JFK

In The Black (A Clean-Up Crew RP)

I'm a bit a loose ends as to what my character will be doing so feel free to weight my spinner towards the bad side, in the hopes I'll have more for him to deal with.

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

@JFK

Thanks for the shoutout, Mr P! Your post was an enjoyable read. A good amount of content to chew on!

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to add a segment to my next post featuring a phone call between Pearly and Joe? She’ll catch wind of where the brothers are and give him a tip-off… In exchange for a favour with no expiration date.

If you’re okay with that, I’d love to run through what that dialogue will look like in the PMs?

Could be a cool little addition to the subplot?

@themaybreeze

Sounds like a grand plan!

<Snipped quote by JFK>
Be careful that you don't make too many massive, momentous plot advancements like this too early, nor too often. The twists, the turns, the complications, the hauntings of other motives (including other PCs'!) encroaching into your own—that's where the fun's waiting. Joe won't be much of a noir protagonist following a simple, linear A→B progression, now will he? 😌 Just a suggestion for maximum enjoyment, not a hard rule I'm enforcing.

Otherwise, good post, and worth the wait. I like details such as the rock-salt and the olfactory notes lending credence to the atmosphere. Ditto Joe's casual racism and offhanded aspersions well-characterizing him from the start.

@TokyoPewPew

Good feedback. I'll be keeping it in mind.

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

hopefully it isn't too dreary

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

Joe didn't ask what had happened. He never did. It was none of his business, and frankly he didn't care. The two dirty bums had probably gotten bit back trying to rob someone. Serves 'em right. His office reeked of disinfectant and it was cold. Outside it was snowing in the dark Minnenoona dusk. He was still wearing his greatcoat while he stitched the smashed up one. He was covered in these little shrapnel pocks. But after some digging about Joe realised there wasn't an foreign objects in his flesh. Lucky bastard, it had probably been rock salt and not buckshot. "You're lucky kid, there isn't any lead in you. All the salt has dissolved. Once I've stitched you up I'll give you some morphine for the road." The young man winced and his brother chimed in, "That sounds painful doc, can't he have some morphine before you sew him up?" Joe shoe him a withering glance, "Shut up or get out. You don't get the drugs until you pay. Because I don't trust you scum."

These two boys were too brown for Joe normally. But they knew the current words the Irish were using. So obviously they were connected to someone, so Joe best not risk turning them away. The kid groaned and whined for the duration of his stitches. Hopefully this would teach him he wasn't such a tough bastard. As Joe put finished the last surgeon's knot with a precise flourish he nodded at the boy, "Good man. Time for that morphine. Hold tight." He left his office through a side door. When the boys heard the door click shut with the lock they locked at each other. The unscathed one got up and rattled the back door handle. The doc had locked it. "Locked. Fuck." They looked at the office window. It was also locked shut. He pushed his brother off the stool. From the pharmacy closet Joe's ears perked up when he heard a dull thunk from his office. He paused and pondered. By the time he concluded they were likely trying to smash his window out his jaw had dropped and his brow had furrowed just in time for him to hear a loud craaasshh from his office. Yup. That was it.

He fumbled with the lock for a moment and by the time he was out of the medicine closet he had just enough time to catch a glimpse of one of their rear's vaulting over the counter and out the window, trying not to get caught on the jags of broken glass. Joe swore and made for the door. By the time he was out and in the dark back alley they were already hightailing it into the depths of the city. He reached for his strap and tried to line the boy up in the stubby sights of his revolver. He knew it wouldn't hit them from here but he could sure as hell scare them. He popped off a shot, one of them squealed. Then they rounded a corner. He'd have to file a police report in the morning. It would be pretty easy to cover up. He went back into his office and made sure everything was as well to do as it could be before locking the place back up. He got in his car and sighed heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was a hassle, for sure.

He took a moment to consider his plan of action. Who might know where the pair of hooligans had hidden? He figured Sackville's Soiree might be a good place to start. Good as any. Those walls had ears. And eyes in many cases. And even if the house didn't know who he was looking for: McGabhann was always kind of looking for that sort of company. He fired up the engine and rolled out of the clinic and into the empty snow-burdened street. The streetlight bounced off of the snow to form a strange yellow haze, it cut his visibility. Joe leaned forward and squinted through as he turned corner after corner. Crossing his hands and idling lazily on the clutch as he swerved about the empty streets. He scratched his philtrum and sniffed as he parked the car. His hands stank of disinfectant but he was used to it.

He liked the Soirée. His taste was above the bland hookers here; but the drinks were good and the boys had blow almost as good as the chink's. He was thirsty. His nose was itching. He stepped into the bar with a curt nod to the doorman. He wasn't a regular but enough of a face he didn't need to hassle his way in. He ordered himself something strong and beckoned the powder boy with a tap on his nose. As his drink was being poured he stepped into dingy toilets. Powder boy followed suit.

Joe wordlessly offered him a fistful of crumpled bills and was met with a tiny brown envelope. He brought it up to his nose and carefully savoured it's acrid flowery scent. It would do. He stepped into a cubicle and emptied the packet onto the cistern. He pulled an old business card out from his wallet and a fresh note. He lined it up with a practiced hand and rolled up the note. Nothing itched the scratch like it. He stepped back into the bar. Wired. He looked around. No sign of Pearly. Or Roge for that matter. He scratched his nose. His vigorous hand reached for the glass and he took an enthusiastic swig. It tasted of poison and gasoline dripping down his throat. Delicious.

He was ready for mindless chatter but the handful of other early morning bar flies looked half dead. The bar man stood idly, polishing his collection of crystal tumblers. "I'm looking for a pair of mulattoes. Scum. One's beat up. Full of stitches. The other had a funny nose. Ring any bells?"

The bar man took a moment to respond. Scratching his chin. Joe laid a big bill on the counter. His face lit up. "Yuse always a kind one Joe. Anything for a friend. Not many half-breed brothers. Most broads learn from their first mistake. A funny nose you say? Sounds like it could be the McClusky brothers. Did one have regular hair and the other had kinky hair?" Joe nodded with a wicked grimace as he replied, "Sounds like 'em. You know where they haunt?" The bar man shook his head. "No, but the pawnbroker Aloysius mentioned they sold him some shinies a couple weeks ago. He might know more."

Joe grumbled unintelligibly. He ordered another drink for the road and knocked it back unceremoniously. "Send Pearly my regards, woodya." He stumbled out of the bar and fumbled with his keys. He swerved back home and climbed under the covers next to Ruby, his long suffering wife. He mumbles some excuse about a complicated emergency before he drifted off into oblivion. It had been a long time since Joe had been burdened by dreams.

̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

@JFK How's it going Mr. President? You didn't forget about us did you?

@TokyoPewPew

Nope! Blown away by the quality of what I've read so far. Working on something that I hope will do your efforts justice. I'm pretty swamped by life but I'm aiming for sometime this week I hope.

Graveyard Orbit

Molybdenum

Character Description

Name: Molybdenum

Species: UFO

(Unidentified Foreign Organism)
Molybdenum is a rare sentient alien. His consciousness is a fragment of his home planet's gaseous boron atmosphere and has been separated away from the main body within a containment suit that houses a fossilised skeleton of a fugitive. If the gas is diffused out of the suit, his localised consciousness will cease to be (death).

Sex: N/A
Age: The resident skeleton is thought to be upwards of 200 years old. But his localised consciousness has only been separate from the main contingent for under 2 years.
Reason for being on the ship: The Kiellar dissident leader known as Lorthrac crash landed on Molybdenum's home planet at an unknown time around the fragmentation of the Kiellar command. He is believed to have died on impact. When official contact was made with the planet, survey drones identified his mostly fossilised skeleton based on dental scans when it was seen moving around seemingly trying to communicate with the automated drones. The Dhasath exploration ship found this very strange but realised they could cash in his bounty. In order to preserve the skeleton's mobility they captured it in a slightly modified brig EVA suit and they shipped him off planet hastily. He was transferred onto the next suitable Mazdhul prison transport ship. The sentience known as Molybdenum only formed sometimes after the Containment Suit was placed around Lorthrac's remains. All he has known so far are the bowels of a prison transport ship. He has some very vague understanding of where he came from.
Appearance: A clunky humanoid spacesuit. The helmet is fused into the sternum plates. The tinted visor is normally black reflective, but in the right light you can make out skull clouded by dark gas. Within the mouthpiece of the visor is an gaslock that houses translator nanites and a Comms system to facilitate his communication.

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills: The relative pressure within his suit is several atmospheres of Caldera-3 meaning he is capable of lifting massive weights. He doesn't need to eat or drink. His "skin" is as durable as a spacesuit, because that's what it is. He is a very fast learner and highly adaptable because he has had to learn how to survive a completely alien environment for the past 3 years. He is naturally space proof in his current state, and he doesn't need to worry about suffocating or drowning. He also doesn't possess any organs or tissue to be affected by radiation or thermal stress (the main worries of energy weapons, though the kinetic energy may still knock him about, and the massive blast from Ragon weaponry would probably blow a big hole is his suit.)
Weaknesses: Massively susceptible to puncture damage. If his suit seal is broken, he will die within seconds. He spends more than half of his time in a catatonic sleep-like state. He is an alien living in an alien world, his social skills are incredibly basic; he doesn't understand simple concepts like currency or ethics. In fact, he struggles to understand most abstract concepts like pain, death, individuality, empathy, and he is completely unaware of the scale of the universe.

Graveyard Orbit

<Snipped quote by JFK>

There are some minor issue regarding continuity that we can work out in a bit,

@Bingelly

I'd love to get into this! I was a little unsure of some details when writing him out. Feedback/criticism is gladly accepted.

IDK if there's a discord or some such but I'm only available for contact on here.

Austin Is Dead

<Snipped quote by JFK>

Do you want to take a break from the upcoming round :o?

@LanaStorm

I think that'd be for the best. Apologies

Graveyard Orbit

<Snipped quote by JFK>

There are some minor issue regarding continuity that we can work out in a bit, but my bigger issue is that the app doesn't quite address what this character's deal is. What's their motivation exactly? What's do you see yourself possibly writing this character as or for? I'm not asking you to solidify on a character arc out of the gate, but I don't see a narrative hook, either personally or with the group.

@Bingelly

His motivation is survival. Learning to survive in an alien environment. Finding a place and a role that he can survive in long term.

I don't think it would have normal motivations because it's not like it really has a family or a set lifespan. I think his point is more the accrual of knowledge and skills and the maintenance of his life support equipment in a hazardous environment. TBH I fully envision him being killed in combat/due to a freak accident because those are the only things that will actually end his wandering. What other motivation could a new spontaneously formed consciousness have? He doesn't really know enough to have anything more specific than survival. Maybe if he has the chance he will develop loyalties towards other characters that will serve as a driver higher than basic survival.

Graveyard Orbit

<Snipped quote by JFK>

Wait, isn't this bassicly that one Hellboy Character uh...Kraus I think?

@Redking0380

Might be bit that wasn't my intention.