Hard Boiled Writing Samples
The writing samples for my hardboiled_rpg characters.
Ulquiorra's Sample
Ulquiorra sat at his desk, carefully studying the blue prints of the building he was working on. He shifted his weight on his chair and made a mark at the very top of the page, furrowing his brow slightly in concentration. His hand moved the pencil over the paper with deliberate, practiced strokes - only pausing briefly when he needed to assess his work. It was nearly two in the morning, but he had promised to have the drawing done in a few hours. Since he never went back on his word, he was working a bit later than normal to complete the project. If he wasn’t distracted, he could have it finished in another hour. That meant maybe three hours of sleep. He straightened his neck before rolling his head down to stretch his stiffening muscles. Three hours would be satisfactory.
A loud knock at his door caused him to pause, head cocked to the side in mid-stretch. He glanced to where his revolver was located, neatly placed on the table next to his drawing utensils. Getting up off of his seat, he walked calmly over to the glass cabinet against the wall, gently opening the door to retrieve his green-hilted tsurugi. He unsheathed the Japanese, double-edged sword and admired the way the light reflected off the blade, all the while ignoring the incessant banging on his door.
He slowly walked over to the source of the pounding and listened for a brief moment. The movement outside told him that there were three men in the hall… one of them bound. He reached out and opened the door, bringing the blade of his sword to rest at the throat of the largest man present.
Ah… henchmen. He recognized the big one immediately, but the smaller one was a bit harder to make out, due to what appeared to be a broken nose and jaw. Ulquiorra just barely grimaced at the sight-not because of the wounds, but because he hated to see something so crude brought to his door. His gaze drifted to the third man, who was bound at the hands and forced into a kneeling position. He raised one of his eyebrows and returned his attention the larger man.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice level and unemotional.
The bulky man grimaced and stared down at the blade that had suddenly appeared against his neck. Ulquiorra blinked before repeating the question. “What do you want?”
It was the smaller man who spoke up. He laughed nervously and pointed at the bound man. “Ah, ah… well… y’see this guy here says he has something he wants to talk to you about… somethin’ important.”
Ulquiorra looked from the speaking idiot to the man on the floor. “I do not know this man, nor do I wish to speak with him.” He turned as if he was about to leave, but stopped short when the bound man flopped forward and landed, chest on the floor, next to his foot. His lip nearly curled up in disgust, but he managed to maintain his poise, merely looking down his nose at the quivering imbecile.
“Please, you don’t understand,” the captive pleaded.
He really didn’t need this… not when he had an hour worth of work to do before he could rest. As consigliere, he wasn’t opposed to getting late night visits from underlings, but he requested that they be strictly reserved for emergencies. However, he figured that it was better that the idiots had chosen to bother him and not Don Aizen.
“I understand perfectly,” he said, returning his hard gaze to the man against his sword. “I understand that this is a complete waste of my time.” He recognized the piece of trash on his floor now, and knew that there was nothing that could alter the fate that the bound man had awaiting him. “Get him out of here,” he ordered. “Now.”
The hench men cringed and looked at him sheepishly, apparently unsure as to what they should do. Ulquiorra bowed his head for a moment, letting his fleeting irritation wane before he reacted. Once he was sure that he was being motivated by reason and not anger, he swiftly brought his sword away from the larger man’s throat and swung it downwards. A sickening, wet sound stung the air as his blade cut through the captive’s neck, slicing the head away from the body in one swift stroke. The body remained the same for a brief moment before collapsing, lifeless, in a slowly growing puddle of blood.
Ulquiorra looked at his sword, angling it in the light and watching the thick, crimson liquid drip from its blade. After a moment, he straightened his posture and wiped the blade on the shirt of the man nearest to him. He fixed his cold gaze on the two cowering fools for a few more seconds, a flutter of disgust rising in his throat at their cowardly expressions. When one of them began to back away, he turned on his heel and walked back into his flat.
“Make sure you get this cleaned up,” he said warningly, before closing the door behind him. There was a bit of muffled swearing and a lot of scuffling out in the hall, and Ulquiorra made sure to listen for a few minutes to make sure that the nitwits were taking care of business. He wasn’t concerned about his neighbors, since the people around him knew to mind their own business. No, his biggest concern was the dark patch of blood staining the floor outside of his door.
Once he was certain that the dead riffraff in the hall was being taken care of, he walked back over to the glass case and carefully placed the sword back inside. He admired it for another moment before returning to his desk. A glance at the clock told him that only ten minutes of his time had been wasted on the idiotic ordeal. There was still plenty of time for him to finish his project and catch a few hours of sleep. He rolled his shoulders forward once before picking up his pencil and dragging it across the page, making a mental note to have someone come over in the morning to scrub out that stain.
Yumichika's Sample
Yumichika had just finished showering after a long evening at the dojo and was pulling up his slim-fitted jeans when a couple of rowdy cubes walked into the locker room, disturbing the silence he had previously been enjoying. He immediately recognized the larger of the two as the guy he had gracefully defeated in a sparring match earlier that evening, and if it weren‘t for the man‘s frosted attitude, he would have been a pretty boss cat. The other was just some plain Clyde, not really anything to flip over.
He eyeballed the two eggs, letting his eyes work over the classy chassis of the decent looking one. The man caught his gaze and scowled, curling up his lip in a sneer.
“Well, lookie what we got here,” the guy said, coming closer. “A regular ol’ daisy who thinks he’s tough shit. I should pound ya for that stunt you pulled earlier.”
The lithe brunette sighed and shook his head. It was a shame, really… such a handsome face wasted on a wet rag like that. He pulled on his shirt, eyeing his figure in the mirror across the way and adjusting his threads just right. It wasn’t until he had picked up the thigh holster that held his trusty roscoe and was fastening it to his right leg that he looked up to reply.
“Or how about you cool it,” he said in a silvery voice, “before I plug you and ice your ass for aggravating a police officer.”
A flicker of surprise flashed across the other man’s face before it was replaced with another cold glare. “Eh? I didn’t know a Nance like you could be a copper.”
The absurd comment made Yumi chuckle. He ran his hand over his Colt Cobra and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Aw, you’re really bad news,” he chided, stepping closer to the man - and keeping an eye on his friend. “And here I was thinking I was gonna buy you a drink to make up for that ‘stunt’ earlier.”
Mr. Big and Tough backed up a step, eyes wide in disgust. “Hey man,” he blurted out. “I ain’t no queer.”
Yumi chuckled again and delicately brushed a strand of hair out of his face, glancing at the mirror again to make sure that his nest was the perfection he expected it to be. It was.
“Such a pity,” he sighed, shrugging and brushing his chin over his shoulder. “You and I could have such a blast. You know… go see a flick, have a few drinks… get to know each other better.” With the last words he sauntered even closer, running a finger down the agitated man’s chest.
There was a split second of silence while the combat trainer’s words sank in, before the other man and his friend both stepped back, looking at him like he had some sort of deathly disease. He smiled and batted his eyelashes. It always amused him that men who weren’t the least bit scared of his fighting skills would balk the instant he came onto them.
“What party poopers,” he pouted, sniffing lightly in mock-annoyance. And with that, he decided to cut out, before he really put himself behind the eight ball. He lightly stepped around the two men and exited the room, giving them a cheerful wave before the door closed behind him.
Ulquiorra's Sample
Ulquiorra sat at his desk, carefully studying the blue prints of the building he was working on. He shifted his weight on his chair and made a mark at the very top of the page, furrowing his brow slightly in concentration. His hand moved the pencil over the paper with deliberate, practiced strokes - only pausing briefly when he needed to assess his work. It was nearly two in the morning, but he had promised to have the drawing done in a few hours. Since he never went back on his word, he was working a bit later than normal to complete the project. If he wasn’t distracted, he could have it finished in another hour. That meant maybe three hours of sleep. He straightened his neck before rolling his head down to stretch his stiffening muscles. Three hours would be satisfactory.
A loud knock at his door caused him to pause, head cocked to the side in mid-stretch. He glanced to where his revolver was located, neatly placed on the table next to his drawing utensils. Getting up off of his seat, he walked calmly over to the glass cabinet against the wall, gently opening the door to retrieve his green-hilted tsurugi. He unsheathed the Japanese, double-edged sword and admired the way the light reflected off the blade, all the while ignoring the incessant banging on his door.
He slowly walked over to the source of the pounding and listened for a brief moment. The movement outside told him that there were three men in the hall… one of them bound. He reached out and opened the door, bringing the blade of his sword to rest at the throat of the largest man present.
Ah… henchmen. He recognized the big one immediately, but the smaller one was a bit harder to make out, due to what appeared to be a broken nose and jaw. Ulquiorra just barely grimaced at the sight-not because of the wounds, but because he hated to see something so crude brought to his door. His gaze drifted to the third man, who was bound at the hands and forced into a kneeling position. He raised one of his eyebrows and returned his attention the larger man.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice level and unemotional.
The bulky man grimaced and stared down at the blade that had suddenly appeared against his neck. Ulquiorra blinked before repeating the question. “What do you want?”
It was the smaller man who spoke up. He laughed nervously and pointed at the bound man. “Ah, ah… well… y’see this guy here says he has something he wants to talk to you about… somethin’ important.”
Ulquiorra looked from the speaking idiot to the man on the floor. “I do not know this man, nor do I wish to speak with him.” He turned as if he was about to leave, but stopped short when the bound man flopped forward and landed, chest on the floor, next to his foot. His lip nearly curled up in disgust, but he managed to maintain his poise, merely looking down his nose at the quivering imbecile.
“Please, you don’t understand,” the captive pleaded.
He really didn’t need this… not when he had an hour worth of work to do before he could rest. As consigliere, he wasn’t opposed to getting late night visits from underlings, but he requested that they be strictly reserved for emergencies. However, he figured that it was better that the idiots had chosen to bother him and not Don Aizen.
“I understand perfectly,” he said, returning his hard gaze to the man against his sword. “I understand that this is a complete waste of my time.” He recognized the piece of trash on his floor now, and knew that there was nothing that could alter the fate that the bound man had awaiting him. “Get him out of here,” he ordered. “Now.”
The hench men cringed and looked at him sheepishly, apparently unsure as to what they should do. Ulquiorra bowed his head for a moment, letting his fleeting irritation wane before he reacted. Once he was sure that he was being motivated by reason and not anger, he swiftly brought his sword away from the larger man’s throat and swung it downwards. A sickening, wet sound stung the air as his blade cut through the captive’s neck, slicing the head away from the body in one swift stroke. The body remained the same for a brief moment before collapsing, lifeless, in a slowly growing puddle of blood.
Ulquiorra looked at his sword, angling it in the light and watching the thick, crimson liquid drip from its blade. After a moment, he straightened his posture and wiped the blade on the shirt of the man nearest to him. He fixed his cold gaze on the two cowering fools for a few more seconds, a flutter of disgust rising in his throat at their cowardly expressions. When one of them began to back away, he turned on his heel and walked back into his flat.
“Make sure you get this cleaned up,” he said warningly, before closing the door behind him. There was a bit of muffled swearing and a lot of scuffling out in the hall, and Ulquiorra made sure to listen for a few minutes to make sure that the nitwits were taking care of business. He wasn’t concerned about his neighbors, since the people around him knew to mind their own business. No, his biggest concern was the dark patch of blood staining the floor outside of his door.
Once he was certain that the dead riffraff in the hall was being taken care of, he walked back over to the glass case and carefully placed the sword back inside. He admired it for another moment before returning to his desk. A glance at the clock told him that only ten minutes of his time had been wasted on the idiotic ordeal. There was still plenty of time for him to finish his project and catch a few hours of sleep. He rolled his shoulders forward once before picking up his pencil and dragging it across the page, making a mental note to have someone come over in the morning to scrub out that stain.
Yumichika's Sample
Yumichika had just finished showering after a long evening at the dojo and was pulling up his slim-fitted jeans when a couple of rowdy cubes walked into the locker room, disturbing the silence he had previously been enjoying. He immediately recognized the larger of the two as the guy he had gracefully defeated in a sparring match earlier that evening, and if it weren‘t for the man‘s frosted attitude, he would have been a pretty boss cat. The other was just some plain Clyde, not really anything to flip over.
He eyeballed the two eggs, letting his eyes work over the classy chassis of the decent looking one. The man caught his gaze and scowled, curling up his lip in a sneer.
“Well, lookie what we got here,” the guy said, coming closer. “A regular ol’ daisy who thinks he’s tough shit. I should pound ya for that stunt you pulled earlier.”
The lithe brunette sighed and shook his head. It was a shame, really… such a handsome face wasted on a wet rag like that. He pulled on his shirt, eyeing his figure in the mirror across the way and adjusting his threads just right. It wasn’t until he had picked up the thigh holster that held his trusty roscoe and was fastening it to his right leg that he looked up to reply.
“Or how about you cool it,” he said in a silvery voice, “before I plug you and ice your ass for aggravating a police officer.”
A flicker of surprise flashed across the other man’s face before it was replaced with another cold glare. “Eh? I didn’t know a Nance like you could be a copper.”
The absurd comment made Yumi chuckle. He ran his hand over his Colt Cobra and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Aw, you’re really bad news,” he chided, stepping closer to the man - and keeping an eye on his friend. “And here I was thinking I was gonna buy you a drink to make up for that ‘stunt’ earlier.”
Mr. Big and Tough backed up a step, eyes wide in disgust. “Hey man,” he blurted out. “I ain’t no queer.”
Yumi chuckled again and delicately brushed a strand of hair out of his face, glancing at the mirror again to make sure that his nest was the perfection he expected it to be. It was.
“Such a pity,” he sighed, shrugging and brushing his chin over his shoulder. “You and I could have such a blast. You know… go see a flick, have a few drinks… get to know each other better.” With the last words he sauntered even closer, running a finger down the agitated man’s chest.
There was a split second of silence while the combat trainer’s words sank in, before the other man and his friend both stepped back, looking at him like he had some sort of deathly disease. He smiled and batted his eyelashes. It always amused him that men who weren’t the least bit scared of his fighting skills would balk the instant he came onto them.
“What party poopers,” he pouted, sniffing lightly in mock-annoyance. And with that, he decided to cut out, before he really put himself behind the eight ball. He lightly stepped around the two men and exited the room, giving them a cheerful wave before the door closed behind him.