Doc Doctor

Diddly Do

@Hokum

-Donny immediately straightened up and clicked his heels together, saluting sharply to Dino, every bit the eager young recruit. It'd not be difficult to tell he was doing his best to keep from grinning with joy in order to look professional before the captain, an endearing display. There was no real joy in his soul at the moment. Only a black, smoldering contentment, charcoal embers of witching-hour anticipation.-

"Ayuh sir! Rookie Cadet Junior Buzz Lightyear, sir!"

-Look at the little sidekick pet trying to be official. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed, arms stiff at his sides, Donny briefly considered which position aboard the flagship he'd most enjoy. This was as good as a formal job offer by all means.-

Diddly Do

@Hokum@Zyngard@Dartbored Fairy

-Someone rose from the ranks of prone and huddling refugees, a decidedly aberrant figure whose face was framed in shadow and obscured by the brim of a fedora. Dino's teleportation hadn't gone unnoticed. Donny had seen such things on the telly, but never in person. He'd waft over to them like a black fart, feet scarcely making a sound. What'd give him away was the growling of his belly. It'd been nearly two days since he'd arrived, and just as long since he'd eaten. A strange new world, and not one he was familiar with. Such things could be remedied, but a brain can't run on fumes.-

"Pardon me, missus and sir. I could not help but notice yuh got yuhself a teleporter there. How's 'bout givin' us a formal job offah on that flagship of yours, hmm? Could use a warm meal."

Diddly Do

@Hokum
Cool, and just so you know, about a minute ago I edited a pic into Donny's profile. I didn't make any other changes.

Diddly Do

.

CANCELLED.

@Silent Observer
Huh. Not seriously?
Well, I suppose an overweight kid from the hood is less believable in a setting where very literally half the populace isn't straight and everyone looks like super models. But I didn't notice this was full, so my bad. Cheers.

CANCELLED.

@Lovely Complex

Ezzy Woodley

Just a fat kid

_{Ezzy Tyrone Woodley}

"Momma say, momma say..."
| | A G E = 17 | |

| | G E N D E R = MALE | |

| | O C C U P A T I O N = AMATEUR BOXER | |

| | C L A S S I F I C A T I O N = SENIOR | |

| | R O L E = HUMAN TEENAGER ATTENDING AN EDUCATIONAL FACILITY | |

W H O A M I ?

| | H A B I T S | Q U I R K S | O D D I T I E S | |

*Is extremely fond of boxing.

*Is familiar with 'dirty boxing', wherein kicks and holds are employed.

*Adores all kinds of food, especially soul food and fast food.

*Likes to take his shirt off for weird reasons, but usually just when he's angry.

*Stands at 5'11 and weighs 230 pounds.

*Rides the bus.

*Has no idea what a hierarchy is, only understands RESPECT.

*Can rap, badly.

*Has an amateur boxing record of 4-0.

*Lives in the hood.

*Carries two pairs of brass knuckles in either hip pocket.

*Anybody who mocks his mama, ruins his food, and makes fun of his social standing or financial situation is due for a visit to the emergency room.

| | D R E A M S | |

*To become a pro boxer.

| | F E A R S | |

*Spilling his food.

*Losing his home to the government.

*Taking care of his mama.

| | H I S T O R Y | |

*Ezzy was born in Chicago, where he fought Crips his age in back alleys. Several knife scars mar his fat belly and arms, and his knuckles have permanent abrasions and callouses from bare-knuckle boxing. He just barely made it through middle school and early high school before moving, and wound up where he is now.
His parents are divorced and he currently lives with his mother and grandmother. His mother is clinging to a menial job and his family is in constant financial straights.

A C A D E M I C S

| | E X T R A C U R R I C U L A R A C T I V I T I E S | |

*Football (Defensive Tackle)

| | B E S T & W O R S T S U B J E C T S | |
| B E S T |
History

| W O R S T |
Math

SLAM - Pollen Vs. Doc

@Drifting Pollen

The chain halfway encircled Catskull #2's legs as he was recovering from the brief stumble, however he still had his eyes on Tekla, saw her jerk her hands, felt the chain as it belted across the back of his rear left leg and swung about on the axis of his knee to snag at his other limb, right before he was set to pick up his next stride. The weight swung about, and completed its encirclement of his right leg. A common warrior might have kept charging in a foolish panic. Catskull was level headed. He knew he had to unfuck himself as cleanly and quickly as possible. Before Tekla could jerk his leg out, he paused to let go of the hilt of his sword with his right hand and batted his right fist down to smack the weight, sending it back around his leg the way it had come so when the inevitable pull came, the thing would just spin off him. If Tekla were hoping for this to serve as another distraction, the lusterless eyes glaring into hers put such notions to rest. Perhaps if the Terminator existed in this realm, she'd have been able to draw a comparison between the mechanical technical efficiency and unshakeable tenacity both entities bore. Were he to free his leg, then he'd continue the chase once more, striding quickly after her, both perhaps sharing in the knowledge that no one trick or technique would work twice.

Catskull #4 was wary, but without hesitation. He had an array of concealed knives on his person, and was aware that no warrior worth their salt was without the same. Knives were to be carried religiously, and to be used with tact and slight of hand. He was under no illusion that she probably had one of her somewhere, and given how she'd nearly caught one of his temporal clones, he knew for sure she was cunning. That being said, Catskull had a saying. "Don't mistake a horse for a zebra". If you look too closely for something that isn't there, you'll only deceive yourself. She chucked her chain at him, and as she had let go with her other hand and had aimed at his head, he felt comfortable ducking the shot without fear of her somehow trying to wrap him up again, but he was quite sure she had wanted him to duck. There was no point in aiming high with the chain other than provoking him into a predicted position. He was fine with that. He ducked no lower than he had to, and at no point did he take his eyes off her. He himself had thrown many a knee, foot, and blade into the mugs of fools who ducked carelessly, and Catskull had no intention of being caught off guard. As he did so he spaced out his hands on the handle of his Dane sword, left at the top, right at the bottom. Since she'd stopped, he'd slow down considerably, that when her body came within range of his blade (if it were at full extension) he'd only be moving at a slow pace favoring his right leg forwards, heel-toe, heel-toe, mindful of the position of his feet and her reach relative to his. He had considered only for an instant chopping at her arm when she had thrown the chain, but as a rule of thumb he attacked only when at his optimum range. He wanted to make no mistakes, risk no needless injury, whether she was unarmed or not.

Catskull #3 intently studied Tekla winding up her chain as she slowly backed up. He wanted to see how much she was going to shorten the leash, so to speak. Did she want more control over her swings, or perhaps she felt like trying some sort of Kung-Fu iron arm thing on him? There was but one way to find out. He'd either slow his pace or increase it, depending on how quickly she was winding up her chain. He wanted to adjust his stride so that the weighted end would be in front of him, and he wouldn't walk past it, letting her draw it back to that degree before continuing.

Catskull #1 saw the attack coming, one that he'd evaded twice before. He was aware that she might mix in feints and other ambiguous techniques after the basics failed, but he considered himself experienced enough to pick such things out at a glance, so long as he could put a pin down on the physical abilities of his opponent. She'd startled him a few times already, and his ego was bruised, despite how she was clearly a class above even respected knights. To Catskull a peasant was a peasant, and he would not let this lowly woman see him sweat. If anything, he wanted to crush her resolve first. He curtly sidestepped the downwards stroke (to his right), replying without missing a beat.

"Should not a butcher save the flame for after the beef hath been parted by the knife? Ye' have not yet warranted thy fate, for mine blade be only for they who are fit to touch the hem of this, mine tunic. Ye' cannot yet touch even the wind that follows my footsteps, knave. Thou art not ready for the blade or the flame."

GARFIELD vs SHREK : THE CLASH OF CHAMPIONS

@Warpcircuit

-Shrek hadn't taken a step since he had exited the outhouse, and thus the outhouse it was behind him. As Garfield stepped around him Shrek swung about with a roundhouse meant to hit Garfield in the ass and send him arching into the horrific crap hole.-

"Oh no ye' don't! There's only two ways out of me swamp, and just one if me plumming is broken. And AH DON'T HAVE PLUMMIN'!"

SLAM - Pollen Vs. Doc

@Drifting Pollen

Catskull #2 maintained his steady forwards pace, closing in foot by foot. As the chain came down, he weaved to the left with a grimace of effort, almost stumbling and losing a pace. He wasn't used to having to fight opponents on par with his speed, but...

He was a fast learner.
This variation of Tekla seemed more virile, and he figured that it wouldn't be much longer before she totally branched away from what the original was doing. He knew by now that she was at the peak of human ability, but she knew not the same for Catskull. The Maclungs were typically known for dark magic, dark hearts, and foolish deaths. Catskull himself made sure that his original didn't get his hands dirty in public, allowing his alternate selves to cleave opponents apart so that it appeared as if he had some kind of remote sorcery. As most fit men would still be about a half dozen meters per second slower than him, he figured he had a good chance of taking her by surprise. As the chain came swinging down, he abruptly let loose and darted to the left and past it with expert timing, like a running back avoiding a tackle. He broke into a full on sprint, boots pummeling out wild rhythm as he whizzed towards her much faster than she'd have probably liked. She might not even have time to fully recover her chain for another go-round, unless she turned full around and sprinted away from him to maintain that distance. He'd slow once he was within two meters of her arm reach, that he not overshoot the mark or be taken by surprise should she suddenly stop or reverse in an attempt to catch him off-guard.

Catskull #3 progressed quickly, eyes smoldering with purpose. As the weight was booted at his face, he dipped to the right like a boxer slipping a punch. It soared past his head, and as it did so he aligned his rapier perpendicular to the chain, running the blade along it like a dullard's xylophone as he sought to cross half the distance at a dash. He was using the weapon to judge how quickly she was withdrawing her chain. Each Catskull was collecting information, sharing it, filling out their roles.

Filling out their roles so #1 could continue running his mouth. He had just touched upon the unique facets of inbreeding and how the abnormally strong women it cultivated were still peasants nonetheless, when she finally got in range and swung for his body. This was probably the last attack in the order given the lackadaisical pacing, and thus this Catskull was the best prepared. As the chain lashed out, he waited until the last moment and then took a large step back onto his left foot and leaned backwards, letting the weight flicker past his body. It was a bit closer than he'd have liked, damn thing almost hitting his sword. Next time he'd have to pay better attention, he mentally chided himself. She wasn't expecting him to know of her speed, or the precise length of her reach, but even then he had accounted for the monstrous reflexes he supposed she had, such being the reason for how tight he'd timed his seemingly effortless evasion.

"Hmph. Peasant! Lick these boots of mine, and mayhaps thy death shant be the final rectification for thine insolence."

GARFIELD vs SHREK : THE CLASH OF CHAMPIONS

@Warpcircuit

-Shrek took the punch on his mighty belly, the rotund mass of jiggling ogre fat absorbing the hit. The average strength of a mere human could scarcely damage the guardian of the swamp. Shrek placed his hands on his hips, smiling smugly at Garfield.-

"That the best you got, not-Puss? Trah again if yah want, elsewise GET OUTA MAH SWAMP!