Prologue (the role playing we did in the private messages):
Pine Tar's character:
"This is a sort of WIP but I came up with a character.
Name: Stephane Moreno
Age: 22
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 220 lbs.
Occupation: Writer/Wannabe Resistance Fighter
Weapon: Kukri, Colt Python
Bio: He came to CWCville because he wanted to join the PVCC after hearing of their exploits against Mayor Chandler. However, by the time he managed to move to CWCville, the resistance was crushed and Mary Lee Walsh was imprisoned. He was an editor at the CWCville News Dash until he got fired for recommending genocide to cure the overpopulation of Sonees and Roseys. Now, he lives with his best friend, Robert Atkinson who's patience with Stephane's mooching is running very short. But, one day, after hearing reports of construction workers being murdered, he feels that it's his time to truly shine in CWCville. After all, with an experience like this, he'll write a best seller for sure!
Konstantinos Character:
"Alright, I present to you my character, Louis Toadvine.
"Toadvine had seen the best and worst of times. A drifter by nature, he was a man of many trades, most of which dealt in blood. He had intermittently been a gun for hire, a desperado, a sonichu hunter, a smuggler and a jerkop at numerous points in his life. He has a cynical and overtly hostile demeanor, no doubt a result of his accumulated misdeeds weighing heavily on his conscience.
Around his neck he wears a necklace. On it there are blood-stained medallions bearing the faces of the hedgehog pokemon they belonged to. His face bares the scars of conflicts long past. His eyes are azure and deep and permanently adhered in a hostile glare, as would be the case for a man of his nature. Long black hair hangs off his head. It scarcely conceals his lack of ears. On his forehead, the initials "CWC" are branded. He carries with him a deep resentment for the man who disfigured him.
He takes up the contract for the investigation for reasons he is not totally sure of. He has known murder all his life and he supposes that the case suits him. He packs a revolver, a heavy cavalry pistol he has used to end the lives of men and hedgehog pokemon alike. He also packs a bowie knife, because it is oft utilized in his lines of work, and a flask, as his pastime lies in drink. He does not know what awaits him and his companions in the construction site. A sense of dread settles on him."
Perceptive readers will notice my character is barley original. Then again, this is set in the Sonichuuniverse so its not like anything is going to that original to begin with, right?
Randall Fragg's character:
"Okay, Tyce Pierce. Basically Tyce. Wears a dirty purple shirt, jorts, and a stupid beanie. Constantly wears sunglasses and a Shrek fannypack, where he stores his weed, pills, baseball cards, and extra matchbox cars. Owner of the Tycemobile, a grape purple minivan with a skeleton decal on the hood (yes, that skeleton). Has a Jenkim farm in his hide out. Also, has a gang consisting of him, Bryan, Elbert, and Big Jim, his idiotic gang of stoner nazis."
Hunger Mythos's Character:
"The streets of CWCville were home to the twenty-four-year-old woman with the nimble fingers and a knack for breaking and entering homes, nabbing what she could and selling them in the underground blackmarket to make a living. November had been her name, having forgot about her true name long ago. The young woman adorns herself in comfortable clothes, preferably loose sweaters to conceal her actual gear beneath, with fur lined winter boots and a black wool knitted hat upon her head.
Upon losing her actual name, she lost her sense of humanity. This doesn't mean she can't function in society, in fact November has adjusted quite well. She simply has taken on the belief that she is not human, also known as an otherkin. Being an otherkin means she is does not identify as a human. In fact to embrace her "true" identity, November wears a fawn coloured dog tail with a white tip that hangs off the belt of her faded blue skinny jeans. Around her neck is a pink leather collar with a heart-shaped name tag. Identifying as a Pembroke Welsh corgi, November does what she can to embrace her newfound lifestyle.
Having not only lost her humanity, she also lost her right eye in the incident that took place several years ago and so she wears an eyepatch to conceal it. No-one knows the true story that took place all those years ago since she makes up a story every time someone asks. Personally, November has no interest in pursuing her previous life, especially since she has adapted well to her new lifestyle so she has never batted an eye at the thought.
November is well equipped for creeping through the shadows being the sneak thief that she is, getting down and dirty, and doing whatever needs to be done to get any goods she can get her hands on. Such a life style can be dangerous, especially in such a town like CWCville, November has a colt single action revolver holstered to her belt hidden beneath her cozy deer printed sweater that looks too big on her quaint body. The gun has scarcely seen action, since November isn't one for conflict and she prefers to use her two combat knives. Within the dull green messenger bag slung over her shoulder like a purse is where her thief’s tools are hidden away, beneath other odds and ends.
Battered and rugged, November's short cut brown hair rustles in the breeze as she skulks through the streets with a glint in her single hazel eye, thinking over the job offer she recently read about for some sort of investigation. Such a situation would be rewarding, filling the young woman with glee as she strode down the sidewalk. Of course, hiring a criminal, such as her, was a farfetched as all get, so she scoffed with a roll of her eyes at the thought as she took a swig of whiskey from the flask in her hand, chuckling internally."
Quote Me Now: "So, how do you very different people know each other? Friends from Date Ed, perhaps? And why are you responding to this very, very odd advert calling for private investigators (Experience not required)?"
Pine Tar:
"I meet Louis at a dive bar while trying to come up with ideas for a novel I've been working on. I see his demeanor, his bloody medallion collection and his lack of saying much of anything, so naturally, I decided that this is an individual who I want to base a character off of.
I try to talk to him, but he grunts and tries to avoid me. I keep trying to get his attention until Robert finds me and starts yelling at me about the rent. Whatever, with this novel I'll write, I'll pay him back and then some."
RF: "Everyone knows Tyce because he's the weird guy who drags around a wagon full of hot wheels and sets trashcans on fire. He's investigating because, like, he could totally be a detective. Like, this is probably a gay black conspiracy."
Konstantinos: ""Toadvine sat drinking his whiskey at the bar, alone. He turned to observe the eager youth with whom he had just spoken with. The youth was now speaking with another patron of the bar about rent.
The youth had been somewhat grating in his insistence on conversing. He spoke of writing, a skill Toadvine had had little use for over the course of his life. However, Toadvine found the youth's dialogue to have a quality of earnestness to it. It reflected a sense of innocence, something Toadvine wished he still possessed.
Toadvine exhaled resignedly and stood up. The grotesque scapular around his neck swung lazily. The medallions clacked against one another like a grisly Newton's cradle. Bartender, he said. I'd like another two whiskeys. One for me and one for the youth over there. He stood and observed the youth, his menacing glare softened somewhat.
The door to the bar swung open. Standing there was a local junkie, his sunglasses failing to conceal the emptiness in his eyes. His clothing was thin and ragged. He gave off an odor of excrement and ganja, which he undoubtably smoked with frequency. A wretched beard was attached to his jaw and a ridiculous hat had been placed upon his head. Many of the bar's patrons had turned to gaze upon the loathsome addict.
The junkie stood before them awkwardly. His stench permeated the air and could be smelt from several meters away. Toadvine had seen him around town. He did not take kindly to the junkie's insolence. Toadvine's face grew dour once more."
RF:
"Yo, whyzat so kwaite in this pad? LETS SOME ACTION GOIN KAUS TYCE IS IN DA HOUSE BITCHES!"
The illiterate sped stumbled across the bar to the juke box.
"Wait, what the fuck is an AC/DC? That sounds fuckin gay as hell bro. Whys this song called "Hotel California?" What is this fag hipster shit? Where the fuck is ICP?"
Disappointed, Tyce takes a partly filled balloon out of his fanny pack, sticks a needle in it, and quickly inhales the gas inside it. He walks over to the bar and, much to his horror, Toadvine.
"Hey dude, you got some fucking awesome bling there" Tyce belted at Toadvine. Toadvine was sure he could smell farts and decaying shit on the idiots breath.
"Yo, BarFag, could you get me a Tyce Pussytail? Yah put some Doritos, Gamerfuel, and vodka in a blender!"
Pine Tar:
I try to keep talking to Louis, but the combination of the loud filthy junkie and my friend yelling at me about rent and not getting the stains out of his couch distract me. Eventually, I start jotting down what I'm seeing as the atmosphere in the bar is much more entertaining than this one......interesting individual. Sure, I'll talk to him later, but I'll have to talk to this newcomer too.
After 15 minutes of berating me, Robert leaves. I call out to this junkie. "Hey! Would you quiet down over there, I'm trying to drink, I mean, think!"
RF: Tyce turns and stairs at the man."Dude, what that fuck? Do you know who the I am? Let me clue you in faggot. I'm the Prankmaster. I'm the Tycenado!"
Tyce pulls out a small bottle with some brown liquid in it, opens it, inhales the poop fumes, and throws it one the ground. He then flips over a table and gives the finger to a random bar patron.
"Tycenado bitch! You just got prannnkeed!"
Tyce pulls a hot wheels car out of his Shrek fanny pack and proceeds to run around the bar, "driving" the toy on the walls and making "vroom-vroom" noises.
Konstantinos: "Toadvine looked over the wretched junkie that had just now slithered up to the bar. He said something to Toadvine but his words are slurred and disjointed. His speech more closely resembled that of an animal than a human being. Toadvine contemplates going for his knife but he tries to ignore the cretin instead. The smell emanating from the junkie was violently offensive to all in his vicinity.
The Barkeep conjures the two whiskeys. Toadvine handed one to the youth. He received it graciously and tried to initiate conversation again but to no avail. The junkie's hollering made talking difficult.
Toadvine sat and drank. The junkie was drinking some foul concoction of crisps and vodka. Toadvine drank some more. The junkie's incessant shouting gradually became quieter.
Chaos suddenly developed on the bar floor. The junkie was shouting at the youth. The junkie was flipping tables over and causing hubris. The junkie threw a bottle to the floor from which a brown liquid emerged. Drops of the foul liquid landed on Toadvine's duster.
Rage shot through Toadvine. He grabbed his bowie knife and rose from his stool. He approached the junkie from behind before grabbing him and throwing him against the floor. Toadvine put the blade to the junkie's throat. What the hell's your problem, Toadvine shouted in the terrified junkie's face. We're tryin' to have a drink and you have to come and ruin it with your foolishness."
RF: "Aaaaaauuuuuggghhh WHAT THE HELL MAN!? What did I ever do! Come on, yer ruining my bling dude, and.....OH SHIT that's a knife!" Pulling a knife on someone's a good prank."
Suddenly, the air fills with a horrific stench, the type of smell made by only one thing: a bowl movement from a man who's diet consists of nothing but Doritos, sour patch kids, Mountain Dew, Gamerfuel, and copious amounts of chemicals never intended to be consumed by man. Toadvine recoils in horror at the miasma of Tyce-dung, and Tyce seizes this opportunity to run for the door, leaving a trail of Gamersludge behind him.
"But this pranks better! TYCED!"
The junkie exits the bar and calls to his friends in the grape purple minivan with a skeleton painted on the hood.
"Homies, get the Tycemobile ready"
The Tycemobile wheezes into life as Tyce sits in his commanding seat with an audible *squish*.
Tyce and his gang take off.
Konstantinos:
"The junkies excrement sat on the floor. The smell was rank and it caused Toadvine to become deeply nauseous. He ran for the door and caught a glimpse of the junkie escaping in his decrepit van. Toadvine emptied his paunch. He gave off a few wheezing coughs before returning to the tavern.
Toadvine weakly glared at his whiskey. He could not bring himself to ingest anymore after that ordeal with the junkie. He sat himself down by the youth. The youth appeared to have been shaken by the junkie's antics but he was otherwise fine.
So, Toadvine inquired. Been meaning to talk to ya. What's your story kid? The youth spoke of his past. Toadvine listened. They soon found themselves exchanging stories of their past exploits and laughing heartily as though they had been old friends. The youth told Toadvine of his plan to deplete the population of young sonichus in the city. Toadvine found a great sense of mirth in this for he too hated the grotesque children that remained all too populous in CWCville.
The youth noted a job he had recently signed up for. It dawned on Toadvine that both he and the youth had taken the same investigation case. The two laughed at this happy coincidence. Toadvine rose to leave for it was late and he was still mildly intoxicated. He bid the youth farewell and left the bar.
Toadvine approached the field upon which he camped for his lifestyle was nomadic in nature and demanded that he always be on the move. He set his necklace aside but he kept his revolver at his breast. He laid upon his bed mat and gazed up at the stars as he had done many times before.
There was a rustling among the wild grass. Toadvine's eyes shot open. Soon there was a delicate shuffling sound, as though someone were running his hands through his possessions. He clutched his revolver. Silence permeated the air. The deep darkness that enshrouded the encampment was penetrated only by the stars.
A great calamity of \M/ETAL tins and leather saddlebags banging against one another suddenly erupted. Toadvine rose up and took aim at the figure fleeing from him. A shot rang out. Then another. The form stumbled awkwardly and hit the ground, the stolen gear clattering against the soil.
Toadvine crouched and waited. His long black hair was haphazardly draped over his face and temples. He slowly approached where the thief had fallen. Without warning a brief flash illuminated the thief and a gunshot filled the air. Toadvine hit the dirt. Smoke rose from the thief's position. The thief rose up and began to flee the field.
By the time Toadvine had crawled to his gear the thief was long gone. Whoever it had been had decided to abandon the gear in favor of escaping with his life. Confoundingly, there was no blood but rather a mass of what appeared to be fur and wool. Something was missing from Toadvine's gear though. It dawned on Toadvine that his trophies were gone. The thief had taken his medallions."
