I told a lie once. A teeny, tiny, insignificant little facsimile, growing on the back of something large. And rancid. And how it grew. Like a tumor. Or a white elephant.
Would you like to hear it, my dear?
Hoohoo! I must say that it's growing on me.
ORIGIN AND BACKSTORY
Hmmm... Where to begin. Where to begin...
I had what some might say, a humble upbringing. Not much to say about the parents, though I tell you: their words for me were nothing but glowing. It was funny really; in me, I suppose they saw a potential. For great things. Terrible things, maybe. But great things. Alas, I never really knew them, you see. I knew only their words. Their violence. Their vicious cleaving blows, an unending onslaught again and again and again and again, 'til the back of my head was raw as a colonoscopist's right hand, more fragrant than a perched d--
*Coughs*
A charming pair, for certain.
But no... Where to begin? I vaguely remember laughter. Was it laughter? Or crying... The two scarcely hold deviance in my eyes. Like steamy lovers, entwined in the passions of high romance. Was that the right word? Passions? How about motions? I've never quite understood the sentiment. Well...
I know for certain I had aspirations for the opera. Yes, that was it. Or stand-up?
"The Opera?" I hear you ask, jaw slack, surplus chromosomes lighting your merry way. Aye, mine was a calling filled with theatrics. A higher calling. A calling truly steeped in the blood of time, entrenched on the shoulders of Atlas. Charging with a gun into a dime-store. The whole WORLD'S a stage, and I, its unwitting stagehand. Unwitting but ravenous.
So, you ask me how far back I can remember into my previous existance, mea priscus corpus? Well. Let's see. Well, you were there. And you were there. And oh gracious me, was I falling into a vat of chemicals? No, not falling... Sinking? Burning? Decomposing? Zut alors! Bit off a bit more than I could chew there, but it's alright. I seem to be smiling, which can only mean good things.
So, I looked in the mirror, right. And like, the guy in there (dapper chap, perhaps you know him? Tall, white and ravishingly extravagant), he's not the guy I remember seeing the night before, you see? His hair, not shaggy and brown but verdant. Chartreuse. Beetle-juicy. His skin, lay bare and unblemished, as if a ray of that big ol' ball of gas in the sky had never hit his lips. And those lips! Gone was the frown for sure, but what if he missed it? What if those yellow pearls he had showing wanted some respite. What if his face started chaffing. What in holy hell would it look like if this guy burped!?!
Such were the questions that bounced around my noggin and like vermiform appendices, well past their sell-by date, they sprang. I was lost, but now I was found. And I could rebuild. In MY image. It was orgasmic.
So, that, intrepid interloper on the mind of the greatest tap dancer t'as ever graced the earth, is my story. Sort of... In a - roundabout - way. With some liberties taken... Oh, and it says here that there were a few teeny, tiny murders and now I am incarcerated in one 'Arkham Asylum'... Hmm, must have missed that bombshell.
CHARACTER NOTES
Batman What a laugh this one is. Seriously, you could light a match off that scowl of his. One day I will. Nothing else to say about this. Costumed vigilante with a flair for kicking my ass. I anticipate a long working relationship.
Killer Croc Waylon Jones. God, I remember him! God, what's it been, a year since that reptile left my fickle service? I can't blame him, of course. That's the market as it is. We just have to deal with it. 'Course, he had to deal with me threatening to broil him over a fire to make gator chowder. So good riddance I say!
Croc Jr. What can I say? I have exotic tastes. So I might have stolen a live alligator from the Gotham Zoo.. That pin cushion is much better suited to criminal endeavours. Just hope the help have been feeding him this time. It's a pig getting scales out of the carpet...
The Help Whaat?!? You expect me to know them all by name? Like I do that kind of background checking... Amateurs! All I know is that these guys practically jump at the chance to work with yours truly. Might say it's my explosive persuasion techniques, buy I like to think it's cause I have a way with people. I'd love to know why they keeping signing up though... That is insanity, my friend.
The Asylum for the Mentally & Criminally Insane Here we are! The madhouse. The place granny said I'd end up if I kept pulling faces. Funny thing though. I don't feel myself getting better... I might have to have a word with Il Dottor Strange.
POWERS AND ABILITIES
Pain Tolerance Don't take this the wrong way but, I kind of like pain, you know? The gentle nudge of fate reminding you to get off your ass. Each cut can be an exquisite meal, if you cut your mind off from it. Each bruise, a blossoming hickey from a slow-footed lover. Each dismemberment a kiss of life. If only you saw. Truly, fate's greatest gifts were bestowed upon me...
Close Quarter Combat Skills I give 'em a left and a right, you see? And sometimes I give them the old left, right, left. Folks don't know what hit em. Unless they're thinking six-foot-four demented clown. Then they might have a little foresight. 'Course, that's 'fore I knock them silly.
Marksmanship Okay, this one's hit and a miss. And that is me being painfully literal. I possess no formal training in the use of firearms, yet surround myself with them. Pretty fun this way. I'm sure I'll pick it up eventually. Hey... Stop moving for a second. I've got something for you!
Altered Physiology Thanks to my one-dip detox in delicious formaldehyde, my body sports a number of changes, some exterior and some... Well, let's just say it only took one Arkham strip-search to discover. But to the point, I sport a rather unnatural resistance to toxins, poisons and aphrodisiacs. Which is helpful. Because between you and me, the muck Strange serves us here could easily constitute the latter. Or former. I forget.
People Skills This goes without saying. I am the people's person. I find people to be most at ease when I am around. It's chilling almost, seeing people that still and cold.
CHARACTER GOALS
C'est la vie, friends; how the once-proud eat their crow. After much thought (and some prior conversation with our fair GM), I've decided to apply for a character I once announced as unplayable. But things change. Regardless, I hope to perform far beyond expectation with this. I shall not limit his movements to terrorising Gotham City, for instance (Though that will definitely be on his agenda). Arkham-Centric stories will head up the run, should I be accepted, followed by some larger-universe stuff. I want to limit the number of posts that are just me describing Joker in his workshop loading acid balloons and thinking about Batman, or shooting his mysteriously eager henchpeople in the crotch, while thinking about Batman. With this take, The Joker has not yet been given a reason to specifically focus on Batman. His outreach and view is much more open.
SAMPLE POST
Honestly? After all that you want to listen to more of me yabbering? work in progress, big boy. Watch this space.
...Sycophant
I must ask: are you scared little bird? I know I would be in your situation. Well, I wouldn't, but I've heard it helps if you say that. For the life of me I can't think what...
Is it the smile? Afraid it's permanent, dear... Oh, it's the knife?
Silly me. Ha! Must have frightened the life outta you.
I've been sitting on half-written posts and a lot of contemplation. I think carrying on with so few and so inactively as we have been will do a disservice to the game, so I'll close this one up and maybe revisit it down the road. On to other creative muses.
