take care of others, but the idea of someone having to take care of him was embarrassing and nearly an insult. He could hold a grudge, too, though they were usually over smaller things (since wasting time thinking about the past wasn't something he often did).
So he might've acted the part of Big Brother alongside everything else. Didn't mean he would ever coddle, though; no, his realist side stuck out most with the people he cared about, since he usually ended up making suggestions that, while not the one others necessarily wanted, would work out for surviving the most. "If you have enough time to cry," he once told a boy, "you have enough time to help in the kitchen." Everything seemed to round back to necessities, which was understandable considering the world he grew up in, but it left little time for any kind of reflecting or complete processing.
As such, he never really took care of his own feelings. No, more like he pushed them away, to the point that he doesn't really know what to do with them, in himself or in others. Not locked them away, since it's obvious he still cares greatly for the people who make it into his 'friend' category, but understanding them completely was a slow and stumbling process. He could put up a front of what to do very easily, in the role of adult-confident-whatever, but once something crossed the objective line, everything grew messy. Maybe because of this, when he began to spend more time with Vash, a hardcore pacifist who really didn't kill people, the man's ideals sunk in and took some root. Where he could have once killed without a thought, he was now beginning to hesitate. He'd still kill to survive, could probably still follow orders to maim and torture, but there were a few problems in making him follow that path. For one, Wolfwood was undeniably a hopeful sort of person (and hating himself for it), for all that he believed life to be nothing more than a struggle toward death-- and he was completely, utterly terrified of death.
He liked to think that he made himself accept everything that happened and moving on, but reality was constantly reminding him that it didn't work like that. For all that Wolfwood would never regret taking the life of another person- or, if he did, he was buried deep enough that all that would come out was anger over the notion- he did wish a bit that he didn't have to, if only because he believed he'd become so much of a demon that he couldn't interact with his old, more innocent friends. But even that isn't thought about with regret: he did everything with furthering their lives in mind, after all, and as far as he knew, he was doing fine with it. Sure, his ultimate wish might've been for a nice place to live a peaceful life out in, but he knew it wouldn't ever happen; that cynical line of thinking made it difficult for him to honestly connect with others, too, especially with an indifferent police of "easy come, easy go" toward strangers. When someone did manage to grab his attention, he was a guaranteed friend for life, but that wasn't an easy point to reach.
If anything, all those pent-up hopes and dreams ended in anger (an easier to deal with version of sadness), though it was generally all directed as contempt toward the people who caused destruction around him rather than himself. He didn't let it slow him down, of course, but it would probably always be there, right under the surface.
Character Plans: Culture shock is going to be a big, big problem with this fella, along with the fact that he won't immediately believe... anything or anyone. Haha, Earth. How could he be spent to Earth. -- In any case, he'll need to find some sort of homebase to settle into, whether related to another orphanage in the city or someone in particular, which may or may not come easily. In the future, though, I'd really like to get him involved with "normal" things, alongside joining in the company struggle (though he'll probably need some incentive), possibly as a turncoat in both AGI and SERO.
Appearance/PB: Snazzy devil.
Writing Samples
First Person Sample.
[a quizzical, gruff man is staring into the camera, still for one second before tilting the picture on its axis.]
... Really? Really? - Oi, pops! You've got to be kidding here!
[looking over his shoulder at the greeter, who only gives a shake of the head. the fellow starts to say something, but he's standing too far off to be caught by the mic and the camera's officially upside down. the annoyed noise Wolfwood makes is definitely caught, however.]
Doesn't even make any sense, putting something like that in there. For talkin' to a bunch of strangers, seems like a... - Eh? [a beat.] Green light? That shows--
[blinking on down, then giving a bit of a start. oh, so much grumbling, but he's obviously trying to smooth the irritation away, twisting awkwardly to look backwards again before redirecting his attention down. pausing.]
[and laughing, if seemingly just because.]
Would you look at that! How long's this been recording? Well... Geez, what do you say into these things? Introductions? Sure, alright.
The name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood, traveling priest. Good to meet you, faceless strangers.
Third Person Sample.
Wolfwood was calling bullshit.
Complete utter hopefully temporary bullshit. There were too many buildings, the sky was too blue, there was one sun and these people just didn't know how to give a man some space, grabbing and pulling and bustling him to a looming gloomy-looking apartment building as if they really had a reason to get him there. And maybe they did, but he'd gone so far as to try that stupid pinch-yourself business to get out of this dream, and whatever they might've wanted wasn't seeming too important.
He'd asked where the nearest plant was, had gotten a are you dim look and about fifty variants of what 'plant' could mean. He'd been tempted to stomp on the guy's foot for all of that, but the man was just trying to helpful after what must've been an obviously long day and it must've been all his irritation acting for him, anyway. He had enough sense left to see that.
He had enough sense to feel the cold chill run down his spine, too, whether the Punisher was digging into his shoulder blades or not; he had enough sense to realize that everything was as far into wrong as was possible, and for once, it wasn't some idiot's fault; he had enough sense to nearly grind his teeth into dust and shake the greeter's hand as he walked off, kept an eye over by the small ring of guards in the middle of the baseball field and discard any immediate ideas of breaking that ring and getting at what had apparently brought him- them- here.
He also had enough sense to spin on a heel and flag the retreating greeter down to ask where the nearest convenience store was, on top of whether or not they'd be willing to open a tab to an out-of-towner-who-would-never-be-an-out-of-towner-again, which, if anybody asked him, was a pretty impressive grip of sense. It would be about when he dead bolted the door and propped himself up against the window to see if creepy crawly monsters really would appear when the single moon rose up that the chill down the spine turned into an outright steel block on his chest, that his good sense broke into nonsense and he near ran right on down to that baseball diamond with its ring of guards to break the line, snag the Thing That Brought Them Here (Core), shake somebody into fixing it and maybe get back to his proper life.
Nonsense got him to the baseball field. Seeing his breath fog up in front of his face - a little thing that never registered when he'd been busy thinking about shaking the greeter down until he started talking sense - made him stop.
... It really was cold, wasn't it?
Goddamn it, he might've said, or some other curse. Couldn't really remember, didn't really matter. He really should've gotten a hold on himself sooner-- it'd been, what, near two hours and he hadn't heard a single gunshot? Yeah. Somewhere around there. And he was the one who had been about to break that.
...
The whole place was complete, utter, had to be temporary bullshit.