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Character Info
Name: Dave (Not my real name)
Qualification: College was too boring, left it.
Age: 17
Appearance: Wavy, light brown hair. Brown eyes. Big, white-rimmed sunglasses. Strong build, yet with an effect of lankiness. Mostly seen in a casual, loose tropical shirt with tight-fit white t-shirt underneath. Slightly ripped dark-coloured jeans with belt. Multi-coloured shoes (in skateboardshoe style). Always with a cane with the letter "R" embedded onto the sphere attached at the top. Boston Red Sox baseball cap, tilted to the side. Cigar in mouth, but not actually lit.
Personality: Likes to be casual around most things, but gets really pissed off when he is seriously annoyed. Secluded and quiet. Outwardly cocky, yet tries to be modest around things which he likes being and really is good at. Tries to be helpful yet ends up ruining most things. Is a true genius, but hates being one and tends not to show it. Looks out for others. Defends weaker people. Likes taking control of things when nobody is around to do it. Is a really big help in really serious situations. Tries to make good light of things, takes an optimistic view of life. When angry, gets really aggressive. Can turn seriously violent. Attracts a lot of girls, but tends not to associate himself with them - has no interest in relationships, nor females. (He isn't gay.)
Special ability: When the "R" on the cane is pushed down, and the sphere rotated anticlockwise then clockwise, cane transforms into dual revolvers with several functions attached to the barrel.
F1: Shoots normal bullets but with unlimited ammo.
F2: Shoots ghost bullets that pass straight through anything solid. Unlim ammo.
F3: Shoots Xbullets - bullets which explode on impact. Can only be reloaded every 5 minutes.
F4: Shoots one bullet when trigger is pulled, and when pulled again, the bullet separates into 8 mini bullets. Can only be reloaded every 10 minutes.
F5: Shoots a dart with poisonous tip, instant kill. Can only be reloaded once every century.
Story (How he got to the tavern)
He'd always thought of his mother as a historical figure. The only glimpse of her that remained with him was his first ever sight - a kind, loving face streaked with sweat wearing a loose, white hospital robe. Beaufort, his cane, and that memory was the only thing that his mother had been able to leave him. Even when he visited his mother's grave every year - a habit drilled into him by a father that didn't love nor like him - the only thing that was present in his mind was that one visual memory at childbirth. Beaufort was always present by his side, hanging at his belt.
But today, things were different. When he knelt on the damp grass - it had been raining - and put down the small bouquet of tulips by the tombstone, thoughts were racing through his head. The words spoken by his only friend at college - which he had left two days ago - ringed in his ears still.
"Dude, you're a genius. You have no need for college. Get out there, pursue your interests and roam the world. It will be better than college - which you don't need. Go, and live a better life."
Would his life be different for the better? He had always dreamed of running away. Staying at home with only his father for company was pretty much a torture in itself. His father had never cared for him. Providing Dave with his basic necessities, such as food, clothes and shelter was a hateful task for him when he was young. Even with a Porsche, a 6-bedroom detached house and a villa in France - all bought with the truckload of cash his dear old mother had left him - birthdays were nonexistent for him.
He did have money. Oh yes, his mother had left him a grand total of 200,000. Obviously he was only allowed a grand. The rest his father had spent on clubbing and gambling.
The fact that he was a genius bothered him. Not a wow-you-are-very-smart genius, a true genius. He didn't know why, ironically. Although he knew pretty much everything else. He didn't care about the 2,364,981 blades of grass in the surrounding expanse of 6.4 ft squared metres. He didn't want to know the exact temperature of the air around him, nor the volume of rain that had fallen for the past 5 minutes. He didn't ask for any of this, yet he knew it all and he hated it. Hiding it at college was successful right until the point when he accidentally solved the Virge and Tennyson conjecture, something which hadn't been solved by college pupils for the past 35 years. There was a prize of a 250,000 after all, which his father had kept for himself. Obviously.
That's when he made up his mind. He got up and brushed the dirt from his knees. He would leave this life and live another. He would run away. His father wouldn't mind anyways.
***
He'd left his father a note that he was going on a field trip. Even though he had left college. He'd taken his most valuable possessions, his unspent 1,000 and left his house for the last time. He didn't know where to go. He just knew he had to keep on going.
He ended up collapsing on a gnarled wooden bench. After walking in a random direction for 13 hours straight, he was blown out.
That was when the thugs approached. At least six of them. Broad shoulders, muscled arms with dragon tattoos. Tight vests and ripped jeans. Swaggering. One of them had a baseball bat. He told them he had no money. Told them to go stick there business elsewhere, which really pissed them off. He took a beating. His money was stolen, along with most of his possessions. He'd managed to hold onto his cane. He was never letting that go. He'd managed to keep it hidden from sight when one of them noticed. Soon it became a tug of war between him and the thug who'd seen Beaufort. He didn't know that the "R" had been pushed down. He didn't know that the sphere had been turned anticlockwise in the struggle. He didn't even know that it was him who turned it clockwise. He just knew it was Beaufort, his friend of 17 years, and he was never letting it go. Up until the moment when it exploded in a haze of grey. He looked at his hands and saw a revolver in each one. Staring in disbelief, the gangsters started to back off. He was dumbfounded. Mindblown. Even his genius wasn't able to understand this. The revolvers looked ordinary except there were 5 buttons on the barrel. 1 to 5. He knew he didn't have time. He would figure out the mystery later. He pressed a random button on both guns. 3 and 4. He swung the guns up and pulled the trigger continuously. He just did it without thinking. It seemed as if every one of the thugs were hit. One bullet had exploded, he could see that much. The remains of one of them were glistening in a pool of blood and entrails.
One of the guns clicked empty after the first pull. The other had clicked empty after the second.
He had committed murder. A crime punishable by a life sentence.
He ran.
He didn't stop until he saw a building 67.4 metres away. It was a tavern. He didn't know those still existed. He just knew it was one. He reached the rotting wooden door half a minute later. Stumbled inside. Got to the nearest table and sank in the chair, gasping for breath. His clothes were soaked. Blood was streaked across his shirt. He was bleeding, bruised and must have looked terrifying. The people inside the tavern - there were six men, 3 women and a child didn't take any notice whatsoever.
He saw the hostess make his way to him. She was attractive in such a way that she would have appealed to him if not for his current state. She looked around the same age as he, but her eyes were much older. Eyes full of agony. Even in her fake smile and forced enthusiasm at another customer, he could see she was trying to hide a vast ocean of pain. He observed that she was a bit like himself. Secluded, and living an unhappy life. Perhaps she had a story of her own. Perhaps she had lived a past full of misery and come here to start a new life. Just like him.
She asked him if he wanted anything. He said he was fine.
It was at this tavern where he would soon meet the others.
Name: Dave (Not my real name)
Qualification: College was too boring, left it.
Age: 17
Appearance: Wavy, light brown hair. Brown eyes. Big, white-rimmed sunglasses. Strong build, yet with an effect of lankiness. Mostly seen in a casual, loose tropical shirt with tight-fit white t-shirt underneath. Slightly ripped dark-coloured jeans with belt. Multi-coloured shoes (in skateboardshoe style). Always with a cane with the letter "R" embedded onto the sphere attached at the top. Boston Red Sox baseball cap, tilted to the side. Cigar in mouth, but not actually lit.
Personality: Likes to be casual around most things, but gets really pissed off when he is seriously annoyed. Secluded and quiet. Outwardly cocky, yet tries to be modest around things which he likes being and really is good at. Tries to be helpful yet ends up ruining most things. Is a true genius, but hates being one and tends not to show it. Looks out for others. Defends weaker people. Likes taking control of things when nobody is around to do it. Is a really big help in really serious situations. Tries to make good light of things, takes an optimistic view of life. When angry, gets really aggressive. Can turn seriously violent. Attracts a lot of girls, but tends not to associate himself with them - has no interest in relationships, nor females. (He isn't gay.)
Special ability: When the "R" on the cane is pushed down, and the sphere rotated anticlockwise then clockwise, cane transforms into dual revolvers with several functions attached to the barrel.
F1: Shoots normal bullets but with unlimited ammo.
F2: Shoots ghost bullets that pass straight through anything solid. Unlim ammo.
F3: Shoots Xbullets - bullets which explode on impact. Can only be reloaded every 5 minutes.
F4: Shoots one bullet when trigger is pulled, and when pulled again, the bullet separates into 8 mini bullets. Can only be reloaded every 10 minutes.
F5: Shoots a dart with poisonous tip, instant kill. Can only be reloaded once every century.
Story (How he got to the tavern)
He'd always thought of his mother as a historical figure. The only glimpse of her that remained with him was his first ever sight - a kind, loving face streaked with sweat wearing a loose, white hospital robe. Beaufort, his cane, and that memory was the only thing that his mother had been able to leave him. Even when he visited his mother's grave every year - a habit drilled into him by a father that didn't love nor like him - the only thing that was present in his mind was that one visual memory at childbirth. Beaufort was always present by his side, hanging at his belt.
But today, things were different. When he knelt on the damp grass - it had been raining - and put down the small bouquet of tulips by the tombstone, thoughts were racing through his head. The words spoken by his only friend at college - which he had left two days ago - ringed in his ears still.
"Dude, you're a genius. You have no need for college. Get out there, pursue your interests and roam the world. It will be better than college - which you don't need. Go, and live a better life."
Would his life be different for the better? He had always dreamed of running away. Staying at home with only his father for company was pretty much a torture in itself. His father had never cared for him. Providing Dave with his basic necessities, such as food, clothes and shelter was a hateful task for him when he was young. Even with a Porsche, a 6-bedroom detached house and a villa in France - all bought with the truckload of cash his dear old mother had left him - birthdays were nonexistent for him.
He did have money. Oh yes, his mother had left him a grand total of 200,000. Obviously he was only allowed a grand. The rest his father had spent on clubbing and gambling.
The fact that he was a genius bothered him. Not a wow-you-are-very-smart genius, a true genius. He didn't know why, ironically. Although he knew pretty much everything else. He didn't care about the 2,364,981 blades of grass in the surrounding expanse of 6.4 ft squared metres. He didn't want to know the exact temperature of the air around him, nor the volume of rain that had fallen for the past 5 minutes. He didn't ask for any of this, yet he knew it all and he hated it. Hiding it at college was successful right until the point when he accidentally solved the Virge and Tennyson conjecture, something which hadn't been solved by college pupils for the past 35 years. There was a prize of a 250,000 after all, which his father had kept for himself. Obviously.
That's when he made up his mind. He got up and brushed the dirt from his knees. He would leave this life and live another. He would run away. His father wouldn't mind anyways.
***
He'd left his father a note that he was going on a field trip. Even though he had left college. He'd taken his most valuable possessions, his unspent 1,000 and left his house for the last time. He didn't know where to go. He just knew he had to keep on going.
He ended up collapsing on a gnarled wooden bench. After walking in a random direction for 13 hours straight, he was blown out.
That was when the thugs approached. At least six of them. Broad shoulders, muscled arms with dragon tattoos. Tight vests and ripped jeans. Swaggering. One of them had a baseball bat. He told them he had no money. Told them to go stick there business elsewhere, which really pissed them off. He took a beating. His money was stolen, along with most of his possessions. He'd managed to hold onto his cane. He was never letting that go. He'd managed to keep it hidden from sight when one of them noticed. Soon it became a tug of war between him and the thug who'd seen Beaufort. He didn't know that the "R" had been pushed down. He didn't know that the sphere had been turned anticlockwise in the struggle. He didn't even know that it was him who turned it clockwise. He just knew it was Beaufort, his friend of 17 years, and he was never letting it go. Up until the moment when it exploded in a haze of grey. He looked at his hands and saw a revolver in each one. Staring in disbelief, the gangsters started to back off. He was dumbfounded. Mindblown. Even his genius wasn't able to understand this. The revolvers looked ordinary except there were 5 buttons on the barrel. 1 to 5. He knew he didn't have time. He would figure out the mystery later. He pressed a random button on both guns. 3 and 4. He swung the guns up and pulled the trigger continuously. He just did it without thinking. It seemed as if every one of the thugs were hit. One bullet had exploded, he could see that much. The remains of one of them were glistening in a pool of blood and entrails.
One of the guns clicked empty after the first pull. The other had clicked empty after the second.
He had committed murder. A crime punishable by a life sentence.
He ran.
He didn't stop until he saw a building 67.4 metres away. It was a tavern. He didn't know those still existed. He just knew it was one. He reached the rotting wooden door half a minute later. Stumbled inside. Got to the nearest table and sank in the chair, gasping for breath. His clothes were soaked. Blood was streaked across his shirt. He was bleeding, bruised and must have looked terrifying. The people inside the tavern - there were six men, 3 women and a child didn't take any notice whatsoever.
He saw the hostess make his way to him. She was attractive in such a way that she would have appealed to him if not for his current state. She looked around the same age as he, but her eyes were much older. Eyes full of agony. Even in her fake smile and forced enthusiasm at another customer, he could see she was trying to hide a vast ocean of pain. He observed that she was a bit like himself. Secluded, and living an unhappy life. Perhaps she had a story of her own. Perhaps she had lived a past full of misery and come here to start a new life. Just like him.
She asked him if he wanted anything. He said he was fine.
It was at this tavern where he would soon meet the others.
Only in male version? erm u get my point right? like the eyes will b covered in that extent right? e_e
