Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] SIGNUPS OPEN
02-03-2012, 08:45 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by M_Sheep.
Consider this my declaration of glorious intent!
Username: They call me Mr. Sheep
Name: Refers to himself as Bod, short for Nobody. He can't remember what he was called before.
Sex: He appears to be man shaped, if a little on the lean side
Race: He was once a man.
Colour: the colour of that feeling you get when you wake up from a dream you feel you should remember. Kind of like that.
Description: The first thing you notice about him is the horrendously tacky umbrella at his side that's a particularly eyebleeding shade of lemon yellow. After that, things get a bit more difficult. He has two eyes, a mouth, hair......Trying to describe him in unambiguous terms proves to be an exercise in futility. He appears somewhat neat and maybe sort of clean shaven. Yes, and his hair is the same colour as his suit and tophat. Not that you can remember what that is.
Bod's never quite gotten over his fear of crowds and still experiences great anxiety while in them. He constantly fears he'll be trampled and can't even begin to force himself to face a crowd without his umbrella.
Items/Abilities: The Incompetent has done it again folks! His automaton Gentlemen were built for one purpose, just one. To find and retrieve interesting beings. Instead, this Gentleman brought back The Most Uninteresting Man in The World. A man who steals to get by because no workplace can ever remember that he's on its payroll. A homeless vagabond, he can't even rent a hotel room for the night without waking up at the crack of dawn, struggling for breath, only to find that a maid folded the bed while he's still in it.
Nobody ever remembers poor Mr. Nobody. Buses skip him at the stop, stores close while he's still inside, and people cut right in front of him in line at his favorite cafe. Which makes an already drawn out and thoroughly taxing process even longer. Getting the barrista's attention on a slow day isn't much trouble, it's keeping her from forgetting that he's standing right in front of her as she goes back to texting her BFF that's the issue. She'll get up, start throwing the brew together, and then stop because she has no idea why she's making it or who its for. She's usually back to her seat with thumbs to her cell keypad before Bod can get her to notice him again. This little routine usually goes on for about twenty minutes before he gets his coffee. It won't be what he ordered, but it's the integrity of the thing, damn it!
Not that there aren't advantages to being forgettable, especially when that person has nonexistant funds and expensive tastes. Mr. Nobody's grown quite skilled in thievery over the years out of necessity, and frankly, greed. His long, nimble fingers are just as at home on the keys of a piano as they are in your pocket. You can expect there to be lockpicks on him.
Combating Bod's Godlike aura of forgetfullness, is The Most Interesting Umbrella in The World. It's sheer total ugliness turns peoples' heads and makes them acknowledge it's horridly yellow existence. A"cursed" umbrella that, in normal hands, causes people to think you look familiar. Extended exposure to the umbrella causes onlookers to become more obsessed with its holder the longer they can see it. This can, and has, resulted in tragic ends. In Bod's hands however, it makes a person's brain grudgingly admit that, alright, there is a man attached to the end of that umbrella.
Biography: Have you ever woke up one morning to a world that has forgotten you even exist? To wake up and find all trace of your existence erased? To find yourself stricken from records, photographs, even your twelve year old neice's drawings? To be looked at with glazed over, uncomprehending eyes as you crumble into a sobbing heap on a woman's doorstep who never had a little brother? And the world keeps turning on just as it was without you here.
Bod has, but he remembered, and those memories of his own were all he had to cling to as everything else faded away. Except, after so many years, those faded away too when the pain of remembering became too much. Since then, the man who called himself Nobody has lived in a perpetual limbo where nothing changes. Even time forgot him as the rest of the world marched on while he remained static, forever unchanging. Bod has been in his late thirties over one hundred-twenty years. He simply stopped counting after the hundred-twenty eigth year since that day.
Writing Sample: Still ought to do this bit.
Consider this my declaration of glorious intent!
Username: They call me Mr. Sheep
Name: Refers to himself as Bod, short for Nobody. He can't remember what he was called before.
Sex: He appears to be man shaped, if a little on the lean side
Race: He was once a man.
Colour: the colour of that feeling you get when you wake up from a dream you feel you should remember. Kind of like that.
Description: The first thing you notice about him is the horrendously tacky umbrella at his side that's a particularly eyebleeding shade of lemon yellow. After that, things get a bit more difficult. He has two eyes, a mouth, hair......Trying to describe him in unambiguous terms proves to be an exercise in futility. He appears somewhat neat and maybe sort of clean shaven. Yes, and his hair is the same colour as his suit and tophat. Not that you can remember what that is.
Bod's never quite gotten over his fear of crowds and still experiences great anxiety while in them. He constantly fears he'll be trampled and can't even begin to force himself to face a crowd without his umbrella.
Items/Abilities: The Incompetent has done it again folks! His automaton Gentlemen were built for one purpose, just one. To find and retrieve interesting beings. Instead, this Gentleman brought back The Most Uninteresting Man in The World. A man who steals to get by because no workplace can ever remember that he's on its payroll. A homeless vagabond, he can't even rent a hotel room for the night without waking up at the crack of dawn, struggling for breath, only to find that a maid folded the bed while he's still in it.
Nobody ever remembers poor Mr. Nobody. Buses skip him at the stop, stores close while he's still inside, and people cut right in front of him in line at his favorite cafe. Which makes an already drawn out and thoroughly taxing process even longer. Getting the barrista's attention on a slow day isn't much trouble, it's keeping her from forgetting that he's standing right in front of her as she goes back to texting her BFF that's the issue. She'll get up, start throwing the brew together, and then stop because she has no idea why she's making it or who its for. She's usually back to her seat with thumbs to her cell keypad before Bod can get her to notice him again. This little routine usually goes on for about twenty minutes before he gets his coffee. It won't be what he ordered, but it's the integrity of the thing, damn it!
Not that there aren't advantages to being forgettable, especially when that person has nonexistant funds and expensive tastes. Mr. Nobody's grown quite skilled in thievery over the years out of necessity, and frankly, greed. His long, nimble fingers are just as at home on the keys of a piano as they are in your pocket. You can expect there to be lockpicks on him.
Combating Bod's Godlike aura of forgetfullness, is The Most Interesting Umbrella in The World. It's sheer total ugliness turns peoples' heads and makes them acknowledge it's horridly yellow existence. A"cursed" umbrella that, in normal hands, causes people to think you look familiar. Extended exposure to the umbrella causes onlookers to become more obsessed with its holder the longer they can see it. This can, and has, resulted in tragic ends. In Bod's hands however, it makes a person's brain grudgingly admit that, alright, there is a man attached to the end of that umbrella.
Biography: Have you ever woke up one morning to a world that has forgotten you even exist? To wake up and find all trace of your existence erased? To find yourself stricken from records, photographs, even your twelve year old neice's drawings? To be looked at with glazed over, uncomprehending eyes as you crumble into a sobbing heap on a woman's doorstep who never had a little brother? And the world keeps turning on just as it was without you here.
Bod has, but he remembered, and those memories of his own were all he had to cling to as everything else faded away. Except, after so many years, those faded away too when the pain of remembering became too much. Since then, the man who called himself Nobody has lived in a perpetual limbo where nothing changes. Even time forgot him as the rest of the world marched on while he remained static, forever unchanging. Bod has been in his late thirties over one hundred-twenty years. He simply stopped counting after the hundred-twenty eigth year since that day.
Writing Sample: Still ought to do this bit.