Re: The Wretched Rite - Sign up today!
07-04-2011, 05:25 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
Name: Renard Blaise, PI
Gender: Dude
Race: Human with a twist
Color: Sepia on gray
Abilities/Weapons: Detective Blaise is, much like the cliché, equipped with keen intellect and a legit license to shoot the fucker when he so damn pleases. He has enough cunning wit to monologue hours on end, and the charismatic, gruff narrating voice to tell his tales. He's usually equipped with stern wit, a small pistol (he still claims anyone with a big gun compensates for something) and a lighter for the vast assortment of tobacco he carries around. He's actually been trying to quit smoking and monologuing at the same time, but he who chases two birds catches none.
Detective Blaise is also entirely fictional, and pulled from a 1950s movie.
This, as you would guess, would have the same strange consequences as, for example, entering a chalk drawing. Renard has a little less trouble, the camera was well enough equipped to shoot him at three dimensions, so he will not be stuck plastered to a wall, but still the brown-and-gray doesn't translate well into the real world. Whatever happens in his vicinity automatically grows to be a grim, gritty copy of its original. Robots become irreasonable henchmen, medieval rogues turn into sleazy cutpurses. Scientific laser gunswords, stylish bayonets. Everything in his witnessable surroundings gets transformed into film noir, without having to damage the concept of reality a lot. Usually only the more superhumanely aware have and memory of the event. Memories get adapted to fit whatever the outside world is or was used to upon entry or exit.
Description: Renard is one of those people capable of dissolving in a crowd while still being a recognisable face. Though his job requires something at least referent to formal wear, his look seems to be so neglected that even his hair could pass as sandblasted. Ratty, shaggy, “they only see my hat anyway”, those brown threads of hair leap from under his fedora like a herd of bunnies that don't give a fuck. He's considered thin, almost lanky, but doesn't show as such. His meager figure hides in vests and trenchcoats on a daily basis. Personailty-wise, Renard is a pursuer, and never lets go, be it an ideal, a thug, a dream, a promise, a case, whatever. His persistence is probably what makes him a good cop, but at the same time what cost him his official license years ago. Handling under the title of Private Investigator Blaise, and mostly using street cred and viva voce to get cases.
Backstory: There's just some bloody fuckers that never can get enough. And on most days, I wish they weren't my problem.
The name's Blaise, and I'm the guy that has to clean up all the crap that happens in this god-ridden town. 'S not like I have to. Technically, I'm not even allowed to half the time. Whenever a case is that far gone even the feds won't lift a finger to risk their monthly bribes, or when if it ever passed the feds my... commissioner himself would be locked up.
I don't wanna bother with life stories. If you really want to know more about me, I'll tell you 'bout my latest case...
Question: Whodunnit?
Name: Renard Blaise, PI
Gender: Dude
Race: Human with a twist
Color: Sepia on gray
Abilities/Weapons: Detective Blaise is, much like the cliché, equipped with keen intellect and a legit license to shoot the fucker when he so damn pleases. He has enough cunning wit to monologue hours on end, and the charismatic, gruff narrating voice to tell his tales. He's usually equipped with stern wit, a small pistol (he still claims anyone with a big gun compensates for something) and a lighter for the vast assortment of tobacco he carries around. He's actually been trying to quit smoking and monologuing at the same time, but he who chases two birds catches none.
Detective Blaise is also entirely fictional, and pulled from a 1950s movie.
This, as you would guess, would have the same strange consequences as, for example, entering a chalk drawing. Renard has a little less trouble, the camera was well enough equipped to shoot him at three dimensions, so he will not be stuck plastered to a wall, but still the brown-and-gray doesn't translate well into the real world. Whatever happens in his vicinity automatically grows to be a grim, gritty copy of its original. Robots become irreasonable henchmen, medieval rogues turn into sleazy cutpurses. Scientific laser gunswords, stylish bayonets. Everything in his witnessable surroundings gets transformed into film noir, without having to damage the concept of reality a lot. Usually only the more superhumanely aware have and memory of the event. Memories get adapted to fit whatever the outside world is or was used to upon entry or exit.
Description: Renard is one of those people capable of dissolving in a crowd while still being a recognisable face. Though his job requires something at least referent to formal wear, his look seems to be so neglected that even his hair could pass as sandblasted. Ratty, shaggy, “they only see my hat anyway”, those brown threads of hair leap from under his fedora like a herd of bunnies that don't give a fuck. He's considered thin, almost lanky, but doesn't show as such. His meager figure hides in vests and trenchcoats on a daily basis. Personailty-wise, Renard is a pursuer, and never lets go, be it an ideal, a thug, a dream, a promise, a case, whatever. His persistence is probably what makes him a good cop, but at the same time what cost him his official license years ago. Handling under the title of Private Investigator Blaise, and mostly using street cred and viva voce to get cases.
Backstory: There's just some bloody fuckers that never can get enough. And on most days, I wish they weren't my problem.
The name's Blaise, and I'm the guy that has to clean up all the crap that happens in this god-ridden town. 'S not like I have to. Technically, I'm not even allowed to half the time. Whenever a case is that far gone even the feds won't lift a finger to risk their monthly bribes, or when if it ever passed the feds my... commissioner himself would be locked up.
I don't wanna bother with life stories. If you really want to know more about me, I'll tell you 'bout my latest case...
Question: Whodunnit?
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.