Avatar of udonoodles
  • Last Seen: 10 days ago
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    1. udonoodles 2 yrs ago
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Status

Recent Statuses

11 mos ago
Current god gives his comfiest naps to his strongest snoozers
2 likes
1 yr ago
ai art produces unhealthy and unrealistic beauty standards of how many fingers our hands should have
5 likes
1 yr ago
yoshitsune is a lot of effort when naoto can sweep most trash mobs with instakills and the majority of endgame bosses have innate phys resistance
1 like
1 yr ago
the status bar is great because you can force an entire website to listen to your stream of consciousness and since there's no block or mute function there's nothing anyone can do about it
9 likes
1 yr ago
decades since the concept of a music video first debuted and humanity has still yet to top ok go hopping across treadmills in what is very clearly a community hall they rented for the day
1 like

Bio

udon
19 y/o from ireland, he/him
new to forum RP, but i’ve roleplayed for somewhere around a decade now on sites like twitter, chatzy and discord. i prefer "advanced", detailed roleplay: i can do what's considered "casual" here, but in terms of anything below that i get absolutely nothing out of one-lining lol. as well as ocs from both canon and wholly original sources, i can also play a variety of canon characters from various franchises, such as:
(bolded text marks franchises i'm especially interested in)

bayonetta
jojo’s bizarre adventure (parts 1-8, plus other araki works e.g. baoh the visitor)
persona (1-5)
shin megami tensei (and it's associated spinoffs, eg digital devil saga)
• shovel knight
• guilty gear
resident evil
• stranger things
team fortress 2
• half life
• portal
doctor who (this is a big one. includes all doctor who related media, even spinoffs, even the weird spinoffs like faction paradox)
• the office
• breaking bad/better call saul
• fallout
• marvel cinematic universe (tentatively)
• deltarune
• hades
• pretty much all the 1st party ips in smash bros


and probably a few more i’m forgetting.
i have some experience with combat rp, as well as managing, moderating and running rps for decently sized groups on discord.

discord is udon#3934

testimonials:
"udon you are my hero" - duskkyy
"Soooo like. Udon right? Love that guy!" - Icarus
"I want to talk to Udon about the fall of Constantinople" - Cloaked
"an udon sandwich is EXTREMELY possible" - David
"bearing in mind here udon is a massive homosexual" - megar
"udon do you ever stop to think about the things you type before you type them" - Igloo
"Udon the kinda fella who exhales unnecessarily loudly after having a drink" - Lava
"IMAGINE I just walk into a shop and I see udon there. I’d just freak out. I’d flip it. It’d be bonkers. It’s mental. I’d go insane. Totally crazy." - Icarus, again
"udon isn't human" - RoseWolf
"I frankly don’t even know if Udon exists." - SomeMekBoy

Most Recent Posts

by the grace of modern medicine and an ungodly amount of caffeine, i come bearing a victor post.
S T A R K I N D U S T R I E S P R E S E N T S . . .
T H E V I S I O N




> ADENOSINE SIMULACRUM ANTAGONISED
> INITIATING WAKEFULNESS PROTOCOL
> FOUND 3 ERRORS IN AMYGDALAN REGULATION SUBSYSTEMS. CONTINUE BOOT?
> BOOTING...




A thin-faced, black haired man stared through the one-way glass at Victor, thumbing the arm of his glasses and staring dumbfoundedly.
“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a radio, Adrian,” Martinella sighed, arms crossed. “He asked me to take it apart so he could put it back together.”

And that was exactly what Victor was doing. Humming a Cole Porter classic to himself, he ran his finger along the underside of what appeared to be a power cable. As he went, he left behind sparks of white-hot heat, soldering the wire to the circuit board below once it made contact.

“Why the—” Adrian scoffed, guffawing in incredulity. “Why would he ask for that?”

Dr. Mancha pinched her brow, visibly unimpressed. “Because when you create an intelligence intended to mimic a human brain as closely as possible, one of the unfortunate side effects is that they tend to get bored from time to time.”

“Bored? he’s a robot,” Adrian hissed through teeth more often gritted than not. “He’s not supposed to get bored,” An undertone of nervousness crept into his impatience. “Nothing with a one-of-a-kind goddamn fusion reactor in its chest should have the capacity to get bored.”

“Oh, so when Newsfront wants to know, he’s a new form of life. But when we have to actually treat him like one,” Martinella held her hands up, mimicking Adrian’s tone. “He’s back to being just a robot.”

“And who told you we were aiming to “mimic the human brain”? If you’ve been listening to the Newsfront segments, then you should remember that we wanted to go beyond that.”

“Yes. And the team’s idea for going beyond the capabilities of the human mind was a teenager in desperate need of Adderall without the ability to take it. So, again, bored.”

“He’s not a teenager, Martinella. Some of the algorithms and mental processing systems used to program his thought patterns are older than both of us. He’s perfectly capable of—”

“Professor Reginald Aubrey Fessenden was the first person to broadcast their voice over radio.” Victor looked up from his work, staring off into space as he recited the fact. “On Christmas Eve 1906, Professor Fessenden played "O Holy Night" on the violin, and read a brief passage from the Bible.” With his knowledge espoused, Victor set back to work.

“...Okay,” Adrian acknowledged trepidatiously. “That was creepy as hell.” Maybe she was right about the Adderall thing.

Martinella just sighed, rolling her eyes. “He knows we’re here. He’s trying to make conversation.”
“Well, he’s terrible at it. And "he knows we’re here” is the creepiest way you could have phrased that.”

“Well, maybe Victor’s terrible at it because we keep him locked in a room all day, Adrian. Maybe that’s had an effect on his social skills, Adrian, what do you think?”

“I think you’re a regular Doctor Frankenstein, Martinella-”

Click, whirr, buzz.
“The electrical components have been assembled! Now, I’ll test it.”

“Impressive time,” Martinella remarked coolly.

Adrian cast a hasty glance around Victor's chamber. Not a single tool in sight. “How did he—” Adrian leaned forward, tapping the button to enable the intercom. He fumbled with the microphone, bending it upwards to accommodate his beanstalk-like frame. “How did you get the screws in, Vision?”

Victor smiled, cocking his head. “I used my fingers,” he raised a hand, keeping each finger held up and then bringing them down in a wave, timing it so that each finger made contact with his palm at the same time. “Just a simple twisting motion.”

Adrian turned towards Martinella, furrowing his brow and mouthing “What the fuck?”, probably imagining that simple twisting motion being put into action on some poor sap’s neck.

Martinella shrugged, smirking.

Their silence was interrupted by a sudden crackle, and the warping of noise to noise as a voice made it through a sea of static.
“I'm sorry, we've got a breaking news report. Sources are reporting an explosion and multiple gunshots here in downtown Manhattan. Police are attempting to cordon off the area, but eyewitnesses claim a super-human is on the scene, and…”

Victor frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Reed Richards.”





One of the Vision’s most lauded abilities during the initial publicity circuit was his crisis response time. Stark Industries proudly proclaimed that, by their estimates, the Arc Reactor could enable him to reach speeds equivalent to that of a fighter jet when necessary. “By their estimates”, of course, was the bit they said under their breath—they were eager to actually test it, but there was the ever present danger that the Vision didn’t quite have the holistic control over his body’s functions required to not immediately liquefy his spine on acceleration. A survivable injury for someone whose body fit together less like a fragile piece of pottery, and more like a child’s jigsaw puzzle, but synthetic spines didn’t exactly grow on trees.

They could, if the Farm Tech and Botany Division would get off their asses and stop playing with their little mushrooms, Adrian had once remarked.

Regardless, they had some very lofty promises to catch up to. Fortunately for them, they were safe from a grilling when it came to speed—not on actual merit, but by the grace of Howard Stark’s ghost, Waterside Plaza happened to be a fifteen minute drive from Midtown Manhattan.
Victor, fuelled by the fun-sized equivalent of a nuclear reactor, and unbeholden to traffic laws save for “try not to hit any pigeons,” could clear it in a little over five.

Zeroing in on the scene of the attack didn’t prove difficult. Throngs of cars and pedestrians hurriedly rushing away from the carnage became specks of foolhardy bystanders eager to catch a glimpse of superpowers at play. It was an easy trail to follow, only further assisted by the cracking of gunfire.
From on high, someone with vision as keen as, well, the Vision’s could easily survey the situation.

Now that was interesting. From a cursory glance, it appeared that a gang of armed thugs were attempting to steal a Roxxon energy tanker. But from that sentence alone, a being of logic such as himself could easily deduce holes in the story. Whether gas or liquid, whatever was inside that tanker was either highly flammable or highly explosive. To fire guns so haphazardly around it was wildly dangerous—if the integrity of the tanker was compromised, the goons could lose a lot more than just their cargo. Yet, they had thrown the truck onto its side and now appeared to be attempting to syphon out its contents. It was a wildly dangerous, woefully impractical plan with several much simpler, more lucrative alternatives—which meant something else had to be going on. There was more to this than a stickup for fuel.

Victor had entered the planning equivalent of his approach when, out of seemingly nowhere, a great skyfaring vessel swooped down into his airspace. Immediately, his attention was snapped away from the fight and towards the airship—and somewhere in Stark Tower, Martinella Mancha’s analysis of his mental state was vindicated.

His eyes were alight with excitement—and actual light, given he was refocusing the aperture of his ocular subsystems—as he watched the Fantastic Four take their place. The Fantastic Four. And Reed Richards! He mostly cared about Reed Richards. Given that he was irrevocably burned into Victor’s brain, anyone that remotely resembled Howard Stark scientifically garnered his immediate interest.

This was going to be fun! Also, terribly daunting. And wildly dangerous. He may die! Uncertainty brought such a maelstrom of emotions. There were at least five happening to him, right now. He could actually, literally feel the manufactured simulacrum of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Slowly, silently, Victor hovered down from on high, above the Fantastic Four’s landing spot. He paused, staring down at them. He swallowed.
What was he actually supposed to say? Was there a procedure of introduction? Did he have to greet everyone individually, or would just one, general “hello” do the trick? Was hello appropriate during a superpowered standoff? Maybe a “greetings”? “Salutations”? “Hola”, as Stark Industries’ PR were eager to get him to say?

Tentatively, Victor lowered himself down to the ground, red boots plodding to the ground with two muffled footfalls. He adjusted the cells in his body so as to slick his hair back hands-free, and stepped forward. He leaned in, across the Fantastic Four, and drew an open palm across his face as a hello.
“Hi. I…” He paused, furrowing his brow. “...Work here. Are both groups present the bad guys, or are we cooperating with one of them?”
Victor smiled sheepishly, before remembering where he was. He straightened up, taking two steps forward and holding his hands out. His fingers crackled with an arcing blue energy, the Arc Reactor thrumming and glowing through his suit.

“It’s interesting that the tanker hasn’t exploded yet,” he announced loudly, still ready for a fight. “I shall kick any asses in its vicinity and move it to a safe location. If that is agreeable? I’ll defer to seniority.”
He had, unintentionally, just called them old. Which, relatively speaking, was partially false, given the age of his kernel. But he meant it as a show of respect: Like he said, he’d take orders from the most experienced, which just happened to be the man most closely intellectually resembling his allegorical father.
He didn’t yet have the vocabulary to begin deconstructing that one, so he’d file it away and not think about it.
currently throwing down with a mystery illness, but the bulk of my first victor post is done. i should have it posted early tomorrow, when my sinuses decide to depressurise themselves.
i vastly overestimated the ability of my energy reserves to endure a christmas party, so my victor post will be somewhat delayed. if anyone was waiting on me to post first for the gm event, feel free to slide in now at your discretion—though i should be able to post tomorrow.
in that case, i'll throw victor into the thick of things, and we can play by ear for beck and the others. should have a post up shortly!
great! given that midtown manhattan is victor's base of operations, i think getting involved with the current event is the best course of action. assuming it hasn't hit capacity yet, i'll put forward my interest for it if anyone would like to make a plan of action.

@mintz dropping a mention, since you said you were interested in the event as well.
@Retired can i ask about how victor's sheet is looking? it's been 5 days since i added the sample post to it, though i understand if it might have flown under the radar given that a lot's happened OOC since then.


Elio and Hannah

feat. Teddy Douglas and Callen Warren



Eli had the distinct feeling the big, lost look in his eyes was finally paying dividends when his personal space was suddenly intruded upon. Almost violently so.

Even as Hannah came within inches of a collision, Eli didn’t flinch. He’d seen her coming: Generally, crashing into someone wasn’t a split-second thing. In the moment, it was—but that neglected the usual buildup of missteps and poor path plotting that put one or both of the crashees on their collision course.
Which was a smart-sounding way of saying she very obviously, visually clearly, wasn’t looking where she was going.

“I noticed,” Eli replied softly, bluntly, not looking away from the dorm listings. From the mouth of someone else, it might have sounded like a snarky stab—But there wasn’t a hint of malice in his tone. It was the simple, honest truth, as he was compelled to tell it: He indeed had noticed she wasn’t paying attention. He would have moved, but he wasn’t finished reading the list until…Just about now, actually.

His introduction was far curter. He turned from the list, facing Hannah with a personable, but restrained smile. “Elio. Or Eli. Whichever you prefer.” Previously sounding English, the undertones of his accent now finally broke through: The “r”s in “whichever” and “prefer” rolled off the tongue in a distinctly Spanish sense, revealing a pleasant Anglo-Spanish linguistic fusion. He pointed to his name on the list, his nails painted a deep black.

“Hemlock?” He remarked, finally a note of intrigue creeping into his tone. “Mm. Werewolves.”
A man of few words, it seemed—but not for long.
“You’re lucky. I got the vampires. Apparently they’re supposed to be…” He narrowed his eyes. Eli chewed his words, tossing each possible descriptor around on his tongue to feel it out.
“...Assholes,” he finally landed on, succinctly. “...Allegedly.”
Allegedly was the operative word. His sources, in their hirsuteness, weren’t exactly unbiased spectators.

“Harmless? It’s twenty-five metres tall,” he furrowed his brow, seeming confused. “You could easily crush someone with that. It'd be a lot harder to treat than poisoning, too.”
Once again, it was clear he wasn’t trying to be snarky. He seemed to be genuinely convinced Hannah had failed to consider gravity in her judgement of deadliness.

Hadn’t she asked him something, actually?
“I guess we could take a look around. I dunno, I thought there would be a…tour, or something. For us,” Eli gestured between them, neophytes united. “But no,” he sighed, forlornly. “We have to figure it out ourselves. Which is a good way to excuse trespassing.”
Beckoning Hannah to follow, Eli strode off into the crowd, unflappable.

“I don’t get this whole supernatural thing just yet,” he mused idly as they went, heading in the opposite direction of anyone seeming in dire need of a suntan. “Why do they hate each other, again?” He cast a glance between a pale-looking young man, scowling up a flight of stairs, and a copper-haired woman, sat by the dormitory listings.
Oh. That was the tour-guide, wasn’t it?
That was intimidating. They had to go up and ask for help themselves? No thank you. At least if she’d went rounding them all up beforehand, he’d have nowhere to run. Besides, she was all the way over there, and they were all the way over here, and there were so many bodies between them.
That was a lot of effort for something that would expedite the process of discovery whilst simultaneously bureaucratising it.

“You’re not as clueless as me about all this, are you? The supernatural, I mean. I was trying to look lost in the hallway, back there, so someone who wasn’t would swoop in and let me interrogate them.”
He was awfully forthcoming about all of this.
“I’m not sure if it worked.”


@udonoodles
Checking in if you guys are still interested in participating. If yes, please let me know when to expect a character sheet from you.


i'm still interested, though given the majority of my ideas have been overruled by the present cast, i might need some time to think over new ones. is there a deadline you had in mind for entries?

edit: on second thought, i don't think i have much to contribute here, so i'll be bowing out.
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