Daxam

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Hey, all, I'll try to get a post up tomorrow. I've got half of one written, but I haven't had time or energy to finish it

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

<Snipped quote by Damo021>

...we'll be having a run-in with the Classified Crew soon enough...

@Wayward

"Come on, let me at 'em! I haven't let loose in ages!"

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Personally, I think 1 or 2 makes the most narrative sense. If you go with 2, maybe have her hitchhike into town?

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

"Yeah, they're all with me. They should be finding their way inside any time, now."

As if on cue, Vincent's companions found themselves at his booth. "Cait's right. I'd have kicked you guys out of the truck ages ago, otherwise." He chuckled and moved farther into the corner of the booth to make room for Cleome as the others sat on the other side, then picked up one of the menus. He browsed it for a few minutes, keeping in mind the meager remains of the winnings he earned from the last fight he had been in, before telling the tired-looking employee, "I'll take a burger with some fries and a chocolate shake."

He passed his menu and waited for his friends to make their orders as he looked out the window, his chin resting palm. While it might look like he was just idly staring out the window, in reality, he was keeping a close eye on their surroundings. After spending so much time out on the streets and on the run from the law and government, he had developed a rather acute situational awareness. He felt confident that he could spot a cop or government agent no matter how big the crowd and, given how small Eureka Springs seemed, spotting someone out of place should be even easier.

"So long as we head out of the country," he said after a while, still looking out of the window. "I don't mind what direction we go. Europe, Japan, Canada, anywhere's gotta be better than here."

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Gotcha. I'll just go ahead and hold off on posting, in that case

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

I'm probably gonna post tonight unless someone else was planning on it

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Vincent glanced at the blunt and raised his hand to decline. He didn't have anything against weed or those who smoked it, he just wasn't one of them. "I dunno about any skateboard shop," he responded to Cait and Anita as he pulled in front of the dented gas pump, "but even if they've got a mechanic, there's no way I'm letting them touch Bertha. I've been doing a good job keeping her going all this time, I don't need anyone messing with my work." To Cleome, he added, "I don't blame them. With how hot it's been, I'd be in hiding, too."

He climbed out of the truck and stretched his arms over his head with a groan. After sitting so long, he was eager to move around. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the front of the truck as he looked around. He spotted the two vehicles, visibly recoiling when he saw the paint job on the Jeep, and glanced into the diner, where he saw what he assumed were the owners of said vehicles, the pair chatting away like they knew one another. It was such a peaceful, every day scene that he didn't feel any reason to be on guard, but he still decided that the one who can make his skin bulletproof should be the first to approach, just in case. Pushing himself away from the truck, he told his companions as he walked toward the door, "I'm gonna go grab some food, then I'll see about getting the AC fixed."

The door opened, accompanied by the cheerful ringing of the bell mounted on the frame overhead. The two men paused in their conversation as Vincent glanced at them, then found a seat in one of the empty booths, far from the counter.

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Vincent drove the old truck down the interstate, one hand on the wheel while the other drummed on the outside of his door in time to the music that played over the video. It had been quiet for the last hour or so on the road, the silence filled by the music and Vincent's voice as he quietly hummed along, only slightly off-key. His dark hair fluttered in the wind that blew through his open window, the AC in the truck having long since given out, something Vincent had meant to look into repairing, yet never got around to. I'll take care of it at the next stop, he had always told himself, only to be interrupted by something else, like a more pressing repair or a hasty exit from whatever town he and his companions were in.

Eureka Springs, next right. Vincent had been so absorbed in his thoughts and the music that he barely noticed the sign as he drove past it. He glanced at his companions, then decided he felt that he could eat. "Alright, kiddos, as the driver, I'm making an executive decision, so we're gonna be making a pitstop," he called out as he flipped on his turn signal before changing lanes. "We can stretch our legs, grab some food, maybe figure out where to go from here. Old Bertha could use some gas, anyway."

The Misfit Crew (ver. 2.1)

Vincent Ryder

"Show me who needs their ass kicked!"

Name: Vincent Ryder

Age: 27

Gender: Male

What Makes You A Misfit?: Vincent's been in his fair share of trouble with the law. Not only does he not see the sense in hiding his powers, but he also has no qualms about using them in the fights that he "gets sucked into."

What Do You Think About The Classified Crew?: Considering the fact that the Classified Crew had killed his entire family, destroying the only sense of stability he had ever had when he was still young, and forcing him to more or less be on the run ever since, saying that Vincent hated them is a bit of an understatement. If given the chance, he would gladly burn their headquarters to the ground, but even though he'd never outwardly admit it, he knows he isn't strong enough to take them on by himself.

Appearance:

WARNING: BIG IMAGE

Vincent stands at about 6'0" with shoulder-length black hair, usually in an unkempt state, steely gray eyes, and a scar that runs diagonally through his eyebrow, narrowly missing the corner of his eye. His has a well-built, toned physique with tattoos that cover his right arm, which glow when he uses his power. His outfit of choice is a black shirt of some kind, usually a t-shirt or sleeveless, jeans, boots, and his trusty overcoat. He also carries compressed lumps of steel in his pockets so he always has raw material on hand.

Personality: Vincent isn't a total idiot, but he isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the toolshed, either. He's also a bit of a hothead and enjoys a good fight a little more than he probably should, figuring most problems can usually be solved with a good punch and if not, then it's not a problem worth solving most of the time. That said, he's quick to trust, to his detriment and benefit, and if he considers someone a friend, he has their back for life.

Skills/Abilities: To see him and hear him talk, one may not initially think that he's not only rather decent in the kitchen, but that it's one of the few passions he has aside from fighting. He's also a halfway decent mechanic, his primary magic making it easy for him to create the parts and tools he needs.

Powers/Magic: Vincent's main ability is two fold, one part being a form of ferrokinesis, the manipulation of metal. Specifically, he can alter and shape iron, creating a wide assortment of items with the only limits being his imagination and supply of raw materials. The second half of his main power is the manipulation of raw carbon, capable of drawing it out of the carbon dioxide in the air or even manipulating the structure of the carbon within his own body, giving him ability of creating a kind of dermal armor for himself. While he has an instinctive knowledge of how his power works, explaining it is an entirely different story.

Being an avid brawler, he had figured that just having one tool, despite it being a multi-tool of sorts, in his arsenal wouldn't cut it, so he found a tutor in an underground fighting coach to teach him his secondary magic: strength enhancement. While he isn't able to throw cars like his mentor could, he can easily flip them for cover or, say, push a truck by himself should it ever break down.

Backstory: Vincent and his twin brother, Isaac, were born to the Ryders, a family that prided themselves on their blacksmithing ability in times of old, thanks to their unique brand of magic passed down through the generations. Even when the government began cracking down on magic users, the Ryders continued their business, though they had to keep the more magical aspects hidden from prying eyes. Despite the danger, Vincent and Isaac's parents kept the tradition going by teaching both of their sons their magic. This not only involved traditional book learning, but due to the fine control the magic required, the boys had their right arms tattooed in special ink just like the rest of their family. The tattoos act as a focus for their magic, giving them greater control over the molecules they would be working with.

Then one day, when the brothers were young teens, the Classified Crew raided the Ryder home after receiving an anonymous tip. The Ryders fought back with everything they had, but were no match for the numbers and firepower the CC had on their side. Vincent and Isaac had fled at their mother's behest, but they didn't get far before they were ambushed by CC agents. The twins tried to fight back, but they were no match for their attackers. Isaac, having been more skilled with their family's magic than Vincent, held off the agents while Vincent, at his brother's urging, ran into the woods. To this day, he doesn't know if Isaac died that night or if he was still locked up in Area 66.

Ever since then, he had been on his own, living off of whatever jobs he could get, whether it be working in a kitchen, an autobody shop, or fighting for prize money in an underground tournament. He never stayed in one spot for long and always kept on the move.

RP Sample: helps me to see a glimpse of how your character acts): The sun had set long ago, yet Vincent walked down the street, whistling jovially to himself. He had just won another tournament and, after he got some food and paid for a motel room, he had a little money left over. He remembered a comic shop he had seen earlier that day, a rare one that claimed to be open 24/7, and figured he could get some reading material before he hit the road again. Wonder where I should go, next? he wondered to himself. Maybe south? I suppose I could head out west, though. I've always wanted to be a cowboy!

Just then, he heard a siren wail in the distance and instinctively ducked into a dark alley. He waited in the shadows for a few minutes as he listened. Normally, he wouldn't bother hiding, but he wanted to get those comics before he had to run again. When he heard the sirens fade, he let out a sigh of relief and started to step out of the alley, only to hear yelling behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a pair of men, one pressed against the wall as the other aimed a gun at his head. He turned away and briefly thought about walking away before he let out a sigh and turned around. "Hey, buddy," he called as he casually strolled up to the men. "Not very neighborly to hold someone up at gunpoint, is it?"

The gunman whipped around toward Vincent, his eyes wide and his gun shaking in his hand. "D-don't come any closer!"

Vincent stopped and cocked his head, as if thinking, then resumed walking as he replied, "Well, I've gotta come closer. People are sleeping and I don't wanna yell."

The man steadied his gun with his other hand and yelled, "I'm not fucking joking, man, stop! I'll shoot, I swear!"

At this, Vincent couldn't help but grin. "In that case, wouldn't you want me to get closer? It'll give you an easier shot."

The gunman started to see red. This guy wasn't just trying to call his bluff, he was openly mocking him. Not only was he keeping him from an easy score, but he was making him feel like a fool! Before he knew what he was doing, the man pulled the trigger.

Vincent's head rocked back as the bullet slammed into his forehead. The gunman, who had truly never shot anyone before, looked on in horror as the energy from the bullet pushed him backward. This was it. He was going to go to jail, all because he was trying to make a quick buck. The man had turned around to run away, but heard the sound that made his blood run cold: a quiet chuckle. He slowly turned back to find Vincent still standing there, only he was slumped forward, this time, still chuckling. The horror of going to prison was replaced with an entirely new sense of fear as Vincent slowly raised his head, still grinning as the squashed bullet fell harmlessly from his forehead. A muted glow shown through the sleeve of his overcoat and there was just enough light in the alleyway for the gunman to see that the upper part of Vincent's face was covered in what looked like a black shell.

"Wanna try again?"

The gunman dropped his weapon and ran screaming, ironically for the police, his would-be victim running right next to him. Immediately, Vincent began to hear more sirens, growing louder this time. He sighed as his carbon armor vanished. "Well, shit," he muttered. "Guess I won't be getting those comics, after all." With that, he turned on his heel and ran.

Young Justice

Location: Kobra Base, Everglades, Florida

---

Vincent's fist was about to make contact when he suddenly felt a powerful force pull him back down to the ground. He managed to get his legs underneath himself before landing on the ground. His feet sank deeply into the mud as he struggled to stand up straight, feeling as though he weighed several times more than usual. ”What…the hell…?” he muttered. He had fought his fair share of telekinetics during his underground fighting days, but this felt different, somehow.

He lifted his head just in time to see the approaching tree trunk and crossed his arms as he hardened them. The partially rotted trunk shattered as it made contact with Vincent’s defense, then kept flying into the treeline behind him. Gotta move! he thought as he encased his limbs and torso in carbon. Using his power, he wrenched himself free from the mud and his opponent’s power, feeling virtually weightless compared to when he was trapped. He slid to a stop, turning to face his opponent as he did. The man was doing a good job of keeping Vincent from getting in close and from where he hovered, it would be difficult for the young hero to find a blindspot. Guess I’ll just have to make one, he thought as a tiny sphere of carbon appeared, hovering in the air next to him.

He wasn’t used to it, but Vincent knew he had no choice but to play defensively. He darted around his opponent, dodging crushing forces or tanking heavy projectiles, as he continued to collect carbon, condensing it into the small sphere. He pushed his focus to the limit, careful not to lose concentration on the sphere or his armor, knowing that without it, he was nowhere near as durable as some of his friends. Once he felt he had gathered enough carbon, he closed his hand around the sphere, then leapt at the bald man, only to be sent back into the ground with a crash that knocked the wind out of him.

“A shame. You almost had me,” the man taunted as he floated closer to Vincent, who lay prone. He held his hand out, ready to crush Vincent, and asked, “Any last words before I take care of your friends?”

”Just…a correction…” Vincent strained. He grinned and opened his hand. ”Gotcha right...where I want you…!” With that, he relaxed his focus and the carbon marble erupted in a thick, black cloud, turning the world dark.