Noire

InFamous: Generations

Well, just the teensiest, eensiest bit psychopathic. Maybe. It's certainly debatable.

InFamous: Generations

"Intimidation. I'd like to see how you hold up against 300 decibels of sound." Dean muttered, setting aside breakfast. "Let's see your blood wolves form while your organs are displaced." The boy rose, dusting off his vintage bomber jacket. He examined the sigil, twirling it. The fine, crystallized blood shimmered, catching the late morning light. The reaper's sign was designed to represent fear. If you saw a reaper logo, you'd know that you were stepping in some dangerous territory. A reaper was dangerous, conduit or not. They were ruthless and powerful, with their numbers growing each day. They were presided over by by an insane, chaotic conduit. They were possibly one of the strongest conduit organizations active, and possibly proposed the biggest threat to the syndicate. He unceremoniously stuffed the symbol into his jacket pocket. If he had some time later, he'd burn it, maybe. It would be fun to watch it melt, mixing with gasoline. Or he could shatter it, and see if he could blow out the blood conduit's eardrums permanently. He'd watch him stumble around, all deaf. It would be funny! He sighed. Alas, he had elsewhere to go. But luckily, he'd be getting something he'd been looking forward to for the past week. Upon his very first trip to New York City, he quickly recognized that it was in a state of turmoil. He'd eventually get caught in crossfire, may it be police v. conduit or conduit v. syndicate. He could attempt to avoid it, but it was inevitable. He'd need a more reliable way to channel his power, something that he could use. Raw noise and sound wasn't quite as reliable as he hoped. It had power, yes, but it lacked control or precision. It was like trying to perform surgery with a butter knife. Though, there was a certain type of sound that was far easier to manipulate. He could bend and twirl it to his will. If he wished, he could hand pick an enemy and focus solely on it. The type of sound was music. While raw power was loud and strong, music was softer and melodic. It had rhythm and tune, with pulses and ticks. It was hard to explain, but music was, in a sense, easier. So, early on, Dean had started some minor work in the underbelly of New York. The slimy back allies, the abandoned tunnels. He sold and traded, getting his start and earning light money. It took multiple long, dangerous trades, several threats, and death to discover the man he required for his certain job. It was a retired, fugitive engineer, once working under the D.U.P. He had a hand in developing some powerful equipment, but after it's fall, had quickly lost his reputation. He resorted to shady deals and criminal work. So, Dean decided that he was the perfect man for his special job. He commissioned a special job, a refined tool for him, similar to Cole McGrath's very own Amp. It had taken nearly two weeks to complete, but it would be worth it. At least, he hoped. Dean Finnigan stood on the edge of the rooftop, feeling a cool, swift breeze, weaving through his hair. At his lower feet, he felt a powerful pressure begin to build. The air felt electric, and the sound felt dulled around him. In one, powerful, excellent explosion of sound, he was vaulted forward, launching him across several rooftops, finally landing on another concrete rooftop. He glanced behind him. That was a particularly powerful one, with the air rippling behind him. He shrugged, and continued. Yet another powerful sonic boom vaulted him forward, continuously and continuously.

InFamous: Generations

"Hm." Dean Finnigan observed, his interest piqued. "Scorn." The boy had heard of her before, among some questionable conduits. A finicky, distasteful conduit, with an odd, sexual interest in shoving rail spikes up others asses. The other one was anonymous, unfortunately. She appeared to be named.. Order? Scorn and Order. It was a shame that parents nowadays refrained from naming their children normally. They were having some long, philosophical conversation on chaos and insanity. He sighed, chewing on cold eggs. It was a shame that such great powers were wasted on conduits with such an inane disinterest in fighting. A fight between shadow and light could've been so entertaining and fun. He could imagine it now; good v. evil, shadow v. light. It would be like something just out of television. He- His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a raucous cough. He turned his heard glancing behind him. A man stood, in a flowing jacket, cascading over his shoulders. He recognized the garb. It was It bore heavy similarities to Scorn's own jacket, except less scandalous and showy. The fellow stared at him, his eyes dark, before demanding why he was eavesdropping. The man, also, apparently knew he was a conduit. That was a shame. He'd been working hard on keeping that a secret. In New York, business owners seem to tend to be somewhat reluctant to hire conduits, unfortunately. It was something about property damage, he supposed. All of that work erased by some smuck with the ability to detect conduits. He didn't bother to stand up, let alone put aside his breakfast. "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone." The final word echoed, dripping with venom. It seemed almost unnaturally loud, and slightly deeper and bolder. Dean wasn't quite in the mood. "I'm trying to enjoy some breakfast here, reaper."

InFamous: Generations

“Mmph.” He mumbled, drowsy. “Mmrphh.” Dean Finnigan slowly rose, his breath short and halted. The thick, black tarp on top of him wrinkled, and morning dew slid off of it. The boy blinked twice, his eyes heavy with fatigue. His hair was a mess, disheveled and greasy. The taste of bitter morning breath greeted him, with it’s same old “Hey! Go fuck yourself!” The boy had become accustomed to a New York City good morning, after one long month of disappointment. When he had come here, he had come imagining it as some conduit haven. The city where any conduit could find a job, and food, and money with ease. His opinion on the matter quickly changed. In fact, if he hadn’t brought some of his own starting money when he came here, he doubted he would be even living right now. The boy set the tarp down gently, flattening it. He walked to a nearby, rooftop generator, one of many on the wonderful roof he lived on. The generator’s top was polished clean, similar to a countertop. A porcelain plate, a set of utensils, a paper cup, and a cheap coffee brewer sat on top, with fresh, cool beads of morning dew sliding down. The coffee brewer appeared to be sloppily hooked up to the generator. The boy began the brewer, and began to prepare breakfast. He first opened up the generator’s innards, where a mess of multicolored wires and metal boxes lay. Dean reached inside, pulling out a steel pan, a box of matches, a chunk of tree bark, and a canister of gasoline. The average, run-of-the-mill supplies for a healthy breakfast. He lay the wood down in a nearby pile of ashes, and added a supple amount of gasoline. He lighted a match, and set the wood ablaze. The fire’s orange plume flickered, sending embers floating up into the stack of smoke. Usually, the smoke and smell went unnoticed, luckily enough. He held the pan above the white tongues of flames, and reached back into the generator box. It was dangerous, maybe, reaching into a box of deadly electric wires, but he was pretty stupid. The boy, after a moment of fiddling around, pulled out a carton of eggs. He set several into the pan, throwing the eggshells over his shoulder, and stood, holding the pan over the fire. Occasionally, the boy would shake the pan, sifting the eggs about, trying not to sear his hand. He bent back over to the generator, and reached inside. He pulled out several small bottles of cheap spices, and added them generously to the mix, flavorful black and red specks mingling with the white yolk. After several minutes time, he pulled the pan back, and dumped the contents onto the plate on top of the generator. Not bothering to stamp out the fire, he picked up the plate, fork, and cup of cold coffee, and walked to the edge of the rooftop, where a street of bustling cars and people hurried along. The fire would fade soon, but for now, a distinct scent of gasoline wafted by. He sat, letting his feet dangle off of the edge, just like every morning. For his regular morning dose of eavesdropping, he usually listened into conversations on the streets. It was often fun, listening in with his increased hearing. Sometimes he'd get arguments, which were always fun. The boy sighed, taking a long sip of his cool coffee. It was distastefully bitter. Unfortunately, a lot of the conversation was boring, mostly discussion on the state of weather or what they should paint their room. He began to dig into his eggs, taking a large forkful. They tasted like rubber shit. On a nearby, lower roof, he noticed a sudden flash, and a woman dressed in white faded in. It was good for him, too. He was starting to get tired of his morning entertainment being the idle chitchat of people in coffee shops and the like. Hopefully, this woman would do something interesting.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of the Void

Okay, cool.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of the Void

Wait, who's back?

InFamous: Generations

Yup, completely understandable. I haven't touched roleplaying/writing in four months, so it'll definitely need some work, yeah. I'm trying to get the rust shaken off through this. I'll get to it. EDIT: I hope no one looks at my browser history, or they'll notice a sudden spike of interest in weaponizing sound and sonic weapons. EDIT: Alright, I think I relatively fixed it. I made his powers more about disorienting and paining an opponent, than doing actual physical force or damage.

InFamous: Generations

Name:

Dean Finnigan

Age:

16

Gender:

Male

Appearance:

Side:

Neutral

Personality:

Dean’s personality is mostly a mishmash of all of his other sibling’s personalities. He inherited the sarcasm, the cynicism, and egotism of his brothers. He inherited his anger, his argumentativeness, and his temper from his sisters. He inherited his loyalty from his dogs. His entire persona is a very odd mix of clashing personalities. After his life seemed to have so heavily relied on his siblings, he seems to have modeled himself after their most abundant qualities. The unfortunate result is what his personality is. He enjoys mocking and insulting others, being sarcastic, and getting people mad at him.

Biography:

Dean Finnigan was a small, impressionable child. The young boy was born into a family of three mutts, two sisters, one mother, and six brothers. The household was an unadulterated maelstrom of whirling porcelain, ripped drawings, and harsh words. The unfortunate family of children lost their father to a conduit, and their mother was seemingly too depressed and drunk to function. However, lucky enough, the family managed to get through, just barely. The three eldest brothers, Timothy, John, and Logan, had jobs, and were the appointed “heads” of the house. They managed to pull the family out of the rut by scrimping on the necessities of life; water, food, electricity. So, naturally, the youngest were hardly educated. As a child, Dean Finnigan was generally looked over as useless. He lacked strength or resolve, and seemed to hardly be able to do anything by himself. He even required help to make a meal. So, the boy mostly sat back while his brothers and sisters worked hard trying to survive. The unfortunate family lived in a small apartment, designed to hold a family of four, not twelve. A couple had to nap in sleeping bags on the floor, or in a repurposed kitchen cabinet. At the age of twelve, Dean Finnigan’s powers began to emerge. The first show of power he demonstrated was voice manipulation, imitating his sister after she tossed a box of tissues at him. He discovered he could mimic anyone’s voice and timbre perfectly, as long as he’d heard it before. He used it regularly, insulting his brothers or sisters using another voice, and watching a fight break out. It was how he managed to survive and entertain himself during the long years at the household. Soon after, audio manipulation emerged, discovered during a shouting match with his mother. His voice had practically shuddered the house, causing bits of plaster to crumble off the walls. It was after that that his brother’s didn’t seem to argue with him as much. As more and more time passed, he discovered his other various powers through other situations with his family. If fine china got thrown at him, he’d shudder it with an echo blast and send It flying off course. When his brother blew an air horn in his ear, he threw a Sonar Grenade and nearly made his brother permanently deaf. It went on like this for a long while.

As time passed on, his powers seemed to gradually begin becoming more unstable, rather than more controllable. With little proper training for his power and no time spent in Curdon Cay, It seemed, unlocking his abilities’ full potential was a mere pipe dream. Unfortunately, the state of the homestead seemed to also rapidly deteriorate as he aged. His mother seemed be in a horrible state, barely getting by. His older brothers, Timothy, John, and Logan, had left the house, looking to find business ventures to support the family. The two dogs had died, lowering the morale even more. The family seemed to be falling apart. As time passed, more kids began leaving, looking to find money on the country just like the older brothers. The rent was beginning to rear its ugly head. It didn’t take long before the apartment of twelve became an apartment of four; his two sisters, his mother, and Dean. The boy, disheartened, didn’t take too long to come to a decision. He, too, would leave the house, and return to support them. While not a smart choice in hindsight, Dean could hardly stand living there. The mere sight of it was unbearable.

So, the boy packed his bags, ready to abandon his old homestead. He left in the night, not stopping to exchange teary farewells or long goodbyes to his sisters or mother. On the way out, Dean Finnigan didn’t look back. He’d return soon.

Power:

Sound Manipulation

Power-:

Sonic Boom – He discharges a loud, compressed explosion of sound by his feet, propelling him forward. It can be used in rapid succession, allowing him to scale walls, travel streets, and launch himself at high velocity.

Echo Blast - He dispels a powerful, focused shot of sound, allowing him to disorient or pain an opponent. The blast severely affects the subject’s eardrums, resulting in almost immediately damaging and nauseating an enemy that comes into contact with it. The shot doesn’t do much physical damage.

Sonar Grenade – He unleashes a tight, compact explosion of sound. The sound grenade can explode with force, and momentarily deaf anyone within radius of the powerful explosion. The effect tends to last from a thirty seconds to a minute, plenty of time for him to escape.

Sound Wave – He releases a wide, large spread of sound, in the shape of a wave. It has a long range, and is particularly useful when he's surrounded. It can disorient enemies within range. It can vibrate powerfully, able to practically dismantle cars.

Audio Manipulation – He can adjust the audio of his voice, ranging from a mere, tiny whisper, only possibly heard by one, or make his voice deafening, and heard across the city. In combat, by magnifying his voice by tenfold, he can near deafen enemies by shouting.

Voice Manipulation – He can adjust the timbre, pitch, and tone of his or others voice with ease. He can imitate any accent or voice perfectly. While not being very useful in combat, it’s useful in mundane activities. Since mocking people is a personal favorite past time of his, he uses it whenever he's feeling sour and he needs to let loose on someone.

Other:

Dean Finnigan is an excellent singer, due to ease of controlling and pitching voice. He tends to not use that particular talent, though.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of the Void

I'll post IC today, but I'm going to take a break from RPing in general after that. I kinda feel as though I've lost a lot of my creativity lately, and feel that a break could work to get some of that back.

@Lugia

Heh. Know how that feels.

InFamous: Generations

I'd imagine that you'd only be able to steal power from loud environments; loud music, car honking, etc. etc. By doing that, you'd be probably making it quieter/silent.