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Darren Drapier

0 · 537 views · located in Wing City

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

Description

Image
Image drawn by the ever-talented Arluar. Full credit goes to her.

Personality

Name: Born as Darren Drapier, later operates under the alias"Sable"
Profession: Began working as a paranormal investigator after changing into his current condition. Subject is considered dangerous when armed, close observation recommended.

Sable's story isn't the usual nitty-gritty tale of a P.I. looking to make his mark on the world, nor is it one of a rags-to-riches street-smart fellow in an otherwise cold, cold world. He was once an accountant - worked in the same office as a few of the more reputable white collars in the city. Hell, he was one of them. Lived to smoke expensive cigars and shoot both pool and the shit with the boys. He made enough to keep his head above ground - hell, some would say that he did very well for his class. Had a nice bungalow, a nice car, a nice lawn.

And then, one morning, he woke up a cat.

No explanations, no prior warnings. Just bam, all of a sudden he's got a hankering to lick his wrists and clean his ears, his tail twitches when he's content, and he can snarl, hiss, and purr with the best of them. The truly weird thing, however, was that nothing changed. He went to work, people gave him a quizzical glance and went on with their day. He found it hard to type, and harder to walk, but he got by. Hell, he could even order a stiff drink and chat with the lady.

Something about the whole affair stunk, and with a slight bit of digging, he found that something - or someone - had posessed the building he worked in, and he was the only cat to do the job.

Once the job was finished and the cheques cashed, Darren Drapier moved to Wing City, opened up an office on top of his house, and became Sable.

No ghost's been able to evade him since.

Equipment

POWER - Incorperal: "Ghostin' comes in handy when chasing down those that can't be held by walls. A simple thought, and I'm pretty much invisible."

So begins...

Darren Drapier's Story

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The night was young yet. Or so said the glowing watch fastened among the black-and-orange fur of his feline wrist, a wrist tucked beneath the arms of his long coat. It was young enough to still consider this his working hours, but old enough so that mom and dad were busy putting all the good little boys and girls to bed. That suited his needs just fine.

Tucking long fingered, feline hands into his pockets, Sable swaggered into the bar - the swagger more of a side-effect to the fact that his form wasn't exactly optimized for two-leg walking, so he tended to jilt his steps and sway awkwardly, his long, curling tail swaying alongside his steps through the hole he had cut in the back of the coat. His hat was pressed to his head, his ears flat against his skull as his eyes took in the surroundings, nearly glowing with the dim light.

Taking a seat at a bar stool, he idly tapped his claws - one at a time - on the surface, his gaze glancing towards his watch repeatedly. His contact was late, but that was alright. After all, the night was young.

The cat ordered a cocktail, settled his paws against the table, and waited.

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Character Portrait: Darren Drapier
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While waiting for his drink, Sable thought he ought to take a gander at the leggy purple haired woman that strode into the bar, doodling around idly while waiting for her own drink. He smiled slightly to himself - catlike and satisfied as he warmed slightly at her looks. Taking his cocktail - he didn't even know what was in the damn thing - he sidled up next to her, sliding into a stool a space away. He re-settled in the chair, tail comfortable curling around one of its legs, feet settling against the bottom rung. Lazily, he licked at the olive on the toothpick, his gaze lingering.

"Nice night." He said, a slight purr in his inflection, as his paws wrapped around the glass. "You drinking alone on it?"

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Sable glanced towards the book with owlish, bright green eyes, before grinning up at her, whiskers and lips splitting to show straight white teeth, in a textbook definition of a feline smile. Sipping at his cocktail (and trying not to wince at the taste of it), Sable gingerly set down the drink and drummed his claws against the countertop.

"I see!" He piped, the smile still plastered on his face. "One of those strong, silent types, eh? Well, hope you don't mind a bit of company. Nobody should drink alone, night like this."

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He matched her grin with a smile of his own. "I'll bet!" He chuckled lightly, waving a paw in the air. "Normally, I don't care for groups much, myself. The larger and noisier they get, the quieter and more indrawn I become, you know? Not the most social cat in the world, here."

He jabbed a "thumb" at himself, shot her a cocky grin. Discreetly, he checked his watch, watched the glowing green numbers tick away another minute. James was really late. It warranted investigating, to be sure. But the mute at the bar was a far better use of his time than yet another dead end.

"Sable." He said, reaching for her, ensuring that it wasn't towards the hand that she wrote with.

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At the sight of her name, he gave her hand a friendly, warm, single pump. "Violet." He murmured, testing out the vowels. "That's a beautiful name."

Glancing down at his watch again, he sighed. There was so much to do here. He would have liked nothing more than to sit at the bar and chat it up with the cute mute girl, but as it stood, James was now nearly forty-five minutes late, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to deliver the finger bones to him. Which meant that Sable had to go seek him out. Which meant that he'd be annoyed as hell when he got to wherever his 'assistant' had gotten himself into.

"Well, Violet," He began, sounding trite and apologetic, "I'd love nothing more than to keep you company here all night, but my assistant's a bonehead, and I probably have to go bail him out of whatever bucket he's got his head stuck into now."

Tossing a few bills onto the counter - enough to cover both of their drinks - he winked at her. "I sure hope to see you again, my dear."

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Character Portrait: Darren Drapier
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Sable tipped his hat, grinning, before stalking out into the night.

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Sweeping the door back, careful not to allow the heavy wood to slam against the far wall, a tall feline figure moved into the bar. His coat was orange and black, his eyes wide and green; ears matted down by a fedora, which was haphazardly placed atop his head. He wore a white dress shirt, suspenders keeping his tan slacks to his waist. Aside from the clothes, however, he was an upright cat, clearly struggling to keep balance on his legs.

A paw was wrapped clumsily around a small black box, which he was speaking rapidly into.

"Subject seemed distant, off, when I first unearthed that her fridge was haunted, but I alleviated any doubt when the spectre - a class five - erupted from inside and sent pots and pans whirling around the room. I determined the cause of the haunt easily enough, but regrettably, I doubted the old spinster would've reacted well to the fact that her long deceased husband was merely looking for his old tuna sandwich instead of looking to comfort her in his death. I fed her the normal line about unruly spirits, she paid me, and here I am."

He sat down at the bar, tapping at it with a slim paw, looking for any kind of drink that wouldn't have him running to the metaphorical litter box soon. "Open and shut. Another boring one. Hopefully, it gets better soon."

Sighing, he tossed the tape recorder onto the counter, running a paw over the fur on his head, up and under the fedora.

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Character Portrait: Darren Drapier
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Sable pawsed, his drink hanging in midair, as a talking dog suddenly began speaking to him. Before he could utter a word of reply, the dog was up on the stool, scrabbling about, before promptly being dumped off of it again. His eyes watched the canine for a little while, drink still undrunk, before setting it down on the table gingerly.

"You'd think," he began, "that being a talking animal myself would get you used to the concept. But alas..." He reached a paw out to straighten the stool, and then hopped off of his own seat to assist the canine in getting up. "My name is Sable, yes, and I suppose what I do could be defined as "going after" ghosts. But I like to say that I'm a paranormal investigator. It looks better on a door."

He grinned, reaching a paw forward for the dog to shake. "And you are?"

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Sable rubbed at the underside of his jaw, fur scratching restlessly against fur as he weighed the proposal. "Hmm," he said, slowly.

"Well, I have a few questions for you, Ferio. First of which is about this girl that you're seeking. How long ago did she die? More than five years, and I'll have to take a week to do it. Less than that, my time frame - and my fee - lowers considerably. Which brings me to my next question..."

He lowered himself until he was level with Ferio. "I'm going to be honest. I don't really work for free, and I'm sorry if this is crass, but do you have any money?"

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Sable took the small satchel, jingling it slightly as he peered inside. There was enough here to get him off of the ground, that was for sure, but he felt like he was robbing a blind kid, what with how he was taking all that the earnest canine had.

He thrust the bag back at the dog, the corner of his whiskered mouth tilting up. "You hang onto this; I'll charge you when the job's done. Three years, you say?" He scratched at the underside of his jaw again, staring off into the distance as he pondered it. "Can you take me to where she was last alive? I'd be willing to track her down for you. We can talk money and expenses afterwards. How did she die?"

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As the dog spoke, the cat nodded, fishing a pen and a leather-bound book from his inner pocket, scribbling down what he said. Strange illness, byproduct of strange locale. Sudden collapse, crowded area of death. Unfinished sentence; probable cause of unfinished business.

Reasonable to assume that subject is current. Walks?


He underlined the final word three times, each with a furious stroke of his pen, before flipping the book shut and pulling out a packet of hand-rolled tobacco. Striking a match against his left paw, he lit the tobacco and inhaled the stuff, feeling the tendrils of smoke reach into his throat, gathering there.

As he released the smoke, he nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ferio.” He murmured, and the look he gave him was genuine. “I know this is difficult for you, but any sort of detail into her life can help at this stage. What was her name? Where did she live? Favourite colour? Favourite movie? Things like that.”

He poised to write again, watching with the cigarette in his lips.

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Sable nodded sagely when he told him about Laura, and idly wrote her name at the top of his page, circling it once while he sucked in some more smoke. “Such a pretty name, Laura.” He murmured. He wrote down fighter, speaker to animals, self-defense teacher.

“Few more questions before we head out, Ferio. I’ll need the name of the studio. I’ll also need you to be with me when I do my search for signs of Laura.” He patted the canine, sympathy in the gesture. “I know and understand how difficult it’ll be to dreg up the old memories, but it may help coax her out of hiding. From what you’ve told me, these are all clear signs of paranormal unrest.”

Flicking the spent cigarette away, he rose, shoving his hands in his pockets. “She could be even here, still.”

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Sable chuckled. “Ghosts don’t leave scents – well, at least not detectable even by your fine nose, Ferio. They leave traces, sure. Little hints, disturbances, instruments going on the fritz, people hearing things in the night, creaking floorboards. That sort of thing. As for when we start looking,” Sable reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked like a map compass, setting it on the counter.

He smiled at the dog. “We’ve already begun.”

He beckoned towards the dog, lowering the compass towards the canine, so Ferio could see. “This is a normal ship compass; nothing really special about it. What it does is pick up electro-magnetic pulses. Which are what spirits – phantoms – leave behind when they attempt to go through or past solid objects. When one is present, this little sucker starts spinning like a top.”

He tapped at it with a small grin. “One of many toys I have that’ll help. I’ll lend this to you.”

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Sable glanced at the wolf, his eyes trailing along the fur of the wolf, slowly realizing how foolish the suggestion had been. Shrugging it off, he snapped the compass closed and slipped it into a pocket. "Right, right. Well, that's certainly something that I'm not used to dealing with. Okay," he muttered.

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"I think we should head out now, while it's still light out and while there aren't any real spiritual reasons for disturbances." If we did this at night, the chance of disturbance rises."

He checked his watch, a leather strap that sliced through fur. "Lead the way, Ferio, my friend. I'll follow after you. The Ballet studio, I think."

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Wing City

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As they walked through the city streets, Sable kept pace beside the talking wolf, his hands deep in his pockets as the doors to buildings moseyed on by. Sable nodded as the wolf walked alongside him, slowing to match the other beast's gait. He considered his answer carefully before responding, wondering at how much to give away. He finally decided on the truth.

"It depends." He said, slowly. "Some spirits have the ability and willpower to make themselves incorporeal - you can see them as if looking through a stained glass window. Those are the hard ones; because the easier it is to see them, the more valuable and stronger the cause. Love, for instance, is a common factor in spirits coming back." He smiled down at the wolf, teeth glinting.

"If a spirit comes back because it loves someone on earth, then it's hard to resolve; usually, the spirits stay as long as they can to prolong their time with the person. Now, sometimes you can reason with them, but most often they're a wee bit egotistical."

He shrugged, a single shoulder lift. "It's all situational."

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Sable was just about to open his mouth and warn the canine about the likelihood of Laura returning, when the damn hound bounded off into the streets, nails clacking against the sidewalk as he charged. Cursing, Sable was forced to drop to all fours to keep up, his own padded paws slapping the pavement with almost equal fervor. Sable loved running, but chasing after a damned wolf was not exactly his idea of a rollicking good time.

When he skidded to a halt in front of the karate studio, he was panting as he got back to his own two feet, slouching against the side of the wall, gasping for breath. "You're an excitable one, aren't you?" He muttered, before straightening and watching the building carefully.

He quickly pulled out a pair of tweezers and his compass, opening the lid and placing the tweezers against the wall, the compass pressed against the metal implement. He waited three beats, exhaled slowly, and gazed down at the needle.

It twitched.

Smiling, he put both back into his pocket, and glanced down at Ferio, his tone becoming serious. "Now," he began, softly, "who knows who lived and who died in this place. We may come across spirits that are benevolent and nice, who'll offer us cookies and crisps and giggle in delight. Or, we could run into a sixth level of hell demon that will murder us instantly."

He quirked a brow. "You ready?"

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Gabriel Ereb, aboard a private jet, skimmed through several files on his tablet. There were numerous schematics depicting everything from weapons to spaceship parts.

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Meteor zoomed high in the atmosphere above

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#, as written by lml55
Character Portrait: Tento Flare Tento Flare says,
 “ I'm going check that forest ”