TruthHurts22 — Roleplayer Guild

DAKOTA

The casual chatter among the students was almost loud enough to drown out the low shout that echoed in the distance. What it didn't drown out, however, was the person who made that shout: everyone's favorite forgetful fool, Dakota Roice, cresting over the hill and speeding down towards the group, still shouting.

"Look ooooooout!" Dakota flailed her arms in front of her as she careened towards everyone else, gliding along the ground as if it were ice. She had just enough control to avoid crashing into any kids, though, yelling, "Sorry I'm late agaaaaain!" as she passed a large group of people. In a last-ditch effort, Dakota tried to dig her heels into the ground, like a brake, only to lose balance completely and tumble to the ground with all the momentum behind her.

And so she lay, a crumpled, scuffed, and bruised heap on the ground. But then she lifted herself up on her arms, sighing out a breath of relief. "Whew! Those are way different from ice skates," she said to herself as she picked herself off of the ground, brushed a few twigs and pebbles from her hair, and unlatched the thick journal from its belt. Not paying any mind to the onlookers her commotion caused, Dakota began jotting down the whole ordeal in her book, humming to herself without a care in the world.ORSON

"Sorry to disappoint, but I think you're not as early as you hope."

At the edge of the orange light of the warehouse, halfway in the shadows, someone sat in a small metal chair facing Molly. All she could make out was the man's sprawled-out legs in their roomy pants and a pair of tan feet, their skin rough and one looking more like a flesh-colored sock than an actual body part. She could make out the outline of his torso in the dimness, though before her eyes could adjust, he leaned into view. A muscular arm resting on his knee, Orson peered at Molly, squinting in the light.

"Really?" He asked after scrutinizing her. "You were out, broad daylight, looking like that. Damn..." He stood up, the chair creaking from the loss of his weight, and he stepped into the center towards her. It might've been a bit hypocritical, since Orson stood out too, with his shawl and the addition of a porkpie hat, but he didn't bring that up.

"See, this is why I can't stand you conventional villains," he continued. "You play the role of a criminal but do it so blatantly, with so much style, it's a wonder any of them can stick around for as long as they do. No subtlety."

Name
Dakota Roice
Hero Name
The Memorable Hero, Remorie!
Age
15
Gender
Female

Appearance
Dakota's skinny as a twig, liable to fall over during a strong headwind. Combined with her short stature (only just taller than 5 feet), big green eyes, and slight buckteeth, it's hard to feel intimidated by her. She has straight pale green hair, usually tied up into a simple ponytail, and wide glasses. When casual, she tends to favor light jackets and not too many layers.

As Remorie, Dakoto wears a dark green bodysuit that covers her whole neck and reaches down to her ankles. Thin lines of lime-green stretch down the limbs - from her temples, down the sleeves (lining her knuckles and palms), ending at the ankle - and form a diamond pattern on either side of her. These highlights are derived from strands of her hair, which help facilitate her Quirk through them like electrical wires. Black combat boots with similar 'wiring' and thick soles, housing a set of smooth steel trackballs (essentially omni-directional Heelies). Two halves of a pair of goggles wrap around either side of her head, connected to the pads on her temples, and it's all topped off with a thick lime-green belt at her waist, to hold her Journal.


Quirk Name
Memory
Quirk Type
Emitter
Quirk Description
Memory enables Dakota to form a bright green energy out of her temples. The energy is produced from memories, meaning that Dakota loses them when using her Quirk. The energy acts similar to a sort of plasma, burning through and damaging non-metallic materials and hot to anyone's touch but Dakota's. Once made, Dakota has limited control over the energy; at the moment all she can do with it is shoot it like a projectile. It's capable of being shaped and can even subsist for a certain amount of time once disconnected from any part of Dakota, but her lack of expertise with using her Quirk means she can't capitalize on these traits so well.

Once a specific "take" of the energy dissipates for whatever reason, the memories used to make it cease to exist. Dakota can't recall them naturally, though since the synapses involved with them are still a part of her brain, she can eventually regain them. Dakota can choose to use up multiple memories to produce a bigger effect (size, power, or otherwise), with all those memories equally forfeit with the blast. Memory defaults to her short-term memory when used, so if Dakota isn't careful about what memories she chooses, the most recent ones well-up first.

Memory cannot be used on memories that are central to Dakota - any recollection that's deep rooted into her personality are unable to be burnt up, likely as a self-preservation technique.

Possessions
Dakota's only real possession of note is her Memory Journal. She keeps it everywhere she goes, and records as much as she can down in it, from ordinary events to useless trivia to a cool poem she read that day. Most smaller memories can be regained by reading them in her journal - she trusts its word over any other's.

Sample Post
"Pull!"

Dakota's eyes snapped from the sky above to one of the lean teenagers in the alley with her. In the blink of an eye, the kid chucked his soda can straight up. Dakota followed it; as it reached the peak of its arc, the young girl snapped a finger to her temple and flicked it forward. A bolt of bright green light shot through the air and hit the can, bursting into a shower of sparkles and soda. The small group of teens cheered, echoing throughout the alley, and Dakota smiled, eyes locked onto the space where the can used to be.

"Not bad." One of the teens, a stockier one that was sitting on the drink cooler, shook Dakota from her zoning out. He offered her a (not disintegrated) soda. "What was yer name again?"

"Dakota!" She beamed and reached for the drink... only for the leaner teen to snatch it from the boy's hand. He shook his head, a coy smile on his face as he held up the can.

"That ain't what ya told me earlier."

"S'not?"

"Nahh," the teen said, glancing to his friends. "You said it was like, Geraldine, or somethin'."

For a moment, Dakota just looked at him. Her focus slowly shifted, eyes glazing as her so-called attention span turned her vision fuzzy. Then, with a chipper squeak, she said, "Oh! Okay." She turned back to the bulkier teen, smiling still. "I'm Geraldine!"

A wave of snickers passed over the teens. "Right, Geraldine," the lean one said, "let's see you nab this one!" He tossed the soda - her soda, not that she even realized it was - and she did it again, spraying the brick wall with sweet bubbling beverage. A small round of applause passed again, and the teen with the drinks held out another one to her.

"Not bad," he said, nearly the exact same tone as before. "What did ya say yer name was, again?"

Dakota smiled and, with all the confidence in the world, replied as if it were the truth. "I'm Geraldine!"


Name
Orson Bigges
Villain Name
Big Shot
Age
38
Gender
Male

Appearance
Orson is a tall, broad man, nearing a full seven feet and with a good amount of muscle on him. Not "spends a lot of time at the gym" muscle, but definitely "he will mess you up if he wants to" muscle. An even tan, and hair as dark as night, kept just at his neck and often slicked back. Angular face, wide nose, thick eyebrows and thin eyes give him an almost warm presence. His smile, though, that's what usually tips people off. Not because he smiles like a slasher-movie villain, but rather that all but one of his teeth have seemingly fused together, the bottom and top rows looking like curved slabs of enamel. Adding to this off-putting discrepancy, the same can be said if you manage to see his right hand and foot; many of the small bones and fingers/toes have fused together, leaving them barely functional, almost toy-like in appearance.

Usually, Orson never needed a big, fanciful costume. He'd always wear his usual clothing when conducting business - mostly fancy suits, vests, and a really nice hat. But ever since his downfall, he's been needing a more pragmatic apparel while he's out and about. As such, Big Shot wears a loose and baggy pair of pants, a regular pair of sandals, and a wide shawl that covers most of his right side. That's all he needs.


Quirk Name
Body Double
Quirk Type
Emitter
Quirk Description
Orson's quirk was, originally, very limited in its capability. Body Double let Orson make a single clone of himself over a short period of time. They had a shared consciousness and shared every physical trait, down to cadence and tics. The clone could also take just as much punishment and pain as the original Orson, though at a certain threshold it would disintegrate. The process was too long to be used in the heat of battle, requiring Orson to be clever in its use... at least, originally.

After years of slow EVO used, Body Double has since undergone a massive metamorphosis. Semi-playfully dubbed "Children" by Orson, his Quirk can now be used almost instantly, but the more important change is that instead of solely creating an identical lookalike, Orson is able to produce multiple copies at once, at the cost of their intelligence and likeness - they come out more like malformed, humanoid creatures than clones of Orson. The more he makes, the more the shared consciousness is replaced by a faint telepathic control, the clones acting on Orson's goals, so long as he can concentrate on them (the more he wants them to accomplish, the easier it is to disrupt the train of thought). This, however, comes with added downsides, the biggest of which being that the more clones he makes, the weaker he himself becomes, losing his luster and becoming physically frailer.

Inventory
There are two things that Orson never lets leave him hands: a small .357 Derringer that he keeps in a pocket holster at all times, and three thumb-sized vials of his infamous drug, EVO, a thick dark-purple fluid. EVO is a heavily modified offshoot from the equally prevalent drug, Trigger, with even nastier effects; complete biological evolution of Quirks, permanently. Side effects include premature fusing of skeletal structure (thus Orson's deformities), and in many cases mental instability due to the body not being able to handle the new extents of its Quirk.

Sample Post
Orson watched the ceiling fan spin lazily above him, circulating more dust than it did the summer heat. But his attentions were elsewhere. Like hell he would let himself wallow in this dingy apartment, self-pity piled around him. Even now, when he was at his rock bottom, rug swept from his feet and nothing else in the world for him, he was focused solely on business.

It just happened that his current business was keeping himself out of prison.

His mind's eye drifted between the different consciousnesses around him; he glanced around the corner of the motel he was hidden in, tracking every car that even passed the street; he scanned the skies from the rooftop, dropping low to the decaying tile at any dark shape that flew overhead; and he stared at the door to his room like a hawk, carefully hidden in the unlit rafters above. He was safe, for now, not that it would stop him from check.....

"...night's biggest story, the capture of Orson Bigges."

All at once, Orson returned to himself, like he just took a dive into a freezing pool. He sat up in bed, just enough to see the old CRTV, and the news that was playing on it.

"As I'm sure our audience is aware, today was another triumphant triumph over villainy as notorious kingpin Orson Bigges, otherwise known as 'Big Shot' - guess the guy had some confidence problems, eh? - was uprooted from his spot during a massive sting on his entire operation. Officials say that the majority of Bigges' manufacturers were arrested, putting an end to any major production of EVO within the Southern California area. Officials also say that while the drug's distribution is heavily crippled, Bigges himself has evaded custody, and that it is imperative that any knowledge of his whereabouts be reported. Coming up, the San Jose Armadillos face off again--"

The TV was suddenly wrenched from its stand and thrown to the floor, where it shattered into pieces. Orson was, again, surprised, but not as much as before. Rage had filled his mind, making him clench the bedsheets. And while his awareness had wandered from him, his 'Children' acted on his desires. In the dim moonlight, the three Children he had on watch returned to the room. Wiry bodies and heads too big for them, facial features stretched or outright missing. One didn't have an arm. And they were just looking at him, a low gurgling coming from their throats.

Orson sighed and released the sheets. "Thanks, guys," he muttered, falling back onto his pillow. He turned his head, staring out the window at the night sky, and after a moment his three personal bodyguards began climbing back outside...

To go find him a new TV.

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