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Joe Darknaught

And we all float on okay.

0 · 104 views · located in The Ruins

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

Groups

Terra-based crime cartel, specializing in drugs, protection rackets, and theft.

Description

Image

One of Wing City's most dangerous - if not most well known - crooks at large, Darknaught's origins are shoddy and mysterious - not from his own making, just because he doesn't talk about himself all that much.

Equipment

Ability:

Absorption of Kinetics.
Any energy-based projectile, be it a projectile or superheated air, Joe absorbs into himself. This has the effect of him being able to shrug off most, if not all, attacks. It's been theorized that he can only absorb so much before melting and/or imploding, but the theory has yet to be tested.

Weakness: There's nowhere for any of the stored energy to be released, so the above theory is the most valid one professionals have formed.

Toughness:
The outer five layers of skin surrounding Darknaught are tougher than any material previously used against him, a result of his skin cells being mutated. It is unknown what, if anything, can pierce it.

Super Liver:
Unknown origins, either due to a side effect of one of the two above abilities or a completely separate anomaly, Darknaught is immune to virtually any poisonous substance due to a high ability to break down substances into nutrients via his internal ograns.

So begins...

Joe Darknaught's Story

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Joe Darknaught stepped into the bar, his fists curled tightly in a pair of handcuffs, chewing at his bottom lip fretfully as he moved about the space. Settling his six foot five frame in a stool, he set to work on his cuffs, rattling them and shaking them, attempting to release his large hands from the bondage.

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Joe's eyes didn't raise as he flexed his wrists, pulling the chain apart and then slamming the cuffs together, creating tension then slack in a jarring series of movements, hoping to work the chain free. He lacked any sort of strength to break out of the handcuffs, resorting to slamming them apart and together over, and over, and over again. An observant eye would notice that the wrists around the handcuffs weren't touched at all, despite the abuse, though there was no true way to tell how long the metal bonds were there for.

"Brilliant deduction, yours," he growled, still slamming the cuffs together and apart, together and apart. The jingling noise spiralled into the air, above the din.

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Joe raised an eyebrow at the alchemist, his wrists twisting in the cuffs as he glanced towards the man's badge, his eyebrow settling at the flash of shield. He shrugged a single, bulky shoulder, the muscles in his rolled-up shirtsleeves flexing imperceptibly as he accepted the Lager, studying the bottle for a time before taking a long, healthy pull from the neck.

"Don't give a fuck who you are," he grunted, his eyes meeting Pretarupa's briefly, enough to give her a dark stare. Another pull from the bottle as he turned back towards the cop - or whatever. "Weird practice, drinkin' with a criminal."

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Darknaught grunted his assent, finishing the beer after a third and final swig. He tossed the bottle between his meaty hands in the short distance it had to go, left-right-left, until it ended up placed firmly on the table, circling slowly with momentum.

"What's to stop from smashin' this bottle and shankin' you?" He asked, in his baritone. "Can't kill me. Must know that."

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Darknaught grunted again, and shrugged as the vodka was poured. "Don't seem much point in this."

He waved a hand between the two of them. "Better drinkin' buddies. Woman's rapping. People snarlin'. Picked the guy in cuffs who's a wanted man."

Joe took a swig of Vodka, hacking slightly as the liquid burned his throat. "Seems like y'want a fight."

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Darknaught shrugged at that. "Both human. Probably it."


He took another swig, finishing the glass, before turning around and leaning on the counter, the cuffs rattling with each movements of his large arms. Reaching both arms up, he scratched at the spot of facial hair on his chin with a fingertip, keeping his eyes low and pointed at the floor.

"Couldn't kill me," he said, with a tone filled with nothing but a man stating an earnest fact. "Better than you have tried."

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Joe just watched the two converse, grabbing the bottle of empty lager silently, spinning it in a meaty hand. He never left a weapon just lying about.

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"Shitty cop, then," Joe said, flexing his fingers around the bottle. "You guys supposed to always look for justice? Doesn't look like it to me."

He pointed at Phinx, and then back to himself. "Wanted, wanted. Just drinking. Wonder what side of the law you fall on, cop."

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Joe was about to retort, and then zombie Michael Jackson.

He paused, thinking about this for a long few seconds, really giving it the thought that that statement deserved, before opting not to comment. He shifted his body, observing the two of them for a long while, his hands beginning to incessantly bang the cuffs apart and together again.

"No point to this,." he said again, lifting a chin towards Phinx. "Got anything to open these? Doubt the cop'll do it."

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Palming the pick, Joe set to work on the cuffs, his hands clumsy and slow. He kept his gaze on the metal links, watching them with rapt attention as he worked the pick clumsily around inside the hole, seemingly absorbed in the task.

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Joe paused, blinking, at the speed in which the man took the lockpick. Glancing at Phinx, he nodded his head slightly to the cop.

"Think someone just stole from you."

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All Joe gave was a fingerwave to the retreating woman, and picked up the bottle of Jack with his hand cupping the bottom, a certainly odd way to hold a liquor bottle. Not his favourite drink, but it'd do for now. Taking a long pull at the neck, he sighed through his teeth as the liquid washed down his throat.

"Better than Vodka." He said, sighing. "Don't understand how anyone can drink that."

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Joe watched him, the air between them stagnant as the gun went off, the chain between his hands disintegrating into thin air. The criminal gave it a single heartbeat before swinging the bottle of jack as hard as he could, straight for the other man's temple.

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Joe stood, then, the bottle hanging from his palm, broken chain of the handcuffs dangling loosely from his wrist as he began to walk towards the smaller man, hulking frame casting a long, dark shadow on the floor of the bar.

"Don't threaten," he ground out. "Can't kill me. Even that bullet. Tried, didn't work."

He slammed the bottle against the counter, taking another swing when the first only accomplished a crack in the glass. Wielding the jagged edge of the glass, he pressed it against his forearm, white marks appearing - but no cut. No blood. There never was any blood.

"Gonna have to gut you, copper." He said, almost sounding apologetic. "Nothin' personal."

Lunging forwards, he thrust the bottle towards the cop.

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Joe was a landslide; slow, hulking, and pissed as all hell. His face showed very little change in demeanour; hard eyes still gazed out, fingers spinning the neck of the bottle rapidly as he adjusted his course to follow the other man. His path took him right past Lillea, and he gave her a hard shove with his elbow as he moved past her, desperate to disturb something if he couldn't get his hands on the speedy cop.

"Coward," he grunted out, his ears barely picking up the admission of love and the consequential reply, so absorbed was he in seeing the cop's blood on his glass. "Can only run. That your plan? Can't tire me, and can't kill me."

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The staff would slam against his knee, and, as if he were unaffected, the man simply wheeled around as the staff bounced off. Darknaught stared at the cop, flipping the bottle around casually in his grip, the jagged underside now facing the cop.

"Should've thought about that before you put a gun against me." He said, before tossing the makeshift weapon towards the man, dusting his hands off.

"Shitty cop. Shoulda taken me in." He shook his head slowly, and made for the exit of the bar.

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Joe blinked at the man as he stopped in front of him, a hand reaching up to run through the strands at the back of his head.

"What would the point be?"

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Joe's eyebrows raised at that, and he shoved massive hands into his back pockets, watching carefully.

"Don't think so. Coppers always got a trick. You shot at me, I tried to shank you. Even now."

He tried to sweep the man out of the way, moving for the exit again.

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Joe Darknaught entered the bar, his massive frame filling the substantial doorway as he moved. Around him, his crisp white shirt and darkened blue pants stretched and bulged alongside the many different muscles that were bunched and chorded together, displaying a vast array of raw power underneath a matching and fear-inducing frame. The criminal sat quietly at a table, his shoulder-holster banging against his body with each movement he made. He paused in the midst of the bar, watching the assorted patrons with a critical eye.

Tonight, the criminal was going to get himself a victim.

Tonight, he would get paid.

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Joe rolled his eyes at the display going on, picking up an ordered glass of rum and cola, and sucking it down in two long sips. He ordered another, taller glass, leaning forwards to steeple his fingers and observe Demor and Sienna, watching for any sign of cash.

When Demor walked away, he patted the seat beside him, glancing at Sienna.

"Spot's free. Drink?"

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Joe shrugged at her refusal of alcohol, wondering if he could do this just fine without getting her smashed first. He took another long sip of the large glass, bubbling with caramel-coloured goodness as the kick of the rum blended smoothly with the coke in his throat. Allowing himself a small sigh of contentment with the drink, he placed it back down on the table, rolling both of his shoulders in counter-clockwise motions.

"'Lo," he responded, quietly. Effortlessly, he reached behind her and allowed the lightning bolt into his body, the shock not visibly affecting him.

"Got a phone?"

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Joe took the iPhone - a very expensive looking phone - from the woman, and placed it on his end of the table, examining it closely. He made no move to make a call, instead drank another slow sip of alcohol before glancing back towards her. He tried to smile, the result making his face stretched and comical, not at all a charming figure.

"Got a watch?"

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Joe waved it aside. "Got a wallet?" He insisted, shifting so that his large frame loomed over her, the shoulder holster bumping against his armpit with the movement. Inside the holster was a gun - black and gleaming, the texture of the handle raised, looking menacing, dangerous.

He tapped the table. "Car keys? Ring? Necklace?"

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Joe picked up the necklace and the phone in one hand, shoving them both into a pocket with nonchalance. "No," he responded, going back to his drink, taking his time with it. Unhurriedly - nothing about him was hurried - he let the liquid slurp past his lips, coating his tongue and throat with the delicate taste. After a minute, he glanced back at the woman.

"Something you need?"

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Joe raised an eyebrow at her. "Thought we had an understanding," he said, shifting to face her again, looming over her, his chin pinched between two meaty fingers.

"No. Not going to give it back. Can go, if you want."