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Aleric Stockard

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nevermore90

Description

Image
Aleric Stockard
Eye Color: Grey-brown
Hair color: Brown
Height: 6'2
Weight: 185ibs
Accent: Aleric isn't affected by any "Accent," although his vernacular isn't American standard; when he talks to girls, he normally uses "Lass" instead of their name.

Aleric is the picture of perfect physical health in a high-technology setting. He's mostly lean muscle (the kind developed with running and gymnastics, not weight lifting), square-jaw, attractive build-though not through natural design gene treatments, injections, and all other manner of non-surgery went into making Aleric the best looking he could possibly be. He's as strong as a man should be in his prime and just as athletic.

Personality

ImageAleric likes to think of himself as being someone who likes to be secluded, quiet, alone, left alone, not bothered, and unencumbered by the company of others, but just about the opposite is true; he unconsciously yearns for the attention and companionship of other, like-minded individuals. He's a natural caretaker, husbandmen, and confidant. He also enjoys fights and killing a lot more than he would ever admit. Aleric is also a big pessimist.

Philosophy: If the first shot doesn't kill me, you better pray to whatever God you worship the next one does.

Aleric currently lives on the second floor of Gambit's hotel-section.

Equipment

Image7.62STANAG assault rifle

History

Aleric grew up the bastard child of one of the Multiverse's worst misbegotten relationships. Neither of his parents really gave a damn one way or the other as to what he did with himself during the day or whether he made it home at night. The SnC (The parenting nation he grew up in) didn't really give a damn, either, until he was 17, and showed academic potential far surpassing what would be expected from such an unfortunate childhood. He wasn't an attention-getter, didn't like attention, didn't want it-but it found him and thrust itself upon him in a very unexpected way.
One afternoon, shortly after lunch, Aleric was called down to Head-Dean Warrick's office. Never haven gotten into trouble before save a minor scuffle in the ninth grade, this naturally scared the piss out of him. When he arrived, the dean was accompanied by one Sargent Lockerlaker, who offered him a contract for military service. The SnC had encroached on colonies of a bug-like race that was kicking their ass back to SnC's home planet, and they needed a guinea pig for the E.L.F. program (E.D.E.N. project of Longevity and Fertility), which was essentially the second-largest publicity stunt since the SPARTAN2 program went public in UNSC-controlled space.
Aleric (as far as he knows) was the first and only test subject. Everything went so well, he was put on the battlefield and was portrayed as almost single-handedly saving humanity from the bug-monster-aliens. (That wasn't the whole truth, of course, but it was close) Aleric returned to SnC-controlled space for R&R and 6 months of fame in which every man, woman, and child wanted pictures, autographs, or sex. It was great, though he was world-weary and wanted nothing more than sleep after the years he spent on ass-backwards planets eating sawdust and fighting for his life.
Well, it was great until those six months ended, and Aleric was framed for rape, murder, assassination, treason, tyranny, and a slew of other crimes. He was incarcerated in the MAG6, the SnC's worst prison on a bone dry-desert planet and the edge of their colonies. He escaped of course, being the genetically-altered freak-of-science that fought off SnC's impending doom only a year ago. He collected a stripped down version of his old armored suit, a stylish jacket to wear over it, a few guns, and plenty of ammo. Getting off planet was easy, though getting out of SnC space wasn't.

Now Aleric is in Wing City, working security in Gambit's by day and fathering a 13 year old science-freak like himself by night.


Aleric Stockard pushed the bar's entrance door in, guessing that only suicidal SnC soldiers would start a fight in a place who's very mention sent shivers down many one's spine. It had its happy moments, sure, but it was all too well known for attempts at mass murder, zombie attacks, god-on-god war (or... worse), terrible plagues, and bad service. With its... interesting assortment of orderable items, it also served the purpose of helping Aleric obtain some cheap painkillers-addictions are hard to kick.
With a little sigh, Aleric pulled his second-head from off his face and folded the material into a jacket pocket. It looked like flimsy cloth when it was off, but the mesh was bullet-proof-and warm. No longer in the rain (which his jacket protected him from regardless), he could afford to shed a bit of his extra skin. Barrel-down and strapped across his back, an assault rifle bounced gently against his ass as his strolled in, found himself an empty seat, and ordered a likely stupid combination of medication and alcohol.
A small serving robot, as NPCs were cheaper and easier to write for when they lacked any reason to have a personality, shuffled around the endless storage room for "Trimium Patch-ups" and a small bottle of vodka. Rather than physically bring it to him, however, the items (as if by magic but more likely through high technology), disappeared and reappeared on his table. The price-worth of money, at he same time, similarly left his wallet. Life was simple, the vodka burned, and the painkillers but his nerves at ease.

So begins...

Aleric Stockard's Story

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Aleric Stockard pushed the bar's entrance door in, guessing that only suicidal SnC soldiers would start a fight in a place who's very mention sent shivers down many one's spine. It had its happy moments, sure, but it was all too well known for attempts at mass murder, zombie attacks, god-on-god war (or... worse), terrible plagues, and bad service. With its... interesting assortment of orderable items, it also served the purpose of helping Aleric obtain some cheap painkillers-addictions are hard to kick.
With a little sigh, Aleric pulled his second-head from off his face and folded the material into a jacket pocket. It looked like flimsy cloth when it was off, but the mesh was bullet-proof-and warm. No longer in the rain (which his jacket protected him from regardless), he could afford to shed a bit of his extra skin. Barrel-down and strapped across his back, an assault rifle bounced gently against his ass as his strolled in, found himself an empty seat, and ordered a likely stupid combination of medication and alcohol.

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Aleric Stockard watched Patchi and Ezrael as they walked by him but-similar to the second entering man-paid them no heed. A small serving robot, as NPCs were cheaper and easier to write for when they lacked any reason to have a personality, shuffled around the endless storage room for "Trimium Patch-ups" and a small bottle of vodka. Rather than physically bring it to him, however, the items (as if by magic but more likely through high technology), disappeared and reappeared on his table. The price-worth of money, at he same time, similarly left his wallet. Life was simple, the vodka burned, and the painkillers but his nerves at ease.

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Aleric Stockard 's eyes lazily turned over to the only girl in the room, Crestelle. He had no reason to believe he had her intention, but in the case that her eyes turned to his, he raised the bottle in a polite greeting before drinking most of it in a few swallows and popping a few more than the prescribed allotment of pills before recapping the drink and stuffing the painkillers in his pocket. He could be a gentlemen, but being polite never got in the way of his painkillers. Ever.

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Aleric Stockard sat forward, his arms crossed on the table. He looked down at the little ferret, and couldn't help the small grin that spread across his face-which broke his vow of stone-faced silence and general detachment.
Aleric looked back up at her, then at the two bottles of wine, and felt the hole in his pocket that had recently been made by the unexplainable departure of money in his pocket. He got up and-as non threateningly as he could now that he noticed the security officer-checked the safety on his rifle before he pulled the magazine out. He sighed, and had a little internal shrug that reminded him how lax he had become in self-security.
At some point in thinking to himself, Aleric forgot to tell his legs not to walk towards Crestelle, and to tell his mouth not to deliver a stupid introductory line. "Drinking for two, lass?"

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Aleric Stockard looked at the ferret as it prepared to lunge but had no reaction other than bemusement. The leather jacket he wore, while defensively useless in itself, covered a stripped version of his old SnC-issued armor, which was essentially Gambit's platemail at the moment (at least, Aleric failed to notice anyone in anything better), would have been enough to stop the ferret's little teeth. "If you don't mind, lass, I'd love a glass." He sounded like an Irishman that had spent a bit too much time in the American-Britain zone northeast o' the great, emerald isle. He offered her a small nod and sat on a barstool next to her. "Can I offer anything in return?"

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Aleric Stockard chuckled softly. "Oddly enough, lass, I have just the thing..." He reached into one pocket, past a small datapad and a stick of electronic currency transportation. He pulled out the small, half-empty tube of pills and set them on the table; he hated handing things to people. (essentially, the reverse Tony Stark) In the same action, he took the other bottle of wine by the neck and had to glasses brought. He poured them both a cup and lifted his own. "Much appreciated."

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Aleric Stockard didn't like shaking hands, either. He crossed his arms atop the counter and nodded. "Stockard." He swirled the wine around in its glass after setting it back down. "And your friend... Wanderer, is it? May I see him, er... her?" He looked back at her, and at the animal. He doubted it could break his epidermis, being the E.L.F. that he was. (Eden project for Longevity and Fertility, a weapons/soldier development program that isn't described on his character sheet yet. Where'd the fourth wall go?)

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Aleric Stockard didn't remember extending his arm, but apparently, it happened. He curled his index and forefingers while keeping the other digits against his palm. "'ello, sir." He didn't use the baby-talk most people did around animals; he addressed it like he would a superintendent or boss, if he was employed.
Despite his less-than-kind thoughts, Aleric offered them both the small smile. "And how are you this evening, lass?"

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Aleric Stockard didn't even flinch. The thing's claws did little more than trip a few nerves saying something was touching him. "Very funny, little lad." He turned his head away long enough to summon up the holodeck menu system. "Eh... Is that all you want?" He tapped in an order for steak fries and ketchup, then finally took a drink of the shared wine.

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Aleric Stockard shook his head. "I'm fine, lass." The fries were cheap enough he still had enough left for intoxication-so long as he bought something strong and drank it fast. The wine was sweet and too soft for his taste, but he didn't comment. "The company and the drinks are enough, I promise."

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Aleric Stockard received his own potatoes rather quickly, via the same tele-whatthefuck-portation. He set them down between him and the ferret. He took one fry into his hand and studied it intently. "Nothin' better to do. Drinks. Company." he shrugged and took a thoughtful bite of the fry. "And yourself, lass?"

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Aleric Stockard took that time to study her face for the first time that evening. He then tossed one of the fries at the ferret. "Well, I mean no harm tonight, lass, and no one in here appears to be carrying energy weapons, nuclear weapons, god-level weapons, or whatever passes as the norm for this Godforsaken bar."

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Aleric Stockard took another sip of his wine and set the glass aside, then ate a fistful of fries. He looked away from her once again. "Well you know-" and suddenly a stereotype started a fight in another part of the bar. Great. "Ugh..." He closed his eyes for a second, trying to block out the noise they made. "'ey, this isn't normally me-" and that is a lie "-but do ye think you'll be free sometime soon, lass?" He looked back at her. "I could always go for another bottle of... of... what is this?"

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Aleric Stockard shrugged. "I have no idea when I'm free. Work-" he improvised "-has been... complex, lately." His smile fell away as he looked at the entrance. "I'm actually between employments, right now; got relocated out of Seniaro to here. I was planning on getting a room here, until I found something... more permanent. Seeing as you're the expert here, lass-" he looked back at her with the small smile creeping back, "do you think you could show me around?"

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Aleric Stockard looked down at his drink again. His eyes wouldn't stay still. "I've been told the journey to the stairs can be dangerous in these parts. Are you up to the challenge?"

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Aleric Stockard slid out of his seat. "I'm sorry if you mind, but... is there somewhere we can leave your friend?" He pointed at the ferret. "If he wants to finish my dinner, that's fine with me." He followed after her, unbuttoning his jacket.

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Aleric Stockard caught her bicep before she mounted the first step. "Ye sure you're okay with this, lass? I don't know how long I'll be in town, and my job doesn't let me visit much." It was almost true.

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Aleric Stockard sighed. He felt bad for doing this-which was weird because it never really bothered him before. "Alright, it's up to you though. Say no at any point." He stepped past her, letting go of her arm and mounting the stairs.

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Aleric Stockard put an arm around her shoulders and realized he hadn't actually rented a room yet, but for the sake of lazy writing *poof* he had a key now. "Well... I'm afraid I might not be able to keep up, lass; ye seem quite agile, even with the sling."

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Aleric Stockard shook his head. "I actually didn't notice the sling until you got out of your seat, lass." he shrugged. "Doesn't make a very big difference."

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Aleric Stockard pushed the bar's entrance door in, guessing that only suicidal SnC soldiers would start a fight in a place who's very mention sent shivers down many one's spine. It had its happy moments, sure, but it was all too well known for attempts at mass murder, zombie attacks, god-on-god war (or... worse), terrible plagues, and bad service. With its... interesting assortment of orderable items, it also served the purpose of helping Aleric obtain some cheap painkillers-addictions are hard to kick.
With a little sigh, Aleric pulled his second-head from off his face and folded the material into a jacket pocket. It looked like flimsy cloth when it was off, but the mesh was bullet-proof-and warm. No longer in the rain (which his jacket protected him from regardless), he could afford to shed a bit of his extra skin. Barrel-down and strapped across his back, an assault rifle bounced gently against his ass as his strolled in, found himself an empty seat, and ordered a likely stupid combination of medication and alcohol.
A small serving robot, as NPCs were cheaper and easier to write for when they lacked any reason to have a personality, shuffled around the endless storage room for "Trimium Patch-ups" and a small bottle of vodka. Rather than physically bring it to him, however, the items (as if by magic but more likely through high technology), disappeared and reappeared on his table. The price-worth of money, at he same time, similarly left his wallet. Life was simple, the vodka burned, and the painkillers but his nerves at ease.

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Aleric Stockard was quite larger than five foot seven inches, and standing near Eleesa would likely dwarf her a few times over, though he failed to pay her any more attention than to register her existence and approximate distance. With a long sigh, he tipped the Vodka bottle back and tried to actually stay close to the "Safe prescription" level of pills to take, but goddammit they were good and he hadn't overdosed yet, so why stop? The bottle got a lot closer to empty than he would have liked before he put it away, closed his eyes and put his face in his newly free hand.

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Aleric Stockard was reminded, once again, that he had grown far too relaxed in security when she tugged on his arm. She managed to get all the way up to him before his other arm slung the rifle around, sitting in his lap with the barrel pointed at her stomach and the fire-selector flicked to burst. "Can I help you?" He first looked right over her head, expecting it to be an adult-this was dominantly a bar after all-but his facial expression went from "Fuck off" to "What the fuck?" by the time he spotted to green bulge that seemed to be her head.

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Aleric Stockard stared at her in wonder and shame as she fell into the fetal position. He looked down at the gun and cursed himself under his breath. "It's okay, it's okay." He tried to say reassuringly, as well as one can wearing almost full-body armor and carrying a gun that would take half her face in one trigger pull.
Aleric fumbled for the clip-release. The magazine clattered to the floor and he laid the empty gun (save what was cambered) on top of the table, then splayed his hands. "I'm sorry, lass; I didn't mean to scare you."

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Aleric Stockard lifted his arms, showing her his palms. "I won't sho-kill you." He corrected himself mid sentence. Aleric would be damned if he ever promised not to fire on a child; self defense was warranted in all cases. Still... she was cute. As cute as a small child can be when wrapped in a giant bundle of green mess many times her size. "Okay?"