Post by Pavi Largo on Dec 18, 2011 16:31:49 GMT -8
Quote:
"Drug market, sub-market…sometimes I wonder why I ever got in. Blood market, love market…sometimes I wonder why they need me at all."
Name: Terrance(This is kept secret)
Alias: The Graverobber
Age: 28
Film/Show/Game/Book/Comic: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Species: Human
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 165 lbs
Basic Appearance:
Graves is fairly tall, with a solid build. His hair is long, pulled into a small ponytail at the top, and his mostly a dirty brown color, with a mixture of multi-colored highlights. His skin is very pale, which he emphasizes by wearing white face makeup and dark eye makeup and lipstick. His wardrobe consists of whatever he can manage to steal or find in dumpsters, though he typically wears a large, furry coat, cargo pants, a belt, and large black boots.
Picture:
Personality:
Graverobber is a very lively character, who likes to have fun with his work. He tends to live on the wild side, but always knows how to get himself out of a tough jam. He's fine with sticking to the background in the shadows; in fact, that's where he finds himself most comfortable. And while Graves is a very quiet sort of person that tends to keep to himself, you can't help but notice him.
Enemies: GeneCo, Luigi Largo, Pavi Largo, Amber Sweet(to an extent)
Allies: Amber Sweet, to an extent
Family: None
Role: Protester
History:
Little is known about Graverobber's history…at least, to anyone besides himself. All that is known to the public(and GeneCo) is that he's been robbing graves in order to obtain illegal amounts of zydrate, an addictive painkiller manufactured by GeneCo. Graverobber has always been a rebel, and has no discrepancies with breaking a few laws to either make a quick buck…or make a difference for someone who needs a helping hand.
And while Graverobber has typically been viewed as Enemy #1, he's far more connected with GeneCo than most realize. Amber Sweet, the daughter and current owner of GeneCo, is a Z-Addict, and often goes to Graves for her quick fix. Normally, however, she doesn't pay with money, if you get my drift. It's a rotten job for a man who hates everything that Miss Sweet stands for, but it's a living.
After finding out that GeneCo has struck up a new deal with the Dark Woods Circus, Graves decided to do a little rooting around to see what he could find out about the morbid place. What he found disgusted him…but a the same time seemed to be a business goldmine. Graverobber nows works to shut the place down with the other protesters…but there's only so much a wanted criminal can do without attracting attention. And in his spare time, he's not opposed to making a few bucks off of the acts in need of a little escape from the pain of their situations.
Sample Post:
"Need a hit?"
A standard pickup line. A hauntingly cocked eyebrow. A playful smirk tugging at the corner of his black mouth. This is the basic salesman pitch of the Graverobber. These were traits he'd picked up years ago, practiced, and perfected until they'd become little more than charming habits the dealer carried with him always. His fingers hovered over the loaded Z-Gun in his belt holster, and he comfortably leaned against a nearby tent pole for support.
A pair of mistrusting eyes met his from behind the steel cage bars. Four of them. Graverobber's smile never falters, despite the extra limbs and other added appendages that turn with these uncertain eyes, which he keeps his focus on throughout the silent exchange. He knows that at least one of them won't leave empty-handed tonight; this poor creature clearly won't be that difficult to convince to take the bait.
The dealer hesitates as the other slowly extends a twisted arm through the bars; the needle marks covering the leathery skin reveal that this is not their first time receiving an injection. Another hit would probably do the poor thing more harm than good, and he is tempted to turn and walk away, in search of another tent and a less fragile customer to hit up.
But another look into the sad, unblinking eyes roots him to his spot. His smile has long since faded now, and he slowly grabs the extended wrist, the needle of his gun sinking into the deformed flesh and emptying out the blue, glowing liquid into the creature's willing veins. No sound is made, but the four eyes have each clouded over, and Graves knows that whoever he's just Z-d up is lost to the world, perhaps for much longer than the time for a normal hit.
"This one's on the house," he mutters, dropping the wrist and slipping out of the tent quietly. The business here may be no good…but there are at least fifty other tents to attend to, and more were filling up each day. A bittersweet truth, he supposed, with a grimace. But in his line of work, you lived for bittersweet endings.
"Drug market, sub-market…sometimes I wonder why I ever got in. Blood market, love market…sometimes I wonder why they need me at all."
Name: Terrance(This is kept secret)
Alias: The Graverobber
Age: 28
Film/Show/Game/Book/Comic: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Species: Human
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 165 lbs
Basic Appearance:
Graves is fairly tall, with a solid build. His hair is long, pulled into a small ponytail at the top, and his mostly a dirty brown color, with a mixture of multi-colored highlights. His skin is very pale, which he emphasizes by wearing white face makeup and dark eye makeup and lipstick. His wardrobe consists of whatever he can manage to steal or find in dumpsters, though he typically wears a large, furry coat, cargo pants, a belt, and large black boots.
Picture:
Personality:
Graverobber is a very lively character, who likes to have fun with his work. He tends to live on the wild side, but always knows how to get himself out of a tough jam. He's fine with sticking to the background in the shadows; in fact, that's where he finds himself most comfortable. And while Graves is a very quiet sort of person that tends to keep to himself, you can't help but notice him.
Enemies: GeneCo, Luigi Largo, Pavi Largo, Amber Sweet(to an extent)
Allies: Amber Sweet, to an extent
Family: None
Role: Protester
History:
Little is known about Graverobber's history…at least, to anyone besides himself. All that is known to the public(and GeneCo) is that he's been robbing graves in order to obtain illegal amounts of zydrate, an addictive painkiller manufactured by GeneCo. Graverobber has always been a rebel, and has no discrepancies with breaking a few laws to either make a quick buck…or make a difference for someone who needs a helping hand.
And while Graverobber has typically been viewed as Enemy #1, he's far more connected with GeneCo than most realize. Amber Sweet, the daughter and current owner of GeneCo, is a Z-Addict, and often goes to Graves for her quick fix. Normally, however, she doesn't pay with money, if you get my drift. It's a rotten job for a man who hates everything that Miss Sweet stands for, but it's a living.
After finding out that GeneCo has struck up a new deal with the Dark Woods Circus, Graves decided to do a little rooting around to see what he could find out about the morbid place. What he found disgusted him…but a the same time seemed to be a business goldmine. Graverobber nows works to shut the place down with the other protesters…but there's only so much a wanted criminal can do without attracting attention. And in his spare time, he's not opposed to making a few bucks off of the acts in need of a little escape from the pain of their situations.
Sample Post:
"Need a hit?"
A standard pickup line. A hauntingly cocked eyebrow. A playful smirk tugging at the corner of his black mouth. This is the basic salesman pitch of the Graverobber. These were traits he'd picked up years ago, practiced, and perfected until they'd become little more than charming habits the dealer carried with him always. His fingers hovered over the loaded Z-Gun in his belt holster, and he comfortably leaned against a nearby tent pole for support.
A pair of mistrusting eyes met his from behind the steel cage bars. Four of them. Graverobber's smile never falters, despite the extra limbs and other added appendages that turn with these uncertain eyes, which he keeps his focus on throughout the silent exchange. He knows that at least one of them won't leave empty-handed tonight; this poor creature clearly won't be that difficult to convince to take the bait.
The dealer hesitates as the other slowly extends a twisted arm through the bars; the needle marks covering the leathery skin reveal that this is not their first time receiving an injection. Another hit would probably do the poor thing more harm than good, and he is tempted to turn and walk away, in search of another tent and a less fragile customer to hit up.
But another look into the sad, unblinking eyes roots him to his spot. His smile has long since faded now, and he slowly grabs the extended wrist, the needle of his gun sinking into the deformed flesh and emptying out the blue, glowing liquid into the creature's willing veins. No sound is made, but the four eyes have each clouded over, and Graves knows that whoever he's just Z-d up is lost to the world, perhaps for much longer than the time for a normal hit.
"This one's on the house," he mutters, dropping the wrist and slipping out of the tent quietly. The business here may be no good…but there are at least fifty other tents to attend to, and more were filling up each day. A bittersweet truth, he supposed, with a grimace. But in his line of work, you lived for bittersweet endings.
