Doc Doctor

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

@RumikoOhara

As Tina carried on with a monologue, Lassar pulled down his zipper and began pissing into his now empty tequila bottle. Her words were drowned out by the loud tinkling. The bum wriggled his hips and farted as he finished up, before capping the bottle and shoving it into his coat for safekeeping.

"Eh, what was that now lad? Somethin' about a bear with gas?"

He'd then begin doing the splits, old joints cracking. He slowly lowered himself into the full position, face contorted with effort. He had to limber up, otherwise the next generation would never understand what a true asskicking looked like. He had to be in proper shape to not give shits.

Dangan Ronpa: Reloaded

@Haru Nyan

I dunno, he just does urban gangster shit.

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

@Wick

There! That's better.

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

@RumikoOhara

Lassar shrugged and walzed through the gate. On his back was slung a compact rifle and shoved haphazardly into his boot was a bowie knife. He had on his head a backwards camouflage baseball cap. He'd stop next to Tina, belly thrust out and eyes lazy. He smelt of beans, pot, and gunpowder. The hobo smacked his lips, plucked the joint from his mouth, and offered it to Tina with a near-toothless smirk.

"Try summa this boy, it'll put hair on yer' ass."

Where had he come from, who was he? He looked like a complete bum, but somehow had been able to afford a set of undoubtedly expensive guns. He didn't seem to be in good shape, but his lax figure and ease of motion harkened forth not the frailty of an old man, but the lounging latent energy of a big cat in Africa.

Dangan Ronpa: Reloaded

Louie

Name: Louie Stamper
Age: 17
Talent: Ultimate Gangbanger
Height/Weight: 5'10, 185 lbs
Appearance:

Wardrobe: Jeans, sneakers, white T-shirt. He often takes his shirt off.

Personality: Louie is a chummy thuggy who is as quick to make friends as he is to break them, but only if they offend him. He is secretly insecure about his weight, and very often mistakes simple harmless comments as dire insults. Otherwise, he's intensely loyal and passionate, with the soul of a true wannabe rapper.

Likes: Food, white girls, fighting, and smoking weed.

Dislikes: Any supposed mentions of his weight, animals, authority figures.

Trivia: Louie grew up in Hoboken, and frequently went to the zoo after hours to fight the marmots.

Willingness to become a victim (Scale of 1-10, 1 being "No way!", and 10 is "Kill me off, please!"): 10, IF they can take him down.

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

@Wick

I changed it. Gonna have to get Lassar a steel bladed codpiece eventually, so he can justifiably skullfuck zombies to death.

Dangan Ronpa: Reloaded

@Zenphilvian

Yes. What's wrong with a black kid who grew up in a tough place? I'm not applying with a seven foot murderer, you know.

Gotham City: Shadow of the Bat

Derrick and Donny

The two were in a dark blue Mercedes, a Benz. The thing had been in one of the rich neighborhoods, and probably weighed two tons.

"Ayuh, Ah'll have thah juniah hamburgah with mustahd, not mayo, an' a strawberrah slushah."

They would be parked at a Sonic, the best spot for hammering out details. As they waited for their orders, Donny would start dishing out his ideas for handling each potential problem.

Derrick's right gauntlet moved at the back of his neck as he put pressure on a tiny spot that was bothering him. He looked at Donny and then veered his sight towards the window, clearly searching for any loopholes on his plan. Of course, there were always things that could go wrong when one decides to take on the Bat-family. They were extremely organized, some of them experienced with taking care inhuman threats. But as far as plans went, Donny crafted a good one.

Maintaing the silence, Derrick took a step out of the Benz, letting the heavy door get back on it's closed position. He threw both of his elbows at the car's open window.

"This might work. In the meantime, we should split. The cops are probably looking for two criminals who may resemble us, after the stunt you pulled at the intersection. If you need me, come at The Factory between the hours of Six and Ten P.M."

On that note, Spider's grappling hook hit one of the buildings, hauling him up.

Donny's revolver practically jumped into his hand as he fired off a shot at the grappling hook cord right as Spider started to descend, to snap the tether loose. He'd then holster his weapon, nodding.

"Trah nawt tuh use them things. Yuh most vulnerable when yuh in thuh air, an' if yuh chasin' Batman up a roof, he'll be waitin' at thuh top tuh knock yuh back down. If yuh see a boy wondah doin' that, jus' shoot 'em. They won't be able tuh dodge shit. If ya wanna keep one, Ah'll pay fah thuh replacement..."

Derrick, in his full suit, felt himself gravitating towards the ground seconds after hearing a gunshot. He barely landed on his feet, his head instinctively turning to where the gunshot originated from. To no surprise, the shooter was his newfound ally.

"How about I pay you back right now?!", A volatile Dertick spoke as his right gauntlet got hold of one of his prized Five-Sevens. Without even breaking eye contact with Donny, he shot the car's front tire. A gunshot in such a quiet neighborhood would surely attract attention, not to mention how the duo were having difficulty settling on one car, mostly due to necessity.

"Have fun.", Spider spoke in his usual resonating tone, opting to take the more obvious route home.

Donny looked up at the sky as the Benz slowly sank to one side, emitting a continuous farting noise from the escaping air pressure. The Sonic waitress stopped short to watch in awkward silence. Donny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the squealing kept going. It was going to be a long walk to the Mall. At last when it stopped, he tilted his gaze to the waitress.

"Ayuh... Bettah bring an' extra slushie, dahlin'. Gonnah need it."

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

@RumikoOhara

Tina would see an old, dirty man walk into sight, waving a bottle of tequila in his left hand and an outrageously massive revolver in his right. He staggered up to the zombie with the slit throat and kicked her in the crotch. As she bent over, he slammed the butt of his gun into the dome of her skull. The zombie collapsed to the ground and lay still. The man took big pull from his bottle as the zombies began closing in around him.

He tucked the gun into the front of his pants and remived from his coat pocket a joint as long and as thick as a tiger dick, and after striking a match across his left eye, would light it. He took a slow drag, smoke streaming from his nostrils. The zombies were almost upon him!

The Walking Dead-From the beginning -Closed

Name: Lassar Calhoun

Gender: Male

Age: 60

Birthplace: New York, New York

Appearance: Lassar stands at 5'11, 161 lbs.



Personality: Lassar doesn't give a shit. He does what he wants, when he wants, damned be the consequences. He loves booze, pot, guns, and not giving shits. He likes the girlies, punks the fuckwads, and asks for spare change whenever possible, because dammit, pot ain't free.

Occupation before the breakout: Hobo, former Green Beret.

Skills: Crack shot with firearms, knows knife fighting.

Fears/incompetencies: Lassar sucks at everything he isn't good at. There's a reason he's a hobo. Man is too incompetent to hold down any job.

Equipment: Pfeifer-Zeliska .600 Nitro Express revolver, Sig Saur MPX rifle, foot long deer horn handle bowie knife, six inch adjustable shaving mirror, a leather belt, various bottles of liquor and bags of weed, an old dusty overcoat filled with holes, steel toed boots.







Group: Unaffiliated

History: Lassar grew up an only child, and he liked it that way. A loner, a rebel, an outcast. It was as if he were a separate species from other members of the human race. Perhaps in some ways, he was. He operated on a level entirely different from others. How so? He simply had no shats to bequeath. He joined the Marines at 18, after having competed in several state shooting championships.

When he left the core at age 38, he was a Green Beret who had seen death in Afghanistan, South Africa, Syria, and Korea. Regardless of his record, he knew of nothing else but war, and descended into a stupor of substance abuse to force his inner badass into hiding, lest he be driven mad like a caged tiger. Not that he gave a shit. Then came the zombies. Now Lassar has returned for one last crusade, to kill shit and not give said shit away.