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Name: Manny Rockefeller
Age: 26
Appearance: Unkempt would be the best word to describe Manny. He's often seen wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes. He has brown eyes and refined facial features, with long legs and a fit body. He quit smoking awhile ago, though he felt odd without something in his mouth. He tends to use toothpicks now.
Concept: Jaded and paranoid supernatural investigator and researcher with an old soul. Officer in the field. Sarcastic and tired.
Powers/skills:
- Wing Chun: While he's by no means weak, he has no illusions that he'll be the strongest thing out there, so he took it upon himself to learn a martial art effective for close combat, yet it's power is derived more from stances, swift strikes, and momentum than ordinary strength. He's been a studious practitioner for 4 years.
- Gun play: Years working in the back streets, and spent in shooting ranges, had made him an effective shot and a competent gun wielder. He's not the best, but he's reliable and a quick aim.
- Sleight of Hand: He's had to do some unscrupulous things in his life in order to survive. He's a talented pick pocket and lock picker, and he's not too shabby with climbing small buildings if need be.
- Recollection: He has a fine memory and can recall more than most would think, due to his obsessive mind.
- Lore Student: He's studied more ancient and supernatural lore than a grown man should, thrice over. He could be a mythology professor if he cared enough.
- Hot Rod: He can drive cars and motorbikes fast and skillfully.
Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont): Getting a whole lot of money.
Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will): Getting a whole lot of monster killing and crime solving done.
Writing Sample:
Picking the lock to the window was easy enough. The interior of the abandoned office building was stuffy and thick with dust. Manny slipped the cloth he kept in his back pocket up to his mouth, breathing in slowly as he looked around. His sharp eyes caught the trail immediately, dust having been wiped clean on the floor, leading to a trail that led toward the fallen ceiling of the break room. He placed his foot on the counter, and kicked off with a leap to grab a hold, and haul himself up onto the 3rd floor. He held his breath throughout, so as not to groan and give away his position.
When he pulled himself up, he didn't move quickly or anxiously. He knew if what he expected to be here was here, it would be much quicker than him unless he was prepared. He knew it would toy with him if he was slow, which gave him an edge. Manny wrapped his jacket around his right arm, holding a vial at the end of it. His other hand slipped the safety off his M1991 .45 handgun, and he moved with a practice silence across the floor, though the ruined wood creaked every so often.
The slabbering noise in the other room was loud enough to drown out any small creaks however, and Manny casually, slowly stepped through the open doorway to view a scene out of a horror novel. Grey and smooth, putrid flesh covered the hulking figure as it nuzzled its face into the open chest cavity of the still-warm corpse. Wet sucking noises filled the air as the ghoul fed, its back-bone protruding out like a reptilian spine.
The claw marks on the opposite rooftop had given the beast way an hour ago. He'd been sufficiently prepared. He'd learned long ago not to call the police. Nothing but red tape and lawyers.
"Hey bitch," he called. With preternatural speed, the Ghoul yanked its head up and turned, only for its putrid face to be covered in shattered glass and holy water. With a screech it leaped at the doorway instantly, but Manny had already moved. Summarily blinded, it hit the side wall and screeched more in pain. Manny stepped back into the doorway and fired his weapon, punching 4 holes into the beast before it croaked, and fell dead.
He swiftly covered his nostrils with a clean rag, making sure not to upchuck his lunch after smelling the insides of a ghoul. He placed his smoking gun back in his holster and retrieved a pair of bolt cutters, clipping off one of the ghoul claws to give Anna later (or to sell for a lucrative sum). He made sure to leave a streak of blood from the appendage, making it appear as if it had simply fallen off.
Before he left, he slipped on his gloves and fished his hands in the corpse's wallet. He'd notify the police of the death, of course. But he'd take some cash for his trouble. A man has to eat, after all.
When he pulled himself up, he didn't move quickly or anxiously. He knew if what he expected to be here was here, it would be much quicker than him unless he was prepared. He knew it would toy with him if he was slow, which gave him an edge. Manny wrapped his jacket around his right arm, holding a vial at the end of it. His other hand slipped the safety off his M1991 .45 handgun, and he moved with a practice silence across the floor, though the ruined wood creaked every so often.
The slabbering noise in the other room was loud enough to drown out any small creaks however, and Manny casually, slowly stepped through the open doorway to view a scene out of a horror novel. Grey and smooth, putrid flesh covered the hulking figure as it nuzzled its face into the open chest cavity of the still-warm corpse. Wet sucking noises filled the air as the ghoul fed, its back-bone protruding out like a reptilian spine.
The claw marks on the opposite rooftop had given the beast way an hour ago. He'd been sufficiently prepared. He'd learned long ago not to call the police. Nothing but red tape and lawyers.
"Hey bitch," he called. With preternatural speed, the Ghoul yanked its head up and turned, only for its putrid face to be covered in shattered glass and holy water. With a screech it leaped at the doorway instantly, but Manny had already moved. Summarily blinded, it hit the side wall and screeched more in pain. Manny stepped back into the doorway and fired his weapon, punching 4 holes into the beast before it croaked, and fell dead.
He swiftly covered his nostrils with a clean rag, making sure not to upchuck his lunch after smelling the insides of a ghoul. He placed his smoking gun back in his holster and retrieved a pair of bolt cutters, clipping off one of the ghoul claws to give Anna later (or to sell for a lucrative sum). He made sure to leave a streak of blood from the appendage, making it appear as if it had simply fallen off.
Before he left, he slipped on his gloves and fished his hands in the corpse's wallet. He'd notify the police of the death, of course. But he'd take some cash for his trouble. A man has to eat, after all.
