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Licorice

0 · 98 views · located in Cynosure

a character in “Aurea Cor”, as played by TriuvLED

Description




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INFORMATION


"but I'm a man made of flesh and blood
oh god just give me, what I crave"



full name xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx LICORICE
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birthdate xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFALL 02
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occupation xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.SEMI-HOMELESS
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home town xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.IMPERIAL PENITENTIARY, MAGIC DIVISION
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affiliation xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.REHABILITATION SERVICES
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MAG +0 xx STRG +2 xx DEX +2 xx WIS +0 xx CHA +1




“People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or love.”
Charles Bukowski





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THE PRISONER
sometimes you just have to pee in the sink


Licorice is stinky stinky garbage man. He acts purely out of his own self-interest, and rarely can he be convinced to do anything out of charity or for the common good. His modus operandi is to be jealous of things and take whatever he can get his filthy hands on.

One thing that Licorice particularly covets is attention. He loves being loved and is simultaneously both shameless and extremely misguided in how to acquire that love. He'll grin and stick out his tongue, displaying a knocked out tooth, just to show how big of a hit he just ate. When he drinks too much, Licorice will emphasize how he only threw up just a little bit, how he only cried a little bit. He'll swagger up to people like an oversized bird, hitting them up with the most crass and tasteless oneliners imaginable. If someone gets sick and is being nursed back to health, Licorice will GLADLY pretend to also be sick in a ploy to take away that other bastard's resources.

Licorice isn't so interested in money; he's fine sleeping out in the streets or under a dumpster or something. His living conditions have never been the greatest.

For generations, his family lived in the confines of the Imperial Penitentiary, in a cellblock conveniently located near the site laboratory. Now, they weren't the only ones being experimented on, but magic users were a hot commodity among the scientists serving in the prison. They had enough freedoms to form their own primitive community within the cellblocks, enough for some people to meet and have children. If the children inherited a predisposition for magic, they would be kept, and the cycle continued.

Licorice was born with magic, but he's also one of the first successes of the Penitentiary's magic program: they actually managed to drain him completely dry. So... he was freed. He's been out for only a few years now, and he's quite the hellraiser despite the Empire's attempts to rehabilitate him for normal society. He does odd jobs and is dogged by officers from time to time, but mostly he is avoiding any and all stability in favor of being a stinky stinky bad man. One of Licorice's most sinister traits is that he actually believes in the dogma of the Empire. Many of the magic users he lived with in the Penitentiary were terrible people. He has been completely and thoroughly brainwashed by the system.

He thinks he deserved to be tortured and caged his entire life. The source of his crookedness is a seething well of resentment bubbling just under the surface at all times, a hatred towards everyone who also deserved to be ruined, yet who lived unscathed. Licorice can't be happy until everyone one else suffers just like him.


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going batshit feral : attack & defense

Licorice's dog eat dog lifestyle has pounded a certain kill-or-be-killed fight response deep into his psyche. Or maybe it was all of the experimentation. Either way, when Licorice goes berserk, he is (+2) stronger and takes half damage.


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LIKES
☼ │black licorice, the occult
☼ │ bad music, sand, sun
☼ │ heaps of food, scratchy clothing
☼ │ vanity products, compliments
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DISLIKES
☼ │ rich people, ice, snow
☼ │ being bitten, paint, magic
☼ │ lemons, pineapple, swords
☼ │ competency, being upstaged
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MISC
will do anything if dared to, scared of hurting small animals, addicted to adrenaline, has had threesome with his clones, favorite move: popping eyeballs with pads of his thumbs




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T W O x F O R x O N E

POWER + 2ImageSKILL + 3ImageDURABILITY + 2


This bitch has been passed down through the family, man.

Ability One xxAllows Licorice to duplicate himself! He separates his consciousness among the clones, and they all share sensations and "intent". When the shackles run low on juice, however, the clones come out as simple & tiny versions of Licorice.
( Gives him additional attacks. )

Via xxTwo For One is surprisingly supportive and protective of Licorice. It lectures him constantly, gives advice, and so on. Licorice would certainly not be alive without its assistance. However, Two For One has a bit of a sadistic streak, and when Licorice is doing too well, it will often give him completely inaccurate information/tips for its own amusement.

+ Ignition: The handcuffs snap shut on the users' wrists. Reality distorts. The user's body unfolds and multiplies like an accordion, like a chain of paper men, before pressing back into one person once more.

So begins...

Licorice's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Licorice

0.00 INK

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Was it possible to vore an entire apple?

Licorice tried it out, leaning against the dusty glass wall of a slum greenhouse. His teeth scraped against the waxy red skin of the fruit, jaw aching as he shoved the apple further into his mouth. Almost. It was almost possible to vore an entire apple. Licorice was tantalizingly close---he got maybe 4/5ths of the way around the circumference before his canines dug deep into crisp flesh.

Saliva and sweet juice began dripping down his jaw, and Licorice realized that it actually hurt to keep his jaws pried open like this. ’Alright then,’ he thought. ’I’ll just bite down real hard.’

The apple cracked, giving his jaw faint relief, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how his muscles strained, it wasn’t enough to crush the hard fruit stuffed into his mouth. Licorice wondered, with vague panic, if the greenhouse workers planned for this to happen. Did they know he’d go in and steal fruit? Did they know how hungry he was, that he’d immediately try to shove whatever food he found into his stomach? Was this a test? An experiment?

Was he going to die like this?

A hot, dry wind blew in from his right, where the desert stretched off into the dimming horizon. To his left stood an oasis. The sands spilled into the streets of Gaolykka, covering the out-of-date agriculture tech in a fine layer of grimy red dust. Trees sprouted high up into the sky with shimmering greenhouse after shimmering greenhouse ballooning up between the thick, twisting trunks. Licorice was an ant among giants, a dirty vagrant huddled on the edge of desolation with an apple stuck in his mouth.

His shackles clinked on his wrists, and the ex-prisoner sucked absently on the leaking juice. Next on the list of things to steal? A knife. A lot of problems went away if you had a knife, apple problems included.

(There were so many knives in the Ward. Knives hidden under bedsheets and sleeves and smiles, sometimes. Licorice had collected maybe five knives at the most, but his sister secreted away over twenty-three at one point. She had the most out of anyone he knew, and she’d brandish them at anyone who came too close to the cell block they called home. Her tongue cut sharper than any of her twenty-three blades, though. She’d verbally eviscerate any stray magic user that wandered over, tearing them apart over bald spots and stutters and stains. ’I wanna be like you, Rampuri,’ Licorice would say. And Rampuri would tell him, ‘Shut the fuck up, candy bitch.’)

”Candy bitch…,” Licorice mumbled around his apple, causing more drool to spill out. Nobody called him candy bitch anymore. It was always bastard, or ex-con, or hey-you-with-the-nice-ass, or worst of all--

“Mister Licorice! Mister Licorice, sir!” A woman’s voice echoed from down the street. He heard the distant thrum of some vehicle, one equipped with hover-tech, which was unnervingly up-to-date for a backwater city like Gaolykka. The only people who had access to hover-tech were government employees, and the only people who called him ‘Mister Licorice’ were rehabilitation agents sent by Social Services.

Her voice resounded through the dusty alley again, “You can’t keep running forever, Mister Licorice! Just let us help you!”

But Licorice was unwilling to be helped. Not only was he already running, but as he took off, three very unfortunate events happened to occur in rapid succession:

xxxx1) His sandals slipped on the fine red sand powdering the walkway.
xxxx2) He choked on a mouthful of saliva and apple juice.

Momentarily unable to breathe, Licorice tumbled onto the pavement. His manacles dug into his wrists. Sunset and sand and glass smeared over his vision as he fell, distantly aware of his own rapid descent while also being helpless to stop it.

Endings can come so suddenly. Sometimes it takes just one fall, just one fuck up, for everything to be snatched up from your hands. People who live clumsily often die just as clumsily.

xxxx3) A rock appeared in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time.