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Description
Clothes: A flamboyant dresser, tending to wear costumes rather than outfits. Most commonly seen dressed in the theme of comic book villains.
His dress sense usually results in cringing or hilarity from those subjected to it.
Outfit; “Avenging Thunder”: a yellow all-in-one, lycra. Electric blue, knee-high boots with lightning motif in yellow across the toe. Electric blue belt with lightning-motif buckle. Electric blue cape, yellow lining. Blue and yellow painted helmet incorporating the half-mask, which is fitted with a yellow cover made of lycra.
Hair: Yellow-blond, grade 2 buzz-cut.
Skin colour: White, veins clearly visible.
Eye colour: Naturally blue, when power is activated the entire eye is replaced my what look like electrical sparks held behind glass.
Jewellery: A ruby feather on a gold chain, worn around the neck.
Scars: Multiple, self-inflicted score lines across the right side of the face, concentrated about the eye.
Personality
Loud, self assured and obnoxious. Prone to speaking in an overdramatic, prevaricating and abrasive manner. Constantly in a great deal of emotional pain and wants the rest of the world to know all about it, waxes lyrical about love, loss, angst and many other irritating subjects endlessly. When asked a question the answer is, more often that not, “indeed”, followed by a long-winded, self-pitying monologue. Frequently refers to himself in the third person, calling himself everything from “The Avenging Thunder” to “The King”. Comes across as being self-important and ridiculous, or just plain irritating, and people tend to be embarrassed for his sake as he has no shame at all.
His ridiculous personality and over inflated manner of speaking leads to vast underestimation of his strength and temperament from those that meet him. What can often be taken as unrealistic threats and false anger are, in fact, perfectly coherent statements and he doesn’t exaggerate when it comes to the topic of his abilities and desires.
He is powerfully vengeful, angry at the world and more than a little unhinged. He revels in the power he has available to him and takes far more than he can realistically control, but his loose grip on his own sanity and less than moral ambitions lead to him caring very little about becoming lost in his own power. He is a self-proclaimed villain and his sole desire is to inflict the pain he is feeling on others who he believes deserve it.
Bill enters, dressed in his yellow Captains' robes, a hummingbird moth pearched on his right eyebrow.
Bill enters, a tall, blond young man with a hummingbird moth attatched to his left eyebrow.
Bill appears, as if my magic, looks around some, then appears to grow bored and vanishes again.
Bill observed the door to the establishment with oddly mismatched eyes, having little or no desire to enter at the presetnt ime.
Bill observed the door to the establishment with oddly mismatched eyes, having little or no desire to enter at the present time. He had removed his mask, though he was unsure why; torn between showing the self-inflicted scoring on his face and letting his glowing blue eye see. His forked blade was hidden not too far away, as was his gaudy costume; he had no stomach for such things tonight.
He heard her before her saw her, he wasn't looking, had no mind to look and didn't care to find the attention needed; his mind was in the clouds, making them boil, making them dark and filled with static. Her words drew him away from his thoughts of lightning and made him scowl; who was she?
Bill turned to observe her with a sparking eye, half his face in shadow so that he seemed to be his old, hansom self. Deliver us from evil? Salvation and damnation were written on his face, side by side, though damnation currently stood in shadow. He knew her, what she was, the second she passed him, and he followed her, watching her through the window.
Bill smiled, the expression dark, and continued to watch her. Overhead, as storm was welling in the clouds, sapping the light of the sun and casting shadows over his face. The creature of prayer, he knew her kind.
Bill could hear her through the open window, her distracted babbling making perfect sense to him. He decided in that moment that he would kill her, not because of what she was, though her kind must die, they all must die for offering him such false salvation, but because she made sense to him. He couldn't stand it, he had to be alone.
Bill spoke quietly, though she would probably hear him; her kind had sharp ears. "He doesn't listen. The Lord, so arrogant on his throne of skulls, would never listen to those who think to call for him. The Lord embraces the unworthy and curses the damned, he exists to mock, not to save."
Bill laughed, but it was far from a pleasant sound, and the was no mirth in it. "He sacrificed his son, and all the sons in Egypt. The Lord, the child killer; he does it for his pleasure, kills children in his anger. Worship the killer of innocents, worship the deity that kills children to punish those he classes as evil. Dictator-Lord, capital rule and guerilla warfare in the truest sense."
Bill was certain now that he would kill her, the one who made too much sense to live. Was she Goldilocks, the thief? Lancelot... no, Lancelot was Goldilocks and stole his porridge. "Goldilocks, Lancelot," he cooed, voice light and strange and laughing. Hysteria, lightning's edge in his sing-song tone; he had said that line before and loved it, he used it again now. "For stealing my porridge. The Lord doesn't love you, the Lord loves devotion, he doesn't reward, only punishes those who refuse to follow him, and others in example. Glory onto the Lord, for we know what he will do if we displease him."
Bill longed to feel her break, wanted her to hurt as he could not afford to hurt; he broke vicariously through the destruction of others, expelling his anguish through their tortured wailing. He could not (would not) die, but he could drive them to the death he longed for.
"The Lord exists to make examples, shows the bound and the dictated what happens when they fail to worship the so called higher power. The Lord is Genocide, a murderer of children. Devotion to a deity is hysteria and Stockholm syndrome not faith."
Bill remained exactly where he was, the side of his face that painted the image of salvation turned towards the window, so that if she saw him she would see only a man. "I speak to you, I see your thoughts, I am more of a Lord than He has ever been. He never answers, He never cares."
Bill twitched his lips into a fierce smile, not looking directly at her; in the odd reflective light coming from the bright inside, his blue eye seemed to spark and glow. "He never listens. He never answers."
Bill noted her rapture, her obedience that was close to worship... she was like his Guinevere... He called himself Arthur, but he knew in his heart that he was Lancelot. Lancelot who loved and lost and was dealt a terrible punishment. Lancelot who turned away from his brothers at a table that was round- clock faces and rainbow colours, everybody fell as time dissolved and colour died into monochrome.
"You do not order me, you do not order me for you would never order the Lord." He smiled again, still keeping her bathed in the light of his salvation. "I know your mind."
He was no more than she was? Foolish, but amusing all the same. Her ignorance was pitiful and it made him smile. To her, he was as good as the Lord, for he would bring to her judgement... damnation on the hidden side of his face. Lure her out with the pretence of a saviour then destroy her with his avenging lightning.
"I am, and have always been so much more than you are. You are nothing but a baby."
Bill twitched his lips into a tight smile once again, his sharp, sparking blue eye watching her with nameless intent. The glass was so much like the barrier that separated them; the thin, easily shattered line between her place and his own. How hard would it be to turn her into a creature such as himself? His smile grew.
"You are a child in all senses of the word, newly blooded, newly changed, you eyes just opened to the sins of your so-called God."
Bill tilted his head just a fraction to one side, the very beginnings of the scarring across his nose just visible in the light spilling from the window. She wanted to learn from him? He had never had such a response before, and was unsure how to answer. She reminded him of his Princess, his lost little Princess... he didn't answer her.
Bill was confused by her pleading, for she was pleading for something that he didn't quite understand; it was not her life she asked for, she didn't beg for him to spare her... "I could kill you where you stand..." His confusion tainted his voice, leaking into his words and the slight, continued tilting of his head.
RPG
