RPGIan Thorn
A Warlock who specializes in the Gifted Victims Unit
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by FizzGig
Last seen at: Gambit's Bar
Groups
Description
Name: Ian Thorn
Age: Unknown
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 190 lbs
Body type: Lean, fit, swimmer's build
Hair color: Black
Eye color: Green
Personality
Ian has a badass personality. He absorbs himself in his work, which involves investigating murders of the magical kind. He doesn't usually work with partners because he has a hard time getting along with others, but he knows how to get the job done. He does a few side tasks that aren't within his scope of practice, but those he keeps under wraps, away from his superiors, mostly because they're of questionable legality.
Equipment
He carries a wand, spell guide, and a gun of no particular name or specific fancy brand.
History
Discovered in roleplay.
Ian Thorn's Story
- 99 • Page 1 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
The man approached the bar with his hands in his pockets and his head down. A cigarette hung from gently pursed lips, trailing smoke behind him as he nudged the door open with his shoulder and stepped inside. Shrugging out of his coat, he hung it on the hook near the door before walking over to a booth and taking a seat. His black hair hung loosely around his ears, green, bespectacled eyes fervently studying the cracks in the table-top. He appeared lost in thought.
The man removed a picture from his pocket, what looked like runes set against a blue-green background. If one were to look closely, however, they'd be able to see the gash-marks, and they'd be able to notice that the runes themselves seemed to be cut into something not unlike flesh. The picture itself was crumpled, folded, as if he'd taken it out and studied it several times before putting it back with a huff.
His eyes shifted to Daylin, one brow lifting as he gave her that typical, curious once-over of an appraisal. She was pretty, not to mention the only one in the diner other than himself. While the tender walked up to her to take her order, he slipped out of the booth and approached her, making sure to sit two seats down so that he wouldn't be invading her personal space. "Haven't seen you around here before." he said, offering a slight smile in her direction.
His eyes shifted to Daylin, one brow lifting as he gave her that typical, curious once-over of an appraisal. She was pretty, not to mention the only one in the diner other than himself. While the tender walked up to her to take her order, he slipped out of the booth and approached her, making sure to sit two seats down so that he wouldn't be invading her personal space. "Haven't seen you around here before." he said, offering a slight smile in her direction.
"I'm here on my off nights." he replied with an idle shrug. He hated Gambits. It smelled bad and was filled with the kinds of creatures he enjoyed hunting down and killing. No one needed to see that while they were idly sipping at their martinis.
"I'm Ian." He introduced, offering his hand for her to shake. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
"I'm Ian." He introduced, offering his hand for her to shake. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
"Nope." Ian's grin was almost sardonic. "But I like to keep busy. If it isn't work it's the side-jobs I do outside of that. How about you? What sort of business keeps you chained to the desk, so to speak?" He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter and propping his foot up on a chair nearby. Calm, casual, comfortable. None of these things were pretenses. He usually was very easy-going, border-lined cocky.
"Interesting." he replied with a curious quirk to his brow. "I think I can understand being too busy for fun, unless you count the fact that the work you do /is/ fun. I can't really complain, though. I'm good at my job. People recognize that, and I like my work." He stretched his arms over his head, once again going to his pocket to retrieve that picture he'd been looking at. The runes, ugly as they were, wouldn't leave him alone.
He shifted to look at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. Good guess. "Cut into a body. A Fae's body. Her throat was ripped open too when I found her in the alleyway." he sighed. "I'm a PI with the Gifted Victim's Unit. I investigate murders of magical humanoids." His brow furrowed as he handed the picture over to her. "They're necromancing runes. A few days ago the body came back to animation and killed my coworker."
Ian blinked. "You know quite a bit about that sort of thing for being a contractor." he made a face. "Then again, in this town it wouldn't surprise me that everyone had their own reserve of knowledge when it came down to the nitty-gritty of murder and mutilation." he groaned, shoving his picture back into his pocket. "Runes bind to spirits. When a body is dead there's no spirit inside, so the runes can't bind and gain power from the spirit within. After the body is dead, however, the runes still run off of the spirit-energy, and that's the idea behind bringing the corpse to animation."
"Permanent." he replied, looking a bit wry. "Her neck was broken beyond repair. I'm determined to figure out what kind of bastard would do that to an innocent." Specific kind of bastards. There were a lot who would be willing to do something like that.
He looked to her with a lifted brow. "Sure. I'd appreciate the help anyway. No one else seems to know what to do with the information I have." He shrugged, writing his cell down on a napkin with the tip of his wand, the one he'd conveniently withdrawn from his back pocket. "Thorn's the last name, in case the message receiver confuses you." He stood, sliding the napkin over and smiling at her. "See you soon, Ms. Daylin."
Ian nudged the bar door open with his shoulder, a smirk coloring his expression as he sauntered into the establishment. He had a cocky tilt to his head, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as he watched the other man stalk to the counter and swig his alcohol like he'd breastfed the shit.
Drake, as it were, went unnoticed. The masochistic asshole.
He leaned his elbow on the counter, looking at Tycho over the rim of his sunglasses, that self-same smirk quirking his lips in a manner that would have sent the Pope over the edge.
"Something tells me you had a rough day. Your panties are all up in a twist, dude."
Drake, as it were, went unnoticed. The masochistic asshole.
He leaned his elbow on the counter, looking at Tycho over the rim of his sunglasses, that self-same smirk quirking his lips in a manner that would have sent the Pope over the edge.
"Something tells me you had a rough day. Your panties are all up in a twist, dude."
To be frank, Ian wasn't quite expecting the man to move as fast as he did. That, and he was so busy glancing toward his reflection in one of the glasses perched on the wall that he didn't see the bottle come screaming for his face.
Sure as hell felt it though.
The shock wave sent him teetering back, his equilibrium shot as he tumbled backwards and smashed into Drake's table, spilling her wine and nearly upsetting the balance of the few chairs that sat nearby. With a huff, he fell to the floor, taking the table with him, and immediately burst into a loud guffaw.
From his position on the floor, he gripped the leg of one of the chairs, shoved himself to his feet, and prepared to swing the entire piece of furniture over his head and onto Tycho's, Celebrity death match style.
Sure as hell felt it though.
The shock wave sent him teetering back, his equilibrium shot as he tumbled backwards and smashed into Drake's table, spilling her wine and nearly upsetting the balance of the few chairs that sat nearby. With a huff, he fell to the floor, taking the table with him, and immediately burst into a loud guffaw.
From his position on the floor, he gripped the leg of one of the chairs, shoved himself to his feet, and prepared to swing the entire piece of furniture over his head and onto Tycho's, Celebrity death match style.
Ian Thorn wasn't too far behind Rau. With a cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth, hands slung in the pockets of his black trench coat, the man nudged the door open with his shoulder, lifting his shaded eyes to the inhabitants that glanced his way. The corner of his mouth turned up, teeth exposed in a light smirk as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. He took a drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose, and walked over to the bar counter.
Ian, as a matter of fact, was the reining badass.
Ian, as a matter of fact, was the reining badass.
Leaning over the bar counter, the man received his Lager, twisting the cap off with a light 'crack', and turned to face the bar. Not too much going on for the moment. This he was grateful for. He'd come off of a pretty fucking terrible week, and he was looking forward to his beer.
Was...that kid staring at him?
"Hey," he spoke, deep voice resonating rather sharply across the space that separated the pair. He took his free hand and gestured for Ryan to walk over.
Was...that kid staring at him?
"Hey," he spoke, deep voice resonating rather sharply across the space that separated the pair. He took his free hand and gestured for Ryan to walk over.
Wordlessly, Ian set the beer down on the counter nearest to Ryan, turning back to the bar tender and ordering another one for himself. He cracked the lid off, took a swig, then turned back to young man, peering at him over the rim of his sunglasses.
"So, I think if you stick with me you'll look less like a wannabe who has a mom that irons his Fruit of the Looms." he said pointedly.
"Drink the beer."
"So, I think if you stick with me you'll look less like a wannabe who has a mom that irons his Fruit of the Looms." he said pointedly.
"Drink the beer."
Ian took in the young man's stance, his leaned chair, his careless expression, the beer clasped perfectly between his fingertips...
Casually, Ian hooked the foot of Ryan's chair, lifting it so that it was off-balance, tipping back, and sending Ryan to the floor.
"You're the man." Ian said with a sarcastic thumbs up, taking his beer and walking over to a booth where he could sit on his own.
Casually, Ian hooked the foot of Ryan's chair, lifting it so that it was off-balance, tipping back, and sending Ryan to the floor.
"You're the man." Ian said with a sarcastic thumbs up, taking his beer and walking over to a booth where he could sit on his own.
"Feel better now that you got that off your chest?" Ian asked with a quirked brow. "So tell me, do you usually shamelessly flirt with anything on two legs with a vagina?" His brow furrowed as if he were looking at a thick child, and pitying them.
"I don't know what game you're trying to play, but you're doing it wrong. Seriously. It's an embarrassment."
"I don't know what game you're trying to play, but you're doing it wrong. Seriously. It's an embarrassment."
Ian grunted, setting Ryan down on his feet before taking a step back and brushing his hands off. He didn't notice Fedelia...really notice her, until he lifted his gaze to snark at her about minding her own business.
The words fell short on his tongue.
The rough scowl he wore melted only slightly, a grunt passing his lips before he glanced to Ryan, rolled his eyes, and took a seat back at his booth.
Womenfolk. Dangerous womenfolk...
The words fell short on his tongue.
The rough scowl he wore melted only slightly, a grunt passing his lips before he glanced to Ryan, rolled his eyes, and took a seat back at his booth.
Womenfolk. Dangerous womenfolk...
Mmm. He could feel her looking at him, but he kept his eyes firmly on the table, right hand rummaging around for something...anything, really, to distract him. Women were always touchy for Ian. He wasn't the type who enjoyed being manipulated by a pretty face and a sensual voice. It made him feel stupid, like Ryan stupid.
But he had to give the woman credit for throwing Ryan out of the bar.
Sighing to himself, he rose and walked to her counter, leaning his tall frame over on the counter so he could look at her over the rim of his glasses.
"Lager?" he asked, lifting a dark brow.
But he had to give the woman credit for throwing Ryan out of the bar.
Sighing to himself, he rose and walked to her counter, leaning his tall frame over on the counter so he could look at her over the rim of his glasses.
"Lager?" he asked, lifting a dark brow.
He gazed at her for a moment, never removing his eyes from hers as he took out a few bills and left them on the counter for her. "Thanks. You have a way with words, I see." Leaning back, he sat on one of the bar stools, cracking the bottle cap and taking a swig.
"Haven't seen you around here before," he finished, his tongue swiping at his upper lip momentarily. He didn't want to talk about Ryan. "Have you been working here for long?"
"Haven't seen you around here before," he finished, his tongue swiping at his upper lip momentarily. He didn't want to talk about Ryan. "Have you been working here for long?"
The weather outside of Gambits Bar had turned rather ugly. The clouds had gathered into thick, dark plumes, churning like boiling water and spitting out forks of lightning and windy bursts at every opportunity. The rain came soon, washing the streets below with thick sheets that cut sideways with the force of the wind gusts.
Riding a motorcycle had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Pushing the doorway in with one hand, Ian ran his other hand through his wet, unkempt hair, a slight expression of disgust pulling at the corners of his mouth as his hair flopped to one side. His glasses were speckled with rainwater, in spite of having worn his glasses, and his black trenchcoat had barely done the job protecting his clothing from the rain. So his boots were damp, his jeans worse off (and beginning to chaff), and his black tee clung wetly to his skin.
Gambits bar was fucking cold.
Shuffling up to the bar, he put in an order for a hot sake, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the bar stool. At least his wand, tucked in an inner pocket, remained dry.
Riding a motorcycle had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Pushing the doorway in with one hand, Ian ran his other hand through his wet, unkempt hair, a slight expression of disgust pulling at the corners of his mouth as his hair flopped to one side. His glasses were speckled with rainwater, in spite of having worn his glasses, and his black trenchcoat had barely done the job protecting his clothing from the rain. So his boots were damp, his jeans worse off (and beginning to chaff), and his black tee clung wetly to his skin.
Gambits bar was fucking cold.
Shuffling up to the bar, he put in an order for a hot sake, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the bar stool. At least his wand, tucked in an inner pocket, remained dry.
- 99 • Page 1 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
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