Captain Jenno

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

Man, you are really not picking up my hint to leave, here.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

I reiterate, John, I'm afraid it's not going to work out. See you around.

EDIT: Not going to reply to that last one in detail because this isn't a playground and I'm not twelve.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

22nd of October, 2000. Sunday. Damien Bourke has just been found dead, the sixth victim of this "Stand Killer" in the last four months alone. His stand, Celtic Spring, was one which controlled weather. Now that it's perished, nature struggles to adjust, and the rain makes the sand unto wet clay.
Something needs to be done. That's where you come in.

You are The Boomtown Rats, a group of students from the graduating class of Pleasant Valley High. You stepped up to the plate when the rest of the Stand community buried its head in the sand: because when injustice arises, one can always invest their faith in the recklessness of students.

@Captain Jenno

Please go back and read the whole thing. The mention of the Stand community "burying their head in the sand" is of course in reference to the fact stand users were actively staying un-involved with the killings, they "stepped up to the plate" and the plate is obviously dealing with the killer.

EDIT: Actually, I'm sorry John but I just don't think it's going to work out, not to be impolite but I'm looking for a certain level of reading comprehension. I hope to see you around the Guild, though.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>

Your boomtown rats statement simply says the members are from the graduating clas, it bares no mention on when the boomtown rats were formulated.

@The_written_John

I would think the fact it was formed by the graduating class to tackle a murderer who's only been killing

in the last four months alone.

@Captain Jenno

Would've made guessing they were formed recently pretty easy.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>

Ooooh im so sorry sir, you never stated the boomtown rats were new, so its not m fault you forgot that information! Also, im so sorry about the vigilantism thing, i was just going off your biography! Since thats the only lore we have on these "boomtown rats" sine your bio states the boomtown rats are about vigilantism!

@The_written_John

You are The Boomtown Rats, a group of students from the graduating class of Pleasant Valley High.

@Captain Jenno

Also, im so sorry about the vigilantism thing, i was just going off your biography! Since thats the only lore we have on these "boomtown rats" sine your bio states the boomtown rats are about vigilantism!

@The_written_John

That part's not wrong - they are vigilantes, but vigilantes don't get paid, and they're the ones who hunt the criminals (in this case, one specific criminal), they aren't themselves crooks, at least not in the conventional sense.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

J.D.

Stand User
Name: Jeffery Derringer Glenn (goes by J.D.)
Age: 18
Gender: Male

Brief description of appearance: Of toned and somewhat muscular build, J.D. wouldn't look out of place in a pose off. Being black, his skin is dark, his black hair very short, and his eyes brown. Said eyes are usually underneath a pair of corrective lenses, though he likes to attach a set of shaded lens that he can flip up. His wide smile has a noticeable gap in his front teeth. He typically likes to wear a white and blue cap at an angle with a wing motif, along with a flight jacket over a shirt and a peace sign necklace, and either shorts or jeans based on the weather.

Personality summary: Like the wind, J.D. is wild and uncontrollable. He's one to like a good time, no matter who objects. While his pace is fast as he bounces around, he's not one to be committed, taking suggestions well for the most part. He doesn't like being tied down however, and if placed in a such a position he gets irritable. He is generally quick to anger but quick to forgive as well.

Short biography: Native to Pleasant Valley, the J.D. of ten years ago would have found the name ironic. He never knew his father, and while his mother was able to care for him, she eventually put him up for foster care and vanished to parts unknown. At age four, he had known little of a true home life before being taken in by his foster parents, whom were not the kindest. He was fed and schooled, but when not doing homework, he was generally expected to do chores, under threat of being made to leave. Out of fear, he put up with it, but as he grew, he realized his situation was abnormal, and at age eleven, ran away.

The next week would be just as miserable, perhaps more so, but his runaway life did not last long. While he did manage to keep away from authorities, he soon found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. While rifling through the trash near a closed restaurant, a body stumbled through the door before falling to the ground, an arrow sticking out. As the assailant followed, J.D. ran, frightened for his life, but the assailant retrieved the arrow and loosed it once more, piercing J.D.'s neck.

He awoke in the hospital some time later, miraculously alive, and with a new wind under his wings. This would mark a turn in his fortunes, where as he tells it, he got a windfall when his mother died, passing off a bit of cash to him, which he invested into stocks, lucking out and getting enough to live comfortably.

But recently, a threat cropped up that might interrupt his life of comfort...

Dark Secret: [REDACTED]
Other Named from J.D. Souther and Glenn Frey

Stand
Name: Birds of a Feather

Description of Appearance: Birds of a Feather is a rather unorthodox Stand, and as such doesn't have a typical appearance. Its true form would be that of a large hawk with a blue tint to its normal brown and black coloration. It initially manifests as feathers on J.D.'s person, which he requires for his abilities.

Power: Centered around the feathers he can form on his person, Birds of a Feather is an ability of conjuration. By touching something with the point, the feather attaches as if it were naturally part of the object, and transforms into either one or two wings. It doesn't need a lot of force: J.D. can achieve the same effect by throwing a feather as long as it strikes with the point, something he's practiced, though it might be more or less difficult based on conditions such as wind speed or distance from the target.

Once a feather is attached, he has a limited amount of control: not only can he manipulate the movements of the wings, but he can grow other attachments like beaks or talons, also under his control. For example, he can stick a feather in a foe's jacket, and they will find themselves being clawed and pecked from the underside. A feather in the side of their head can mean they will find their head bobbing as wings flap wildly. However, he can't control what he sticks directly: a jacket is still an inanimate object, and a cranium is still controlled by that person's nervous system.

He can't create an infinite amount, however: one feather means one pair of wings, one pair of talons, and one beak. If he jabs in multiple feathers, however, he can make more copies. There are some other limitations as well: he can only grow wings from where he jabbed the feather, though other parts can be anywhere regardless of how much sense it makes (i.e. two talons could be right next to each other, evenly spaced, or on opposite sides). Outside of his fairly notable range, his feathers only last a few minutes, and will only scratch, peck, or flap wildly independent of his control. If someone else gets one of his feathers and jabs it into something, it merely moves on its own for a few minutes unless J.D. becomes aware of it, after which he can control it normally. Feathers from the wings are normal, being different from the feathers he himself produces. The wings are also only slightly stronger than a regular bird's: even if he attaches a hundred feathers to a car it still isn't going to fly, even he could control them all so perfectly.

Stats:

Destructive Power: C (the claws and talons can do some work, but they're more effective against flesh than a Stand)
Speed: B
Range: A
Durability: C (Not much tougher than a bird, but J.D. only takes damage if the feather itself is damaged: one feather is like one of his fingers or toes)
Precision: B

Hope the Stand isn't too weird for you. :B

@Pacifista

Weird is good, I don't want a roleplay of Star Platinums. I like it! Solid stuff.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

meaning they can easily pierce and continue through several targets and even solid objects
*Stand stats:
**Destructive power: C
**Speed: B
**Range: B
**Durability: C
**Precision: A

@Turboshitter

I like your stand dynamic, but if you want your stand's musket to "easily pierce" your destructive power will need to be an A, if you want it to pierce in general, it'll need t'be a B. A C in Destructive Power is the equivalent of having a mean punch.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

As such, in order to pay for his home, since jobs were hard to come by, Gibson was one of the original creators of the Boomtown Rats, along with a few others, and, against his better nature, for the good of his loving mother and father, did many questionable acts, and resorted to vigilantism to pay for his families home.

@The_written_John

Cooouple things, here. The Boomtown Rats are a new group, they've only formed in the last month or so, so every member is technically one of the "original members." Secondly, vigilantism doesn't pay, they're high schoolers - which also means they're not criminals. Criminal antagonists, maybe.
Also, can't help but notice a pretty glaring lack in... well, character flaws in general.

Stand Proud - Pleasant Valley Sunday

<Snipped quote by Captain Jenno>

I'm guessing none of us like mondays?

Unfinished

Stand User
Name: Edwin Skinner
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Brief description of appearance: Edwin stands at 5 foot 9 and has a skinny, slightly muscular physique. He is African-American and has swarthy skin. He wears his hair in a short black flat top, with the sides of his head being shaven as to give the 'faded' look. He wears a denim jacket over a red hoodie, along with a charm of St Christopher necklace that he keeps over the hoodie.
Personality summary:
Short biography: How'd you get to Pleasant Valley, and how did you get your Stand?
Namesake is comes from Edwin Collins of 'Orange Juice' and Mike Skinner of 'The Streets'
Dark Secret: Leave this blank, but send your character's darkest, most hideous secret to me, via PMs. This will be worked into their role in the story. Try to be creative with it.

Stand
Name: Tied Up In Nottz - Sleaford Mods
Description of Appearance: It can't be much taller than a grown person, or particularly broad, but otherwise may look how you desire. DISCLAIMER: This rule doesn't apply to enemy stands you might face.
Tied Up In Nottz is a tall thin humanoid. The main colour of Tied Up In Nottz is a dark pink, but it bears two large shoulder pads patterned with purple Fleur-De-Lis'. The top part of it's head is shaped almost like a over the eyes bandana, with a long tail sailing off of the back and two flourished eyes being visible. It's jaw is most literally a glass jaw, transparent and all. It's arms are slightly muscular, and changed from gloved fists into long tendrils when it's power is actiavted.
Power:
Tied Up in Nottz has the ability to create and manipulate chains, ropes and anything of the like. Along with this, it is able to create 'chains' of energy that burn whoever they touch and are close to unbreakable. Although, creating these do take quite a bit of energy.
Stats:
Destructive Power: C
Speed: B
Range: A
Durability: C
Precision: B

@Mr_pink

Loving the concept of Tied Up in Nottz, but I'm worried your stats and your power are conflicting a little. If you want those chains to be "close to unbreakable", you definitely need a higher durability. How powerful are these chains, by the by?

The Seven Elementos

That meddling Ashbell boy.

Brande didn't falter, his blade stayed steady, true. For an instant, he thought, he must have looked the spit of his father. But the thought passed quickly enough.
With his free hand, he gestured mutely for Zanna to join his side. Then, finally, he smiled amicably.
"Perfect," he breathed, half in relief. He might have looked like his father for an instant, but he'd never share the man's iron nerve: that was an arrogance he'd borrowed from the aristocracy, to which Brande was now estranged. It was remarkable how quickly favours dried up in the presence of burning wealth.
"Peachy. See? That was easy."
Esmeralda remained at her station, but Brande seemed to relax a little. The fire in his eyes had given way to the cool reflection of a distant smoke.
He dropped his unoccupied hand back to his bag, sure to keep his sword arm rigid, and then calmly fished out his box of matches. He slid it open with his thumb, and- unable to grab a match without his other hand- he extended the box to Zanna.
"Do me a favour? Strike one, then put it back in the box."

Once the deed was done- after a short, confused pause from Zanna- Brande closed the box again, and counted down from three.
"Three... two..."
And then - he threw it upwards.
Anybody who has ever, when young and curious, lit a box of matches on fire just to see what happens, has likely been shocked to find just how quickly and brightly they burn. The box will burst suddenly into a fireball.
That was the plan.
At the last instance, Brande had drawn Esmeralda back, only to fiercely jab forwards again, and pierce the match box as it fell.
In that instance, he utilised his gift.

It was a strange sensation, heat climbing from his heels and through his body, as though he were being engulfed by his own, personal inferno. The first time it had happened, it had stricken him as unpleasant. But now, when he felt the fever of his own powers overtaking him, it was... a strange comfort. Empowering. As there is no sensation quite like playing with fire, and knowing you will never get burnt.

Esmeralda pierced the matchbox, and in that instant Brande willed the heat that had swallowed him out of himself, and into the sword's sterling blade. As he did so, he closed his eyes.
The matchbox exploded: and with Brande's influence, it went off like a short-range firework. A burst of white-hot fire, right before Shuzug's eyes.
And in that instance of blinding heat, Brande had grabbed Zanna by the wrist- "Let's get outta here, amica!"- to guide her through the suddenness of it all, and made off around the corner, beating a retreat as hastily as he could whilst he sheathed Esmeralda at his side.
He made a mental note to invest in some new matches as they fled.

Meanwhile, at a party nobody asked to be invited to.

Akelda sat beside Ellise with the sort of delicate, weightless manner of a tea party hostess: unobtrusive and quiet, as though it was rare she socialised without a table and a tea pot between her and her compatriots. She brushed down the frills of her dress as she did so, but the gesture did very little for the broken and rotted lace's appeal.
"Don't figure you might have a guess as to why we've been summoned, m'lady?"
Akelda didn't respond, at least not right away. She seemed to roll the thought around her head contemplatively for a few moments, and as she did so she tapped her nails- long, well pointed, and painted a pearly white- absentmindedly into her own knees.
She, too, cast her glance around the assembly, as Ellise had. And as she did so, the craning of her neck revealed a fragile looking collar bone, and a very slender throat.
When she spoke, her voice was still small, and soft, but it was laced with a sort of distant dreaminess. As though at any moment she might lose herself in a waltz that wasn't playing, or else fall into a slumber.
"Perhaps, it is because we are all formidable warriors", she concluded, vaguely. She made a hand gesture that seemed to suggest this was a tenuous guess, but the best she had to offer at such short notice.

James' conversational partner smiled tiredly, as though she couldn't wait for this soiree to end. It was- decidedly- not her 'scene'.
"Mikka," she told him, shoving her scarf into the pocket of her overalls, quite indifferent- if not outright resistant- to the invite's demands that she wear it, "Mikka Corriander."
She folded her arms across her chest, still leaning against the wall, trying her best to look unsophisticated on the vague hope they'd let her leave.
"I'm a country gal, myself. Well, a migrant worker, technically."
Something about the way she said 'technically' seemed to suggest whatever home she'd had in the country was unlivable now, "How 'bout you? What's your name, where're y'from?"
She seemed weary but nonetheless glad of another "normal" person's presence.