Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation » Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory »

Players Wanted: Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life Ù©( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) »


Buck Clemison

"It's typical to think that you can think tactically. What I think thinking tactically really is... is thinking in ways your enemies won't think you thought about thinking. Simply leave them in the dust."

0 · 610 views · located in Earth

a character in “LOUD Chapter One”, as played by Vio-Lance


Buck C. Clemison



Gang Affiliation
Buck is the tactican for the 'Keys'. Despite looking as if he crawled out of some backwood area, and put on a suit, tie and fedora, he's actually quite logistical
and frequently uses common sense or wit to try and solve problems... before devising some large, wasteful plan.

Honestly, Buck is a little rough to work with. He's stuborn and kind of a know-it-all.... But otherwise he's a good man. He's very honest, and speaks the truth, even if it means hurting someone else... or their feelings. Buck doesn't like to let things get in the way. Things like.. feelings... and emotions. They always just seem to fuck plans over. Even the simplest of plans can be offset by a secret relationship, or some kind of bullshit drama. That isn't something that Buck likes, and he is fully against it. He always tells the key to leave their feelings at home. Otherwise they'll be stripped from you, and exploited.
Buck is a man raised in a simple time, that came across wealth. Even though he had wealth, his lifestyle only changed in tiny places. He never spent too much. And finds anything that doesnt't have at least two uses practically useless themselves. Anything over complicated or extravagant earns his disrespect, which is hard to undo. With a life full of strain, came the pressure. And with the pressure, came the crutches. Buck is a advid smoker, hooked when he was a young man. And the problem didn't lessen with age. He hates the habit, and is desperately trying to quit... but he finds that if frustrates him as well as lessens his ability to think clearly. Buck is also no stranger to alcohol. A man is indeed titled to a drink everyone now and again, right?
Recently, however, with the realization that he's probably one of the richest people alive, other than Grant Richards. Since he'd not spent a whole bunch of his wealth, he still had some to spare, and said he'd put it to a good cause. About half of it went to supplying those without food and clean water with it. The other half... well, it went straight into the 'Keys'.... After of course, he'd secured his own living. A simple house with only a few luxuries (two of which, be pleeeenty of cigarettes and booze.)
That being said, Buck does have his lighter aspects. He's usually fairly relaxed, and able to take a joke most of the time.

Buck grew up a simple life, as mentioned. He was not some bright genious student, or some physical-fitness god... He was just Buck. And he wasn't exactly very keen about changing it. He never was very standoutish. Buck finished high-school, and that was about it. He never went to any schools for degrees or whatnot. Those things were just fancy fishwrap in the end. As soon as he was 18, he was out in the world, working. Most of the time it was just an odd-job here or there. He seldom held a regular job. But as his father passed away, being an only child, Buck got all of it. It just so happened that Buck's father was a major stockholder, and had just sold before he died. This left Buck with millions of dollars that he had no idea how to spend. He'd always been a bare-essential kind of guy. Not to mention, he was still quite young at this point in his life.

And the terrible state of the world didn't help either.

Buck simply hid the money, and did little to spend, as if he didn't have it. Untill he joined the Keys, anyway. Once he had joined their gang, he first secured himself a comfortable living. A one-level house, sparsely decorated, with plenty of supplies. He donated another large sum to anyone needing food or supply of some sort. The rest went straight to the Keys.


Silver Rapier

Problem Solver

A shaving tool...

Buck has many oufits like he wears in the picture above.


Heim Rada
Gundorada Workshop
Lunatic Wisdom Lab
Neverending Adventure
The Battle
The Battle for the Future
Palm Brinks
Peace of the World
Flying Warship Death Ark
Rainbow Butterfly Forest
Unknown History
Shostakovich- Waltz 2

[url=LINK TO SONG]To Be updated[/url]
Lyrics here

So begins...

Buck Clemison's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Buck Clemison Character Portrait: Leo Hines Character Portrait: Evander Riis Character Portrait: Lilah J. Ikuto Character Portrait: Abigail Shire
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Cold, Calculating, Clever and Country

Buck rolled over in his bed, groaning loudly. His back popped, and his bones creaked as he sat up - his fedora still latched to his scalp. He scratched his chest lazily, rolling his opposite shoulder as he looked around the room. It was... very bland. The walls didn't even have paint. Why paint a house to look good if only you see it, right? He yawned, tossing his feet over the edge of his bed. He reached under the brim of his hat, and rubbed his eyes, looking out the slatted window. It was morning. Moreso, the morning of a new day. The gangs, rivals since they had formed, were joining together. Frankly, as one of the Key's oldest supporters, he hated the idea. He'd taken a shot at some of those other gang members, and he knew that they knew that he took potshots at them. He'd probably be heckled. Although.... frankly, he didn't give a damn. They'd have to get over it like he would.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Riiiight..." He murmured to himself, in the glowing dawn of the day rising.

Buck walked over the clothing rack he had nearby, his suits hung neatly. He'd pick one randomly; they all were identical anyhow.... He began to dress himself. He pulled his stark black trousers up to his waist, and buckled the suspenders to his trousers. The white dress shirt came over next, covering Buck's aging, semi-muscular chest. He pulled the suspenders over his shoulders, and clasped them in place, before pulling on his dress jacket.... Before he took it off again. He moved over to the end table next to his bed, and opened the drawer. The black leather holster seemed to gleam as he picked up the Python his father had gotten so long ago for him. The thing was antiquicated in it's time; it was worth a fortune now. But Buck wouldn't let this thing leave his fingers dead. He'd wrap the belted holster around his waist, at a reverse wear - he'd have to crossdraw. But it kept people from sneaking up behind him, and taking his weapon. He walked back over to his dress jacket, and slipped it on again. It covered up his revolver seemlessly. It was a phantom in his clothing, and untill he made his first shot... that's what it'd be.

Buck then went to his bathroom, and retrieved the black steel razor-bladed knife that resided there. A little known fact - his close range weapon really was his shaving tool. The weapon had a folded steel blade; sharp enough to peel skin off a man with more than a little force. Buck used the knife to give a few touch-ups to his gruff, wooly facial hair, making sure his beard was trimmed neat. He always wondered why he paid more attention to his facial hair than his actual hair, which was... actually quite messy. Noone ever saw his face. Not even the other Keys had seen it. But maybe, it was because he always wore his fedora. He diverted his thoughts back to shaving.

The old fellow walked out of the bathroom, folding his blade, and sticking it into his pants pocket. He gave his face a rub over, to make sure he'd not nicked himself anywhere. Confirming his smooth face, he decided it was time to grab something to eat...and fulfill another need. Buck would move his way to the kitchen of his home. It wasn't much. There wasn't even an actual stove - just a little kitchenette, really. But what he was after wasn't much of food right now. On the small round table in the middle of the room was a pack of cigarettes. Buck went straight for them, opening the pack, and withdrawing the last crinkled smoke from it. He felt around his suit... and eventually found a siver lighter. All of his suits had at least one in them. He flipped the lighter open, holding his fine smokable with his lips, ignited the end. He took a few puffs, making sure it was lit. The cheap ones either burnt like matches, or didn't stay lit. Assuring flame was present, he took a long drag, before setting the pack down. He enjoyed the soothing feeling of nicotine reentering his system after a light sleep. It took the edge off of the morning...

Buck went to his small icebox, and opened it up, pulling some of the contents out. It was last night's dinner, a bold soup with chicken. He looked at soup's container, before putting it back over a stove eye, and twisting the dial. Instantly, the stove kicked on, the eye quickly begining to glow with heat. Buck sat back in one of the two seats at the table, taking another drag on his cigarette. He looked back to the table, on which a small plastic ashtray sit.. in which, he tapped the monochrome ash into. He'd nestle the bent smoke into one of the 'fingers' of the ashtray, and moved back to the stove. The soup was bubbiling with new life, which made the rough-neck flip the stove's dial to off, and switching it to a cool eye. Buck looked around... and instead of reaching for the bowls... he'd go for the glasses. He'd pick out a moderate sized glass, and poured some of the hot soup into it. While Buck dressed nice, he was still a roughneck by life. Soup in a bowl took two hands to eat. He'd sip it from a glass, so he had one free hand. To smoke. To defend himself. To pinch his nose to help him get over the taste of his father's home-made soup recipe. He chuckled lightly. He never really liked it. It wasn't BAD, but it wasn't good either. But it kept his backbone from touching his belly, and it was filling and nutritous.

And that's what he did. Buck sat in the chair, and sipped on his cup-o-soup, occasionally chewing a bit of chicken, or a vegetable. His hand went back to his cigarette and took another puff. He sat there... eating (drinking?), smoking.... thinking. He was taking his day in strides at breakfast.
Ain't gonna be a great reception at the begining of our joining. Noone's gonna get a long in the begining. Especially me. He reasoned. He looked at his glass of soup. Hate the fuckin' Siren's the most. Bunch of girls in bright clothes. With whips. I remember when I could pay to sleep with those kind of people. Not that I would've. Too upstart. They think they can do everything. 'Don't underestimate us. Don't underestimate us. Don't underestimate us.' is all they say when you try to say something negitive.

"Those who claim they're being underestimated, often underestimate their opponent's ability to estimate their estimates." He said to himself, taking another long draw on his cigarette.

Poison. Rockers. They're also pretty upity. They're not in your face about it though. And they seem to have tact; instead of running in screaming 'Don't underestimate us because we're girls', they seem to have rational thought.' Buck reasoned with himself. They at least stay under the radar untill. I think I'll have the least conflict with them.

"Yeah. I'll eventually pick out a reason to hate them too." He said with a monotone voice, taking a heavy glug of his soup-drink.

Bullets. Gangers. Rappers. Breakdancers. All rap and hip hop is 'Sex, drugs, sex, beating women, sex, drugs, sex, selling women'. And then half of it claims that it's their real life. Not something I'd listen to, honestly... They're like the Poison fellows though. Other then their choice in music, I can't say that they're all that bad.

"Maybe I just hate The Sirens a lot. When I sit down and think about it... the other two aren't that bad." Buck said. He pulled another drag from his cigarette. Or... at least tried to. It only took him a second to find out he was sucking on a smoldering filter and had just finished breakfast. Buck would place his cup in the sink, and push the butt of the cigarette into his pack. He'd go back into his bedroom, and bring out two more packs. And as he was heading out the door, he'd reach over to an umbrella rack, littered with not only umbrellas... but his rapier. Yet something else to go around his waist. He picked up the scabarded weapon, and held it in his hand. Really, it was modernly useless. The rapier was used for gentleman's duels. The colichemarde, and estocs were more commonly seen in real combat. The only thing more uncommon was a foil. But Buck opened up his jacket, and unbuckled his belt. He slid the sheath for his weapon on upside down. His own rapier was very special. It had a latch on the scabbard, which made sure it wouldn't fall out on it's own. It's blade was shortened. It was overall fairly short for a rapier, really. But that's what he needed. With the blade sticking up, he could tuck it behind his back, behind one of his suspender straps. It held the blade close, against his back. The soft leather also dampened the shape. It was quite concealed.

Buck pushed open his door, stepping into the outside world. He turned to lock the place, before setting off into the ruined streets. He was a very short walk away from the Key's hideout....And on his way there, he would peel open his new pack of smokes, pulling out the first crinkled cigarette.