LimeyPanda

The Sinners

Sam wouldn't kill you for poking his cheeks. He isn't the 'murder murder super cerial' type.

Also, I've got a post up, I left the fight as open as I could, since I noticed most people don't have actual fighting capabilities Pre-black-goopy-miasma-shit (this is now a canon technical term.) If people want to still get involved, I didn't specify numbers anywhere. Sam would be happy fighting three people or ten people.

The Sinners

[3 & 1/2 hours pre-incident]

Sloth's house was always a weird place to be for Sam. It was sort of a contrast to what he'd experienced in other gang situations but at the same time, it was ideal for the sinners. The space was compact and only a single floor was occupied by six people whenever they visited. It was a floor filled with computers and guns and all sorts of other things that a budding criminal organisation might need, it just lacked the man power to use it all. As far as Sam knew, none of his fellow sins were particularly tech savvy. He could probably figure it out, given enough time: but Sloth hadn't asked him to yet. The boss wasn't depending on him for this task, which meant that she likely had something in mind.

Despite how lazy she was, Sloth generally had a plan.

While waiting for the boss to show herself from the computer room, Sam had occupied a corner of the room and was mucking around with a handheld games console. He was plinking away at the piece of technology absentmindedly, with his attention only half focused on the inevitable victory of the current level. He’d mentally taken apart his opponent and now it was just a case of tying the victory in a neat little bow. ”Typical of Sloth to take her sweet ass time.”

He started to queue up for another match when Sloth came in from the computer room and slumped onto her little leather chair. She insisted on calling it a throne but Sam hadn’t ever referred to it as anything less than a leather chair. Despite that, she was dressed in not much at all. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t admiring it a little: she was easy on the eyes, to say the least. Not that he’d be dumb enough to try and fuck his boss: don’t eat where you shit, and all that.

She announced that the 7 sins would be leaving in two and a half hours. It annoyed him slightly that he could have spent his time much more productively if Sloth had just bothered to tell him the plan before hand, but she probably thought he’d have gone to a prize fight if he hadn’t been told.

She’d probably have been right.

Sam picked up his backpack as Sloth drifted off to sleep. He’d found it pretty weird calling the girl Sloth, but since she’d not given another name to call her, he had to live with it. So far, he’d not gotten used to people referring to him by his given moniker. Pride was not a name he imagined himself listening too, but he’d started to get used to being called it: if only out of necessity. “I’m going to chill in the arcade for a couple hours then. No point in me taking a beauty nap.”

[1 hour 7 minutes pre-incident]

Sam walked back into Sloth’s apartment with a boxed video games console and a teddy bear as big as himself. Apparently, he’d done well in the arcade. Sloth was gone from her seat, no doubt getting ready, so Sam just dumped his prizes in the corner somewhere. Now all he needed was to win a TV…

Sloth entered the room again a few minutes later, more dressed up than last time and ready to fight, it seemed. Sam was a little surprised to see her with the Nightstick, as he always pictured that he’d be doing the bulk of the fighting. None of the group seemed close to his peer when it came to stepping in the arena: although Sloth had surprised him on a number of occasions, so her with a weapon wasn’t a huge shock. Sam just reached into his bag and pulled out a few things: there was a pair of worn, fingerless rider gloves; a packet of cigarettes, with the lighter inside and a curved knife.

Sloth led the group towards the fight’s location and Sam couldn’t help but notice how…out of place some of the other Sins were. A few of the people were wearing formal attire: shirts and waistcoats and shit like that, while others still looked scrawny and like they’d get in the way. He’d just have to make sure none of the fuckers got past him, it seems. Sam wouldn’t want Sloth to have to find any new crew members this early; far too much effort for her.

Sloth laid out their part in the plan: Don’t break any members of the Damned and don’t let any other fuckers enter or leave. In honesty, Sam was a little disappointed. The job seemed…beneath him. He wasn’t really content with picking up some other gang’s sloppy seconds, but what Sloth was doing made sense: even if it sucked.

Sloth managed to take out the first fucker. These events always managed to get a few chicken shits who couldn’t stomach the violence and either ran or called in back up. Fifteen fuckers stood, and that meant that fifteen fuckers needed to drop to the floor. Sam was feeling less bored now, as the primal pride started to awaken. He had so much to be proud of: his skill and his strength and his speed and his stamina and the way in which he could break a man’s body in more ways than most people had clothes. Sloth may have had the first take down, but Sam was determined to have the most. He surged towards the group with fist raised. He bee-lined for the biggest man there and planted a quick knee into his jaw: knocking him out instantly. Turning to the thirteen remaining fuckers, he wore a savage grin on his face as they looked shocked at Sam. He seemed almost like a different man. Normally so calm and cool, he was suddenly a smiling battle hungry juggernaut. “Come on then, Dickheads. Let’s see who can put a scratch on Pride.” At least three more of the boys dived on Sam, and the fighting really began then and there.

In the chaos of the fighting and the adrenaline and the excitement, Sam lost track of time. There were no landmarks to recognise the passage of time, he only remembered the brief highlights of the fight: A guy whose nose he broke with a thrust of his palm, another guy’s dislocated knee from a quick stamp, the punch to Sam’s jaw that had him tasting blood. All the landmarks were there and Sam was left unaware of how many of the fighters had abandoned the fight with Pride to pursue the other sins. Soon though, the battle was cut short as an explosion caught everyone’s attention. Sam used the opportunity to knock out the last of his opponents with a brutal headbutt: and Sloth knocked took out the last fucker standing. ”She got the first and the last. At least she’s someone worth fighting for, it seems.

Sloth hurried them towards the source of the explosion, and Sam didn’t have time to count the bodies he’d taken out or that anyone else had taken out. He prided himself on the assumption that he had the highest body count though; the fighting shtick was Sam’s forte, for god sake. If some other upstart had knocked out more people than him…

Sam was directly behind Sloth, wanting to lead the way in case the fighting got thicker. Inside the complex was far too quiet for a gang-war though. No one was shouting, no one was fighting, no one was making much noise at all: That was until the explosion of black gas sent people onto their ass. Sam took a heavy blow and was blown backwards towards the wall. He wrapped an arm around his head to stop himself from taking a major blow and when he hit the concrete, he heard an audible ‘snap.’ The pain kept him wide awake, and he saw the black gas creeping in closer. He couldn’t hold his breath as he inhaled sharply from the pain. Black gas filled his lungs and he wanted to choke. His eyes were growing darker.

“Sh…it…”
[Present time]

’Wake up.’ The voice was familiar, but equally not-so. It wasn’t his, wasn’t Sloth’s, wasn’t any of the other Sins either. ’Wake up!’ The voice was getting angrier now. Annoyed at being ignored it seemed. Waking up was harder than it looked: his body felt so heavy. ‘Don’t you have any pride, whelp? Wake the fuck up!’ God he felt hungry. ’At this rate, the others are going to wake up before you.’

“Nnng…” Sam grunted slowly as he stirred from unconsciousness. He wasn’t going to be some undependable schmuck. Fuck that.

The familiar voice of doubt seemed more approving as it grew quieter. Sloth seemed to have heard the grunt of Pride, as she shook him awake next. She told him to wake up while she woke everyone up, Sam touched his should-be-broken right arm: only to feel it as strong as the start of the day. Stronger even, perhaps.

“…The fuck?”

Sloth led the group outside of the complex and somehow, they were back at the base. No one said any major words until Sloth said what everyone was thinking. The fuck, indeed.

“I think…we got set up or some shit. That black shit in the complex…Must have been a hallucinogenic or some crap. I thought I broke my arm in the explosion, but it’s perfect…better than perfect, even.” Looking at his right arm, he noticed something off. The old scar on his knuckle, the one he got when Little C first mugged him, was also gone. He couldn’t find a single old scar on his body.

…The fuck, indeed.

The Sinners

The redbull one mostly...And the poking of Pride. I'm not sure how he would take that.

The Sinners

I'm not sure how to take that...

Edit: The banner is fantastic. Thanks for the work. I intend to use it within the hour

The Sinners

I'm in GMT. It is currently 11:11, as I write this post.

Rule Britannia and all that.

The Sinners

Ashwisp?!?!?!

The Sinners

I get the concept of the personal arcs. An interesting way to do it, I think.

I'm going to start working on a post now, so that'll be nice.

Edit: I'll also add Pride's opinions on people and the other two major points for a character arc to my sheet after that.

The Sinners

It only just dawned on my dopey ass that

a) Is your avatar one of the goons from Breaker: new waves?

b) I have at least another two potential character arcs which I'll write up at some point.

The Sinners

Thank you for the approval: i look forward to RPing with you all.

I was initially tempted to go along the lines of the 'bored rich-kid' route, but in the end I elected to have a sort of 'rising trouble-maker' sort of thing. Ambitious and constantly hungry for more, yes. But someone who worked for everything he had and someone who knows both the pain of having and being nothing and the value of working your ass off.

Edit: That English was horrible. Let me try again.

The Sinners

Sam Kennedy-Pride

Name: Sam Kennedy

Title: Pride

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Appearance: Sam is a handsome man with at least some Asian heritage in his blood. His ebony hair is kept short and neat. His eyes are a bright emerald green colour, and are often seen wandering as he analyses his surroundings. Sam stands at six foot four inches in height, and his body is filled out with lean, powerful muscles: perfect for a brawler and perfect for Sam.

Personality: Sam is a man who takes pride in himself and in everything he does. He remains a cool and collected perfectionist: undertaking even the smallest task with the utmost effort. Because of this perfectionist attitude, Sam can come across as very intense; especially to other people in the Sinner’s gang not of his status. He takes a great amount of pleasure in any and all adoration that he receives from people, and as such, he often seeks to ‘subjugate’ people into revering him. Before he joined the sinners, he had a small gang of his own that revered the man with a frightening reverence.

Sam seems apt at attracting trouble: as he has a very loose mouth and isn’t afraid to call someone a dickhead, should they act like a dickhead. This blunt honesty generally has two effects on people: as it either garners respect for the man or encourages a certain loathing. Sam prides himself on being dependable, and as such he refuses to let people see him at his worst and will often take on ridiculous tasks for the few people he respects.

The other key factor of the intense Sam Kennedy is his fervent pursuit of new thrills. He is an adrenaline junky in his free time and won’t hesitate to jump head-first into danger: should it seem ‘fun’

In short, Sam is an intense, dependable man whose mysterious charisma and blunt attitude makes him likable, while his adrenaline-seeking stubborn-ness can make him lovable or loath-able in equal measures.

Abilities: Sam is, in his own words, not that clever. His wit is above average, as is his intelligence, but Sam’s true talent is his knack for learning. Sam has a near-perfect eidetic memory and internalises information very quickly. This led to a lot of useful talents being picked up very quickly: namely four martial arts, the ability to hotwire a car in fewer than seven seconds and, his personal favourite, the ability to tie a cherry stem with his tongue.

Powers:
[Perfection] – The host of Pride does not hinder to such pitiful forces as injury or even death.
Sam’s most important gift is his ability to heal. It sounds mundane, but in reality, the host of pride appears to be immortal. Every injury is healed in a matter of moments, with any wound seeping a black miasma that only seals when the injury is fully healed and Sam is fully recovered. So far, Sam has tested a number of injuries: broken fingers, dismemberment, burning, drowning and a bullet in the head have all been healed by the black miasma. Interestingly, Sam seems hungrier after major recovery: and the sense of hunger and thirst are not maintained by this ability.
[Perfection imparted]-Pride demands the finest from himself and the finest from his followers for it is a matter of pride
A lesser sub-ability of Perfection, Pride is able to imbue a slight amount of his powers onto others with the passing of bodily fluids. The most convenient measure is through the application of saliva or blood, and the ability has greatly diminished results. The greatest injury that has been healed through this sub-ability is a broken rib, and that was through a small blood transfusion. The ability only seems to work if the bodily fluids are direct from the source. Bottled blood has proven ineffective.

How you joined the sinners: Sam was born as the umpteenth son of a boring and poor family, who had succeeded a long line of boring, poor families before him. He didn’t have anything to his name except his name and he resented that. He demanded more from his life than a time spent wallowing in the filth of an underclass or demeaning himself as some low-class peasant. He strove for perfection in everything he did and demanded nothing but his personal best on all occasions. He didn’t get a chance to shine until it came to going to school though, where he trounced all expectations by his ruthless pursuit of knowledge and power.

He crushed the school’s preconceptions, ultimately succeeding in everything he pursued: academics, martial arts and any other opportunity the school offered were subjugated by the skills of Sam and he gave his family hope for a child that might breathe life into the family name. Instead, he left home at sixteen and had his name legally changed to Kennedy: after the successful Kennedy family.

Alone and without funds, Sam found himself doing odd jobs for money. The work was demeaning and he became heavily frustrated by it all. Life was becoming as mundane for him as his family before, and suddenly he was alone in a world that would swallow him whole. The youth came close to despair

…Until his first mugging.

Sam was on the receiving end of a mugger’s attack, and Sam used his martial arts to dislocated the thugs shoulder and broke two ribs. During the scrap, the mugger’s knife scraped Sam’s knuckle, and he was left bleeding and in pain and, for the first time in a long time, pumping full of adrenaline and excitement.

Something awoke in Sam: A carnal desire for danger and pleasure and thrills unnatural. Instead of having the thug arrested, he took the man home and re-set his attacker’s shoulder. Instead of enacting some vengeance on the thug, Sam thanked him.

Sam struck up a friendship with the street-kid: who went by the nickname of ‘Little C.’ Little C showed Sam the underworld and started to hook Sam up with little jobs here and there: small time gang jobs and basic enforcer work and eventually, Little C introduced Sam to the underground fight-clubs.

The fight clubs were everything Sam dreamed of: A place to fulfil his dangerous addiction to adrenaline while not being persecuted for his ruthlessly efficiency. He thrived in the den of fighters and made a name for himself as a vicious and cunning fighter.

At the age of eighteen, it seemed that Sam had attracted a number of offers from various gangs to become a member. They used various titles: Enforcer, lieutenant, bodyguard and various other titles. All of them were boring to Sam. They all required subservice to a lesser man or woman.

That was until he got an offer from Sloth, in an arcade no less.

Sam had taken to arcades as a new distraction between scraps. They offered something he couldn’t so easily master and that challenge was enough to interest him. He was especially fond of fighter games and was considered a champion amongst the kids. That was until Sloth came along and offered to pay for a few games of his time.

The pair talked for a while, and eventually Sloth offered him a job in her own fledgling gang. Not as an enforcer or a lieutenant or a wingman or anything as boring as that: but as a sin. The position was something worth fighting for and worth keeping.

…An offer worth being proud of.

Personal Arc: Sam’s one true friend, Little C, always had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. No matter what he did, he always seemed to find a way to get his nose in the deepest pile of dog shit he could find and only through some divine providence did he ever escape with anything more than a few broken ribs. Little C would not struggle to get into trouble with all sorts of forces: rival gang members, the police, the sinners themselves or perhaps even with other infected.