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Kevin K and Boombox Jones

Song Scryer and asshole manifest

0 · 76 views · located in The Infinite Void

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

Description

Image

NAME: Kevin K. and Boombox Jones
RACE: Human and Manifest, respectively.
AGE: Unknown
GENDER: Male/Male
ORIGIN: Unknown
POWERS/ABILITIES:
Kevin and Boombox Jones have a pokemon-esque deal going on, where Jones does all the heavy lifting, while Kevin provides the soundtrack, quite literally.
Jones can convert sound energy from the boombox he inhabits into spiritual energy that allows him to be able to affect the things around him. Kevin loosely determines how that energy will take shape.




BIO

Kevin is a sensitive artist, or so he claims. Though he had aspirations to be famous, he's simply opted to put together club fliers and logos for startup business owners who have no idea what they want. Kevin is a canticumagus, commonly known as a Song Scryer, a type of mildly magical individual that can take the feeling and emotion behind a song and put it to their own nefarious uses. Think about how certain songs get you 'psyched', but multiply that by tenfold. He is a breed of a larger segment of magic users that specialize in sound and the recording thereof" the audiomagus.
Then one day, he came into possession of a boombox and mixtape involved in some super dark audiomagic. Such as, recording somebody's very SOUL into a device.



Enter Boombox Jones. Unaware that his ex was a (rightly corrupt) audiomagus and pissed her off. She sealed his essence up into a mixtape and threw it to the wind. Unfortunately, it ended up in a boombox Kevin purchased to impress a chick. When Kevin pressed play, the boombox became infused with Jones, and now the two are inseparable, except through nigh impossible means (involving killing the caster, which Kevin is too much a weenie to do)

Personality

Kevin: Nice, albeit wimpy.
Jones; FAR TOO COCKY FOR BEING SOME RAMPANT ENERGY

So begins...

Kevin K and Boombox Jones's Story

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#, as written by CrashQueen
"I don't like the look of this place," Kevin muttered as he slipped into the bar. He didn't want to draw any more attention than he had to. He was just here to collect some noise, and get the hell out. It didn't help that he carried around a ghettoblster like he was straight out of the 80s. But no, that wasn't him, that was the ghost that hadn't made his appearance yet. The speakers were silent. It made the hipstermage nervous.

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#, as written by CrashQueen
Kevin set the boombox on the table he'd decided to haunt, somewhere in the back of the bar. He removed a small tape recorder from his leather messenger bag that hung over his shoulder, futzing with it before pressing record and holding it in one hand, while he dallied at the menu with the other. Interesting, him? He didn't think so, really.

crackled the boombox through some blue sparks.
“Yeah, yeah, can you shut up?” the man grumbled. “You're muddying the sound, Jones.”

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The Song Scryer grunted, putting in an order for an Old Fashioned, his thumb still on the recording button of the tapedeck. “I've got a mixtape for that.” He raised an eyebrow at the 'virginity' comment, but left it in...maybe he could pull something from that later. Maybe.
Most Song Scryers relaxed safely in the world of the discreet, ipod headphones and tiny tiny recording devices. But not Kevin. Caught up in the retrowave, he stuck with the tapes. Nothing quite like having to wrestle the tape itself from a jammed recorder. It had more power at that...the more clean, technologically advanced, the less condensed the resulting magic.
Kevin might have been a pushover, but he was pretty serious about his scrying.

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Kevin sputtered through his drink. “No- no no no. I do not want to fight. I am no fighter,” he recovered, looking for the 'off' switch to the boombox. Unfortunately, Jones had no plug that could be pulled. He was the box, it was his body. His square, wire-filled, faulty body.
And what appeared next was his soul.
Towering, huge, the top of his head scraping the ceiling, the bright blue staticform came into existence and stared down the kid in the hoodie. “Ch, you ain't so tough.”

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The grand thing about having an inanimate object as a body was that you could be dragged away from any confrontation, which is what Kevin did, clicking his tape recorder off and knocking back the rest of his drink before retreating to the other side of the bar with the boombox. “Don't even start to follow me. I'll hex the shit out of you-” he warned, wiggling his fingers.

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Kevin K and Boombox Jones are cool apparently. The hipstermage tried not to grin, he really really tried.

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Kevin didn't want to be social. “Uhhh...Kevin. That's all you get, now stay awayyy.”

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In walked a hipster. But not just ANY hipster, a magical hipster. Though to call Kevin 'magical' would really be a stretch of the term. Perhaps gifted would be a better option. He balanced the ghetto blaster on his shoulder with utmost precision as he settled at the far end of the bar and ordered a Captain and Coke. Carefully he withdrew a tape recorder and clicked it on, setting it on the bar before him. Perhaps there would be SOMETHING here in the ambient noise he could draw power from.
He was suspicious, however. Jones was quiet. Too quite.

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*quiet

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Kevin K and Boombox Jones raised an eyebrow at the wolf person a little further down the bar. He knew weres...well he knew ONE were that ran the antique shop on the Eastside. Eliott wasn't particularly dangerous or dog-looking unless the moon was out. He nodded at the server and took a sip of his drink. "S'great, thanks."
Carefully, he set the boombox on the counter as well. Maybe Jones was sleeping and he could avoid jostling the rambunctious spirit awake.
But to no avail.
"Think she's used to being called a bitch?" the device mused, the volume up to near max because dammit, Jones WANTED to be heard.
"Not me not me!" Kevin recovered quickly, turning the volume knob back down only to have it turn up again of its own volition.

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Kevin had to wonder exactly what it was he had done to make Jones so willing to constantly put him in the path of potential physical harm. "You know, if I die, you're stuck in that box forever," he muttered at the boombox before clicking it off and leaving his thumb on the switch so Jones couldn't just turn himself back on. The hairs on Kevin's arms stood on end from the residual, irritated electromanifest energy. He shook his head at Fenrias' snarl.
"No, no! It wasn't me, I swear. It's this douchebag vagrant soul I have to tote around. I promise...."
Kevin didn't fight. HELL TO THE NO.

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He knew one day he was going to die here.
And yet Kevin kept on showing up to Gambits every once in a while, recorder in hand. Sure, he could have stayed around the south end of the plaza and tape snatches of music from the various shops an restaurants, but those were mildly energizing at best. He'd gotten incredibly close to pyromancy at one point after listening to a snippet taken from a very noisy dragon in this bar before. Maybe he'd have the same sort of luck.
The tape recorder was inconspicuous, hidden largely by his gloved hand, but he wasn't out of the water yet. It was the ghettoblaster perched precariously on his left shoulder than drew attention to him when he didn't want any, hissing down in the bass clef.

"Spookteddiesss, drug addictsss, demonsss and slutssss. Sure is a winning day, isn't it, Kevvy?"
"Ssssh," the hipster grunted, turning the volume knob on the cursed electronic device down. He settled at a table, sitting the boombox on top.

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Kevin blinked at Hotline and shrugged, deciding to light up a cigarette of his own from a shiny silver case. Hand rolled of course, are you kidding? He inhaled the smoke and shrugged at the mention of Jones. "Woulda much preferred something more compact, but life ain't fair."
He ignored the comment on his hat. It was whatever, at least it was cold enough to warrant a knit cap. Even egregiously yellow ones.

The boombox itself, was less cool with being insulted.
"Well EXCUSE my motherfuckin' BEAUTY!" it crackled loudly.

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"Considered it briefly, but with his temper, I'd end up electrocuted or some shit. It's easier to just ignore him." Kevin tapped on the boombox's plastic top before pressing a few buttons, which were then indignantly popped back into place. "That and it'd be pointless anyway. He don't like to be messed around with."
The hipstermage let his cigarette hang out of his mouth before offering his hand over for the shake. "Kevin. I'm a, eh, audiomagus. Peel magical abilities from recorded noise, real boring shit."
He tapped the boombox again and got a feral snarl in response. "This is Jones. Boombox Jones if ya wanna get cutesy."

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"Hey that's pretty sick," Kevin replied in awe. "Gotta come in handy. When I break, I break for keeps," he chuckled and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Hotline's last comment caught him off guard and he coughed the next bit of smoke. "D-don't ask me, I'm not the expert on sluts at this table."

Jones, however, totally was.
"One? I bet all three are DTF. But I put my bet on the redhead, especially if y'gots candy to tempt with." The boombox crackled slightly, it's occupant debating whether to manifest properly or not.
Kevin seemed distracted now, watching Milly and thinking she looked faaaar too normal to be in a place like Gambits. But looks were misleading.

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"I don't need a wingma-" Kevin started but was drowned out by Hotline's catcall to Sirad. He lowered his head to look at the absolutely fascinating array of stains and burns on the counter, then checked to make sure that his recorder was still running. It was....so maybe something good would come from this.

Jones took this as an invitation to manifest, and the speakers of the boombox glowed with blue energy before sparking and exuding some sort of visible static that eventually took the form of a skeletal punker, skull-faced and huge, easily scraping the ceiling. He grinned jacked up teeth. "It's no use, Hottie, I've been trying to get Kev laid for years. I think he's one of them aces."

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"Ey you should really be watching this guy, Kev. Y'might learn a thing or two." Jones chided, trying to get a grip on the hipstermage's head to get him to look up from the countertop.
Kevin swatted at the entity, feeling the tingle as his hand passed through Jones' form. "Ffffuck off," he grunted. "I don't need your help."
He sighed as Milly was harrassed by Hotline, but kept a curious eye on her. If she proved to be not what she seemed, it'd happen all over Hotline.

Jones idly drifted over, as far as he could away from his 'body' sitting on the counter. His appearance flickered occasionally, but it was nothing to be alarmed about.

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He couldn't take it and yelled over at Milly. "He's asking if you want to fuck him!"
Oh Kevin you're such a saint and a cockblock.

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Kevin blinked and pushed Jade away before she could get in. "Ahahahahha. No." He preferred to remain chaste because he could and also because he was frankly terrified of 8 out of 10 women in Wing City.
Jones wolfwhistled prematurely and then pushed Kevin's face into the bar. "Why you gotta be such a killjoy, Kevin? Fuckin' hell."
Kevin squawked and twisted in his seat. "I made you and I can unmake you!"

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"Unnnnn- ow-ow! Fuck off- no. God no."

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