T Risket

Gaslit Guardians

Thank you! I appreciate the compliment!

Born in Brimstone

Got the last two colabs up!

Would everyone like me to shift the day forward at this point? I will basically be posting a new intro post of sorts for the next day if we are ready.

Born in Brimstone

Having clearly seen better days the large sprawling Victorian esque mansion named rather uncreatively The Brimstone Hotel sat at the end of the road; what little starlight there was lit up the ever growing night just enough to make visible the sickly yellow paint that had begun peeling and bubbling from years of neglect. As if defying nature itself though yearly tourists still occasionally came to stay at what looked like a scene from a one of the popular horror movies of the day-In a lot of ways the hotel itself looked almost scarier than the infamous abandoned house that lay directly on the opposite side of town. Logically the only real reason anyone would still come here was for the once world famous healing springs located in the much more well maintained spa buildings that were completely detached from the hotel.

Dark wood floors creaked in agony as Brooks made his way inside the virtually empty lobby. An elaborate stone fireplace, currently unlit, was the centerpiece of the large check in area. Sporadically strewn about in a pattern that clearly allowed medium sized groups to sit separately was a random assortment of chairs, couches, and benches-all of which was in a style that very much looked as old as the building itself.

The only living soul visible was a single man whom was currently dusting the large oak check in counter with an elaborate looking feather duster. Based on the layer of dust that seemed to cake almost everything he looked like he was fighting a losing battle. He himself looked like quite the reflection of the building he apparently cared for; his ugly brown suit and poor attempt at a comb over combined with his sickeningly loose looking skin giving him a rather ghoulish appearance.

The tiny bell above the front door had caught his attention when Brooks walked in; immediately he hid the duster behind his back as if he'd been caught in the act of something sinister. “Good evening officer.” His monotone voice drug out painfully slow. “Is there something I can help you with? A Spa pass perhaps? Maybe a room? Or do you desire to dine in the on site restaurant?” He went on to blandly and boringly describe the many Hotel and Spa amenity's for sale.

"Brooks remained stunned in a brief moment of confusing, glancing around as the man continued listing the several attractions the hotel had to offer. Before the man could get any further however, Brooks interjected: “No- none of the above. I got a call from the hotel regarding a missing person. Was that you who called?” he glanced around the room once more, approaching the man as he sought a reply to the question."

At a steady but methodical pace the ugly suited stranger made his way around to the other side of the large check in desk seated directly in front of the grande flight of stairs that lead up. With a momentary clang he stowed his dusting wand in an unseen metal bin beneath the desk before giving Brooks his full attention.

Barely lifting an eyebrow his saggy face tried to form an expression of surprise at Brooks news but seemed utterly unable to do so. “Oh my.” He finally spoke in a manner that sounded more like he was stating a fact than displaying any form of emotion. “I assure you I am the only staff member operating the phones here tonight, and I have spent the better part of the evening quietly cleaning. No missing anything as far as I know of.” He folded his hands atop the ledger book on the table in an attempt to show he wasn't doing anything with them. “How rude of me though, as we've never had the pleasure of being properly introduced: naturally I know you by reputation though Mr. Brooks. I on the other hand am called Mr. Krandall.”

With scowl creeping up on his face, Brooks glanced in the direction of the check-in desk, something felt off. The callers voice was monotone, precise, and adamant in Brooks’ arrival. All traits that were uncharacteristic with prank callers, from his experience at least. Brooks turned to look back at the gangly man who was now before him, rattling off an introduction. “A pleasure.” He tipped his hat in greeting before trying to shift the conversation on, “Listen even if it was a miss call or prank, i'm inclined to makes sure there's nothing going on. If you could help me out that'd be great.” He watched the man's reaction carefully, making it blatant that Brooks wasn't budging before he was satisfied everything being normal.

Brooks started rattling off a series of questions.
“Who else works here?”
“How many guests are there?”
“Anyone besides you that could have accessed the phones while you were distracted?”

Just as quickly as Brooks asked his questions Mr. Krandall answered in a similar rapid fire manner. He answered so quickly it was almost as if he had rehearsed the conversation-So far it was the fastest thing Brooks had seen the man do.

“Several people from town are in our employ-a few staff members are on call at the moment but I am the only actual member of the night shift. It does get rather lonesome.”

“How many guests? Hmm...let me check the ledger here...It appears as though only three rooms are currently occupied.”

“Hypothetically I do suppose a guest or someone off the streets could have come in without my awareness and used the phone but...but I just can't imagine that being the case. Guest phones cannot dial out and, as I stated earlier, I've not explicitly seen or heard anyone using my phone. I assure you officer, it must have just been some lowly degenerate wasting your valuable time.” Upon answering the final question the wrinkled sagging folds that made up Mr. Krandalls face contorted into a yellowed toothy smile that was intended to be reassuring but only had the opposite effect.

"Brooks nodded along to each answer, brows still furrowed with uncertainty. “Alright, Mr. Krandall.” he shot another glance behind the checkin desk before stating “I’ll just have a quick talk with each guest, just to reassure myself. You don’t have to follow me on. This is most likely just a false alarm.” he made sure to give the man a sense of reassurance. He didn’t have any reasons to assume the worst, but something still felt off. He felt like Mr. Krandall was rushing him, trying to hide something. Then again, it could just be Brooks’ bored mind wishing that were true. “Can I have the room numbers please?” he asked adamantly, expecting Krandall to comply and be too boneless to reject him."

Eyes widening in surprise at Brook's request Krandall took a step back and up onto the staircase, his flabby arms raising up in a horizontal attempt to cover the most space-sadly the staircase itself was far to large for this to be any sort of effective countermeasure. "I must plead with you to do otherwise, dear officer! Perhaps you could simply return in the morning? It is awfully late to be knocking on doors, especially considering the fragile health of some of our patrons." Lowering his voice a few levels and glancing around the clearly empty area somewhat nervously Mr. Krandall went on to add so that only Brooks could hear. "We really can't afford any more loss of business, Mr. Brooks." The look on his face made it appear as though uttering those words had been akin to Mr. Krandall ripping his own heart out.

"Brooks paused, his suspicions rising at the sudden tonal shift of Krandall. “Mr. Krandall, I insist you comply. I’ll make sure to be cautious regarding my approach, i’m aware of the time.” he said, starting to make his way and pushing past Krandall up the stairs, unless stopped."

"Very well..." Mr. Krandall trailed off in defeat as he watched Brooks ascend the stairs. "Please do be careful though."

–

Usually Max would have thought it extremely odd that James' had the audacity to ignore his parents, only this night he himself was so out of it that instead he simply followed after his longtime friend up the stairs and to his bedroom. Almost immediately James' dove in to his thoughts on what had just happened and just what he wanted them to do about it.

At first Max had been proud in James' newfound bravery but now he was finding it somewhat annoying-afterall, he was supposed to be the brave one and yet even here in the safety of James' room he still felt genuine fear. His body itself somewhat reflected these thoughts in the way his face was almost as white as his beat up old leather jacket-his very hands still slightly quivering with adrenaline despite his best efforts.Worse yet was the fact the Jame's was actually wanting to do something about the weird twilight zone episode they had just lived through.

“Now, are you going to help me find out what’s wrong with our town or not?” Max listened to his friend finally ask. Hidden behind his long curly hair Max couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in genuine curiosity at this, his hand stopping mid page flip on the last months issue of Spider Man that he had mindlessly takein from James' secret comic stash to read in a futile effort of takeing his thoughts off of what had happened this night. Swallowing the lump in his throat he finally spoke up in his best effort to sound normal “Are you sure? I mean don't get me wrong...I, uh, totally want to.” He lied “But are you sure you don't just wana like...I dunno, tell your, uhm, parents?”

James raised an eyebrow. "Max, are you serious right now? We just saw someone levitate a FREAKING PERSON, and you want to ask my parents. They'll think I'm insane! They'll think you're insane!" He fell silent as realization hit. "Max, are you...scared?" It would have been comical, except for all the craziness he had been through this night.

Without thinking Max bit down on his bottom lip much like his sister did when upset-eyes affixed to the floor he refused to meet James's stare. Finally the accusation of being scared was to much for him-not knowing what exactly he was feeling the one thing he was certain of was the fiery feeling of his white cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Finally unable to handle the mix of emotions he defensively snapped back at James “NO I'm not scared! And...and this is stupid! I'm going home!” Tossing the comic in James's face Max turned and ran out the door for the second time this night.

Gaslit Guardians

I'll see if I can come up with anything. This seems interesting.

@Blubaron45

Thank you! I'm really grateful for the interest its gotten.

Gaslit Guardians

Allright, got my first sheet nailed down. Now I just gotta write up his brothers sheet!

My Hider

Francois

”I'm determined to clean this City up. And I don't just mean the crime!”

|| NAME ||

Francois Victor Averymon

|| GENDER ||

Male

|| AGE ||

Thirty Years Old

|| Country Of Origin ||

England

|| Accent ||

English

|| SOCIAL STATUS ||

Francois belongs to the House of Lords but has a rather scandalous reputation.

|| APPEARANCE ||

Standing at a rather tall 6'1” Francois has what is clearly a rather muscular frame and what many would call a “boxers build.” Typically he keeps his medium length bright blonde hair beneath a top hat or cap of sorts; on the rare occasion he is hatless he can often be seen with his hair parted down the middle and neatly combed in a manner that makes it appear rather symmetrical. Like many men of the time he keeps his face completely clean shaven aside from the ridiculously big push broom of a mustache that clings beneath his somewhat crooked nose.

The way he walks and carries himself radiates and aura of both authority and danger- his large jaw that juts out quite aways combined with his thick cheek bones and oddly squareish head adding even more to his naturally intimidating appearance. When out and about on the streets he usually favors the now falling out of fashion three piece suit-during the colder months however he is almost never seen without his thick brown fur collared knee length topcoat.

In Costume: When “suiting up” Francois first puts on a full body piece of somewhat loose clothing that rather resembles a modern day flight suit. The ugly beige fabric was actually created by Francois himself to be far more fire retardant than most materials that were capable of being used in the production of clothes. Ontop of this homemade fabric clings a brilliantly polished steel cuirass fastened tightly together with an even number of equally spaced leather straps and buckles. Shaped into the very backside of the cuirass as if cast from a single mold is what could only be described as some strange mixture between a miniature stove with the shape of a barrel. Like an actual stove there is even a small square door complete with a mini turn handle that would allow one access to stoke or add fuel to the would be lit fire inside. His feet, right hand, and groin all wear the same well crafted protective steel armor that make up his rather odd cuirass.

Despite all this the strangest piece of his “work” outfit is by far the large brass tube shaped funnel that completely encases the better part of his left arm to the point that it resembles a cannon more than an appendage. If one were to look into this tube they wouldn't see Francois' hand as they might assume but would instead see what the human eye would register as an empty gun barrel. Connecting to the underside of what quite literally is an armful of brass and into the empty chamber is a rather thick leather hose that has been worked and fitted with great effort to seamlessly blend into the two twin openings located on the side of the furnace looking invention on his back and the brass cigar shaped barrel that was his arm-Two similar looking hoses can be seen attached at the back of his heels that then smoothly go on to hug the sides of his legs all the way up into the underside of the stove like contraption on the backside of his shining cuirass.

To top off what many would consider a gaudy and flamboyant appearance is the knight helmet of old he wears completely obscuring his face-he himself however is well aware the helmet is as modern and unique as the rest of his fabulous creations; plus it looked good, or so he thought. He was especially fond of the small swan head that was ornately built into his slatted flip down visor: whenever he had the visor shut the open beaked swan would be craning its elegant neck downwards to look at you.

|| PERSONALITY ||

To those that do not know him Francois can come off as a bit cold and indifferent-this however is just a rough facade he puts on when out and about the streets of London. In truth those that really know him often find him to simply be somewhat quite and rather contemplative with a bit of a temper that he would never admit to. He is also well known to be fiercely loyal to God, Queen, Country and family-if he truly perceives an insult to any he is likely to openly challenge who or whatever entity is about to incur his wrath. Some odd quirks about him are that he is a bit of a neat freak and a tad controlling in what is a somewhat comical manner-often because he doesn't wind up getting what he wants and is to gentlemanly to do anything aside from guffaw and harrumph.

|| SCIENTIFIC ACHIEVEMENTS ||

-Graduated from the University of London as his class's Salutatorian.
-Holds several minor degrees in the fields of math and science.
-Deeply involved in the pursuit of harnessing steam for mechanical purposes.
-Has developed several small scale steam inventions ranging from fully working model air ships to steam powered steamers-an invention that quite literally steam presses and hangs clothes on its own accord at a decently steady pace.
-His greatest invention, at least in his mind, is what he simply refers to as his Steam Suit.

|| SPECIAL GEAR/SKILLS ||

-When “suited up” Francois basically becomes as eye catching as one can possibly be.
-His brass cannon of an arm has the capability to blast out long concentrated bursts of scalding hot steam-in addition to this he can turn the thing into a blunderbuss of sorts if he so desires by doing little more than tossing something solid down the barrel before firing.
-His “boost boots” can give him a decently high boost into the air.
-He is a very good shot with the five barreled handgun he keeps stowed in a small funny looking metal holster riveted into the right hand the side of the protective armor worn over his delicate parts.

|| BIOGRAPHY ||

To this day Francois isn't sure if he was lucky or extremely unfortunate to have been born to what was quite possibly the oddest and most eccentric couple England had ever seen. His Father, a once rather handsome fellow from a rather low but well respected upper class estate, had always been obsessed with the very nature of adventure-be that trying a random new tea every single morning or his propensity to just wander the dirtiest and deadliest parts of the city at random. His fathers inability to not take risks naturally carried over into the family business for the worse unfortunately; a business that until that time had been the ownership of two fairly typical large cotton mills.

Before his father had the time to truly ruin the business through a lack of attention and just overall mismanagement (several gossiped he was to kind to the common folk) he met the woman who would eventually become Francois' mother. Luckily for him not only did the two genuinely hit it off but she was quite literally a genius. In fact she was so smart and business savy that within months of being married she had turned the company completely around before quickly selling the lot of it for a rather large penny-A large portion of which was poured into improving the own large vineyards she herself already owned in France. The remaining money was halved, part of it being set aside for family living expenses now that Mrs's had two buns in the oven so to speak: the other half was spent on commissioning a handful of ships that over the years would grow into a fairly successful trading company.

After Francois was born he lived a rather different life from most of his wealthy peers-instead of being raised by a team of nanny's and butlers he more often than not was just glued to his fathers side. His father, not the type to shy from open affection, didn't mind this at all and was instead delighted to teach the boy all sorts of things as he went about the business of running the now rather well known Averymon Trading Company located in London. Always encouraged to read and think for himself Francois would have constant debates with his brother via letters-oftentimes the anticipation between rebuttals causing him much anxiety.

Clearly a gifted child he was quickly given regular schooling by several advanced tutors when not being taught business lessons from his father. This eventually lead him along the path to college and furthered the pursuit of his life long passion: Steam. To this day he could remember the first time he'd seen the true power of steam as a child.

It had been a particularly cold winter day when out walking with his father they happened by just in time to see some poor excuse for a boiler that was being used to heat a chunk of housing units, that were really little more than kindling, explode with a devilish roar. The sight of bloodied bodies and the now spreading inferno barely clung to his memory though-no, the one mental image absolutely seared into his mind was that of the pure cleanliness left behind in the chaos. Having lived in London his whole life he'd never seen such...beauty. It was a memory he found so profound and religious that even today he can often be found thinking on it for no other reason than to make himself smile. Ever since that day his soul mission in life was to bring that amount of cleanliness to the world.

Gaslit Guardians

@Viatos

I cant blame ya there-tryin to just finish my own sheets off before I go to bed even though I know I wont be able to.

Gaslit Guardians

Welp, I guess that's settled then. I will go ahead and put a clear disclaimer up top to let people know about this decision. I think I will go ahead and put a three day deadline on sheet entries, unless that sounds to long? Don't wana lost momentum but I also totally understand its the holidays.

Gaslit Guardians

Is there a reason NOT to do competitive applications? First-come first-serve is only really fair to people in the right time zone, anyway (me, right now) - but then you don't necessarily get the best group and might end up missing players you'd really like over players who are, as you say, quick but maybe at a cost.

If you're not under a time crunch to get the game started, you could just declare a time period, let people app throughout it, and then pick the group you want at the end.

@Viatos

I myself am actually fine with that and honestly prefer it for basically the exact reason you said-In my past experience though that...kinda upset people. I guess if I go ahead and make that super clear in the top post we could go that route though? Really just don't wana scare people off that would have otherwise wound up joining

Gaslit Guardians

I'm really intrigued & I'd love to apply but I'm afraid that because this is a small group I wouldn't be able to make a cs in time

@spencerishere

I totally understand man but I honestly don't know how to remedy the situation I think I will probably just have to go first come first serve just out of fairness-but then when I say that I worry I'll just get people throwin a sheet at me in an effort to reserve a spot. Totally a catch 22 situation.... I will totally read any sheet sent my way but, like I said, I just don't know a fairer/better way to handle it than first come first serve. Im really sorry though-but I am open to your or anyone else's suggestions if they have an idea on a better way to do things.

Born in Brimstone

Oh yeah and if you don't live in America...well, then enjoy your thursday!