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  • Old Guild Username: Captain Jenno
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    1. Captain Jenno 11 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
Current "Gee Sam, this seems like the kinda case that requires the gentle, safe-cracking touch of the sociopathic, sausage-fingered freelance police."
1 like
9 yrs ago
Blue in Dallas

Bio

Rain pattered dismally against the office’s windows, made liquid brass by the faint glow of the streetlamps below, and streaked against the glass like tears. Once, the words “Jennofski & Jennofski” had been painted in gold across these jalouises… but now there was only an outline, a ghost that had lingered, long past its time, when the acid rain had taken the rest to its grave.
The Octo P.I. could sympathise with that.

But as long as he remained, those names would never be forgotten. Not in this, the office that had been his home, his sanctuary, and his prison.
A perfectly preserved memory, kept sealed within the bell jar of personal tragedy.
OctoP.I. sighed, deeply.
“Of all the octopode's profiles in all the world… you had to read mine.”


Hi all, Jenno here! Or Captain. I'm your resident blues harpist, and part time octopode! (But let's keep that between you and me, eh? Nobody suspects a thing.)
If you want to know anything just drop me a line via DMs and I'll get right back to you!

Most Recent Posts

If it feels JoJo enough and you think you can spin an interesting character out of it, then by all means!
Oh wonderful! Glad to see the topic already up and ready to go. I should most likely have a character sheet up sometime within the next twenty-four hours, hope I can stand up to your expectations.


I'm already excited! I look forwards to the character.




"... the body was found at 5pm this morning, crumpled on the kitchen floor, face contorted in horror..."

"... police are considering this an open homicide case..."

"The victim's husband has denied allegations of foul play, and toxicology reports are coming back negative..."


It was plastered all over the news for weeks. Deaths always are, in quiet, idyllic little coastal towns like this one: Pleasant Valley, California.
But it started on June 20th, 2000: that was the day the killings started.
Havana Reddy had been a perfectly healthy, twenty year old repatriated suburbanite, with a loving husband, a plethora of middle-class friends and a stress-free job as a yoga instructor at her local gym. She ate well, and took care of herself.
She turned up dead at 5pm on a warm Tuesday afternoon, sprawled out on her kitchen floor. Her husband had found her clutching a broken makeup mirror, surrounded by the shattered remains of a glass of store-bought "health juice". Her face had been contorted, in abject agony.

Police reported that there wasn't a mark on her, but suspected foul play. They thought her drink had looked suspicious, and took her husband in on suspicion of poisoning: but the toxicology came back negative, and a subsequent autopsy returned no signs of conventional poison.
In the end, they concluded that it was a rare, but not unheard of, case of sudden, unexplained death. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it happened: several times a year in the U.S. alone.
And with that verdict, most people were happy. It seemed feasible to most of the people of Pleasant Valley, and it put their minds at rest to know there wasn't a killer stalking their happy little town...
... but a small, fringe group of citizens knew better.

To most, Havana Reddy had been a spirited, spritely young woman, but otherwise unremarkable: but to a rare few with which she shared a special power, she was known instead to be the wielder of the remarkable, emotional-manipulating Stand, Midnight Oil.
Because Havana Reddy was part of a secret society of less than one hundred, a minority that had come- through the influence of some cursed antiquated arrow, introduced to Pleasant Valley at the turn of the millennium- to possess the awesome power of a Stand, a metaphysical manifestation of her own strength of will, a superhuman power.
And whilst to the rest of Pleasant Valley, her death might have seemed an unpleasant coincidence: to them, it was something much, much more.
No Stand user could be so easily felled, and in the world of Stands, there was no such thing as coincidence. There was no doubt about it: "this has to be the work of an enemy stand!"

But even knowing this, there was a great hesitation about intervening, throughout the whole Stand User community. There was a resounding fear that, should anyone stand forwards and get involved, they might be next.
Maybe Havana Reddy was a one-off? Maybe her death was enough...

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.
You all know each other, somewhat. Faces seen passing in the hall, notes exchanged between desks during boring classes. But in many ways, you are perfect strangers. You know only the names of one another's stands, and that when nobody else was willing to bat, you all stepped forwards together.
Your mission: to find and stop The Stand Killer, before your own numbers come up.

But beware, because there are powerful forces working against you. Poking around murder investigations won't make you any friends in the Pleasant Valley Police Department, and making ripples in the Stand Community brings with it the risk of upsetting Pleasant Valley's resident gangsters - a troupe of Stand Users whose Stands suggest The Chinese Zodiac: The Zodiac Killers. They are the current known possessors of The Antique Arrow that gave the majority of Pleasant Valley's Stand Users their powers.

You've got a long way to go, Boomtown Rats. Hah. So much for Pleasant Valley Sundays.



So that's Pleasant Valley, now what about you?



For example:

Stand User
Name: Bruno Garcia Hays
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Brief description of appearance: Bruno is a tall, slender figure, 5'11", with narrow shoulders and an overall thin build. His hair is a cobalt blue, and he wears it up in a pompadour (although, to allay concerns, he isn't too defensive about it). His eyes are green, and his skin is lightly tanned, betraying his origins in a hotter climate. He wears a black leather jacket, around the collar of which is a black-and-white checkered pattern. Over his left hand he wears a single, padded leather glove.

Personality summary: Bruno is an Aussie, through and through: hot tempered and fast-mouthed. A reformed teen gangster, Bruno's heart is in the right place, but his execution can sometimes be less so. His playful teasing can seem cruel at times, and his rushing to fix problems with his fists can sometimes make them much, much worse. Still, his loyalty, once earned, is nigh unshakable.

Short biography: Bruno Hays is an Australian immigrant who was moved forcefully from his hometown of Trenchtown, New South Wales, by his parents after he'd been involved in a botched museum robbery, orchestrated by The Wailers. They were a gang of teen anarchists that Bruno had fallen in with at 13. During the robbery, a collection of valuable antiques went missing: Bruno never saw the benefits of any of them.
Instead, in the commotion preceding his arrest, Bruno panicked and ran into the road, colliding head-on with a police car and losing his left arm due to a complication in the ensuing surgery.
It was un-salvageable, and replaced with an inflexible wooden substitute- all that his family could afford- and such reality motivated Bruno to leave his roguish lifestyle behind at 17. It was well crafted, like the arm of a well made doll, but it was totally inanimate.

Bruno moved to Pleasant Valley with his parents, and his now-estranged, then-girlfriend Maria Shintaro, expecting to spend the rest of his life as "the one armed man". But upon arriving, Bruno suddenly found himself in the possession of a powerful spirit which allowed him to move his wooden arm as though it were made of flesh and bone again: and when he touched things with it, he could emulate the material. His arm could become stone, metal, any solid material.
He would later learn that this was the birth of his stand, Matter of Fact!

Over the years he's kept it to himself, and wears a glove over his "stand arm" when he isn't using it. Sometime in the last few years, Maria left Bruno, leaving only a note which declared she was running to L.A., after she'd ransacked his room and stolen some of his most valuable possessions.
He recently joined The Boomtown Rats, under the impression that his violent early teens might be put to better use via vigilantism.
Namesakes: "Bruno Renzella" of Australian band Fat Lip, "Jerry Garcia", a finger amputee from the American rock band Grateful Dead, and "Colin Hays", a Scottish musician from the Australian band Men at Work.

Stand
Name: Matter of Fact (Duran Duran)
Description of Appearance: N/A: Bruno has never seen Matter of Fact "in person", as it were. He's only ever seen its arm, which remains even when he removes his wooden prosthetic. Said arm is a translucent sea green, and seems almost to let off a pale blue steam whenever it's outside of Bruno's arm. Although not particularly broad or powerful, the arm is fairly well toned and covered in what look to be small Widmanstätten patterns. In the absence of his prosthetic, Bruno wields this, but can no longer absorb other forms of matter.
Power: Matter adoption - When Bruno touches a solid surface with his wooden arm, he can assimilate the materials and change the material his arm consists of, for the duration of the fight. This alters his stats, but the change is only temporary and the ability has a long "recharge" period.
Stats:
[Default - Wood]
Destructive Power: B
Speed: A
Range: B
Durability: C
Precision: C

List of approved Stand Users
Bruno Hays - Matter of Fact

In terms of this particular roleplay? Likely only if the GMs returned, and as far as I know they're fairly busy.
Absolutely beautiful! I have never in my life located a JoJo RP that seemed to hold some weight behind it, and by gods am I a fan of the series. I would simply like to place my immense interest here and now. Immediately I have nothing of concern, all seems well and good, after all, part IV seems like a wonderful thing to base an RP off of. One question I suppose, being a student would be a necessity? Something like a school janitor would be too much then?


Ex students, just graduated - but I'd certainly prefer they were all in a similar age range, yes. If that's an issue we can definitely talk compromises, I just wanted everyone to be vaguely associated with one another's natures.
Glad to see so much interest! I have CSs already prepared, so if it's all well and good you can expect an OOC tonight, and an IC when we've gathered everyone's characters.
I've actually tried to run this roleplay before, but for a number of reasons it didn't quite take-off in the way I might have liked. Since then, however, Part IV of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure has been released, so I figured - why not take another swing at it? Pleasant Valley Sunday takes place in the early 2000s, and is much in the same vein as Part IV in the sense that it follows a small group of Stand Users in a tiny town.



"... the body was found at 5pm this morning, crumpled on the kitchen floor, face contorted in horror..."

"... police are considering this an open homicide case..."

"The victim's husband has denied allegations of foul play, and toxicology reports are coming back negative..."


It was plastered all over the news for weeks. Deaths always are, in quiet, idyllic little coastal towns like this one: Pleasant Valley, California.
But it started on June 20th, 2000: that was the day the killings started.
Havana Reddy had been a perfectly healthy, twenty year old repatriated suburbanite, with a loving husband, a plethora of middle-class friends and a stress-free job as a yoga instructor at her local gym. She ate well, and took care of herself.
She turned up dead at 5pm on a warm Tuesday afternoon, sprawled out on her kitchen floor. Her husband had found her clutching a broken makeup mirror, surrounded by the shattered remains of a glass of store-bought "health juice". Her face had been contorted, in abject agony.

Police reported that there wasn't a mark on her, but suspected foul play. They thought her drink had looked suspicious, and took her husband in on suspicion of poisoning: but the toxicology came back negative, and a subsequent autopsy returned no signs of conventional poison.
In the end, they concluded that it was a rare, but not unheard of, case of sudden, unexplained death. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it happened: several times a year in the U.S. alone.
And with that verdict, most people were happy. It seemed feasible to most of the people of Pleasant Valley, and it put their minds at rest to know there wasn't a killer stalking their happy little town...
... but a small, fringe group of citizens knew better.

To most, Havana Reddy had been a spirited, spritely young woman, but otherwise unremarkable: but to a rare few with which she shared a special power, she was known instead to be the wielder of the remarkable, emotional-manipulating Stand, Midnight Oil.
Because Havana Reddy was part of a secret society of less than one hundred, a minority that had come- through the influence of some cursed antiquated arrow, introduced to Pleasant Valley at the turn of the millennium- to possess the awesome power of a Stand, a metaphysical manifestation of her own strength of will, a superhuman power.
And whilst to the rest of Pleasant Valley, her death might have seemed an unpleasant coincidence: to them, it was something much, much more.
No Stand user could be so easily felled, and in the world of Stands, there was no such thing as coincidence. There was no doubt about it: "this has to be the work of an enemy stand!"

But even knowing this, there was a great hesitation about intervening, throughout the whole Stand User community. There was a resounding fear that, should anyone stand forwards and get involved, they might be next.
Maybe Havana Reddy was a one-off? Maybe her death was enough...

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.
You all know each other, somewhat. Faces seen passing in the hall, notes exchanged between desks during boring classes. But in many ways, you are perfect strangers. You know only the names of one another's stands, and that when nobody else was willing to bat, you all stepped forwards together.
Your mission: to find and stop The Stand Killer, before your own numbers come up.

But beware, because there are powerful forces working against you. Poking around murder investigations won't make you any friends in the Pleasant Valley Police Department, and making ripples in the Stand Community brings with it the risk of upsetting Pleasant Valley's resident gangsters - a troupe of Stand Users whose Stands suggest The Chinese Zodiac: The Zodiac Killers. They are the current known possessors of The Antique Arrow that gave the majority of Pleasant Valley's Stand Users their powers.

You've got a long way to go, Boomtown Rats. Hah. So much for Pleasant Valley Sundays.



So that's Pleasant Valley, now what about you?
Sorry folks, been a bit of a chaotic few months so I haven't checked the site much. A reboot doesn't seem to be in high probability, but I don't think any of us would object to familiar faces popping up in our own roleplays.
Meanwhile, in a grounds keeper's shed...

When Brande laid his eyes on the red that coated Zanna's hand, the same shade drained from his face, and he lost his air of wild enthusiasm.
"Right, right - Of course. Here."
Brande took a sharp glance out through the filth-encrusted windowpane, to assure himself they were now safe, before sheathing his blade with a metallic shhh... and swiping most of the clutter off of the work bench.
Then he spoke calmly, but there was a sort of weakness to his voice: Brande felt a painful sympathy for those locked into battles they couldn't overcome with a swift blade and a witty retort. Brande had lost much in his life, but he'd always had his health.
"It isn't much, but it should do."

He smiled at her, in a way he at least hoped was comforting. Then he reached into his bag, unfolded his shaving kit and fumbled about until he managed to take out his face cloth. It was a small patch of white, upon the corner of which was his own initials, B. A., written in a red thread. It looked fairly fancy, but its value was largely sentimental.
"And here, use this - quit ruining your dress."
He handed it over to her, "Will you be alright?"

Zanna sat on the work bench, still coughing. She hesitated before accepting the cloth.

"Thanks," she said, her eyes visibly watering a bit. She took a clear breath and it seemed her coughing fit had passed. Dabbing at the corners of her mouth, she sighed, "I'll be okay now... Sorry you had to see that."

Brande had motioned to say something along the lines of "I'm no stranger to blood," but caught it in his throat, upon realising it was hardly a comforting sentiment. He played it off as a cough of his own, into his balled fist.
He settled on simply, "Don't be - I'm sorry you had to go through it. How long have you been unwell?"

Zanna looked down at her hands, twisting Brande's handkerchief around her fingers, "Since I was very young. It's gotten much worse recently. I'm... not actually supposed to be out of bed." She attempted to nervously chuckle, but it broke into small cough.

A pang of guilt ran through him, and it stung like a sword-swipe across the cheek. She wasn't meant to be out of bed, but he had her running through the streets.
Then, he supposed, it was better that than in the bed of an orc. That might very well have killed her.
"Well then, we'll have to get you home, or at least to a nearby bed."
Brande contemplated that for a moment, and then glanced back over his shoulder, to the shack's door, "Is there anywhere near here where you can rest?"

"I'm pretty familiar with back alleys and I don't live too far from here. It shouldn't be too hard to--"

Zanna stood from the bench, absentmindedly patting the surface beside her as she moved. A look of alarm washed over her face and her eyes quickly swept the floor. "Agh... I left it back there," she frowned, running her hand down her cheek.

Brande quirked a brow, "Left what? Is it something important?"

"M-my slingshot...."

Brande stared at her for a moment in silence, as though he'd expected an answer with a bit more gravity behind it, and wasn't quite prepared to react to anything less.
"A... sling shot?", he asked, dazedly. Then it hit him, like a tomato to the chest.
"Ah - the slingshot you used to hit the orc, right?"

"Yeah...," Zanna's face flushed a deep shade of red, "It's... it's not actually mine. I borrowed it from someone."

He cast a glance over his shoulder, as though he were looking back into their joint past. In the excitement, he must have missed her dropping it.
"Well, they're gonna have to find a new one - or wait a couple days, and hope it isn't stolen."

Zanna was silent. Her eyes drifted off to the corner of the room as her mind obviously wandered, concern creasing her forehead. "I guess he's going to find out I borrowed it without asking," she chuckled uneasily, "And that I was out of bed...."

Brande felt himself sigh internally. Why had he thought it would be as easy as saying "too bad"?
He cursed quietly at his own quixotic drive to play the swashbuckling hero: "I- Don't look so worried, alright? We'll... figure something out."

Her eyes shifted to Brande and she stared at him. Hard. "Why did you help me out back there?" she said suddenly. Her voice was accompanied by a powerful gust of wind that caused the ivy leaves surrounding the shack to beat softly against the dirty windows.

Startled wasn't the word, nor was bewildered. Brande suddenly felt as though he were in trouble, for doing what he at least believed to be the right thing.
"A... A swordsman's code. My father's. Why else, if not to uphold virtue, amica?"

Her eyes softened into a pitying look, though whether it was pity intended for Brande or herself was less clear. "Yes, but... I'm the one that shot the tomato at that orc. You didn't need to cause yourself so much trouble."

Brande turned his head towards the dim light of the window, and for an instant he was silent, introspective. The grim glow of sun on dirt cast lines about his face. Why had he leapt to her defence?
"The orcs have taken enough. The tomato was your small act of rebellion - this was one of mine."

"Rebellion...," Zanna pensively bit her lip as she approached the door, waiting for Brande, "You could call it that, I guess..."
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