MMMMMM, cant decide between portals,teleportation or transmutation. They all seem so promising.
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[OOC] VIGILANCE: Memento Mori Page 10
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"Ever flip a coin and had it land on its side?"
| NAME(S): |
Samuel 'Sam' Williams
| ALIAS(ES): |
Trigger, Outlaw
| D.O.B.: |
14th March, 1977
| AGE: |
37
| SEX: |
Male
| SEXUALITY: |
Straight.
| APPEARANCE: |
Standing at a nice 6' 2", with nice, wide shoulders and a physique fitting of a country boy like himself, Sam is a good enough representation of someone that lived down South, way down in America, and he looks the part too, with a glorious looking mustache and crags in his face that rival the Grand Canyon. Despite his appearance, he is of a good heart and nature, and will naturally go out of his way to help others.
His regular look is a simple collared shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or not, blue denim jeans, a leather belt, either leather cowboy boots or shoes, and a nice cowboy hat. Sometimes he wears a simple jacket or cardigan over his shirt.
His regular look is a simple collared shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or not, blue denim jeans, a leather belt, either leather cowboy boots or shoes, and a nice cowboy hat. Sometimes he wears a simple jacket or cardigan over his shirt.
| H-CLASS: |
Fortuna
| ABILITIES: |
Sam is able to manipulate probability itself, being able to directly influence the outcomes of any situation he is in or sets eyes on by merely imagining the final result and watching it come to life before his very eyes. This has a very wide variety of applications, which are elaborated on below, and extends to many different things. For instance, if presented with an impending car accident where a car is about to hit a lady, Sam is able to, by changing the numbers and probabilities inherent in the millions to billions of microevents occuring at that moment, make it so that the car misses the lady, or that the driver is suddenly able to regain control, or even something else happening that prevents the lady from being hit.
| LIMITATIONS: |
- He is only able to directly influence what is visible to him. So, let's say someone throws something at the back of his head from behind him, he won't be able to prevent that object from hitting him by manipulating probabilities. Anything in his visual field is fair game, anything that isn't is a crapshoot.
- Without the added power of Future Sight, using his probability manipulation is only useful in short-term situations, like spur-of-the-moment decisions and such. He is not able to foresee a dramatic chain of events that he is able to set off by changing a certain probability or look into the future of someone and change the probabilities of things happening to them to influence and change their destiny.
| WEAKNESSES: |
- He is only human, after all, and requires the regular human things to live and survive and so on, along with all the weaknesses of the flesh.
- His powers do not bestow added strength or stamina or endurance, and even with his training as a fast shooter and a marksman, he is still no more than a highly trained person, not even superhuman save for his powers.
- His probability powers eat up a fair chunk of his stamina when he uses them, especially for extended periods of time. Thus, he keeps himself energised by way of either caffeine or sugar, not so much that he's dependent on it, but if and only if he needs to.
| APPLICATIONS: |
- Making impossible shots with his guns.
- Directly influencing the environment around him to go the way he wants it.
- Calculated defense against threats by neutralising them before they even initiate an attack.
- Influencing the probabilities that a given situation will result in a certain outcome, either good for him or bad for whoever's against him.
- Being able to tell the probabilities of a situation already in motion (eg. a lottery draw or a coin toss) and to directly change them.
| SKILLS: |
- Trick Shooter - Having honed himself in the delicate art of trick shooting, Sam is trained and very proficient in making improbable shots, mostly just-for-fun things like shooting coins in midair or fine accuracy on tiny targets, but it has taught him how to fire at moving objects efficiently and accurately, which leads to...
- Marksman - Sam has taught himself how to be accurate with a small variety of weapons, which sets him above the average Joe, but not as accurate as proper military-trained shooters. He's just good enough.
- Quickdraw - As part of his skillset in trick shooting, he has taught himself how to draw his sidearm really, really fast. Though it's not Mercury-level fast, it's still faster than your average Joe.
- Keen Eye - Paying attention to his surroundings was always something he did, and it shows too, with him naturally being able to pick out what distant objects are even though he can't identify details.
| EQUIPMENT: |
- Sam owns a pair of guns, Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 revolvers. These are his life and soul, and were the mainstays of his act and job as a trick shooter. The guns have small names engraved on the sides of their barrels, one reads 'Carl' and the other 'Bessy'. He does not carry them around with him, but they are displayed in a glass case on the wall behind and above the counter of his shop.
- Sam also carries around a small tin of marbles wherever he goes. Flicking these with a good arm and fingers does indeed hurt people, and with his probability powers they have proved quite useful in indirectly influencing things to happen in favourable ways.
- Sam also owns a beagle he calls 'Casey'. It sports a neat brown leather collar with a single tag with its name on it, and is a young female beagle in the prime of her life.
- Lastly, Sam owns a very nice hat. There are many others like it but this one is his. Do not touch.
| BACKSTORY: |
Sam was born to Keith and Suzanne Williams, and was the youngest of three siblings, with an elder brother named Robert and a sister the same age as he called Eileen. The Williams were ranchers by trade. They owned a farm just outside the small town of Corbin, Kentucky, and spent their days growing wheat and corn, along with the usual mainstays of livestock like cows and chickens. Life on the farm was simple enough, the Williams siblings' hobbies were music, tending to the animals and going horseriding around the farm and surrounding countryside. Of course, being in the country and owning livestock meant that they also had to keep their share of firearms to ward off unwanted intruders like foxes. Young Samuel took to his father's habits of shooting old tin cans on their pasture fence and soon became a regular shot, spending free time unloading round after round onto old cans, plastic bottles and cardboard boxes. He kept the hobby well into young adulthood, even though his main job then was to take care of the farm in his parents' old age. He purchased a rifle and practiced with it, eventually being able to shoot apples off the trees in their small orchard, though the apples became apple juice when he shot them.
Now you might be wondering how he got his powers. The answer's simple: they developed when he was a child, and worked unconsciously through his youth and into adulthood. The only thing that Sam knew about himself was that he was just incredibly lucky when he wanted to do something impossible for a man of his skill level. Flick a coin in the air and shoot it? 'No problem', said his mind, and 'lemme help you with that' said his powers. Okay, but taking the same coin (now with hole in it) and shoot it again, putting the bullet through the exact same hole? 'Impossible' said his mind, but his powers said 'everything's possible if you believe oh and I can make it happen so there'. The only time when he realised that something was quite amiss about himself was when he began pulling off these sort of stunts regularly, and with enough "skill" to warrant some notice by the media. When questioned by an intrepid reporter, he merely responded with "I guess it's a whole lotta luck," but questions ran circles in his mind until he decided to test them. Setting up an experiment, Sam performed the feat of shooting a bottlecap off a glass bottle, something that would normally be impossible to do without breaking the bottle itself. Then he realised that he didn't just have a talent or a knack at making impossible shots, he actually had the power to make the impossible...possible. With further testing came further realisation that not only could he influence himself, he could influence others too.
This was enough to make him rethink his life choices. Though his family was getting by on the farm, Sam saw promise with his gift. He left, promising that one day he'd return with a fortune, and moved into Louisville, where he touted his gunplay skills at carnivals and contests, challenging other marksman to nearly impossible feats and gaining glory when he succeeded. For a while, life was good. He regularly sent money back to his family at the farm, money that he won by winning (read: cheating at) shooting contests and other accuracy competitions, and was even touted as the most accurate man in Kentucky. Alas, his luck was not to hold out, as not even he could have predicted the rise of the so-called "Hyperhumans", and he was almost immediately outed as one. Not one to falter in the face of despair, Sam gave up on his dreams but instead went into the more simple business of firearm repair and servicing. Once a lofty shooter, now reduced to a businessman, he didn't have the face or the guts to go back to his family, a feeling that influenced his decision to move to Canada. He set up his own small business in Toronto, his feats unheard of, but he regularly went to a local gun club for the socialising and to relive his glory days. Sometimes he would go to the countryside just outside the city to partake in more dangerous stunts just to keep his skills sharp, but otherwise Samuel Williams was now nothing more than a washed up old gun.
Still, being as helpful as he was, the powers he was given did still have some use. He regularly helped neighbours with chores or other things, like packing or moving, and with proper use of his powers (obviously kept under wraps so as not to freak out anyone), he made processes efficient and slyly helped other folks in their endeavours, all the while tending to his store and being one of those nice, middle-aged men that smiles at you on the street and chats with you about the weather while waiting to cross the street, a life he is happy to enjoy for the rest of his days.
Now you might be wondering how he got his powers. The answer's simple: they developed when he was a child, and worked unconsciously through his youth and into adulthood. The only thing that Sam knew about himself was that he was just incredibly lucky when he wanted to do something impossible for a man of his skill level. Flick a coin in the air and shoot it? 'No problem', said his mind, and 'lemme help you with that' said his powers. Okay, but taking the same coin (now with hole in it) and shoot it again, putting the bullet through the exact same hole? 'Impossible' said his mind, but his powers said 'everything's possible if you believe oh and I can make it happen so there'. The only time when he realised that something was quite amiss about himself was when he began pulling off these sort of stunts regularly, and with enough "skill" to warrant some notice by the media. When questioned by an intrepid reporter, he merely responded with "I guess it's a whole lotta luck," but questions ran circles in his mind until he decided to test them. Setting up an experiment, Sam performed the feat of shooting a bottlecap off a glass bottle, something that would normally be impossible to do without breaking the bottle itself. Then he realised that he didn't just have a talent or a knack at making impossible shots, he actually had the power to make the impossible...possible. With further testing came further realisation that not only could he influence himself, he could influence others too.
This was enough to make him rethink his life choices. Though his family was getting by on the farm, Sam saw promise with his gift. He left, promising that one day he'd return with a fortune, and moved into Louisville, where he touted his gunplay skills at carnivals and contests, challenging other marksman to nearly impossible feats and gaining glory when he succeeded. For a while, life was good. He regularly sent money back to his family at the farm, money that he won by winning (read: cheating at) shooting contests and other accuracy competitions, and was even touted as the most accurate man in Kentucky. Alas, his luck was not to hold out, as not even he could have predicted the rise of the so-called "Hyperhumans", and he was almost immediately outed as one. Not one to falter in the face of despair, Sam gave up on his dreams but instead went into the more simple business of firearm repair and servicing. Once a lofty shooter, now reduced to a businessman, he didn't have the face or the guts to go back to his family, a feeling that influenced his decision to move to Canada. He set up his own small business in Toronto, his feats unheard of, but he regularly went to a local gun club for the socialising and to relive his glory days. Sometimes he would go to the countryside just outside the city to partake in more dangerous stunts just to keep his skills sharp, but otherwise Samuel Williams was now nothing more than a washed up old gun.
Still, being as helpful as he was, the powers he was given did still have some use. He regularly helped neighbours with chores or other things, like packing or moving, and with proper use of his powers (obviously kept under wraps so as not to freak out anyone), he made processes efficient and slyly helped other folks in their endeavours, all the while tending to his store and being one of those nice, middle-aged men that smiles at you on the street and chats with you about the weather while waiting to cross the street, a life he is happy to enjoy for the rest of his days.
| SAMPLE POST: |
7 A.M. Normally a time when people would be sleeping. However, for Sam, it was the start of his day. Business at his store didn't start until eleven, but he valued being an early riser and being prepared early. So it was off for an early jog, followed by bagels at the local cafe, where he would regularly relax until ten thirty, at which he'd take a stroll back to the shop, shower and freshen up, then open it for business at eleven on the nose. Today wasn't an irregular day, and he proceeded on his little schedule at his own pace. As he jogged, however, he kept an eye out for anything...weird, or bad. You could never know, what with the recent increase in the number of "Hypes" out there, coupled with the regular irregularities whose probabilites contributed to an interruption to a routine. Who knows, today might be the day a Hype used his (or her) powers for bad and caused some chaos in the neighbourhood. But it was highly unlikely. Sam knew the numbers. He always did.
His jogging route took him around the block, as usual, and right past the cafe he ate breakfast at, as usual. The sweet young lady that swept the front doorstep and brewed the coffee smiled and waved at him and he returned the gesture.
"Morning, mister Williams!"
"And g'morning t'you to, young lady!"
He smiled to himself as he kept on. She had a bright future ahead of her, this he could tell even though he couldn't predict it.
Probably.
Rounding the final corner to end his jog, Samuel turned his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him. Same as always, as usual. There was old Mrs. Nelson hobbling towards the park to feed the pidgeons like she always did. Same patrol car coming down the street towards him with the same two officers in it, one of whom waved a greeting that he returned in kind, as usual. The weather was bracing cold, as usual for a morning that early, one he knew that would turn warmer as the day went by. Everything as usual, just the way he liked it.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something wasn't right.
The scream that suddenly emanated from the alleyway in front of him confirmed his suspicions.
Oh this wasn't his usual day at all. What were the chances? Slim, actually.
Sam ran ahead to the entrance to the alleyway and collided head-first with a young man that was running out, a leather purse grasped tightly in his hand as he shook off the impact and ran away. The poor middle-aged lady, one he recognised as the accountant who always woke up early for breakfast like he did, staggered to her feet and hobbled out of the alley, gibbering and wailing.
"That horrid young man took my purse! Someone stop him! Thief! Police! Anyone!"
He knew that the patrol car behind him was just rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight. He had to do something.
Then he remembered.
His hand dived into the pocket of his track pants and pulled out the tin of mints he always carried around. With a thumb he popped open the top and shook several out onto his palm. Then he broke into a run to chase after the young punk that had so interrupted his routine. That was the easy part, within seconds he had the youth in sight, the strap of the purse flapping about in the wind as he ran, presumably to someplace safe. Now for the hard part. Taking into account the speed at which they were running, Sam looked for something he could exploit, something in the environment that would stop the young punk from running.
Something like a trash can. An innocent green bin (one of those plastic deals with wheels on them) sat on the curb in front of an apartment building, one they were getting really close to. He needed a plan.
There, an idea.
With mints in hand, Sam aimed right for the bin and flung them ahead of the young runner, adjusting the probability that they'd impact the bin on its side to maximum. Of course they'd hit, it was like throwing gravel at the side of a barn. Once the mints clattered against the side of the bin, he then adjusted the probability of one of the bin's wheels giving way under the minute strain to extremely probable, which is exactly what happened. A plastic wheel popped free of its slot and the bin, overburdened and unbalanced, toppled over right into the youth's path, causing him to run straight into it and crash head-over-heels into the sidewalk. He deftly hopped over the fallen bin and straddled the young man's back, sitting on him and pinning his arms in place as he took back the stolen purse. Then, as the rush of what just happened caught up with him, he heard distant sirens. The lady called the cops. He could relax, thank goodness. All in all, a plan well executed, and just in time too! He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a poignant reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be, and so he popped two mints and waited for the cops to show up.
A fine start to the day. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing any time soon. Which was unlikely, since he himself knew the numbers. It wouldn't happen again, not for a long, long time.
As usual.
His jogging route took him around the block, as usual, and right past the cafe he ate breakfast at, as usual. The sweet young lady that swept the front doorstep and brewed the coffee smiled and waved at him and he returned the gesture.
"Morning, mister Williams!"
"And g'morning t'you to, young lady!"
He smiled to himself as he kept on. She had a bright future ahead of her, this he could tell even though he couldn't predict it.
Probably.
Rounding the final corner to end his jog, Samuel turned his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him. Same as always, as usual. There was old Mrs. Nelson hobbling towards the park to feed the pidgeons like she always did. Same patrol car coming down the street towards him with the same two officers in it, one of whom waved a greeting that he returned in kind, as usual. The weather was bracing cold, as usual for a morning that early, one he knew that would turn warmer as the day went by. Everything as usual, just the way he liked it.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something wasn't right.
The scream that suddenly emanated from the alleyway in front of him confirmed his suspicions.
Oh this wasn't his usual day at all. What were the chances? Slim, actually.
Sam ran ahead to the entrance to the alleyway and collided head-first with a young man that was running out, a leather purse grasped tightly in his hand as he shook off the impact and ran away. The poor middle-aged lady, one he recognised as the accountant who always woke up early for breakfast like he did, staggered to her feet and hobbled out of the alley, gibbering and wailing.
"That horrid young man took my purse! Someone stop him! Thief! Police! Anyone!"
He knew that the patrol car behind him was just rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight. He had to do something.
Then he remembered.
His hand dived into the pocket of his track pants and pulled out the tin of mints he always carried around. With a thumb he popped open the top and shook several out onto his palm. Then he broke into a run to chase after the young punk that had so interrupted his routine. That was the easy part, within seconds he had the youth in sight, the strap of the purse flapping about in the wind as he ran, presumably to someplace safe. Now for the hard part. Taking into account the speed at which they were running, Sam looked for something he could exploit, something in the environment that would stop the young punk from running.
Something like a trash can. An innocent green bin (one of those plastic deals with wheels on them) sat on the curb in front of an apartment building, one they were getting really close to. He needed a plan.
There, an idea.
With mints in hand, Sam aimed right for the bin and flung them ahead of the young runner, adjusting the probability that they'd impact the bin on its side to maximum. Of course they'd hit, it was like throwing gravel at the side of a barn. Once the mints clattered against the side of the bin, he then adjusted the probability of one of the bin's wheels giving way under the minute strain to extremely probable, which is exactly what happened. A plastic wheel popped free of its slot and the bin, overburdened and unbalanced, toppled over right into the youth's path, causing him to run straight into it and crash head-over-heels into the sidewalk. He deftly hopped over the fallen bin and straddled the young man's back, sitting on him and pinning his arms in place as he took back the stolen purse. Then, as the rush of what just happened caught up with him, he heard distant sirens. The lady called the cops. He could relax, thank goodness. All in all, a plan well executed, and just in time too! He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a poignant reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be, and so he popped two mints and waited for the cops to show up.
A fine start to the day. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing any time soon. Which was unlikely, since he himself knew the numbers. It wouldn't happen again, not for a long, long time.
As usual.
| NOTES: |
- Regularly keeps a roll of sweets or a small box of mint candies to keep his energy levels up.
- Root beer, he loves it. And so do I.
@Lord Wraith There, done. I put it into a hider to not, like, take up too much space. If there's anything wrong with it, please let me know and I'll fix said problems ASAP!
edit: I changed the ending bit a little to better adhere to his limits.
Now to bed with me. I'll be back in roughly five hours.
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
Member
Seen
6 hrs ago
"Ever flip a coin and had it land on its side?"
| NAME(S): |Samuel 'Sam' Williams
| ALIAS(ES): |Trigger, Outlaw
| D.O.B.: |14th March, 1977
| AGE: |37
| SEX: |Male
| SEXUALITY: |Straight.
| APPEARANCE: |Standing at a nice 6' 2", with nice, wide shoulders and a physique fitting of a country boy like himself, Sam is a good enough representation of someone that lived down South, way down in America, and he looks the part too, with a glorious looking mustache and crags in his face that rival the Grand Canyon. Despite his appearance, he is of a good heart and nature, and will naturally go out of his way to help others.
His regular look is a simple collared shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or not, blue denim jeans, a leather belt, either leather cowboy boots or shoes, and a nice cowboy hat. Sometimes he wears a simple jacket or cardigan over his shirt.
| H-CLASS: |Fortuna
| ABILITIES: |Sam is able to manipulate probability itself, being able to directly influence the outcomes of any situation he is in or sets eyes on by merely imagining the final result and watching it come to life before his very eyes. This has a very wide variety of applications, which are elaborated on below, and extends to many different things. For instance, if presented with an impending car accident where a car is about to hit a lady, Sam is able to, by changing the numbers and probabilities inherent in the millions to billions of microevents occuring at that moment, make it so that the car misses the lady, or that the driver is suddenly able to regain control, or even something else happening that prevents the lady from being hit.
| LIMITATIONS: |
- He is only able to directly influence what is visible to him. So, let's say someone throws something at the back of his head from behind him, he won't be able to prevent that object from hitting him by manipulating probabilities. Anything in his visual field is fair game, anything that isn't is a crapshoot.
- Without the added power of Future Sight, using his probability manipulation is only useful in short-term situations, like spur-of-the-moment decisions and such. He is not able to foresee a dramatic chain of events that he is able to set off by changing a certain probability or look into the future of someone and change the probabilities of things happening to them to influence and change their destiny.
| WEAKNESSES: |
- He is only human, after all, and requires the regular human things to live and survive and so on, along with all the weaknesses of the flesh.
- His powers do not bestow added strength or stamina or endurance, and even with his training as a fast shooter and a marksman, he is still no more than a highly trained person, not even superhuman save for his powers.
- His probability powers eat up a fair chunk of his stamina when he uses them, especially for extended periods of time. Thus, he keeps himself energised by way of either caffeine or sugar, not so much that he's dependent on it, but if and only if he needs to.
| APPLICATIONS: |
- Making impossible shots with his guns.
- Directly influencing the environment around him to go the way he wants it.
- Calculated defense against threats by neutralising them before they even initiate an attack.
- Influencing the probabilities that a given situation will result in a certain outcome, either good for him or bad for whoever's against him.
- Being able to tell the probabilities of a situation already in motion (eg. a lottery draw or a coin toss) and to directly change them.
| SKILLS: |
- Trick Shooter - Having honed himself in the delicate art of trick shooting, Sam is trained and very proficient in making improbable shots, mostly just-for-fun things like shooting coins in midair or fine accuracy on tiny targets, but it has taught him how to fire at moving objects efficiently and accurately, which leads to...
- Marksman - Sam has taught himself how to be accurate with a small variety of weapons, which sets him above the average Joe, but not as accurate as proper military-trained shooters. He's just good enough.
- Quickdraw - As part of his skillset in trick shooting, he has taught himself how to draw his sidearm really, really fast. Though it's not Mercury-level fast, it's still faster than your average Joe.
- Keen Eye - Paying attention to his surroundings was always something he did, and it shows too, with him naturally being able to pick out what distant objects are even though he can't identify details.
| EQUIPMENT: |
- Sam owns a pair of guns, Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 revolvers. These are his life and soul, and were the mainstays of his act and job as a trick shooter. The guns have small names engraved on the sides of their barrels, one reads 'Carl' and the other 'Bessy'. He does not carry them around with him, but they are displayed in a glass case on the wall behind and above the counter of his shop.
- Sam also carries around a small tin of marbles wherever he goes. Flicking these with a good arm and fingers does indeed hurt people, and with his probability powers they have proved quite useful in indirectly influencing things to happen in favourable ways.
- Sam also owns a beagle he calls 'Casey'. It sports a neat brown leather collar with a single tag with its name on it, and is a young female beagle in the prime of her life.
- Lastly, Sam owns a very nice hat. There are many others like it but this one is his. Do not touch.
| BACKSTORY: |Sam was born to Keith and Suzanne Williams, and was the youngest of three siblings, with an elder brother named Robert and a sister the same age as he called Eileen. The Williams were ranchers by trade. They owned a farm just outside the small town of Corbin, Kentucky, and spent their days growing wheat and corn, along with the usual mainstays of livestock like cows and chickens. Life on the farm was simple enough, the Williams siblings' hobbies were music, tending to the animals and going horseriding around the farm and surrounding countryside. Of course, being in the country and owning livestock meant that they also had to keep their share of firearms to ward off unwanted intruders like foxes. Young Samuel took to his father's habits of shooting old tin cans on their pasture fence and soon became a regular shot, spending free time unloading round after round onto old cans, plastic bottles and cardboard boxes. He kept the hobby well into young adulthood, even though his main job then was to take care of the farm in his parents' old age. He purchased a rifle and practiced with it, eventually being able to shoot apples off the trees in their small orchard, though the apples became apple juice when he shot them.
Now you might be wondering how he got his powers. The answer's simple: they developed when he was a child, and worked unconsciously through his youth and into adulthood. The only thing that Sam knew about himself was that he was just incredibly lucky when he wanted to do something impossible for a man of his skill level. Flick a coin in the air and shoot it? 'No problem', said his mind, and 'lemme help you with that' said his powers. Okay, but taking the same coin (now with hole in it) and shoot it again, putting the bullet through the exact same hole? 'Impossible' said his mind, but his powers said 'everything's possible if you believe oh and I can make it happen so there'. The only time when he realised that something was quite amiss about himself was when he began pulling off these sort of stunts regularly, and with enough "skill" to warrant some notice by the media. When questioned by an intrepid reporter, he merely responded with "I guess it's a whole lotta luck," but questions ran circles in his mind until he decided to test them. Setting up an experiment, Sam performed the feat of shooting a bottlecap off a glass bottle, something that would normally be impossible to do without breaking the bottle itself. Then he realised that he didn't just have a talent or a knack at making impossible shots, he actually had the power to make the impossible...possible. With further testing came further realisation that not only could he influence himself, he could influence others too.
This was enough to make him rethink his life choices. Though his family was getting by on the farm, Sam saw promise with his gift. He left, promising that one day he'd return with a fortune, and moved into Louisville, where he touted his gunplay skills at carnivals and contests, challenging other marksman to nearly impossible feats and gaining glory when he succeeded. For a while, life was good. He regularly sent money back to his family at the farm, money that he won by winning (read: cheating at) shooting contests and other accuracy competitions, and was even touted as the most accurate man in Kentucky. Alas, his luck was not to hold out, as not even he could have predicted the rise of the so-called "Hyperhumans", and he was almost immediately outed as one. Not one to falter in the face of despair, Sam gave up on his dreams but instead went into the more simple business of firearm repair and servicing. Once a lofty shooter, now reduced to a businessman, he didn't have the face or the guts to go back to his family, a feeling that influenced his decision to move to Canada. He set up his own small business in Toronto, his feats unheard of, but he regularly went to a local gun club for the socialising and to relive his glory days. Sometimes he would go to the countryside just outside the city to partake in more dangerous stunts just to keep his skills sharp, but otherwise Samuel Williams was now nothing more than a washed up old gun.
Still, being as helpful as he was, the powers he was given did still have some use. He regularly helped neighbours with chores or other things, like packing or moving, and with proper use of his powers (obviously kept under wraps so as not to freak out anyone), he made processes efficient and slyly helped other folks in their endeavours, all the while tending to his store and being one of those nice, middle-aged men that smiles at you on the street and chats with you about the weather while waiting to cross the street, a life he is happy to enjoy for the rest of his days.
| SAMPLE POST: |7 A.M. Normally a time when people would be sleeping. However, for Sam, it was the start of his day. Business at his store didn't start until eleven, but he valued being an early riser and being prepared early. So it was off for an early jog, followed by bagels at the local cafe, where he would regularly relax until ten thirty, at which he'd take a stroll back to the shop, shower and freshen up, then open it for business at eleven on the nose. Today wasn't an irregular day, and he proceeded on his little schedule at his own pace. As he jogged, however, he kept an eye out for anything...weird, or bad. You could never know, what with the recent increase in the number of "Hypes" out there, coupled with the regular irregularities whose probabilites contributed to an interruption to a routine. Who knows, today might be the day a Hype used his (or her) powers for bad and caused some chaos in the neighbourhood. But it was highly unlikely. Sam knew the numbers. He always did.
His jogging route took him around the block, as usual, and right past the cafe he ate breakfast at, as usual. The sweet young lady that swept the front doorstep and brewed the coffee smiled and waved at him and he returned the gesture.
"Morning, mister Williams!"
"And g'morning t'you to, young lady!"
He smiled to himself as he kept on. She had a bright future ahead of her, this he could tell even though he couldn't predict it.
Probably.
Rounding the final corner to end his jog, Samuel turned his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him. Same as always, as usual. There was old Mrs. Nelson hobbling towards the park to feed the pidgeons like she always did. Same patrol car coming down the street towards him with the same two officers in it, one of whom waved a greeting that he returned in kind, as usual. The weather was bracing cold, as usual for a morning that early, one he knew that would turn warmer as the day went by. Everything as usual, just the way he liked it.
Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something wasn't right.
The scream that suddenly emanated from the alleyway in front of him confirmed his suspicions.
Oh this wasn't his usual day at all. What were the chances? Slim, actually.
Sam ran ahead to the entrance to the alleyway and collided head-first with a young man that was running out, a leather purse grasped tightly in his hand as he shook off the impact and ran away. The poor middle-aged lady, one he recognised as the accountant who always woke up early for breakfast like he did, staggered to her feet and hobbled out of the alley, gibbering and wailing.
"That horrid young man took my purse! Someone stop him! Thief! Police! Anyone!"
He knew that the patrol car behind him was just rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight. He had to do something.
Then he remembered.
His hand dived into the pocket of his track pants and pulled out the tin of mints he always carried around. With a thumb he popped open the top and shook several out onto his palm. Then he broke into a run to chase after the young punk that had so interrupted his routine. That was the easy part, within seconds he had the youth in sight, the strap of the purse flapping about in the wind as he ran, presumably to someplace safe. Now for the hard part. Taking into account the speed at which they were running, Sam looked for something he could exploit, something in the environment that would stop the young punk from running.
Something like a trash can. An innocent green bin (one of those plastic deals with wheels on them) sat on the curb in front of an apartment building, one they were getting really close to. He needed a plan.
There, an idea.
With mints in hand, Sam aimed right for the bin and flung them ahead of the young runner, adjusting the probability that they'd impact the bin on its side to maximum. Of course they'd hit, it was like throwing gravel at the side of a barn. Once the mints clattered against the side of the bin, he then adjusted the probability of one of the bin's wheels giving way under the minute strain to extremely probable, which is exactly what happened. A plastic wheel popped free of its slot and the bin, overburdened and unbalanced, toppled over right into the youth's path, causing him to run straight into it and crash head-over-heels into the sidewalk. He deftly hopped over the fallen bin and straddled the young man's back, sitting on him and pinning his arms in place as he took back the stolen purse. Then, as the rush of what just happened caught up with him, he heard distant sirens. The lady called the cops. He could relax, thank goodness. All in all, a plan well executed, and just in time too! He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a poignant reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be, and so he popped two mints and waited for the cops to show up.
A fine start to the day. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing any time soon. Which was unlikely, since he himself knew the numbers. It wouldn't happen again, not for a long, long time.
As usual.
| NOTES: |
- Regularly keeps a roll of sweets or a small box of mint candies to keep his energy levels up.
- Root beer, he loves it. And so do I.
@Lord Wraith There, done. I put it into a hider to not, like, take up too much space. If there's anything wrong with it, please let me know and I'll fix said problems ASAP!
edit: I changed the ending bit a little to better adhere to his limits.
Now to bed with me. I'll be back in roughly five hours.
Having discussed your sheet with Sam we have agreed that... WE WANT YOU... dun dun dun! We want you so baaadd...
In other words, accepted! However there is one condition, Sam was worried that your ability would make you think you would be immune to the Hype Virus. I just want to clarify that no one is safe from it (Unless they're not a Hype lol) so as long as you're good with that then we're all good here.
coGM
An Outsider A Glorious Failure
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1 yr ago
Having discussed your sheet with Sam we have agreed that... WE WANT YOU... dun dun dun! We want you so baaadd...
I. . . uh. . . I don't remember discussing that particular part.
Archangel89 NEZUKO-CHANNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!
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1 mo ago
Im working on a speedster character...hows that sound?
DJAtomika Second to Most
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4 mos ago
Oh nooooooooooooo D:
And yeah, probability manipulation does jack against getting sick, I agree. Lessening the odds =/= being healthy.
Also it's slightly disorienting when the co-GM is called Sam and my dude's called Sam too. XD
And yeah, probability manipulation does jack against getting sick, I agree. Lessening the odds =/= being healthy.
Also it's slightly disorienting when the co-GM is called Sam and my dude's called Sam too. XD
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>
I. . . uh. . . I don't remember discussing that particular part.
DUDE! There was a musical number and everything!
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coGM
An Outsider A Glorious Failure
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1 yr ago
Im working on a speedster character...hows that sound?
Looking forward to seeing it.
Also it's slightly disorienting when the co-GM is called Sam and my dude's called Sam too. XD
I'm just going to consider all the awesome things your character will no doubt get up to just a homage to me.
DUDE! There was a musical number and everything!
Bark as Bad as the Bite's reunion tour.
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DJAtomika Second to Most
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4 mos ago
So I guess that means I have the go ahead to shift Sam to the characters section eh.
Not you Sam, I mean, uh, you know what I mean!
Not you Sam, I mean, uh, you know what I mean!
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
<Snipped quote by DJAtomika>
I'm just going to consider all the awesome things your character will no doubt get up to just a homage to me.
<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>
Bark as Bad as the Bite's reunion tour.
Aahhhh yeah!
coGM
An Outsider A Glorious Failure
Member
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1 yr ago
Aahhhh yeah!
They can do a collab with Extinguish/Ignite. It'll be stellar!
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GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>
They can do a collab with Extinguish/Ignite. It'll be stellar!
Man that would be quite the inter-dimension mash up.
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
So I guess that means I have the go ahead to shift Sam to the characters section eh.
Not you Sam, I mean, uh, you know what I mean!
Missed this, but yes go ahead! Feel free to post if you have time to do so.
coGM
An Outsider A Glorious Failure
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Man that would be quite the inter-dimension mash up.
Twice as good as Kanye West, Rihanna, and a time displaced Paul McCartney.
DJAtomika Second to Most
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4 mos ago
Done and dusted. Psyched to join in!
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GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
@DJAtomika Looking forward to it!
coGM
An Outsider A Glorious Failure
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1 yr ago
Man, I love colour text but I hate coding it. Go through the whole thing writing it as colour=darkred, only to have to change it to color=darkred after I try to post it and find that the English spelling isn't accepted.
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GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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6 hrs ago
Man, I love colour text but I hate coding it. Go through the whole thing writing it as colour=darkred, only to have to change it to color=darkred after I try to post it and find that the English spelling isn't accepted.
It's a daily struggle lol
I think I have myself in a corner unless someone from H.E.L.P shows up to meet Ruth and guide her where she would be useful.
Write in Notepad or Notepad++. Put * for the beginning of your speech and ~ for the end. Replace * and ~ with the BBCodes you want.
Man, I love colour text but I hate coding it. Go through the whole thing writing it as colour=darkred, only to have to change it to color=darkred after I try to post it and find that the English spelling isn't accepted.
Write in Notepad or Notepad++. Put * for the beginning of your speech and ~ for the end. Replace * and ~ with the BBCodes you want.
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
Member
Seen
6 hrs ago
I think I have myself in a corner unless someone from H.E.L.P shows up to meet Ruth and guide her where she would be useful.
<Snipped quote by BlackSam3091>
Write in Notepad or Notepad++. Put * for the beginning of your speech and ~ for the end. Replace * and ~ with the BBCodes you want.
Noted, will see what I can do about that. Might even give her a meeting with Winter Caspian, director of H.E.L.P. who in my notes has an ability very similar to June.
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