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Virgil E. Martineau

[quote]...You know, this place is trippy. Who the hell slipped me acid?[/quote] - Twenty four years old. Sociable. Polite. Charming. And...won't hesitate to put a bullet betwixt your eyes.

249 views · located in The Infinite Void

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

Description

...For Christ's sake, you're asking me these things? And I've gotta answer? Jesus tits, fine. How do I go about this. Uh, I've got dirty blonde hair, black lowlights. I'm five nine, and a half...I think. I weigh around one hundred and seventy five pounds. I've got a dark-ish complexion, too much sun, you know? My eyes are sapphire blue in the dark, and seem to fade to a sky blue when the light hits them. I have a single lip ring, and a nose stud. On my right arm, I have a tattoo of a heart with a devils tail, and horns, but...also holds angelic wings, and a halo tipped off of one of the horns. Around the heart itself, is barbed wire. To this day....I don't know what it means, but...It hit me, I had to have it.

...Wait, what? Now I've gotta tell you what I wear? Oh, for the love of. I wear a black t-shirt, usually, with a pair of stone-washed blue jeans. Yeah, the fancy, expensive, jeans with the frays and tears and shit already put in them. I tend to wear regular sneakers and all, Adio's, Adida's, Nike's, Converse. Whatever. I have a white sweater, or well, 'hoodie', as people call them. I'ts one of a kind, with tribal skulls and whatnot all over it, spider webs, and a sweet little authors signature in black cursive at the very bottom inner corner. Yeah, it's a zip up one, those are the shit. Aside from that, I can't really say what else I wear. Depends on my moods. Though, I'm gonna have to tell you, if I walk in with a black studded belt around my waist, with a holster on either side, handguns in them, and I look mad...please, take a hint, and keep a good couple of steps back. It's...for your own safety.

Woah, huh? You want me to? Oh hell no! Fuck you!

.....

Image

Personality

This thing again? You want me to tell em what I'm like, personality wise? Fuuck...

I'm lazy. I'm kinda arrogant, at times. I'm laid back, and chill. I guess you can say I'm very sociable, and...yeah, I am. I get along with people well, as long as they aren't fucking dumb. I enjoy a good conversation, not drama...anything but drama. I don't get angry too easy, if you try to piss me off...more than likely I'm gonna point and laugh at your dumbass, cuz you're trying. Now, if you do piss me off? I'll bust your fuckin' face in with my fist, or the butt of my magnum. Either or, choose your pain.

...No! I will not!

.....

Equipment

Aha! This, this I like. This I'll do.

I wear a set of fingerless gloves, with metal studs on each knuckle. Painful, but effective. They hurt the other guy, more than they hurt me, so it's worth it. Beyond that, we go to a typical combat knife that happens to be sheathed around my right forearm at all times, just in the right place. Easy to access, and quick to use.

We then move to my two lovely obsidian handguns. Two PT745 Taurus Millennium series handguns. Luckily, for you, I have the specs right here!

-DA/SA version, compact frame, Heinie sights with 'Straight-8' rear.
-Weight: 20.8 ounces
-Length: 6.00 inches
-Width: 1.125 inches
-Height: 5.2 inches
-6 groove 3.25 inch barrel with 1:16 inch rate of twist
-6 round magazine.

For these, I use straight Titanium .45 ACP +P hollow point rounds.

Finally, I have my wonderful silver magnum. A Smith & Wesson M500. Now, mind you, I use this thing rarely, as it has a hell of a recoil. On top of that, it takes both hands to fire it, and a steady aim. I'm damn good, but, well, I have my limits. If you want the specs, I guess I can give em to you.

-Weight: 56 ounces
-Barrel length: 9 inches
-Cartridges: .500 S&W Magnum rounds

Pretty much all I carry on me, aside from that, I guess I can kick your ass with my hands and feet, and whatever else I can think of...

History

...I'd rather not...


Virgil was born on December 13th, 1986, in Paris. A young French boy, he was rather spoiled. His father taught him at a young age how to fire a typical gun. Of course, like most young boys, he grew rather fascinated with so much power in his hands, that he strove to one day become 'The best marksman ever!'. Over the years, his wealthy family continued to give in, allowing him to attend schools based upon marksmanship. Aside from that, he grew up a rather average boy. Friends. Lovers. Getting into trouble.

The day he became sixteen, he was a viciously talented marksman. He'd by this time fallen into the wrong crowd, looting stores, and causing trouble. A day came that he was caught burglarizing a rather prominent store. He had few options. One was to be sent over seas with relatives that lived in L.A. Going through with it, he traveled across the globe, living with his Uncle. The man, too, was a hellish gun-wielder, and taught the boy even more things. Not to mention, the man, himself, had a knack for trouble. Teaching Virgil his ways, the boy came to learn the dirty business of this side of his family. Weapons trading, collecting, and rather bad jobs. No wonder L.A. had such a high homicide rate. They boy was taught to kill, and kill effectively. There were several jobs the kid underwent. But, by the time he made Twenty Four, he chose to leave the business. It wasn't for him. He just...wanted a normal life now. Sadly, his ties would forever remain. Eric, his actual middle name, was replaced by Enigma, by many of his friends, and associates. Thus, Virgil E. Martineau, became known as The Enigma.

...It was only fitting that a day came when he was out doing his own thing, and he was pulled into the world known as The Multi-Verse...

That shit ain't funny! Don't joke! ...Damn, guy can't even go down a fuckin' grocery isle without being sucked into wonderland. Not funny, man, not funny...

So begins...

Virgil E. Martineau's Story

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Virgil E. Martineau seemingly falls from the heavens. Yes, the heavens. Well, technically, about an inch below the ceiling, but you catch my drift. Screaming the whole way, Virgil lands with a thud, smacking his head upon a table, and altering course as he bounces off, and hits the floor with an audible thump.

"...Oh, fuck me...someone...catch the number of that subway car...damn..." He mumbles, slowly raising a hand to his face, slipping his legs in and out of bent positions...

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Virgil E. Martineau was too busy holding his face. All he heard around him was "Mumble mumble, chitter chatter, this that". Ripping back his hood, he shakes his head from side to side, his blonde and black locks swaying a bit. Peeking an eye open, he looks about. Woah, dude. You're kidding, right?

...getting to his feet, he points out in shock, before his mouth drops. Gaping wide.

"...Dude, the hell. I think someone slipped me acid. No, seriously, who the hell? I'm gonna shoot their right testicle off." He mutters. "Either someone slipped me acid, straight up, or I just fell into wonderland. Straight up. Star wars. Predators. And giant alien spider things. Yeah. No, just...no..." He continues stammering, placing a hand to the side of his head.

"...What the HELL is going on here? Shit, I need a shot of bourbon for this..." He mutters.

...Hey, wait, by the looks of it, this was a bar...

"...Least something went right..."

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Virgil E. Martineau simply stood. The place was a warzone. Lazers. Crazy people. Drinking people. He was so confused. A twitch of his brow, and he seems to snap almost, before he laughs out insanely like. Then, suddenly going quiet, he pinches himself.

"Ow! Fuck! Ah, c'mon now. This can't be happening to me..." he finally whines, before almost sobbing. It took a moment to collect himself, before he shrugs now. "...Well, whatever. I must've died and went to hell. Let's roll with it." He mutters, slipping his way to the bar.

Of course, he had to dodge random laser fire, and other death inducing things...

...But, reaching the bar counter, he takes a seat, now ignoring the atrocities happening behind him. Why not? This was hell.

"...Who knew isle seven lead to hell. Too bad I can't warn the next unlucky bastard to go down the isle lookin' for cheerio's..."

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  /ooc *watches in horror as this shit goes on, realizing his writer was oblivious* I'm telling!

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  /ooc "WTF?!"

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Virgil E. Martineau blinks, dumbfounded. Dad? Son? Uhhhhhhhhhhh.....

"Excuse me? Hold up for a second. I've got to do this just right..." He says, inhaling rather heavily. Turning to both of them, his brow twitches. "WHAT THE FUCK!?" He shouts, before placing a hand on his temple.

"...You, chick. You look twenty something. You're hot. You work here? Fancy gettin' me a shot of bourbon? I'll tip..." He mumbles, then smirks.

"...And you, dude. The hell? You look even younger than I am. Your jokes...they ain't funny. Try somethin' better next time. Like, holy shit! You look just like that one tranny I know! Shiiit, you'd be a damn good replacement!"

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  /ooc *holds up a finger* I...did not do anything sexually related with my daughter. No, I did not. *currently crossing his fingers with his other hand behind his back*

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  /ooc Wait! H-how! Get out of here! I'm the guy tormentin the OOC bitches!!!

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Virgil E. Martineau could only stare. And stare. And stare.

"The fuck is wrong with you people?" He says, arching a brow. Rolling his eyes, he snickers. "You know, dollface, I wasn't lyin', but whatev's, I'll get my own."

And with that, he makes his way around the bar, getting a bottle of bourbon, a couple cubes of ice, a tall glass, and then proceeds to poor it. Before even taking his seat, he slams it, before pouring another glass.

...Then, he returns to his seat. With a nod, he smirks. "Damn, least this place has nice booze.."

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  /ooc *throws a sexy party in OOC*

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Virgil E. Martineau arches a brow at that statement, spitting a bit of bourbon out. Hey now! He was an awesome guy. He would be an even more awesome husband! He'd teach his kid everything...that was mean and bad.

"Hey now! I resent that! That ain't even nice! You're feisty, yikes! Hiss!!!" He says, putting a finger on the bar counter, extending his hissing noise. "Playin' with fires bad, obviously...wow..." he adds, shaking his head, and sipping his drink again.

...of course, he blinks at the puppy, and could only shake his head. "Well, nice to know...Gambit's...is officially the little padded cell in my head that leads to insanity..."

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Virgil E. Martineau muses momentarily. "Hmmm..."

Thinking, he places a finger upon his lips, and then sighs. So, he'd have to get use to it? There was no way home? Wonderful.

"...Uhh, so, where the hell do I stay?" He mutters to himself. He didn't know yet that this place was actually a hotel and a bar...

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Virgil E. Martineau blinks, and then looks about, spying a set of stairs that lead up. With a smirk, he nods. "Well, that sounds good. Uhh, how much? Find me a laptop, that'll manage a connection to my bank account, and I can wire transfer the money I need..." He says with a nod.

...Needless to say, the kid was wealthy. Multi-millionaire parents. A spoiled brat son. You get the picture.


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Virgil E. Martineau frowns, rather displeased. With a pout, he twiddles his glass in his hand, before hanging his head in defeat...

"Well! I see how you all are around here, prats..." He mutters...

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Virgil E. Martineau was alerted by the screams of said oncoming creature, tilting back on his stool to avoid the thing. As it sailed over him, he kept keen eyes trailed upon the creature, before reaching down in a hurry to un-holster two pistols from either side. As he pulls them out, he aims to train the laser sights upon the creature before squeezing off three rounds each from each pistol. .45 APC +P rounds would go off, travelling at around 1450 meters per second; devastatingly accurate was the boy, but hey, his target was moving through the air, so...who knows!

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Virgil E. Martineau remained tilted back upon his chair, finally losing his balance and falling to the floor with a thud. The barrels of his gun, smoking, he blinks, and shakes his head. "Uhh, well! That...was...er, rather interesting. The hell was that?" He questions, leaning up to reload his handguns.

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Virgil E. Martineau finishes loading his handguns, before placing them back in the holsters. Huh, another falling person from the ceiling. Right on.

"Oh, cool, cool..." He states with a blink, getting back to his feet. With a sigh, he realizes that it'd be best for him to come back another time. Wandering around, he decides to explore the upper floors in search of a room.

...Psh, yeah, as if he was going to pay...

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Virgil E. Martineau stumbles down the stairs, falling onto his face. As he clambers to his feet, he spies Alexia.

"Hey! A slut! Well, damn! That's something reminiscent of L.A.!"

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Virgil E. Martineau blinks, realizing she'd wandered over to him. Arching a brow, he couldn't help but stifle a laugh.

"Uh, hello? How much?"

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Virgil E. Martineau falls over, due to a nosebleed...

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Virgil E. Martineau manages to open his eyes, and can only twitch.

"What...are you doing woman?"

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Virgil E. Martineau winces as she bites down on his neck, swiftly retrieving his S&W M500. Placing the barrel of it on the bottom of her jaw, he hisses.

"Hey now, I like it rough, but...this is stretching it..."

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  /ooc *laments as he's nothing compared to a Saiyan*

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Virgil E. Martineau quivers at those words.

"...Uhh, wha? How much is that gonna cost me?"

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Virgil E. Martineau frowns, noting Grack possibly come to his rescue.

"I kinda need my soul, ha ha, lower your...the fuck!?"