DruSM157

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

<Snipped quote by DruSM157>
I am reliably unreliable.

@Inkarnate

At least there’s a reliable somewhere in there

🇴🇫 🇲🇮🇨🇪 🇦🇳🇩 🇲🇪🇳 🇦🇳🇩 🇿🇴🇲🇧🇮🇪🇸

It may not be rabies zombies that kills Mr. Marlowe but instead a paranoid old fart

🇴🇫 🇲🇮🇨🇪 🇦🇳🇩 🇲🇪🇳 🇦🇳🇩 🇿🇴🇲🇧🇮🇪🇸

<Snipped quote by DruSM157>
Unlike MJ and Easy, the literate women whom the farmhands would have no interest in spending time with. :D

@Genni

I mean if they tried they'd get blasted by Old Man Tackett's shotgun

🇴🇫 🇲🇮🇨🇪 🇦🇳🇩 🇲🇪🇳 🇦🇳🇩 🇿🇴🇲🇧🇮🇪🇸

I put the effort into making the character at least. Might as well post him. And I'll steal Mikey's codes like I always do. Because that's what friends are for.

Daniel Marlowe

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Daniel

^{“It's a mighty big fall from teaching to diggin' shit. I guess it teaches you something. No idea what, yet.”}

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Name

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Daniel Marlowe

Age

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23

Appearance

---

Slim to an extent that is worrisome. His clothes don't seem to completely fit him, and while it isn't obvious in a slight glance, further inspection shows that he was once much more rotund. When he's not wearing his work clothes, he tends to still dress in a now-ill fitting tweed jacket and slacks. It almost makes him look professorial. Almost. He wears thick, round glasses over his face, and if times had not been so harsh on him, he would almost look handsome. His beard, thin and wiry, covers most of his face. At times, he appears as a man who has been lost at sea for many years. His hair is tar-black and straight, combed and treated with pomade; the one luxury he allows himself. His eyes are stark gray, and are magnified by his glasses.

Personality

---

Daniel Marlowe is a smart man. A very intelligent man. A young man who-if he had applied himself at another time-could be teaching the brightest minds in the world before he turned 30. Obsessed with reading books and learning over hard work and turning a profit; his personality has always trended towards the introvert over the extrovert. He is a man who if given the chance, however, can fall into a loquacious diatribe about the importance of classical literature, the idiocy of the popularity of phrenology, the dangers of European politics and the sort. Needless to say, this has not earned him many friends among the fieldhands.

But beyond his obsession with learning, he is a sad and tortured man. Denied his dreams, he has become bitter and angry over the fact that he has to work under an old racist bastard who probably wouldn't know Goethe if the man came back from the dead and bit him on his ass.

Still, he is a man who, if the olive branch is extended, will make friends with anyone. A student of progressive education, Daniel rebukes social norms and is willing to break bread with anyone, regardless of their history.

History

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Born to an upper middle class family in Atlanta Georgia in 1910, Daniel was just a child when his eldest brother Charlie left to fight in the great war. Charlie returned in 1920, barely able to speak due to damage of mustard gas. The vision of his childhood hero broken spurred Daniel on into more liberal and progressive ideals, and he became an early student of progressive education, reading the works of Dewey, Steiner and Monstressori. His time in higher education introduced him to some of the finer points in a civilized society, such as polo and horse riding, fine dining, riding in cars and other such things. But sadly these things were not meant to last. Beyond just the reading of progressive education, he fell into groups of students who believed that education should belong to all people, regardless of race, gender, religion, etc. This led to a falling out with his family, and his first job teaching at a public school in Atlanta in 1929.

By mid-1931 his school had closed. Over 1300 schools had closed across Georgia by the end of that year, and Daniel was forced to look elsewhere for work. He was unable to find it, finally settling in Cypress Hollow, working for the Tackett Farmstead. This work has not suited him mentally, and he had little love for his employer as well. Still, his position as the most literate man on a farm did come with its perks. Being able to read for some of the least literate farm hands did well enough to make him a few friends around the barns.

Speech Color

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Silver| #C0C0C0

Traits

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Positive:
Learned +3
Intelligent +2
Light Sleeper +1
Quick-Thinking: +3
Rider: +1

Negative:
Clumsy -1
Proud: -2
Hot-headed: -2
Myopic: -1
Total: +4

Inventory

---

Beyond his simple clothes provided by the farm, Daniel also has a second set of clothes that look slightly more respectable: a tweed jacket, slacks, and scuffed boots that make him seem as if he is from a better station than he is truly from. Daniel also keeps several books of differing disciplines, from education to chemistry and architecture. Daniel also keeps a leatherbound journal and pen on his person at all times, and while his eyesight is poor (and forces him to wear his glasses) he is still keen at observing important things: all of which go into his journal.

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

[Reboot] Ｔｅｒｒａ ＿ ｒ：Ｅｖｏｌｕｔｉｏｎ

This is not mini-modding; just an observation:

I believe we were told to keep it friendly.

Just a friendly observation.

NCQuest -- To Be Rebooted

@Ladypug

FEE-OWWW-CCCZZZTT.

I made sound effects.

I'm so cool.

What Are You Listening To?

An oldie but a goodie.

[Reboot] Ｔｅｒｒａ ＿ ｒ：Ｅｖｏｌｕｔｉｏｎ

<Snipped quote by DruSM157>
: "Aww, you poor thing. If you'd like I could introduce her to some friends of mine who could teach her a trick or two in bed..? That'd soon make her nice and filthy for ya'."

@Genni

>: |

[Reboot] Ｔｅｒｒａ ＿ ｒ：Ｅｖｏｌｕｔｉｏｎ

Vincent DeSilvio

Tip. Tip. Tip. The sound of dripping water woke him up before his alarm did. This was not uncommon for Vincent DeSilvio; he had stirred moments before the alarm sounded every day for the past six years. Whatever event had made him a light sleeper wasn’t in an easily accessible recess of his mind and honestly, he didn’t mind it. “Urgh,” he grunted, reaching a hairy arm over the naked torso of the female form lying next to him. She shifted as he moved his arm to turn off the alarm clock; but it was too late. The music began to loudly play before he could finger the snooze option on the holographic screen.

Music

“Good morning sleepyhead,” the thick French accent of the woman greeted him as fought with the holo-screen. “You can keep the music on. I like this song.” Her t’s had a thick z sound with each one, stereotypical yes, but it was something about how she cheerfully spoke in that thick accent that struck Vincent to the core. It was silly, yes, but fuck it was sexy.

“I paid three hundred creds for the damn thing,” Vincent grumbled, moving his arm back as he slowly pushed himself upright onto the bed, “You’d think it would work.”

“It works fine for me.”

“You’re good with technology. I can barely use my datapad without breaking something.”

“You’re good with me.” Audra leaned over and grinned coquettishly, her bright purple irises illuminated by the dim holo-screen. She looked nearly indistinguishable from a normal human woman, but her eyes were a dead giveaway. Her eyes and several small ports on her upper back; which were usually hidden by high-collared shirts. She was designed to look and sound comforting to those around her. After all, she was a grief counselor. Her job and purpose was to help others and talk to them about grief. The fact that she was insatiable in bed and seemed to understand what Vincent said even when he himself struggled to understand his words made her the sole comfort in the man’s life.

“You’re not technology,” Vincent said abruptly,” trying to avert her eyes from her naked form. He didn’t have time to waste engaging in early morning coitus; he had to be at briefing in thirty minutes. He wanted to of course. In the two years of their relationship, sex was never an issue. Nor was communication. In the small handful of relationships he’d struggled with over his nearly 30 years of life, Audra was the first relationship that he’d felt comfortable in. Even fulfilled. The only glaring issue was the biological one; the fact that regardless of how soft her skin was, how warm her breath on the back of his neck could be, how deeply she could feel to him, she was at the end of the day: artificial.

It’s also why he hadn’t introduced her to his mother in the two year span. Ever since George’s death, she’d been inconsolable; and he’s put a lot of faith in the anti-aug movements. Hell; she’d always spat at the site of cyborgs and androids; even robots. But after George’s corpse came back in a box; she’d put everything of her person in religious fanaticism. That had led to him growing up also looking down on the augs. Classmates who had replacement limbs (and in district 15, missing limbs were the least of your fucking worries), kids with implants to help them see, or even help them breathe? They were sporco. Filthy. Perhaps that’s why he never really had friends growing up. He was afraid being near anyone different would make him filthy too.

Audra was not filthy. He’d seen filth, in District 10, in 12, all over 15. But in the district 7 bar where the two had met one night after Donlan Caul had taken him out for drinks in celebration of a large bust; he’d met her. They’d been living together for almost a year and a half now.

“You know what I mean,” she said, chuckling, and sat up on her side of the bed now. “Hurry up and take a shower. I know you’re already going to be late as it is.”

Vincent nodded and got up, walking through the small but modestly furnished apartment his salary afforded for himself and Audra (whilst also sending money back to 15 for his mother and Fiora), and looked out the orange holographic blinds of his window. Tip. Tip. Tip. Droplets of water. It reminded Vincent of other memories. Not just water. Blood. Synthetic blood. Android with his throat slit open. Bled dry, like a cow- He shook his head. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Work. He started in a pace that was almost robotic in his practiced motions. Exactly one minute thirty seconds for cleaning his entire body. Dressed in two point five minutes. Grabbing the steaming piece of toast Audra had been making at the end of those two-point-five minutes and tearing into it before giving her a long kiss, grabbing his case, and heading out the door.

The cheery mood he’d been in when around Audra immediately dissipated as he stepped out the door and into the cold air outside. District 7 was nice; crime wasn’t too high and it wasn’t a cesspool like 15 was. But it wasn’t district 2 or 3 either. But his price range was 7, and he had to deal with the people there until he could get to administration.

“Ey, you fuckin’ EPA dog,” a thick-accented man on the street yelled at him. Korporat accent. Refugee possibly? Why was he on the streets of seven? Usually, they’d be relegated to the higher number districts. “I know you’re with the EPA. How many more people are you gonna fuckin kill today?”

Vincent fixed the collar of his jacket and kept walking. Focus. Keep walking. Get to work. What new memories would he make today? Which junkies, corpses, whores and fucking psychos would he get to talk to today? What would he bring home with him, nestled comfortably in the back of his mind? What would wake him up tomorrow?