Post by bluesp34r on Jun 17, 2014 4:43:57 GMT
Since Far did this sort of thing, I thought I would!
BYOND Key: BlueSp34r
Character name(The one which the item is for): George Brownstone
Character age: 23
Backstory:
George found himself alone in the vast fields of crops. Sitting. Cloaked by the unripe vegetation shielding him from the sun. His brown leather hat covered his mysterious eyes. All was quiet. Just a normal day, the crops were growing, the livestock was fed and bred, and the goods had already been sent to the local marketplace to be sold. Life on a ranch like this did not usually permit much leisure time for George. Most of the day he had to spend working in the sun, picking fruits off of trees, milking the cows, getting the eggs from the chickens, churning the butter, grinding the wheat, and making sure all the animals were happily mooing and clucking in their pens, waddling in their own feces. All of this had to be done on the daily by George, and his two brothers Cletus and Avery, and his one older sister Mary, under the command of his mother who mostly just laid in bed these days since her husband had gone to prison for life. Hector, the other Brownstone brother, had left a while ago to work on a space station as a security officer, bringing in the income to his family in New Birmingham, a small town on the planet Reade of the Tau Ceti system. George basked in the relaxing moment he had to himself, as short lived as it was. From a distance, George's sharp eyes saw something huge descend from the sky. A shuttle. It landed just right outside of the ranch, bearing a large, bold, blue "N" for NanoTrasen. It was a small shuttle, not a big cruiser or anything, just one that could fit a crew of 10 at the most. Two men stepped out of the shuttle. They were dressed in matching uniform, black suits with various badges and medals decorating it and an authoritarian hat on each of their heads. The men marched in unison to the gate of the ranch, and then to the home situated in it. Their march spoke volumes of how serious they were, how sophisticated they must be.
George crouched in the fields, not letting himself be spotted just yet. But he stealthily followed them from afar, seeing what they could possibly want from this little ranch in the middle of nowhere. The men stopped in front of the door and chimed the bell. Moments later, an aged woman opened the door. She looked puzzled at the two men in their fancy uniform, looking them up and down as they had their hands in white gloves, folded behind them. "Good evening ma'am." One of them spoke immediately. "Is this the Brownstone residence?" The woman eyeballed him suspiciously. "Yeah. What'ya want?" The men proceeded to lift their hats and place them over their chests. "Did you have a relative by the name of Hector?" the other one asked. The woman blinked a few times. What was going on? "Y-yes...M'son.." she choked out. "Your son has...vanished...ma'am." Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped so fast it could have hit the floor. "Vanished? What the hell do ya' mean?" "Recently, we lost contact with him." the first man explained. "After a few security operations, he had just disappeared without a trace. We sent our best men, ma'am, to find him. But to no avail. We are sorry. This must be very burdensome." The woman gave a silent, strong nod. The tone in these two men was fake. Clearly. They were merely pretending to be sympathetic to avoid an angry woman trying to beat them up, screaming for where her son went.
George leaned on the shuttle the men had arrived in, not spotted by the pilot or anyone else. Not even the two men. As they returned, they looked surprised to find the young man leaning so casually on their ride in his brown duster. A hat covered his eyes, he could see them but they only saw a shadow of a face. "Howdy, boys." He called out, stepping towards the two men, the spurs on his boots jingling. "Heard ya' down 'n officer? NSS Aurora, right?" The two men nodded together. "That is correct." "Well..." George slanted his stance slightly so that he was at eye level with the men. "...'t looks like ya' got a replacement right'ere." The two men exchanged looks at eachother, puzzled as to what they should do. "Do you have any experience? Skills?" George smirked as he popped his hands behind his head. "Hector taught me everythin'. 'n I even gots ta' learn somes of that forensic stuffs from the sheriff downtown. I c'n prove it, if that's what ya' need." The men shrugged. "I assume you can apply...There should be a NanoTrasen recruitment center around here somewhere. Locate it, and you can see about a career." George nodded, waving the men off as they ascended away. George dusted off his coat, tilted his hat, and smiled to his mother in the distance.
About a week had passed. George found himself in a shooting range in a training facility, staring down the sights of a semi-automatic Colt M1911 pistol. A target was positioned some 50 feet away from him. He tapped the trigger, firing a live round towards the target. It missed. He tapped it again. Closer, but he had missed it just narrowly. The instructor walking by shook his head. "I'm not impressed, Brownstone..." at those words, George shut his eyes. The facility had suddenly turned into a green empty field. The target was now a series of bottles and tin cans fixed on a post. Hector was standing next to him, adjusting his body. "'kay George, remember..." he instructed. "Back straight. Ninety-degree angle, 'n one eye shut." George nodded, doing as he instructed. His posture stiffened up, his elbow dropped down to the base of rib cage. His left eye was shut. He let out a shot. A tin can went "Ding!" and knocked over. He let out another shot. A bottle burst into shattered glass. George fired and fired off his rounds until his gun made a click, signalling it was time to reload. He released the mag, letting it drop to the floor and quickly slammed another one into the gun, locking and cocking the pistol. George blinked. He had landed 3 shots into the target's head, 1 one of them being dead center between the eyes, 2 shots on the chest, 4 on the abdomen, and 1 on the arm of the target, which was holding a fake gun back at George. The instructor marched over and hit a button on the console of George's firing range. He nodded his head, giving George a single strong pat on the back. "Weren't lying after all..." he said. George nodded back, adjusting the collar on his duster.
Behind a desk, George was hard at work. A crime scene simulation was taped off nearby, and George had just plugged in a cable on his simulator forensic scanner to a port on the computer and began typing away. A man, John Doe, was murdered at 14:33. His corpse was found in the holodeck. Cause of death was suffocation. There were three suspects; Mary Sue, Bob Smith, and Hal the Pal. The body had traces of chemicals in them. George took a simulated syringe and injected the minimum of 5 units into a reagent scanner, as that's the minimal amount of a substance needed to be traced. The machine spit out a chemical formula. George recognized it right away; Leoporzidine, a chemical that caused the lungs to stop functioning and shut down. Hal the Pal was a cargo technician. It was unlikely that he could have easy access to those chemicals. Mary Sue was a chemist, a pharmacist, so that way she seemed the most guilty. Bob Smith was a chef. A mediocre one at that. The scanner had finished uploading into the computer. No fingerprints were found, but there were fibers from black gloves on the jumpsuit of John Doe. 'Black gloves...Now, lessee...' George thought to himself, tapping his chin. At this point, most of the other detective wannabes had already input their answer to the criminal. But George realized something. The black gloves were standard for the cargo department, so it would appear to be that Hal the Pal probably knocked John Doe down and injected him with chemical he obtained somehow. That had to be it...but it wasn't. Too easy. Too predictable. A thought hit George. He got up and went back to the simulated crime scene with his scanner. He scanned an airlock in chemistry. Two prints came up. Mary Sue's and Bob Smith. While all the other detectives had input Hal the Pal as their verdict, George hit Bob Smith in to the computer. His was the only one that pinged as all the others buzzed. George stood up and spread his arms in a testament of cockyness. He had just thought around the system.
Months of training had passed, and George finally had an office for himself as a detective, although, his contract stated that he was expected to work as an officer when needed, and he complied. The airlock to his cozy little work space opened, and George dropped a briefcase off on a rack, put his duster on a different rack or cloths, and his cowboy cap on top. The chair next to him had a pack of smokes and a lighter. He ripped the box open, letting a cigarette run through his fingers. He put it between his teeth as he smoothly lit the Zippo lighter and guided it to the cigarette, kicking off his spurred boots.
Item name 1) Cowboy hat
2) Cowboy duster
3) Cowboy boots
Item description: 1) A stylish hat based off that worn by the pioneers of the ol' wild West.
2) A coat designed to keep the dust and sand off your cowboy shirt. It has many different buttons and pockets.
3) A pair of tall, brown, boots with a light heel. Also, with spurs. Ouch!
Item Appearance: 1) Take the detective's hat. Darken it up a bit. Add a little feather to the back of it if you can.
2) Exosuit, it's like a brown detective's coat except it partially exposes the jumpsuit underneath it.
3) Tall boots with pointed tips and spurs at the end. Decorative patterns on the sides.
Item Function: 1) Just like a hat
2) Just like a coat
3) Just like jackboots
Reason for item requested: George is my security character. I like to have him play detective most, but usually that's taken so I settle for officer. One shift, Far proclaimed how his fashion sense was the best in the entire security team, so naturally, I challenged him. George is also a cowboy so, I figured he would look like a badass in these cowboy clothes.
Notes: For references:
Duster
Hat.
Boots.
BYOND Key: BlueSp34r
Character name(The one which the item is for): George Brownstone
Character age: 23
Backstory:
George found himself alone in the vast fields of crops. Sitting. Cloaked by the unripe vegetation shielding him from the sun. His brown leather hat covered his mysterious eyes. All was quiet. Just a normal day, the crops were growing, the livestock was fed and bred, and the goods had already been sent to the local marketplace to be sold. Life on a ranch like this did not usually permit much leisure time for George. Most of the day he had to spend working in the sun, picking fruits off of trees, milking the cows, getting the eggs from the chickens, churning the butter, grinding the wheat, and making sure all the animals were happily mooing and clucking in their pens, waddling in their own feces. All of this had to be done on the daily by George, and his two brothers Cletus and Avery, and his one older sister Mary, under the command of his mother who mostly just laid in bed these days since her husband had gone to prison for life. Hector, the other Brownstone brother, had left a while ago to work on a space station as a security officer, bringing in the income to his family in New Birmingham, a small town on the planet Reade of the Tau Ceti system. George basked in the relaxing moment he had to himself, as short lived as it was. From a distance, George's sharp eyes saw something huge descend from the sky. A shuttle. It landed just right outside of the ranch, bearing a large, bold, blue "N" for NanoTrasen. It was a small shuttle, not a big cruiser or anything, just one that could fit a crew of 10 at the most. Two men stepped out of the shuttle. They were dressed in matching uniform, black suits with various badges and medals decorating it and an authoritarian hat on each of their heads. The men marched in unison to the gate of the ranch, and then to the home situated in it. Their march spoke volumes of how serious they were, how sophisticated they must be.
George crouched in the fields, not letting himself be spotted just yet. But he stealthily followed them from afar, seeing what they could possibly want from this little ranch in the middle of nowhere. The men stopped in front of the door and chimed the bell. Moments later, an aged woman opened the door. She looked puzzled at the two men in their fancy uniform, looking them up and down as they had their hands in white gloves, folded behind them. "Good evening ma'am." One of them spoke immediately. "Is this the Brownstone residence?" The woman eyeballed him suspiciously. "Yeah. What'ya want?" The men proceeded to lift their hats and place them over their chests. "Did you have a relative by the name of Hector?" the other one asked. The woman blinked a few times. What was going on? "Y-yes...M'son.." she choked out. "Your son has...vanished...ma'am." Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped so fast it could have hit the floor. "Vanished? What the hell do ya' mean?" "Recently, we lost contact with him." the first man explained. "After a few security operations, he had just disappeared without a trace. We sent our best men, ma'am, to find him. But to no avail. We are sorry. This must be very burdensome." The woman gave a silent, strong nod. The tone in these two men was fake. Clearly. They were merely pretending to be sympathetic to avoid an angry woman trying to beat them up, screaming for where her son went.
George leaned on the shuttle the men had arrived in, not spotted by the pilot or anyone else. Not even the two men. As they returned, they looked surprised to find the young man leaning so casually on their ride in his brown duster. A hat covered his eyes, he could see them but they only saw a shadow of a face. "Howdy, boys." He called out, stepping towards the two men, the spurs on his boots jingling. "Heard ya' down 'n officer? NSS Aurora, right?" The two men nodded together. "That is correct." "Well..." George slanted his stance slightly so that he was at eye level with the men. "...'t looks like ya' got a replacement right'ere." The two men exchanged looks at eachother, puzzled as to what they should do. "Do you have any experience? Skills?" George smirked as he popped his hands behind his head. "Hector taught me everythin'. 'n I even gots ta' learn somes of that forensic stuffs from the sheriff downtown. I c'n prove it, if that's what ya' need." The men shrugged. "I assume you can apply...There should be a NanoTrasen recruitment center around here somewhere. Locate it, and you can see about a career." George nodded, waving the men off as they ascended away. George dusted off his coat, tilted his hat, and smiled to his mother in the distance.
About a week had passed. George found himself in a shooting range in a training facility, staring down the sights of a semi-automatic Colt M1911 pistol. A target was positioned some 50 feet away from him. He tapped the trigger, firing a live round towards the target. It missed. He tapped it again. Closer, but he had missed it just narrowly. The instructor walking by shook his head. "I'm not impressed, Brownstone..." at those words, George shut his eyes. The facility had suddenly turned into a green empty field. The target was now a series of bottles and tin cans fixed on a post. Hector was standing next to him, adjusting his body. "'kay George, remember..." he instructed. "Back straight. Ninety-degree angle, 'n one eye shut." George nodded, doing as he instructed. His posture stiffened up, his elbow dropped down to the base of rib cage. His left eye was shut. He let out a shot. A tin can went "Ding!" and knocked over. He let out another shot. A bottle burst into shattered glass. George fired and fired off his rounds until his gun made a click, signalling it was time to reload. He released the mag, letting it drop to the floor and quickly slammed another one into the gun, locking and cocking the pistol. George blinked. He had landed 3 shots into the target's head, 1 one of them being dead center between the eyes, 2 shots on the chest, 4 on the abdomen, and 1 on the arm of the target, which was holding a fake gun back at George. The instructor marched over and hit a button on the console of George's firing range. He nodded his head, giving George a single strong pat on the back. "Weren't lying after all..." he said. George nodded back, adjusting the collar on his duster.
Behind a desk, George was hard at work. A crime scene simulation was taped off nearby, and George had just plugged in a cable on his simulator forensic scanner to a port on the computer and began typing away. A man, John Doe, was murdered at 14:33. His corpse was found in the holodeck. Cause of death was suffocation. There were three suspects; Mary Sue, Bob Smith, and Hal the Pal. The body had traces of chemicals in them. George took a simulated syringe and injected the minimum of 5 units into a reagent scanner, as that's the minimal amount of a substance needed to be traced. The machine spit out a chemical formula. George recognized it right away; Leoporzidine, a chemical that caused the lungs to stop functioning and shut down. Hal the Pal was a cargo technician. It was unlikely that he could have easy access to those chemicals. Mary Sue was a chemist, a pharmacist, so that way she seemed the most guilty. Bob Smith was a chef. A mediocre one at that. The scanner had finished uploading into the computer. No fingerprints were found, but there were fibers from black gloves on the jumpsuit of John Doe. 'Black gloves...Now, lessee...' George thought to himself, tapping his chin. At this point, most of the other detective wannabes had already input their answer to the criminal. But George realized something. The black gloves were standard for the cargo department, so it would appear to be that Hal the Pal probably knocked John Doe down and injected him with chemical he obtained somehow. That had to be it...but it wasn't. Too easy. Too predictable. A thought hit George. He got up and went back to the simulated crime scene with his scanner. He scanned an airlock in chemistry. Two prints came up. Mary Sue's and Bob Smith. While all the other detectives had input Hal the Pal as their verdict, George hit Bob Smith in to the computer. His was the only one that pinged as all the others buzzed. George stood up and spread his arms in a testament of cockyness. He had just thought around the system.
Months of training had passed, and George finally had an office for himself as a detective, although, his contract stated that he was expected to work as an officer when needed, and he complied. The airlock to his cozy little work space opened, and George dropped a briefcase off on a rack, put his duster on a different rack or cloths, and his cowboy cap on top. The chair next to him had a pack of smokes and a lighter. He ripped the box open, letting a cigarette run through his fingers. He put it between his teeth as he smoothly lit the Zippo lighter and guided it to the cigarette, kicking off his spurred boots.
Item name 1) Cowboy hat
2) Cowboy duster
3) Cowboy boots
Item description: 1) A stylish hat based off that worn by the pioneers of the ol' wild West.
2) A coat designed to keep the dust and sand off your cowboy shirt. It has many different buttons and pockets.
3) A pair of tall, brown, boots with a light heel. Also, with spurs. Ouch!
Item Appearance: 1) Take the detective's hat. Darken it up a bit. Add a little feather to the back of it if you can.
2) Exosuit, it's like a brown detective's coat except it partially exposes the jumpsuit underneath it.
3) Tall boots with pointed tips and spurs at the end. Decorative patterns on the sides.
Item Function: 1) Just like a hat
2) Just like a coat
3) Just like jackboots
Reason for item requested: George is my security character. I like to have him play detective most, but usually that's taken so I settle for officer. One shift, Far proclaimed how his fashion sense was the best in the entire security team, so naturally, I challenged him. George is also a cowboy so, I figured he would look like a badass in these cowboy clothes.
Notes: For references:
Duster
Hat.
Boots.