Post by cinderer on Jan 9, 2011 11:13:03 GMT -8
Number/Name: 1809
Number Placement: Across his back.
Gender: Male
Years since Creation: 1 year, 4 months
Date of Creation: October 1st
Alignment: Racketeers (Salesman)
Height: 9 in.
Fabric: The average brown burlap for his arms, the rest of his body varied colors of silk.
Metal: Aluminum
Anomalies: Several. A plastic 'X' over where his left eye should be located, his elongated body gives one reason to pause and show this Stitchpunk a second glance, and one of the most crucial parts of his circuitry is a computer chip that houses an abundance of data on almost every fact of life, at the cost of his mental state. He personally scrawled a negative sign onto his number for his own amusement in confounding others. The inner skeleton is composed of springs and paper clips for flexibility.
Accessories: A blue button holds his tie in place, both trinkets taken off a toy doll.
Abilities: Due to his spindly form, 1809 is highly agile, daring to perform acrobatics in extreme heights. His chip allows him to pull up information like a database, enabling him to create a conversation flow, and eventually a sale, with any individual that might be interested in his babbling.
Weapon(s): Pencil with thumbtacks in it. One end for stabbing, the other for shredding.
Appearance: (Image coming soon)
With a thin body and limbs, matched by his taller than average height, lanky is the very definition of 1809. His head, bright orange, striped, his only good optic showing a unstable soul beneath it. His body is clothed in a businessman's attire, a palette of grey and black colors. His legs patched and beige.
Personality: The least to say about 1809 is that he's insane. Not taking an interest with the darker side of his mind, ask him, and he'll proudly say he's chaotically good to a fault. Though he strongly disagrees with much of the other Racketeer's morals, which sometimes leads him to a sound pummeling, he silently goes along with them, hoping for a better tomorrow with their system of restoring society.
With his corrupted mind from the masses of data, he'll sometimes wander off in thought,, leaving him to be the annoyance of others. His humor and rabid favoring with the lighter side of humanity balances this out.
Other Information: 1809 was created by an Asylum inmate. To be fair, the man wasn't insane, just a visionary, or at least that was he said of himself. Once a scientist of some renown, The man claimed to see a future of mechanical terrors that threatened to wipe them off the planet, but also of a race of ragdolls that could be their salvation. These rants sent him to the loony bin after a court hearing, and there, he began to tinker with the idea of how humanity would live on. Borrowing the idea of stitchpunks from a colleague, who had created a marvelous machine 'brain' at the time, 1809 began to form inside his padded cell. It was not after the war, that with his struggling, dying breath, Alan Poe transferred his soul to the body of the orange stitchpunk.
With hardly any recollection of his human life, he wandered for days on end, but his optimism not falling to the bleak world around him. He came across the Clocktower, and proved that his skills could be of use in traveling about and selling their supplies.
In honesty, 1809 truly wishes to lead the Racketeers himself. He believes that with some correction, they could be a force of good, and maybe even another safe haven for life in the tower. Of course, if he ever spoke this aloud, he'd wind up being subjugated to torture, tearing, grinding, ripping, beating, death, or a combination of the above. He shrugs and accepts this, but when he's in the middle of a business and alone from the other Racketeers, he gives his client a bit of free surplus on the side.
[Theme Song, Hocus Pocus by Helloween]
His speech is a British Cockney accent, think of all the funny words and ridiculous exaggerations packed snugly into his little voice box.[/sub]
Number Placement: Across his back.
Gender: Male
Years since Creation: 1 year, 4 months
Date of Creation: October 1st
Alignment: Racketeers (Salesman)
Height: 9 in.
Fabric: The average brown burlap for his arms, the rest of his body varied colors of silk.
Metal: Aluminum
Anomalies: Several. A plastic 'X' over where his left eye should be located, his elongated body gives one reason to pause and show this Stitchpunk a second glance, and one of the most crucial parts of his circuitry is a computer chip that houses an abundance of data on almost every fact of life, at the cost of his mental state. He personally scrawled a negative sign onto his number for his own amusement in confounding others. The inner skeleton is composed of springs and paper clips for flexibility.
Accessories: A blue button holds his tie in place, both trinkets taken off a toy doll.
Abilities: Due to his spindly form, 1809 is highly agile, daring to perform acrobatics in extreme heights. His chip allows him to pull up information like a database, enabling him to create a conversation flow, and eventually a sale, with any individual that might be interested in his babbling.
Weapon(s): Pencil with thumbtacks in it. One end for stabbing, the other for shredding.
Appearance: (Image coming soon)
With a thin body and limbs, matched by his taller than average height, lanky is the very definition of 1809. His head, bright orange, striped, his only good optic showing a unstable soul beneath it. His body is clothed in a businessman's attire, a palette of grey and black colors. His legs patched and beige.
Personality: The least to say about 1809 is that he's insane. Not taking an interest with the darker side of his mind, ask him, and he'll proudly say he's chaotically good to a fault. Though he strongly disagrees with much of the other Racketeer's morals, which sometimes leads him to a sound pummeling, he silently goes along with them, hoping for a better tomorrow with their system of restoring society.
With his corrupted mind from the masses of data, he'll sometimes wander off in thought,, leaving him to be the annoyance of others. His humor and rabid favoring with the lighter side of humanity balances this out.
Other Information: 1809 was created by an Asylum inmate. To be fair, the man wasn't insane, just a visionary, or at least that was he said of himself. Once a scientist of some renown, The man claimed to see a future of mechanical terrors that threatened to wipe them off the planet, but also of a race of ragdolls that could be their salvation. These rants sent him to the loony bin after a court hearing, and there, he began to tinker with the idea of how humanity would live on. Borrowing the idea of stitchpunks from a colleague, who had created a marvelous machine 'brain' at the time, 1809 began to form inside his padded cell. It was not after the war, that with his struggling, dying breath, Alan Poe transferred his soul to the body of the orange stitchpunk.
With hardly any recollection of his human life, he wandered for days on end, but his optimism not falling to the bleak world around him. He came across the Clocktower, and proved that his skills could be of use in traveling about and selling their supplies.
In honesty, 1809 truly wishes to lead the Racketeers himself. He believes that with some correction, they could be a force of good, and maybe even another safe haven for life in the tower. Of course, if he ever spoke this aloud, he'd wind up being subjugated to torture, tearing, grinding, ripping, beating, death, or a combination of the above. He shrugs and accepts this, but when he's in the middle of a business and alone from the other Racketeers, he gives his client a bit of free surplus on the side.
[Theme Song, Hocus Pocus by Helloween]
His speech is a British Cockney accent, think of all the funny words and ridiculous exaggerations packed snugly into his little voice box.[/sub]