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cut in half; [tommy]
Topic Started: May 10 2010, 11:25 PM (674 Views)
Manslaughter
Unregistered

Roger needs topics/plot/whatever. I may end up putting an open topic in Murderworld, but I like plotty plot stuff.

He's short, skinny, and likes to kill people. Give him a cookie and he'll be your bestest friend. Or kill you. He's fickle like that.
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Jean
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
Is he currently in Sanctuary? He sounds amoral, does that mean he has no problem with killing other mutants? Would he agree to help betray Sanctuary's location?
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Manslaughter
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He doesn't really care who he kills--unless if it's a close friend or something; he generally does whatever Magneto tells him to. I'm pretty sure he's not in Sanctuary, and he'd be unlikely to betray Magneto unless if his leader did the betraying first.
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Toxin
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Heya ^_^ Roger seems like a very interesting character to RP with. Any chance he'd be outside of Murderworld? I'm thinking I'd like to use either Dustin here or maybe wwx!Eldan.
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Jean
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Telepathy, Telekinesis
In your app, you go into detail about Roger's love of killing, how about a plot that shows that? You seem to suggest that killing is a game to him, so when he's not following Magneto's orders, wouldn't he be 'playing his game'? Perhaps he could notice a Morlock and take it into his head to see how many he could kill. Or he could fixate on another group.
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Longshot
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Probability, Psychometry, Cloned Origin, Empathic Charisma
*grumbles about Manslaughter stealing his schtick*
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Manslaughter
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Toxin: You bet. Just name a time and a place.

Jean: Oooo. I like it. I haven't done much with him at all, so that'd be something good to do.

Longshot: Hey hey.. don't blame Manie. That's just the way Marvel made him.
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Hellion(old)
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Telekinesis / Flight
Time of Day: 13:00
Place in Timeline: August 17th, following Making Plans, Keeping Tabs, Never Wonder




He was still wet and sticky and stinking when he stood outside the door of the gymnasium, bottle too warm in his hands and misshapen where his fingers had crushed the plastic, crumpled indents ruining its neck, water inside hot from body heat: how he’d held it against his forehead in an attempt to find a measure of relief from this tacky, stifling temperature. Even standing in the cold New York spring, shirtless, skin prickling in agitated thrills along his biceps and around the nape of his neck he felt nothing but feverish, like his insides were burning, melting, like they were internally combusting. Julian shut his eyes, waiting to be reduced to a tarry smear on the flagstones, waiting to melt into boiling blood and frothing tissue, ichor escaping into the cracks that met uneven and old between each weathered chunk of rock. The next person to walk along this overgrown pathway would find an expensive pair of tennis shoes wrecked by liquefied Keller juices and a few stringy pieces of jogging pants. Charred bone. His skull; carbonised and vitrified.

Spontaneous combustion never occurred. Julian stood in silence and everything was so horribly quiet he felt like yelling just to make some noise, just to break the clammy stillness. Even the birds had quit their twittering, feathered rats quivering mute on their branches.

Julian Keller was always right.

Julian Keller always knew what to say.

He was the kid with it all, with the money and the looks and the car and the chicks and the epic fashion sense, he was the guy everyone picked first, who they all wanted to be. Everyone wanted a piece of him, all of these fantastic little things that made up the guy, the man, each tiny fragment of the one, the only, the amazing and awesome Julian fucking Keller.

He sagged, and felt completely and utterly cowed by the shallow farcicality of his existence. And he felt helpless and without answers and was intensely aware that he had no one to blame but himself. So much so that some freak headcase could come along and prick it and pop it with such ridiculous ease. It left him reeling.

The chill hit him, Julian shivering, suddenly noticing how weak the sunlight was beyond those thin strings of cirrus. He pushed his way back into the gym, meandering dazed past equipment, around benches and weights and along the rear of the thicket of treadmills, obstacles crowded together in cascades of metal and plastic and rubber. He found his vest pooled smelly and still damp where he’d flung it, picked it up and twisted it in his hand, pulling it tight around his wrist until the blood cut off, Julian staring past blanched fingers. Before the vest tore he released it, and tugged it over his head all crumpled and out of shape.

The day’s plans turned stale, sounding asinine. Work out, shower, grab a coffee and when all those sharp shards of anger at the Hellfire Club had been wrung out of his system as thoroughly as possible sit down, watch some shitty DVD, some B-rated horror flick with bad effects and bad acting and bad directing, and then maybe see if his brain hadn’t rotten so far that he couldn’t work on that poly-sci essay he owed.

Stupid.

Julian couldn’t muster the will to head towards the showers, didn’t want to move out of the gym. Miller’s ghost lingered. He could still hear her hissing in his ears. Telling him how much everyone loved Tommy, who he really was. What had to happen. His face, bloated and bruised, eyes rolling.

Snarling fuck! Julian threw the bottle and stormed away as it exploded, a violent font scintillating in the too-white gymnasium lighting. He threw doors open, slamming them wide, clattering and crashing and banging his way through the mansion. He hoped someone would hear the commotion, come running, interrogate him, mindrape him until they unearthed that ugly encounter and did something. The noise was cathartic, in a numb, childish way, dulling the cacophony in his head.

Tommy was not in the kitchen. He was not in the classrooms. He was not in the observation tower. He was not in the parlour or the entryway or the gardens or the mansion proper, and Julian did everything he could to avoid looking in the boy’s dorm. It was the last place he looked. Tommy was not in the rec room, or the media room, and when Julian arrived at that stoic, looming dorm room door he froze.

Fingers pressed against the patina of the wood. Half open, he could see one of the bunks, messy sheets, blankets tangled, a trail of clothes drizzling from a chest of drawers, an MP3 player and a stack of CDs and a river of posters strung up lackadaisical on the wall. He stared at the drooping corner of one, dripping across the pouting face of Megan Fox, putty-heavy paper ruining her glossy blowjob lips.

Don’t be here, don’t fucking be here.

And in he went, and there he was, sprawled out flat on the cot. Julian stared at the slumped speedster, and heard himself speak. It was cut off. Monotone.

“Shepard.” Too thick on his tongue. “We need to talk.”
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Shatterstar
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Its almost like they cloned you, Longshot.
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Cyclops
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
What would a clone of a clone turn out like?
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Jack Russell
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Exhibit A:
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I need not even mention the unicorn tattoo.
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Cyclops
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
I'm not even going to pretend to understand this
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Tommy Shepard
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Tommy had a game plan. The day wasn't going to be anything special. He would go to class. Dredge his way through the seemingly endless talks of lessons and exams. He never listened to most of it. It wasn't that he didn't want to learn. It was just his mind, driven by the nature of his mutation, was almost always spinning. There was no way he keep his attention span from misbehaving long enough to allow any knowledge to soak in. After class, he was going to go see Billy. Then, as he had gotten used to since his brother delved into madness, he would go to his room and lament the state of his world. Why did things have to be so hard ? Why was every aspect of his life constantly being pulled away by forces beyond both his control and understanding ? Why were he and Josh always out of milk ?

Today however, did not go according to his plan and he ended up back in his room much sooner than he expected. Flu shots were the order of the day. Every young mutant who was succeptible to such things was forced to get one, Tommy included. The blond nurse who administered his was cute but unfamiliar. He had expected to see Avery when he entered the infirmary and was a little relieved when he didn't. Seeing the green skinned nurse brought up all the unresolved family issues that lay dormant at both their feet.

Cute nurse aside, the shot hurt like hell. The blond jabbed his arm with what he would of swore was spite fueled intensity if he didn't know any better. Worst of all, the damn thing left him with what he was quickly learning was a bad reaction. His body ached his mind spun and swam in it's effects. After half a class, he could take no more and was excused in order to lie down.

It was there, sprawled across his bed, where Julian found him. Tommy had never liked Julian much. He was the sort of arrogant, spoiled brat that wouldn't have lasted two minutes in Tommy's old neighborhood. The fact that he was allowed to flourish here was something that, even know, irritated the speedster. Still, he didn't care to start fights and was finding that the two got along just fine as long as their kept their interaction to a minimum.

"What do you want Keller ? Can't you tell I'm sick." Tommy lifted his body from the bed. The world had slowed down and was still a dreamlike place He plodded up to the boy. His voice was in a whisper. "If Emma sent you here for some covert stuff, tell her I'm not up to it, would you." He then turned around to walk away.
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Hellion(old)
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Telekinesis / Flight
Julian couldn’t meet Tommy’s eyes, didn’t even remember what colour they were, staring past his head at the posters plastered up not quite even and peeling southwards like flaccid paper tongues. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, he glanced at anything but Tommy’s slack-faced stupidity, pretending he knew the irises hidden under heavy lids were umber or cobalt or iceberg grey. If he delayed long enough the drugs might would work through the speedster’s system, flushed out fast through pores or pissed away. Dully, Julian wondered how the meds had affected him at all, what with his lightspeed metabolism.

Mr Tottery wavered, words something near slurred. The sight was jarring; Tommy, normally fidgeting, normally twitching with motions blurred into fuzzy shapes, fingers moving in staccato bursts, he was sluggish, slowed by that nasty crap sludging through his body.

Julian ground his teeth, hissing through them, “We need to fucking talk.” He levelled a glare at those glazed eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Now he’d have that moronic expression burnt onto his retinas for the rest of the week. No matter what time of day or where he was or how bruised and bloated Tommy’s face was in half an hour, he’d see that dumb, witless gawp; the unaware grin of the clueless and unprepared.

“It’s important.” He spoke in a gritty murmur, hoping he wasn’t going to have to plead. Hey, Tommy, please come outside to be beaten into a bloody pulp. Please follow me into the woods so I can kick your ass until you’re puking stomach juices.

“I just… Look, man, I just need to have a word with you. Outside. Somewhere. Just away from here.” Julian scrubbed at his face. “I don’t want to do this. Believe me.”
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Tommy Shepard
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Julian persisted, much to Tommy's chagrin. He didn't seem to either understand or care that the speedster was in no mood for whatever it was he needed to tell him.

"Dude seriously, I can barely stand up. What is it with you anyway, you think just because you're rich you can get people to do whatever you want ?" There was a glint of something unfamiliar in the telekinetic's eyes. Something akin to hesitance or regret filled the expression which Tommy had long since resigned as the home of nothing but smug and unearned superiority. Tommy brushed the thought off. Whatever he was going through was of no importance to Tommy. He certainly didn't know the boy well enough to go asking personal questions and that was something he had no desire to change.

Still he wasn't going to leave. That much was clear. Tommy, in an effort to get the conversation finished and get back to bed, walked closer. He exhaled heavily and grabbed the boy's shoulders. "You suck. Just hold on okay."

Tommy took the boy and sped off. It was a pathetic excuse for a run. He was sluggish and disoriented, much slower than usual but still quicker than anyone else. In an instant they were away from the school in a far part of the grounds that seemed private enough to ensure they were alone.

"Alright Keller," he said as he skidded to a stop. "Here we are, what was so important it couldn't wait ?" His tone was quick and impatient. He looked over the boy's shoulder. On the far edge, a few hundred yards away, he could see a silloutte. A tall blond woman with a lollipop seemed to be watching them. Tommy recognized her.

"Is that the new nurse ? What in the world is she doing out here ?"
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