Bio and Information
|| Player Information ||
Name: Clamor
Personal Journal: macabreclamor
Time zone: MDT
Contact: proeliumhonoris@hotmail.com ; AIM - witcardsnribbons
Current Characters: Grey Warden Cousland
|| Character Information ||
Fandom: WET
Name: Rubi Malone
Canon Point: Post-game
Is this character dead? Nope.
History: Right here.
[Optional] Character Development and Relationship Transfer from previous RP: Transferring over from jigoku_apts . She'll be arriving in company with Dante Sparda, who she considers a close friend and not-quite-boyfriend. During her time spent in Jig (A whole year, actually), Rubi's antisocial personality made interactions with other tenants strained at best. It took about three months for her to learn how to be a 'functioning member of society' at the barest minimum. However, between then and the end of the year, Rubi's less likely to shoot someone in the foot for amusement and/or committing arson for the lulz. She's still an abrasive, pottymouthed brat, but the difference from her first day in Jigoku to now is like night and day.
Of course it helps to have a half demon keeping her aggression on a tight leash.
Personality: Booze, bullets, and payment rule Rubi’s world. As such, there’s little room for proper ‘ladylike’ behaviour in a place where one moment, one second of hesitation can dictate how wide of a window there is between dodging a bullet and eating lead. Malone’s no nonsense approach to dealing with everyday life reflects how deeply her normal routine has been saturated with living as a hit man. She would much rather solve problems with a gun and a bottle of whiskey than to go out of her way to untangle arguments and get things straightened out through reasoning or negotiation. Blunt firepower and a frustrating stubborn streak are her most useful tools when setting out to get business done and over with in a hurry-she has been known to chase targets over continents with no regard for her own well being.
Perhaps fitting in the stereotype of ‘white trash’ in terms of her rough appearance and foul language, Rubi is in no way unintelligent. Although not inclined to exercise said intelligence if a bullet to the brain sorts things out quicker, she is clever enough to handle split-second decisions with a level head and only rarely loses her poise under pressure. Her ability to adapt to an environment as hazardous as an exploding warehouse (Which, by the by, does happen now and then) says a lot for her chances of survival.
If one gets to know her past a thick armour of arrogance, she is surprisingly accommodating and does in her own odd way care for the well being of her makeshift ‘family’, if it’s a little subtle at first. Only three people on the planet in her universe have her trust and friendship; in a world where everyone's out to get you at the best of times... well, small wonder she's difficult to get along with. Not that she’s purposely antisocial, of course. What she does know all too well is isolation. Stunted social skills and an inclination to lose her temper at most people is more of a self-inflicted psychological problem/conditioning that makes it hard for her to accept help or comfort with good grace. Not for the lack of trying, but it would take nothing less than someone with the patience of a saint to break her of the habit. Although rare, when Rubi does commit herself to a nice gesture, it’s always genuine. She is simply incapable of half-hearted efforts. It’s all or nothing.
Of course, that’s a philosophy what can be applied to how she reacts to the world around her, not just little interactions with another individual. To put it bluntly, Rubi is an epinephrine addict (That’s adrenaline, for those not as savvy with scientific terms) which accounts for most of her rash actions. It takes a life-threatening experience for her to get her adrenaline rush.
As time goes on it becomes harder and harder yet to get her ‘fix’, which can result in withdrawal symptoms punctuated by escalating efforts to push her limits.
Skills | Powers: Nothing insofar as ‘supernatural powers’ go, but she has prestigious skill in wielding firearms and blade weapons; specializing with her favored duo of revolvers and a katana. Her ability to fire both guns independent of each other gives her double the firepower when matched with her accuracy, although she is equally proficient in using shotguns, crossbows, or submachine guns. Rubi’s additional expertise in parkour-like momentum in an urban environment allows her to reach target points quickly with a minimum of effort or time wasted, whether in an open city or in closed hallways.
A berserk state can take hold of her body if a large amount of blood comes in contact with her face, driving Malone into a ferocious rampage with improved reflexes and strength for a short period of time. The aftermath leaves her drained and weak, however, and takes the better part of a day to recuperate. She is at her most vulnerable during the aftershock.
First Person Sample: [Video Entry]
[Footsteps grind on the pavement in a monotonous rhythm broken only when Rubi pivots sharply on a heel and begins again in the opposite direction. Insofar only her worn boots can be seen in the screen itself up to shin-high laces. It would seem the recording device is set on the ground, or perhaps ground-level. Step, step, step, pause, turn, repeat.]
All right. I get it. I've been a bad little girl, so ending up here isn't really a surprise.
[The feed jiggles and breaks into a confused static of motion and snow before steadying in varying stages of (poor) quality. Rubi’s face stares down at the camera in a resigned mask, looking much more fatigued than usual. Or whatever passes as normal for her. Apparently she's familiar with the general idea of the device - other than a brief pause to aquaint herself with the setup, Rubi doesn't fiddle with it too much.]
I know a few of you poor bastards are listening to me.
[She sighs, running a hand over her face, shoulders drooping just a touch.]
Just tell me there's a liquor store down here. I'll set up a tent outside and feel right at home.
Third Person Sample:
Creaking. Skittering. Low, constant wailing of wind through cracks in the wall or under the door.
Somewhere, a tap was dripping - steady and maddening.
Kinda sad to know that all these sounds were normal in Rubi’s mind, and didn’t alarm her in the least. Aside from scratching her cheek idly with a fingertip, lifting her arm to smack the pillow a few times into a more comfortable shape, and flipping over on her other side, she made no motion to open her eyes and investigate her surroundings. Her godforsaken Boneyard in Texas sounded no different than a haunted shack with creepy crawlies popping out of the woodwork… really; she had to be more worried about getting a viper under her bed or a scorpion in one of her boots. It’d happened before.
Unfortunately it seemed as if that tap wasn’t about to stop soon-
With a string of curses not fit to be repeated, Rubi fumbled blindly for a moment before throwing the blanket back violently enough to send the whole thing into a body heat warmed pile of fluff on the floor at the foot of the bed. Still grumbling, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and stumbled across the inky darkness of the room.
Normally there’d be a doorway there, followed by a short ramp leading down from the wrecked WW2 bomber where she made her main home to a smaller shack with a just barely functioning sink. But... there was a solid wall there instead. With a dull ‘thwump’ that echoed in the silence in a suspiciously mocking fashion, the woman promptly walked straight into the unyielding wood a good four feet from the door leading out from her cube of a bedroom.
Suffice to say Malone was less than pleased. She clapped her hands to her smarting nose and glared venom at the offending timber with such intensity it was a wonder it didn’t simply crumble to dust right there and then. But alas, of the many talents Rubi possessed, laser vision wasn’t one of them.
It would be later, after she stumbled to the tap and back again in the fashion of the truly lethargic, that Rubi remembered why the door had suddenly decided to shift several feet off to where it should have been. During the windier seasons sometimes dust had a habit of blowing in through cracks in the Bomber’s hull and covered the floor, so the slightest draft would coat the bed in a fine layer of beige that made her sneeze her brains out when it accumulated. An admittedly ramshackle do-it-yourself interior redecoration had solved the problem but in return threw off her sense of direction when she wasn’t at her most alert.
Probably would’ve been simpler to just buy a fucking vacuum cleaner. Damn it.
Name: Clamor
Personal Journal: macabreclamor
Time zone: MDT
Contact: proeliumhonoris@hotmail.com ; AIM - witcardsnribbons
Current Characters: Grey Warden Cousland
|| Character Information ||
Fandom: WET
Name: Rubi Malone
Canon Point: Post-game
Is this character dead? Nope.
History: Right here.
[Optional] Character Development and Relationship Transfer from previous RP: Transferring over from jigoku_apts . She'll be arriving in company with Dante Sparda, who she considers a close friend and not-quite-boyfriend. During her time spent in Jig (A whole year, actually), Rubi's antisocial personality made interactions with other tenants strained at best. It took about three months for her to learn how to be a 'functioning member of society' at the barest minimum. However, between then and the end of the year, Rubi's less likely to shoot someone in the foot for amusement and/or committing arson for the lulz. She's still an abrasive, pottymouthed brat, but the difference from her first day in Jigoku to now is like night and day.
Of course it helps to have a half demon keeping her aggression on a tight leash.
Personality: Booze, bullets, and payment rule Rubi’s world. As such, there’s little room for proper ‘ladylike’ behaviour in a place where one moment, one second of hesitation can dictate how wide of a window there is between dodging a bullet and eating lead. Malone’s no nonsense approach to dealing with everyday life reflects how deeply her normal routine has been saturated with living as a hit man. She would much rather solve problems with a gun and a bottle of whiskey than to go out of her way to untangle arguments and get things straightened out through reasoning or negotiation. Blunt firepower and a frustrating stubborn streak are her most useful tools when setting out to get business done and over with in a hurry-she has been known to chase targets over continents with no regard for her own well being.
Perhaps fitting in the stereotype of ‘white trash’ in terms of her rough appearance and foul language, Rubi is in no way unintelligent. Although not inclined to exercise said intelligence if a bullet to the brain sorts things out quicker, she is clever enough to handle split-second decisions with a level head and only rarely loses her poise under pressure. Her ability to adapt to an environment as hazardous as an exploding warehouse (Which, by the by, does happen now and then) says a lot for her chances of survival.
If one gets to know her past a thick armour of arrogance, she is surprisingly accommodating and does in her own odd way care for the well being of her makeshift ‘family’, if it’s a little subtle at first. Only three people on the planet in her universe have her trust and friendship; in a world where everyone's out to get you at the best of times... well, small wonder she's difficult to get along with. Not that she’s purposely antisocial, of course. What she does know all too well is isolation. Stunted social skills and an inclination to lose her temper at most people is more of a self-inflicted psychological problem/conditioning that makes it hard for her to accept help or comfort with good grace. Not for the lack of trying, but it would take nothing less than someone with the patience of a saint to break her of the habit. Although rare, when Rubi does commit herself to a nice gesture, it’s always genuine. She is simply incapable of half-hearted efforts. It’s all or nothing.
Of course, that’s a philosophy what can be applied to how she reacts to the world around her, not just little interactions with another individual. To put it bluntly, Rubi is an epinephrine addict (That’s adrenaline, for those not as savvy with scientific terms) which accounts for most of her rash actions. It takes a life-threatening experience for her to get her adrenaline rush.
As time goes on it becomes harder and harder yet to get her ‘fix’, which can result in withdrawal symptoms punctuated by escalating efforts to push her limits.
Skills | Powers: Nothing insofar as ‘supernatural powers’ go, but she has prestigious skill in wielding firearms and blade weapons; specializing with her favored duo of revolvers and a katana. Her ability to fire both guns independent of each other gives her double the firepower when matched with her accuracy, although she is equally proficient in using shotguns, crossbows, or submachine guns. Rubi’s additional expertise in parkour-like momentum in an urban environment allows her to reach target points quickly with a minimum of effort or time wasted, whether in an open city or in closed hallways.
A berserk state can take hold of her body if a large amount of blood comes in contact with her face, driving Malone into a ferocious rampage with improved reflexes and strength for a short period of time. The aftermath leaves her drained and weak, however, and takes the better part of a day to recuperate. She is at her most vulnerable during the aftershock.
First Person Sample: [Video Entry]
[Footsteps grind on the pavement in a monotonous rhythm broken only when Rubi pivots sharply on a heel and begins again in the opposite direction. Insofar only her worn boots can be seen in the screen itself up to shin-high laces. It would seem the recording device is set on the ground, or perhaps ground-level. Step, step, step, pause, turn, repeat.]
All right. I get it. I've been a bad little girl, so ending up here isn't really a surprise.
[The feed jiggles and breaks into a confused static of motion and snow before steadying in varying stages of (poor) quality. Rubi’s face stares down at the camera in a resigned mask, looking much more fatigued than usual. Or whatever passes as normal for her. Apparently she's familiar with the general idea of the device - other than a brief pause to aquaint herself with the setup, Rubi doesn't fiddle with it too much.]
I know a few of you poor bastards are listening to me.
[She sighs, running a hand over her face, shoulders drooping just a touch.]
Just tell me there's a liquor store down here. I'll set up a tent outside and feel right at home.
Third Person Sample:
Creaking. Skittering. Low, constant wailing of wind through cracks in the wall or under the door.
Somewhere, a tap was dripping - steady and maddening.
Kinda sad to know that all these sounds were normal in Rubi’s mind, and didn’t alarm her in the least. Aside from scratching her cheek idly with a fingertip, lifting her arm to smack the pillow a few times into a more comfortable shape, and flipping over on her other side, she made no motion to open her eyes and investigate her surroundings. Her godforsaken Boneyard in Texas sounded no different than a haunted shack with creepy crawlies popping out of the woodwork… really; she had to be more worried about getting a viper under her bed or a scorpion in one of her boots. It’d happened before.
Unfortunately it seemed as if that tap wasn’t about to stop soon-
With a string of curses not fit to be repeated, Rubi fumbled blindly for a moment before throwing the blanket back violently enough to send the whole thing into a body heat warmed pile of fluff on the floor at the foot of the bed. Still grumbling, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and stumbled across the inky darkness of the room.
Normally there’d be a doorway there, followed by a short ramp leading down from the wrecked WW2 bomber where she made her main home to a smaller shack with a just barely functioning sink. But... there was a solid wall there instead. With a dull ‘thwump’ that echoed in the silence in a suspiciously mocking fashion, the woman promptly walked straight into the unyielding wood a good four feet from the door leading out from her cube of a bedroom.
Suffice to say Malone was less than pleased. She clapped her hands to her smarting nose and glared venom at the offending timber with such intensity it was a wonder it didn’t simply crumble to dust right there and then. But alas, of the many talents Rubi possessed, laser vision wasn’t one of them.
It would be later, after she stumbled to the tap and back again in the fashion of the truly lethargic, that Rubi remembered why the door had suddenly decided to shift several feet off to where it should have been. During the windier seasons sometimes dust had a habit of blowing in through cracks in the Bomber’s hull and covered the floor, so the slightest draft would coat the bed in a fine layer of beige that made her sneeze her brains out when it accumulated. An admittedly ramshackle do-it-yourself interior redecoration had solved the problem but in return threw off her sense of direction when she wasn’t at her most alert.
Probably would’ve been simpler to just buy a fucking vacuum cleaner. Damn it.