OOC application repost
Player Info
Name; Roddy
Email; wreckgarimus@yahoo.com
Messenger/LJ; Fye_D_Flourite@hotmail.com / deathzero5
Other Characters; Inferno (BW)
Character Info
Name; Rattrap
Universe; Beast Wars
Affiliation; Maximal. or Autobot. He doesn't care, as long as it's not Pred.
Status; Alive, and without wheels of any kind.
Alt mode; giant new york rat.
Abilities; exceptional liar, cheat, thief, con-artist, hacker, and A+ lady charmer. No really. Stop giving me that look. Also retains the record of "kiss your coworkers without getting punched" among Axalon crewmen... Before Silverbolt stole the title.
Weapons; Blaster, numerous bombs stashed among various limbs. In another body, he's the proud owner of a tail sword, but his current body is neither the time or place, and unless gameplot enjoys volcanic energon baths... he won't be needing it.
Personality; Probably one of the most irritating individuals any mech will be lucky enough to come into contact with. Mr. Pessimist to a T with an only-if-I-benefit streak. Despite a need to constantly protect his own ass, it's not a good day for him unless half the team wants him to shut up. Hates Predicons with every nut, bolt, and fiber of his being. Even those P-to-M reformats will get the stinkeye.
RP Sample;
Well, this wasn't good.
And this wasn't Kansicon either.
A pink nose stuck out of fallen wood and sniffed at the air.
Slag, this wasn't even Iacon.
Rattrap winced and pushed his way through his storm-built shelter, transforming the moment his feet hit stable and sturdy ground.
Doubleslag. Still on this prehistoric mudball of an Earth. He had held a fleeting hope that maybe just maybe the energon storm he found himself luckily stuck in the middle of had warped him back home. "But no," Rattrap groaned, "Oh no. We can never be lucky enough for THAT to happen."
Stuck on this annoyingly dull underformed Earth with an army of Preds just next door in the middle of a new war lead by some halfwired Barnicon the Barbarian when he should be back home drinking highgrade and watching loose-plated femmes shake their rotators and he should have never agreed to the scouting job his pitslagging fearless leader had dragged him into because he did NOT sign up for
"--Attrap-- Do y..."
son of a Sharkticon half-bre--
"Rattrap! Rattrap! Come in! Are you still functioning? Cheetor is in the area and c--"
like he was back in the slagging Great War ages...
"Rattrap, do you need any help? Rhinox has you on the radar with a Predacon signature inbound."
- and he was pretty sure the sign-up chart didn't have intetgalatic time travel anywhere in the fine pri--
"RATTRAP."
The rat snapped out of his internal tangent, hand shooting up to respond to his call. "Oh heya Fearless Leader. I'm readin ya loud and clear." Rattrap dutifully ignores the heavy outtake of cycled air coming across the line. "Just hold yer pelt in place, the storm knocked me down da creek pretty far." He glanced around; pretty far was an understatement. "I'll be back and charmin up yer humble abode soon enough."
He closed the comm and cut the lines before any further protests could be heard. Optimus could wait, not like there was anything to do back at base besides sniff Big Green's daisies. Rattrap stretched and rotated his shoulder joints. Overhead, something oversized and muttering buzzed by.
Well, he could always use more Waspinator parts.
Name; Roddy
Email; wreckgarimus@yahoo.com
Messenger/LJ; Fye_D_Flourite@hotmail.com / deathzero5
Other Characters; Inferno (BW)
Character Info
Name; Rattrap
Universe; Beast Wars
Affiliation; Maximal. or Autobot. He doesn't care, as long as it's not Pred.
Status; Alive, and without wheels of any kind.
Alt mode; giant new york rat.
Abilities; exceptional liar, cheat, thief, con-artist, hacker, and A+ lady charmer. No really. Stop giving me that look. Also retains the record of "kiss your coworkers without getting punched" among Axalon crewmen... Before Silverbolt stole the title.
Weapons; Blaster, numerous bombs stashed among various limbs. In another body, he's the proud owner of a tail sword, but his current body is neither the time or place, and unless gameplot enjoys volcanic energon baths... he won't be needing it.
Personality; Probably one of the most irritating individuals any mech will be lucky enough to come into contact with. Mr. Pessimist to a T with an only-if-I-benefit streak. Despite a need to constantly protect his own ass, it's not a good day for him unless half the team wants him to shut up. Hates Predicons with every nut, bolt, and fiber of his being. Even those P-to-M reformats will get the stinkeye.
RP Sample;
Well, this wasn't good.
And this wasn't Kansicon either.
A pink nose stuck out of fallen wood and sniffed at the air.
Slag, this wasn't even Iacon.
Rattrap winced and pushed his way through his storm-built shelter, transforming the moment his feet hit stable and sturdy ground.
Doubleslag. Still on this prehistoric mudball of an Earth. He had held a fleeting hope that maybe just maybe the energon storm he found himself luckily stuck in the middle of had warped him back home. "But no," Rattrap groaned, "Oh no. We can never be lucky enough for THAT to happen."
Stuck on this annoyingly dull underformed Earth with an army of Preds just next door in the middle of a new war lead by some halfwired Barnicon the Barbarian when he should be back home drinking highgrade and watching loose-plated femmes shake their rotators and he should have never agreed to the scouting job his pitslagging fearless leader had dragged him into because he did NOT sign up for
"--Attrap-- Do y..."
son of a Sharkticon half-bre--
"Rattrap! Rattrap! Come in! Are you still functioning? Cheetor is in the area and c--"
like he was back in the slagging Great War ages...
"Rattrap, do you need any help? Rhinox has you on the radar with a Predacon signature inbound."
- and he was pretty sure the sign-up chart didn't have intetgalatic time travel anywhere in the fine pri--
"RATTRAP."
The rat snapped out of his internal tangent, hand shooting up to respond to his call. "Oh heya Fearless Leader. I'm readin ya loud and clear." Rattrap dutifully ignores the heavy outtake of cycled air coming across the line. "Just hold yer pelt in place, the storm knocked me down da creek pretty far." He glanced around; pretty far was an understatement. "I'll be back and charmin up yer humble abode soon enough."
He closed the comm and cut the lines before any further protests could be heard. Optimus could wait, not like there was anything to do back at base besides sniff Big Green's daisies. Rattrap stretched and rotated his shoulder joints. Overhead, something oversized and muttering buzzed by.
Well, he could always use more Waspinator parts.