Current
I am going to smuggle wholesomeness into your RPs and there's not a damned thing any of you can do to stop me.
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2 yrs ago
"Bud, you're like a pizza cutter; All edge and no point!"
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2 yrs ago
Habanero ain't the spiciest pepper but it's pretty tasty on things, ya gotta admit.
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2 yrs ago
And in addition to boneless wings being overrated; Anybody who looks at sauced and tossed wings, lovingly spiced and perfectly crispy and says; 'I'mma dunk that in blue cheese' has missed the point.
Alright, think I've got most of it down now. Might tweak the backstory a bit later to clean it up and describe how Malcolm actually starts cracking heads with a lead pipe, but it should be complete enough to work with for now.
Anything stick out that I should change up? It came out a bit... edgier and overly-dramatic than I intended. <_<
Edit: Redid the ending on my lunch break. Probably give it another facelift when I get home.
Superhero Name: Watchdog Civilian Name: Malcolm Talhaiarn Origin city/Planet: Bludhaven, New York Hometown: Bludhaven, New York Sex: Male Race: Metahuman Height: 5'2" Weight: 110 lbs. Age: 11 Birth Date: Found in a dumpster as a newborn on February 1, 2009, so that's what he goes by. -------- Costumed Appearance: Lacking much in the way of resources or indeed, any notion that he's actually anything close to a bonafide Superhero, Malcolm makes do with what little he has; garbing himself in an old, worn-out denim jacket that seems much too big for his tiny frame, an old white wifebeater, a ratty pair of jeans and some sneakers that've seen better days. Covering his face he has... a simple black rag and a pair of old welding goggles to cover his glowing orange eyes (though they don't do much to obscure their light when he opens them) and a ratty old Bludhaven Brawlers ballcap over a what would be a mop of unruly brown hair if he didn't shave it down to a buzz as often as he can, both to keep lice at bay and to not have something that could be easily grabbed onto attached to his head.
Finishing off his raggedy outfit is pair of equally raggedy black batting gloves, worn from use and full of holes, especially over the the index and middle knuckles of each hand revealing flesh that's almost always cut or scabbed-over from being a the punches he throws on a nightly basis.
All in all, not exactly the flashiest of costumes, but there is a subtle, unintentional genius to it in that when his eyes are closed, he is virtually indistinguishable from any other of the myriad homeless youth in Bludhaven, and is very likely to be ignored by any passers-by.
Civilian Appearance: To be perfectly honest... Malcolm doesn't really get out much, and the 'costume' listed above makes up pretty well all of the clothing he owns. So when he does go out to do normal homeless boy things, it's usually in the exact same outfit with his eyes closed beneath his goggles to hide their glow and the rag dangling around his neck. Those few that actually know him well enough to see him without all the headgear and his jacket, however, would see him for what he truly is; a pale, scrawny caucasian kid who looks more than a little hungry usually sporting some kind of cut or bruise and a crescent-shaped scar around his left eye which he owes to a broken beer bottle he took to the face and many more across his body, some of which are still healing.
His most defining feature, however, is clearly his eyes; in that, where there once was a steelish grey, there is now a fiery, glowing orange, visible even through the goggles he wears... which really puts a dampener on that whole 'Living a normal life in civilized society' thing, even for a homeless kid.
Icon:
Costumed Personality: Watchdog (as urban superstition has named Malcolm) is, by reputation, relentless, unyielding, fighting with the ferocity of a wild animal yet still having the uncanny precision to hit you exactly where it will hurt most. Preferring ambush and pragmatism to theatrics and any notion of a fair fight, Watchdog has a singular talent for adaptation and improvisation, leveraging anything and everything he can to his advantage while denying the same to his enemies and making up for his modest size with quick thinking and sheer determination.
All that said, Malcolm has no interest in fame or fortune, and high-tails it whenever he sees the press on their way. This has led to extraordinarily embellished tales of the lad in the local rumour mill, cobbled together by the people he's fought, those he's saved and anyone else who may have happened to spot him in the past year; Depending on who you ask, the 'Watchdog of Bludhaven' is either a bloodthirsty alien monster, some escaped government experiment living in the sewers or a vengeful spirit sent up from the depths of Hell itself to punish the wicked.
All of these guesses are, of course, completely insane.
...But, to be frank, "Starving homeless kid who sneaks up on crooks and beats them bloody with a lead pipe" is a pretty crazy statement in itself anyway, so who is anyone to judge?
Civilian Personality: Malcolm is, for lack of a better way of putting it, a walking, talking stereotype of the Bludhaven lower-class; brutally frank, indomitably stubborn, clever in the worst possible way and possessing a potent mixture of pluck and grit with a healthy dash of crazy. That said, the lad has a big heart... ironically, you'd have to in order to survive a Bludhaven slum, where everyone who isn't a gun-toting psychopath is all in it together, and has no small reserve of compassion and kindness, and would give you the shirt off his back if the ratty rag would get you through on more night... even if his words wouldn't exactly match his actions.
...Or at least, that's how he used to be.
Nowadays Malcolm is just... tired... and angry. Hardly sleeping as even when he closes his eyes, he can see all the violence and murder happening in the streets of Bludhaven through his eyelids and even when he does, his sleep is plagued by nightmares. Between all that and the fact that he's basically constantly on the verge of starving to death, the only things keeping the lad on his feet these days are rage and sheer force of will.
Super abilities:
Lockpicking: To the surprise of... pretty much no one if you think about it, picking a lock becomes a lot easier when you can actually see inside the damned thing.
Parkour: Growing up in an urban slum, Malcolm has always had a knack for maneuvering around the city in some unconventional ways, more often for fun than anything. But now, with his new vision, reflexes and body-coordination, he damn near flies across rooftops and down alleyways, maneuvering through the urban jungle with astonishing ease... provided he manages to get a good meal in first, of course.
Doing so burns a lot of calories, and he hasn't exactly got much to spare in the first place.
Combatives Training: Malcolm's adoptive father, being a former Marine raising a kid in a slum in one of the most dangerous cities in the whole United States, had the forethought to pass on his old tricks to his son. It sure ain't pretty but it is undoubtedly effective, especially when combined with Malcolm's unique abilities, and provides a solid base for the lad to adapt, tweak and add onto by his own experiences.
Budding Mechanical Acumen: Being able to see inside or through anything that isn't made of lead has it's benefits, one of them being being able to directly observe the guts of a machine to see how it works. At the present, the only thing Malcolm really gets out of these observations are insights into sabotage and the occasional bit of MacGuyvering... but the lad learns quick, and with the right tools and someone to guide him, he could make for one hell of a mechanic or engineer.
Polyglot: The slums of Bludhaven are a surprisingly diverse place, and Malcolm has grown up around a lot of people from a lot of places who speak a lot of languages. As a result, although the boy is only literate in English, he is conversational in Ukrainian, Italian, Spanish and Cantonese.
Omnivision: By far Malcolm's most drastically superhuman ability, the boy is able to perceive almost the entire Electromagnetic Spectrum, being able to see infrared, ultraviolet, electrical currents and even straight through solid objects. And that's not even mentioning how he also possesses telescopic vision up to five miles, see in absolute darkness and can even comprehend soundwaves. There are some caveats to this, however; Firstly, he can't see through lead. Secondly, there is no off-switch, and his brain is processing all this information at the same time, the end result painting a picture of a nightmarish world wreathed in flame that Malcolm can never escape, even when he closes his eyes. Which, considering the events of the past year prove two things.
One, that there is a God.
And two, he's kind of a dick.
Enhanced Brain/Nervous Function: Malcolm's brain, as a side-effect from being able to function under the strain of everything listed above, has effectively been kicked into high gear, processing information at nearly ten times the rate of a normal human being. Though this does not inherently make him smarter than the average Joe, it does mean he can learn and retain information at several times the rate of a normal human being, with the added bonus of an eidetic memory; meaning that with time, and the proper instruction, he could prove to be one of the greatest minds of his generation.
Another, slightly more immediately advantageous side-effect of Malcolm's now overclocked brain is that, like his mental faculties, his reaction time and reflexes have been accelerated to ten times that of a normal human being. This, combined with his vision, makes the small, starving boy a legitimate force to be reckoned with as he can read an opponent's nerve impulses, body language and muscle contractions to get an idea of what they're doing and react to it before they're actually finished doing it. Additionally, this new, more efficient nervous system has granted the boy unparalleled bodily-coordination, allowing him to perform feats of dexterity and precision with ease that would be beyond even Olympic athletes and skilled craftsmen... which is quite handy when your life pretty much revolves around jumping off buildings and hitting bad guys with a lead pipe.
Gadgets: -A few bobby-pins for lockpicking. -His dad's old Zippo.
Weapons: -A foot-and-a-half long piece of lead pipe.
Civilian Occupation: None
Biography---------
Character History/Origin: Bludhaven, a city with many names; The Devil's Tongue, The Big Dirty, The Bloody Haven, The Blud, Gotham's Toilet, etc... it was here on a frigid February evening that John "Mad Jack" Talhaiarn, former United States Marine and current owner of the clothes on his back and not much else, happened upon a screaming newborn baby in a dumpster behind a biker bar and across the road from a Denny's.
Thinking quickly, the man lifted the screaming infant out of the trash and pulled him into the warm confines of his parka as he began trudging his way through the heavy winter's snow towards the shanty town he called home. Talhaiarn had no idea what hell he was doing, but after a lifetime of mistakes that had led him down dark paths, disgraced and astray from his beloved Corps, he vowed to himself and any God who may've been listening, he was at least gonna get this one thing right-
Saving this fucking kid.
It took a bit of doing, and a little help from his neighbours to scrounge up and MacGuyver everything necessary to care for a newborn, but somehow he pulled it off.
After a week or so, the kid stopped screaming so much and started giggling whenever he caught wind of the old Marine near his makeshift crib. A few days after that, he started calling him "Malcolm" after his old man.
And some time after that, John Talhaiarn, a man who was both a living legend and a disgraced outcast of the United States Marine Corps... began to actually enjoy life again.
If there was anywhere to start this story, this would be it.
Mad Jack's boy grew up in their little Shanty Town, comfortably nestled in a wide alleyway, stubborn, tough and clever. With a tongue and wit sharp as any bayonet his Dad'd ever held in his former life but a heart as big and as bright as the goddamned sun. Never having much, but never really needing anything his little community couldn't provide anyway, Malcolm spent most of his days scouring the slums for anything he, his dad and his neighbours could use to make their lives easier, getting into all sorts of trouble with the other slum kids and sitting around with his dad, raptly listening to (heavily censored) war stories from his days in the corps.
It wasn't an easy life, by any means- But he was happy, so he never really gave a shit.
Though, if you've ever read a comic book, you probably have a good idea where this is going...
In the opening weeks of 2020, the five-year-long turf war between an alliance of the local Chinese Tongs, Russian Mafia and Irish gangs against the invading Aquila crime family of Gotham was reaching it's end, with the Aquilas emerging as the clear victors. In order to hunt down their rapidly scattering enemies and to send a very clear message about who was in charge now, Don Michael Aquila hired a 'specialist' from his hometown to get the job done-
Firefly. A psychopath with a flamethrower.
The night of January 31st was a relatively standard one for Malcolm; his "Aunt" Lin was cooking dinner over a drum fire, the Mikhailovich brothers were arguing in a heated, Slavic sort of way about... something stupid, from what Malcolm could gather as their confrontation shifted back and forth between Russian when they didn't want the kids to understand what they were saying and Ukrainian when they were too mad to give a shit, and Malcolm was sitting with a bunch of kids around his dad, who played Johnny Cash on a (mostly) intact guitar he and Malcolm had found the year before and the Shanty Town's local mutt, affectionately named 'Fleabag', was sprawled belly-up on Malcolm's lap being smelly and aggressively affectionate.
All-in-all, pretty normal... until something caught Fleabag's attention and she started barking up a storm. That being a charred... thing that vaguely resembled a person and stank of burnt meat that shambled it's way into their alleyway, gargling and hissing only one thing on what was left of it's vocal chords as a massive figure stepped out from shadows behind it and leveled a malevolent-looking device in the direction of everyone present;
"Help... me..."
All Malcolm can recall of what happened next was the sight, sounds and smell of everyone he'd ever loved or cared about being roasted alive to the chorus of screams and the demented laughter of the owner of a single eye encircled by scarred and burned flesh which shone with insidious ecstasy at the scene before it. And after that, nothing.
The next thing Malcolm remembers is crawling out from underneath the charred remains of his father, his dog and all the other kids.
It was his birthday.
At first, he could do nothing but sit there, shaking and trembling in silence as his mind struggled to comprehend what he was looking at, before realization slowly set in.
Then the crying started. Followed by the screaming.
And as the screaming gradually changed in pitch from horror and denial to pure outrage, something in the boy broke. The fire that consumed his family and friends slowly ebbed it's way back into his vision and consumed the whole world as he comprehended it, revealing to him nothing but violence and horror no matter where he looked, regardless of whether he wanted to see it or not.
Seemingly trapped in an eternally burning hellscape of violence and horror that he could not escape, even when he closed his eyes and in a fragile mental state, he could've easily bent or broken down. Instead, he got mad.
He got real mad.
Unable to sleep while seeing what he could, the lad eventually lashed out, more out of spite than any sense of justice, throwing himself into the fray against the criminal life within his slum with the frenzied anger of a mad dog... and then never stopped.
And so it was, that the myth of the Watchdog of Bludhaven was born.
Optional information ---------- Nemesis: Firefly Allies: Team: (These are probably blank, unless you're the Batman analogue)
October 25th, 2018 - 7:45 pm | Justice League Headquarters - Metro Tower
"Oy, what are you complaining about? You didn't have to go do the stuff in the lower levels," spoke up the voice of Lizard AKA Jessica. "Try attaching plumbing in the sewers? Now that is a feat worth doing..."
As soon enough two pair of eyes was staring at Champion in reply. Despite being an aquatic hero, Lizard was very capable of seeing things in the darkness as well. Since often times, she needed to move in waters that were dark as oil.
"Sooo....missed a rat?" she giggled, namely thinking the failure of the generator was caused by a rat snapping thorugh the wiring.
"Ehhh... doubtful." Champion replied with a slight shrug "The main genny runs offa solar, but even if that kicks out, there's a conventional diesel back up that's supposed to kick in a few seconds after that to keep the lights on. So either we have a very determined rat or something else is fucked."
Calmly picking up his surprisingly mundane toolbox as he past by one of the little tables they had set up for the clean-up, Duncan continued, taking a mock-hurt face.
"Funny, I didn't hear ya complain about that at dinner..."
"Ah c'mon now, don't go hitting that low...make a girl feel rather bad, eh?" replied Lizard - to girl in question had grown her hair out, a bit longer. It helped in hiding her eyes whenever the two went outside. A pain to wash though and manage - but she did try to look pretty for his sake.
Despite the fact, both were rural spirits - having grown up in the old countryback. Well, Jessica was more than Duncan - but she could easily handle herself on the open seas. That was if she wasn't hugging Duncan for warmth. Not good idea to take your girlfriend to Nova Scotia - when she could freeze up worse than a human in the cold air.
"Still, these stuff was designed by old Bats 'n the other heroes. What could have taken it down? Beside internal sabo'age?" stated Lizard, as they headed down to the generator room. When they had some distance with Ted - she made the effort to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. Going steady for two years wasn't easy - when one looked like a walking, talking crocodile - but she made it up many times to him. Plus, her cooking wasn't half-bad.
"Well, that'd be why it's just you, me, and the guy who helped build the damned thing going down to check on it" Duncan stated in a quieter, tactful tone as the rest of the team shrank out of view... before a slight grin tugged at the Canuck's lips and he casually wrapped an arm around Jess' waist, pulling her closer in a playful fashion "...Because I must say, if you turn out to be the crazy alien infiltrator, then you are very dedicated to your job."
This past year had been... an interesting time for the lad. What with the whole, 'Joining the Justice League', 'Fighting Evil', and 'Bringing his Superhero Girlfriend to Canadian Thanksgiving things'. Yeah, it had had it's ups and many, many downs, but he'd be damned if being around Jess all day didn't make it all worth it- Especially when she was snuggling up next to him for warmth.
...
Honestly, he actually never actually registered the climate of his hometown as being that cold.
...And he was gonna stick to that lie like his life depended on it.
Turning a corner and down some stairs towards the basement, Duncan fished a flashlight out of pocket as they reached got closer to the generator room.
"By the by, isn't your Thanksgiving coming up soon? What're we doing?"
"Dunno. Thinking of perhaps taking you to visit m'a folk. Eager to try the life of a swamplander?" she chuckled - looking at him. Although, while she wouldn't mind the spiders, snakes, lizards and mosquitos due to her thick skin. It might be another deal with Duncan. "Ehehe. n'ah - not that mean with 'ya. Maybe somewhere warm. Hmm, Miami? O' jus find the nearest, empty beach...get sum food...'n a nice tent..."
As she spoke those words, she simply came upto him - and her hand ghosted over his own. Turning his flashlight off for a moment. "...us...under the nightsky...and...hehe...celebrating it...like we did at your place...when everybody left the house...."
After that, she relighted his flashlight - having likely turned his red as molten metal at that. "Ayg'ht - enough eye-candy les' fix these genny, 'eh?"
"You're the boss..." Duncan chuckled slightly, even as his face turned cherry-red, remembering their 'festivities' even as he continued after Ted into the Generator Room, "Let's see what we got."
Whatever good mood Jess had put him in came to an abrupt halt as he entered and smelled... diesel.
Not exhaust, raw fuel.
The grin he'd worn the entire walk down here melting off his face in a matter of seconds, the Canuck first pointed his light towards the Auxiliary Unit, quickly indentifying the source of that smell in the big, gaping hole in it's side. Blown inward. Around where the output cable was supposed to be.
'Awww, shit...' Duncan deadpanned internally as his light slowly trailed away from the Auxiliary, across the puddle of fuel it sat in, to the Main Unit, finding it mostly intact... save for the breaker panel which had apparently ejected itself from it housing and thrown itself across the room.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Duncan put down his toolbox, and pulled a pack of cigarettes outta his pocket.
"Well..." He stated, lighting up a dart and taking a drag, holding it in his teeth as he popped a few kinks out of his shoulders- a sign that he was getting ready for a fight "...Internal sabotage it is."
"Ayeh. Well, guess we can share a shower later after this," spoke Lizard, knowing they'd be stinking of fuel for a long time - not to mention the time it would take to scrub it off them.
As she quickly snatched the cigarette after his puffs, crushed it her fingers and threw it out the room. "Not the wisest thing - to be smokin' in a room full o' gasoline. You ain' Superman..."
As the woman in question, quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail - to prevent it from getting tangled or in her face. Despite the fact that her hair was as tough as steel - as some idiots whom had tried to grab it or gotten hit with it can tell.
Duncan, meanwhile, just sort of rolled his eyes and shook his head a little as he had his cancer-stick taken from him.
"Relax, Hon; diesel's inert until under compression. I could throw a lit pack of matches in the middle of that puddle and it wouldn't do a damned thing." He snorted, clearly amused by the look in his eyes though his voice carried a slightly annoyed tone, as he gave Jess a slight wiggle of his brow and subtly scanned the room behind his girlfriend for any sign of an interloper who might take the bait his (admittedly rusty) improvisation skills laid out with this little 'Lover's quarrel' and do something that'd reveal himself "Wait, is this just an excuse to have the 'Quitting talk' again?"
"What? What makes you say that? I thought we had gotten over this situation long ago," replied Lizard, miffed that he would bring this stuff up right now.
"Plus do you think, now? Might be a good time to bring this stupid stuff up?" she added.
Duncan's brow twitched slightly; either Jess was a much better actor than he was or... or...
...Or he was gonna have to buy a lot of flowers later. Or dinner. Probably both.
'Ahh, fuck me...' He winced internally, as he kept scanning the room over Lizard's shoulder '...I'mma catch hell for this later.'
"Yeah, we talked about it a while ago, but God help me I can tell we're certainly not over it by the way ya look at me sometimes..." The Champion continued, screaming internally at his own voice even as he caught something out of his peripheral "So is this just gonna keep being a thing or- Plug your ears."
With a flash, Duncan's head suddenly snapped to the right and his body quickly followed suit, his arms reeling back before shooting forward and slamming his hands together in mighty clap- a neat little trick he'd learned from the Big Blue Boy-Scout himself - that sent a sonic shockwave into the thick concrete wall with enough force to put an indent eight feet in diameter and three feet deep into it. An impressive display that was only slightly negated by the fact that... something big along the wall very visibly got the hell out of dodge before impact.
Or... entirely negated, in that the Canuck had just pissed off his girlfriend and now had nothing to show for it.
In the moment of silence that followed, Duncan cleared his throat just a little bit uncomfortably before speaking up, hands still out in front of him.
"Err... sorry 'bout that. Needed a distraction." He began with a nervous laugh, that was met by a suddenly very quiet room "...I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, aren't I?"
"Oh relax...I wouldn't intentionally milk this moment for all that I would like," spoke Lizard, going over to him and pinching his cheek - although knowing Jessica, she might as well do it. "Still...don't try that kind of distraction again...cause you know why I don't like to talk abou' that much, when I ain't working..."
As to indicate, that he wouldn't be sleeping on the lonely couch - she went over and gave him a quick kiss onto his lips. "Also...what was that thing? Not to mention, how did an invisible force like that be able to kill the generator without anybody hearing it?"
"Like...don' we have sensor' or sum'kind around our HQ?" she asked, stepping into the diesel, with a slightly disgusted look on her face. "I'm gonna need a show'a after this. Up for joining me later?"
"Probably the work of our little Martian Problem, sensors aren't exactly good for squat if someone goes ahead and shuts 'em off." Duncan replied, subtly letting out a little sigh, both at what he just said implied and out of relief that he had not stepped into his own grave with his little stunt, before meeting Jess' eyes with a humourous grin as his arms fell relaxed to his sides "...And c'mon now, yer gonna give Beetle a heart-attack talking like that."
Clearing his throat and standing fully upright, the man's face shifted into a more business-like expression (even managing to stop blushing for five seconds); now they had at least one more bad guy running around where they lived. Letting the rest of the team know would probably be a good idea.
So, he clicked on the communicator hanging off his ear and... heard nothing but static.
The communicators were being jammed. Because of course they were.
"Oh..." The coverall-clad hero stated after a second "...That can't be good."
Lizard also checked her comm, finding it down - now they were likely in big trouble.
"Generator...." she spoke, now they were in the dark and cut-off from communication. As she soon grasped onto his hand tightly. "And don' you dare let go..."
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