thezerosystem

Do you have any use for a mortician? You mentioned Abel was found hanging in his closet if I remember right? Would there be anything about his corpse that could be of help in the case?

I'm not going to describe everything she took with her till i have to write it in the scene, I don't feel like writing it out twice... Is this ok? I like Hala too. It's fitting for a scifi. [SIZE=1] [B]Name:[/B] Hala Hyo [B]Nickname:[/B] The servants have many names for her, none of which are very polite... [B]Age:[/B]19 [B]Gender:[/B] Female [B]Side:[/B] Initially, she is fiercely loyal to her father, but as she begins to understand the extent of his involvements in the political sphere (as well as the nature of politics in general), and as her relationship with Strange grows, she finds herself ready to give up everything, and anything, to keep by his side? [B]Weapons:[/B]To start with; only a short cerimonial blade she pulled off a decorative armor in the hall when she found herself being kidnapped... [B]Ability:[/B] Hala discovered at a very young age that if she screamed loud enough she could actually shatter her milk glass? Which came in quite handy as she didn?t like milk. As she grew older, she found that with some practice, she could imitate other people?s voices almost perfectly, though she kept this to herself and only mocked them to her mirror. She can mimic practically any sound she hears, and can raise and lower the pitch of her voice so as to make it seem to come from different directions. [B]Personality:[/B] Closed, quiet, reserved. Considered by most to be something of a cold shrew, and spoiled to all rot. But while it is true her father has done nothing but shower her with presents; her father has done [I]nothing[/I] but shower her with presents. She loves her father, but hasn?t seen him in almost twelve years, and doesn?t even bother to read the sporadic letters she receives from him anymore. His promises to return home are endless and empty, and she is tired and bitter with disappointment. Her mother is far too busy being a socialite to may her ?only pretty? daughter any mind, the pettiness and flattery of her would be suitors annoys her, and the servants obey her without question but are otherwise to terrified of her temper to speak to her. She is lonely and bored, and the knowledge that her existence is essentially useless to the grand scheme of life eats at her. Useless, unwanted, and ignored, she has detached herself from the world around her; preferring to sit in her rooms with her books and dream out her window of a love she wouldn?t know what do with if she had. [B]Appearance:[/B] Quite pretty, but not quite beautiful? The portrait of some kind of Neo-Victorian doll; Hala stands just over five feet tall, with long coal colored ringlets that spill over her shoulders to fall down her back, delicate features, and pale, almost translucent cream colored skin. The only thing distracting her from being beautiful is her eyes; they are neither blue nor brown nor green, but a muddy soup of all three colors; betrayed and downcast. She has never before worn the same thing twice in her life, her tastes ranging from the outlandish to the mournfully fantastic; she prefers high necked ensembles that button up the back and full skirts that cover the toes of her lace up combat style boots. Origionally, they had been her fathers when he was very young, and they are still a little too large for her. They aren?t fashionable, but she never learned to walk in the high heeled slippers of the other noble born girls. The day she was kidnapped she was wearing a heavy long sleeved charcoal bodice trimmed in white lace at the throat and sleeves that buttoned up pearl in the back over a layered silk petticoat that didn?t quite cover the toes of her favorite black boots. Her hair was drawn half way back, clipped loosely by an ivory barrette- the first gift she can remember her father giving her and the only one he ever gave her in person. Her prudish streak relaxes (a bit) as she travels with Strange and his crew, as she finds a new confidence in her self and begins to feel less of an ugly duckling she did under her mother?s shadow. She ends up cutting off most of her skirts at the knee, eventually trading them away altogether for a loose pair of Strange?s handed down trousers that tuck into the knees of her boots. She keeps to the bodice, but cutting away the lace and sleeves in favor of long black gloves. The barrette remains the only piece of jewelry she wears. Caught in the middle of packing, she took with her several more sets of clothing, which, though quite plain by high society standards, turn out to be not quite as sensible as Hala thought they would be... And so suffer similar alterations as the above mentioned outfit. [B]Flashback:[/B] The young Miss Hala had retired to her private rooms complaining of a headache (the only mentionable ailment a proper young lady could complain of) early on during dinner, leaving her mother to flirt away with Hala?s suitor herself and the servants to relax for the evening. She knew from long practice how many paces took you out of earshot of the dining hall, when she gathered up her skirts in a dead run. If she was crying as she bolted past her nurse?s room the older woman pretended not to notice. She didn?t even bother to look up from her mush novel. Asma' back-pedaled and burst the door open to storm at the woman. ?Go on! It?s not like you do anything but sit on your fat duff and wait to get paid anyway!? She shouted. ?I know you don?t care you don?t have to pretend you don?t know!? And was gone before her nurse could bluster up a protest. She went after the brat, but Hala' slammed her bedroom door in the woman?s face, turning a chair under the handle to jam it in place. She didn?t bolt it, she knew no one would try that hard to get in, no matter how she secretly hoped they would. ?What are you looking at?? She glared at her reflection and spun on her heel, sulking over to the window seat and her favorite pillow. She pulled her father?s last letter out of the dust cover and unfolded it reverently, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. ?Dearest Hala',? She whispered, hiccupping in her attempt to lower her voice to her father?s slightly gravelly pitch. ?I have wonderful news for your mother, and a gift for you. I?m not going to tell you what it is though; I will be home the eighteenth of the month to give it to you in person! Do tell your mother I love her, and I will see you in just a few days!...? She giggled. It was the longest letter she?d gotten from him in two years. She would have dance, but instead she felt her laughter breaking into a fresh round of sobs. Today was the twenty seventh? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]It was paradise. The garden of Eden... He didn't belong here. But curled up in a patch of sunlight, the warmth of the stone beneath him tickling his fur... Kurt was far too sleepy to let his usual guilt get the better of him. He snuggled down deeper into his cloak and watched the passersby below his perch in one of the towering arches surrounding Magneto's Savage Lands Estate... Though he was sure that wasn't what the man had called it... Kurt wasn't ready yet to venture out beyond it's walls, it had taken him days after coming here to consent to stealing a little sun, and he was still trying to wrap his brain around everything the Mutant Lord had told him. He wasn't a demon. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't evil... He was just...furry. And had a tail. And could televise....Kurt shook his head at that thought. No no. What had they called it. Telephoto...had to do with cameras...teleport. Teleport. And with that thought Kurt found himself stumbling against a cart passing through the streets... "Opps." But the man (the owner of the cart, Kurt presumed) only laughed and set him on his feet. "Out of the street, kid, I wouldn't want to run over ya'." Kurt scrambled back into the shadows of the mansion behind him, tugging his hood down a little farther and wrinkling his nose. It smelled of sulfer... And for a moment he wasn't sure he really believed Magneto. But then again Friar Wagners sad smiles whispered into his eyes and Kurt touched the little silver cross hidden away under his tunic. [I]"No one can come to me unless the Father, who sent me, draws him..."[/I] And when he had mumbled his doubts to Magneto the man had scoffed. Kindly, but still undoubtable amused. [I]"You are Homosuperior, boy. You want to be human? Humans are dinosaurs, child. Perhaps they had their purpose, but I can assure you, whatever god there is is done with them. We are the chosen future Kurt. You."[/I] The smell of fresh bread bread-and not just bread but [I]oatmeal-raisin[/I] bread- pulled Kurt out of his thoughts rather suddenly. His stomach growled , he'd left the warmth of his bed to come watch the sunrise, (he checked the shadows reach across the plaza) that was almost six hours ago! [/SIZE] Okay, Sorry about this but I'm going to be gone for a week... I'll post as soon as I can.

Bios In progress!!! [B]Name:[/B] Howell "Howler" Ulrich [B]Age:[/B] 19 [B]Sex:[/B] Male [B]Nationality:[/B] Californian (because they really [I]are[/I] their own breed of American...) [B]Description: [/B] Tall, standing at around 6ft even, with straight black hair rolled into long, tight dreadlocks and oddly pale skin... No one actually knows what color his eyes are; he never takes off his sunglasses. [B]Personality:[/B] Loud. A shameless extrovert, Howler makes friends almost as fast as he makes enemies. Or perhaps it's the other way around. He thrives off company, but doesn't seem to care whether said company enjoys [I]his[/I] prescence very much. His life philosophy: "What's the point in living if you aren't an embarrassment to the neighbors?" And yes, that[I] is [/I] a [I]direct quote[/I]... [B]Equipment:[/B] In his knap sack (go ahead...call it a purse...if you dare...) Howler carries: One poleroid camera, the keys to his Humvee ( a zombie itself) [B]Extra stuff:[/B] First Post Some how your character ended up in a shelter in upstate NY about 200 miles from N.Y.C. your first post should be how you wound up there. This will act as your characters background!!!

[COLOR=DarkGreen][SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Kisecawchuck (Cree, Meaning "daystar") Harley [B]Gender:[/B]Male [B]Age:[/B]20 [B]Occupation:[/B] Harlot [B]Vices:[/B] Besides the obvious? Kie's pride tends to get in the way of his sense, he's prone to starting fights reguardless of whether or not he can win, and when he's upset he tends to drink to much. [B]Describe your surroundings: [/B] November stained the sky red. The sun rode low in it's morning arc, lighting the trees afire from below. The ground was cold with the last night's rain, Kie didn't mind in the least. It was a welcome distraction from the pain in his...everywhere. His back, his shoulders, his neck... He pressed his cheek to the earth, letting the chill dull the throbbing in his head. He closed his eyes and breathed in the morning, tasting the river and the trees and the sunlight... A bird landed on his outstretched hand, he didn't move to startle it. There were few things in life that kept him from the certainty that God hated him, animals trust in him was one of them. He peeked out from beneath his hair and tried to place the bird. A finch, tiny, yellow checked, and usually not very friendly; this one only pecked at the paper crumpled in his hand and chicked at him. Paper? Kie sat up suddenly, which proved to be a mistake. The light turned hostile and the trees swam. the strength evaporated from Kie's limbs and for a moment the world flickered black. He came back to himself leaning over the old tree's roots, choking up bile and whatever it was he'd eaten the night before. He couldn't really remember... He was in a clearing, he recognized it, barely, from making camp yesterday evening. The trees were bare, their leaves brittle beneath every movement. It was another reason he'd chosen to make camp here, at least, when he crawled back into his own bed for the night, he didn't have to worry about any surprises. The horses had been tied...there, beneath the tree opposite the still smoldering campfire... Oddly, it was the absence of the horses Kie noted first. He was used to waking up alone, he [I]preferred[/I] waking up alone... He preferred going to bed alone too, but that rarely got you a full stomach... He was gone. That [I]bastard[/I] hadn't lured him all the way out here for [I]privacy[/I] dammit it wasn't like everyone didn't [I]know[/I] he was feeding Kie [I]anyway[/I]- That degenerate scumbag had taken Kie out here to get him sloshed off his *** and rob him! The thought that perhaps Kie should consider himself lucky he'd woken up at all didn't occure to him. He was too angry. He slammed his fist into the tree, splintering the bark (for which he muttered a silent apology to the spirit), and collapsed back onto his back. That was when he finally noticed the note clutched in his hand this whole time. He frowned and unfolded it, knowing better than to assume it was some sort of explanation. Life had been kicking him in the gut and running off with his horse for as long as he could remember, really, he didn't expect what he found... [/SIZE] [/COLOR] And now that I've rambled on for way longer than I should have- In the immortal words of The Lost Skeleton of Cadavera: "I sleep now."

Aww, I liked Kenshin's voice in the Japanses version. He looks young, he sounds young. I didn't think he sounded like a girl. And in anime they use lots of girls to play the voices of younger men. Dick Hayworth was pretty cool though. I love the outtakes from the Kyoto Arc. when he spouted off about Shishio's sword being soaked in Soilant Green I just about DIED laughing. And I bet there won't be more than five people who even know what Soilant Green is...De gozaru yo...

I don't know what it's called, but that short little almost off key song they played as Hotaru's theme always got stuck in my head. The one with the little girls voice... Does anyone know what that song is? Or what it's called?

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][SIZE=1]((Under Revision)) [B]Name:[/B] Kurt Wagner [B]Codename:[/B] Nightcrawler [B]Gender:[/B]Male [B]Age:[/B]19 [B]Appearance: [/B] Standing about 5'6", with indigo shaded fur that fades to white as it reaches his hands, feet, and the tip of his tail, Kurt's shaggy, moon colored hair and eyes lend an angelic air to his otherwise demonic appearence. He rarely smiles, keeping his fangs hidden, but there is little to be done to hide his pointed ears or prehensile tail. Or the fact that he has only three fingers on each hand, jointed four times instead of the normal two... Whatever he is wearing, he usually wears a long, hooded white monk's robe over it, doing his best to hide as many of his features as he can. [B]Alliance:[/B] Brotherhood of Mutants [B]Biography: [/B] One cold Russian winter the child of a demon was found at the steps of St. Peter's Cathedral. The ancient Friar was up in the night, awakened by the dream of a cat screaming at the church doors... Mistaking the scratching he heard for the cause of his dream, he took up his walking stick to go and clout (not the animal itself), but whatever was driving the poor thing to such a fuss. He found a gangly creature... resembling a child... huddled in the shadow of one of the great stone gargoyles standing guard over the entryway. Wrapped in rags folded and stuffed with straw, and half frozen still, the boy looked up at him with wide, luminescent eyes and the old Friar knew he was damned. He knew the monster could be no human child; but when it clung to his robes, its eyes filled with tears, beging him for sanctuary, he could not turn it away. Kurt spent most of his childhood hiding in the unused bell tower, sneaking down into the rafters of the main hall to spy on the services when they were held. He was never taught to read, nor to write, but he commited to memory everything he heard, and would spend hours interrogating Friar Wagner, who suffered under the boy's endless barrage of questions believing (with growing humor and affection for the little monster) that this was God's way of testing his faith. But as the years went on, there was really no way to avoid the issue of what Kurt was... And to Friar Wagner's dismay, Kurt began to grow dispondent, drawing the conclusion that the only explanation for his appearance was that he was, in fact, a demon cursed by God... The smell of sulpher when he found himself suddenly somplace he had been thinking of a moment before didn't help matters any either. Years passed, and as rumors of the ghost haunting St. Peters bell tower circulated, the church slowly began to lose it's patronage. Eventually, the place was abandoned, only Friar Wagner staying on as caretaker. Some marvelled at his faith in the Lord's pretection, others whispered that it was he who had let the evil in... When he died, there was nobody but the ghost to bury him. Kurt dug a grave at the northeast corner of the garden, instead of burying him in the church cemetary, which required stepping outside the Monastary's walls and out into the open. The Cathedral's great doors were closed, barred and nailed shut against the world outside; and for three years, Kurt lived there in solitude, teaching himself to read, devouring every text in the library in hopes of finding some text that would allow him to believe he was not the demon he appeared to be... [B]Powers:[/B] Teleportation. And as it turns out, Kurt's biochemistry, often affected by how a person feels both physically and emotionally, causes him to change color slightly. This makes both lying and keeping secrets rather diffcult for him, but, on the other hand, if he ever figures out how to control it, it would give him the ability to hide quite well... [/SIZE] [/COLOR]

[SIZE=1]Not that its the story of the little mermaid, not even Grim is as sick as I am... But I was working on my novel, Seaweed, about a woman who finds out she's pregnant with a child of a Mer (guy) and subsequently goes insane... blah blah blah. I'll explain more of what happened if this gets going as an RP. But then the other day I heard this song called "The Infanta" by the Decemberists, and I got this idea for a sequal. But of course I'm not really one for writing sequals, so my next thought was "OOOOH! RP!" I have a general idea of the plot, based a bit around the song. Midieval Europe, the king and his entourage are out hunting and find the cradle of a little girl in a lake. Believing her to be the god's reply to the King and Queens desire of an heir, they take her back with all the pomp and fuss of royalty and coronate her princess... A full moon later, on a pirate ship (which will be where I will need most characters to sign up), a storm kicks up and when it calms a very angery Mer has hauled himself onboard, seeking the Pirate Captain's help in getting his daughter back. I'm leaving it pretty much open to the characters to decide what happens on their journey, but I mean for this to be a fairly serious horror/adventure RP... If it goes up it will probably be rated M-VLS, for gore, harsh language (because hey, Pirates are a rough bunch y'know?), and because there are things that aren't going to make sense if I don't include a bit about Mer biology. Anyone interested? Any one have any ideas?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Lydia watched herself chopping up vegitables from halfway across the room, moving carefully so as to avoid cutting her own fingers. It was odd, watching everything she did from a mirrors vantage, or rather, from the view of whatever animal happened to be wandering through the room she was currently in. She reached out idley to scratch Snookums behind the ears. Lydia would never have been so cruel, but her grandmother had been a very... Well, her grandmother had named the old tomcat before Lydia had come to live with her, and it was years too late to change anything. Besides, oddly enough, "Snookums" suited him. "So what do you think Snook?" She rinsed her fingertips under the running faucet and dumped the assortment into the boiling pot. "Old Meyers said he'd give me thirty-two thousand for this old place. Said it was a historic landmark, said he wants to fix it up and turn into a Bed and Breakfast..." "Yes, I think he's a cheap old buffoon too." Yes, Lydia talked to her cats. And yes, she made up words for them to say back to her. It was, she had found, a useful way of sorting out her thoughts, presenting both sides of an issue for speculation... It wasn't like she had anyone else to talk to. "I don't want people around here anyway." She decided. Testing the soup and reaching to turn Snookums head towards the spice cabenet while she fumbled for more basil. "Make yourself useful." The heavy clump of feet along her back deck came with a flash from one of the half interested cats dozing out on the porch. "Speak of the devil..." Lydia muttered. "Miss Lydia I was just driving by and noticed your roof could use some patching." The old man Meyers called. "I know you don't normally like folk up around but i thought maybe, with winter coming on, you wouldn't mind if I got some friends of mine up here to work on the house a bit..." "You're only driving the price up, Mr. Meyers. And don't touch that one she doesn't like to be woken up." He snatched his hand away from the cat he'd been about to pet. If there were two things he'd learned about Lydia; be disgustingly polite, and when she tells you not to touch one of her animals, for your own safety, don't touch the animal. It was a temperamental lot that took up with the old witch's granddaughter, they got along right well with each other. He nudged a fretting chicken out of his way with his boot, but gently, and opened the screen door. "Well, either way, winter's comin', like I said, and i know this old house gets drafty." Lydia set her spoon down on the counter with a sharp clatter. "Get out of my house. The draft and I have gotten along famously for years now. Your sudden interest in my home hardly changes anything." "Now, Miss Ly-" A china teapot shattered on the wall beside his head. Now, china is not nearly as delicate as it sounds, as a matter of fact, it's generally stronger than stoneware...which should give you a general idea of how hard Lydia can throw... "GET OUT!" He got.[/SIZE]

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]((under Construction)) [B]Name:[/B] Tobais Valentine Kaine [B]AKA:[/B] "Bloody Valentine" [B]Age:[/B] 21 (And finally legal to do...most of the things...he's been doing since he was twelve...) [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Appearance:[/B] [URL=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v97/Jipsie/___JMB____by_Arehandoracrop.jpg]On File[/URL] Loose jeans that may or may not be torn depending on what day of the week it is, a simple tank top and an old plad overshirt a little too big for him, scuffed hiking boots and a plan silver post in one ear... Tobias looks no different than any other random college student you are likely to meet. But under his parted hair, his left eye is clouded over blue, sightless, and on his back, at the base of his spine, is the tattoo of a spider identifying him as one of Dynasty's owned. [B]Personality:[/B] Quiet. Tobias rarely speaks if he has not been spoken to, though he is fluent in English, French, Coptic, and Chinese...if his French does have an absolutly horrid British drawl to it... He never quite did get the hang of French... Generally personable, kind, good natured, Tobias has a soft spot for animals and a weakness for children. He really doesn't seem the violent sort, which makes him all the more dangerous an assassin. He prefers music and books to combat training, and is rarely seen without his head phones either hanging out his back pocket or around his neck... [B]Biography:[/B] There is no information regarding Tobias' life before his second kill at the age of fourteen, save the rumor that his first kill was his father. Little is known about him in general, his kill number, he doesn't seem to have a modus operandi: Tobias simply shows up, gaining access to where ever he needs to be in whatever manner is most unobtrusive, kills his target with whatever happens to be handy, and leaves as quickly and quietly as possible. He technically belongs to the Dynasty Corporation, who's employed are never just hired help. It's an odd organization, more akin to a cult than a crime syndicate, who's members [I]define[/I] loyalty. Tobias doesn't talk about it, but rumor has it he's one of the unholy trinity that rules it's success. His reputation as a contract killer was nonexistant before the February assassination of the former Prime Minister of England. It was the first time one of his hits went public... Tobias was upset that night, and the whole mess went very badly. Nine people were killed, two more seriously injured, and an estimated twenty four thousand euros worth of train had to be...that is...retired... He is, as a rule, never that sloppy. But the papers dubbed it the "Valentine Massacere", and him the "Bloody Valentine", which, due to his unfortunate middle name, was adopted by his contemporaries. It stuck like glue, and spread like the plague. Seven years later and he still hasn't quite lived the nickname down. His loyalty to the Tokio Elite is beyond question. Dynasty somehow got wind of "The Man's" situation and has, subsequently, taken an interest in his welfare... As a gesture of goodwill they've made a loan of Tobias as a guard dog of sorts, untill the whole affair gets straightened out. The Man came into his office one day to find his secretary dead on the floor and Tobias sitting as her desk, calmly fielding the Man's telephone calls and filing his taxes as though nothing was amiss. The Man had seen him before, in his dealings with the Dynasty Triune, but had never spoken with him directly. Tobias looked up, finally, and gestured casually to the dead woman. "She was going to kill you." He shrugged. "Do you mind if I transfer your ledgers over to Microsoft Excel? I'm not familiar with this program." [B]Weapons:[/B] Two Ruger P94 15 shot Automatic Colt pistols. (Currently under ban in most countries) He prefers 9mm hollow point shells. He carries them everywhere, demagnitized to avoid setting off any security alarms, but rarely uses them. Most of his victims are killed by either the improvised garrot of his head phones or by the military surplus survival knife sheathed in his boot. He's a casual fighter, more of a gymnyst; he knows his body and its cabilities, and if his depth perception isn't the best, his balance and equilibrium are excellent. [B]Alliance:[/B] Tokyo Elite[/SIZE][/COLOR]

It was one of the first uneventful trips to work Marie had had in a looong time. Nothing happened. "And that," Lydia smirked at her from the driver's seat. "Is why I drive to work. Really, Marie: Vampires, shootouts, obsessed people who's life goal is to destroy all creatures dark and scary... I keep telling you not to walk to work in this city, you're lucky nothing worse has happened!" Marie loved Lydia. The woman was completely unflappable. As an ex escort currently dating the leader of an underground society Marie knew for a fact was responsible for over half the political assassinations in the last 700 years as well as pretty much every bizzare occurance in the city in the past decade, Lydia had been around the block too long to question anything Marie told her. No matter how outlandish it seemed, Marie was pretty sure Lydia would have a story to top it. She always did. "So, anyway, Troy and I are going to hold a changing under the moon later tonight." Marie checked her earrings in the mirrior. "Know anyone who might be interested?" Lydia hummed. "I'd be interested in observing, if Troy'll agree to that. I know you said he isn't the most social of guys, but I'd like to meet the guy you turned Dominick down for." She glanced at Marie with a sideways smile. "He is still sore about that, y'know." Marie laughed. "Speak of the devil." They pulled up into the parking garage to meet Dominick coming out of the club. Jacket slung over his shoulder, blood black hair hanging loose down past his hips, and a smile that would have made Lucifer nervous, Dominick had never been turned down by anyone before Marie. He leaned over the door and, in a gesture completely spoiling the grace of his entry, leaned over to plant a quick, awkward kiss on Lydia's cheek. "why'd you bring [I]her[/I] ?" He drawled, winking at Marie. "Really Lye, you do bring home the most interesting pets." "And you don't" Marie laughed and hopped out of the car. "Hey, Domino, Troy and I are gonna hold a changing later tonight, after the moon rises. Any suggestions?" Dominick mulled it over, clapping the club bouncer on the shoulder as the trio passed inside. "Greg here could handle it, no problem. I wouldn't turn Joe-" Marie opened her mouth but Dominick held up a hand to explain. "He's a giant, he's strong, and he's a genius, but he's a good guy. He has a hard enough time explaining [I]this[/I] place to his wife and kids. I don't think he could psychologically handle a 'wolfing', if he did survive it. He has heart problems anyways." Marie gaped. "How do you know he has heart problems?" Dominick smiled cruelly in the darkness of the pulsing lights. "Because my sister slipped during the rituals and clipped out a slice of his left ventrical." He shurgged. "I got Mattie to patch him up, but he made the man promise not to go volunteering himself for any cult sacrifices for a few months. I wouldn't recommend him for a sudden bout of lycanthropy." He wove their way through the crowds to the second level cut away to look down on the dance floor. Lydia was dragging around some poor fellow who looked like he'd never been to a counter culture dance crypt before. Though, to be fair, Dominick's place was a little overwhelming, even for the regulars. Marie browsed the crowd, pointing inconspicously and watching Dominick's response. The music was too loud to converse, so when he nodded or shrugged she made a mental note to keep an eye on said target and kept looking. She loved this place. ============================ ((Do excuse the shamless insertion of my own characters but it was just to perfect I couldn't resist...))

I'm actually currently working on an obsession mix for myself. [I]Megalomaniac[/I] by KMFDM [I]Sick [/I] by Sneaker Pimps [I]Phantom of the Opera Techno Remix[/I] [I]Would[/I] by Alice in Chains [I]Lullabye[/I] by The Cure [I]Ziggy Stardust[/I] (Nirvana Recording) [I]Closer[/I] by NIN [I]Dermeister [/I] (sp?) by Rammestien [I]1963 [/I] by New Order [I]Sad Pony Girl[/I] by Xui Xui

[SIZE=1]Hmm... Sounds like an interesting mix. Now, I wouldn't throw my lot in with the ninja's quite so quickly. Ninja's have a definate 'coolness' factor going for them, but so do Pirates and Samurai, and we have to consider the style of battle as well. First, I would imagine most battles involving pirates would take place on the sea, in which case I would have to say ninja and samurai would be (if you will excuse the pun) pretty much sunk. I don't think the shipbuilding industry really took off in Japan untill after the Bakumatsu Revolution in the 1800's ( approx?), when the country was opened up to European trade. Now I don't know how close to accurate I am, I'm just going by Shogun and Rurouni Kenshin... But for now I'm ruling that on open sea, Pirates would probably win. So, now I'm looking at Ninja vs. Samurai. Again, I believe it would depend on the situation. In an open confrontation, I'd put my money on the Samurai, hands down, no contest. In a knock-down-drag-out fight, Ninja are...how did that one Ninja woman from PMK put it? "The Ninja are dogs to be slaughtered in the street." Or something. Not that PMK strikes me as a particularly accurate anime...but hey it sounded like it made sense. Ninja were stealth fighters, spys, assassins, watchers in the dark. They defined the term "Sneaky", if they didn't invent it. Could a Ninja take out a Samurai? Sure, if they got the jump on one, I bet it wouldn't be too dificult. But you have to remember too, that Samurai training wasn't just a style of swordplay, or even an art. It was a religion. All that stuff you hear about "warriors spirit", "Ki" "Chi" (I think Chi is Chinese though...so never mind Chi...) that was something they believed in, and research today in showing there it is more than likely the ability to attune oneself to the presence of others is, in fact, NOT a load of malarky. I say this because my boyfriend is a former student of chi-gung and is allergic to electic storms, my foster sister knows how to run tests on people's pressure points to tell what foods they are allergic to, her sister is currently undergoing holographic repatterning, and my chiropractor (chiropractor...hmmm.. "Chi" Ropractor? I'll have to dig into that some more...) uses energy points to clear people's allergies as well. So I'm sorry to say, I think it would be pretty hard to sneak up on a Samurai, no matter how cool Ninjas are... Anyway, that's my take on it, and now I'm going to shut up and go back to looking for a job like I'm supposed to be doing... [/SIZE]

Hmm. I'm gonna have to go with Envy from Full Metal Alchemist. He's one of the most ruthless, even eager assassin (assassin/homocidal maniac whatever, he kills people: he counts) I've ever seen in anime. I'm sure there are others worse than him, but I haven't seen them and he's my favorite anyway. I'm not quite sure why he's my favorite, for a long time Sojiro from Rurouni Kenshin was... But I think I like Envy more because while becoming a victim of his circumstances, you still never really feel sorry for him. I always pitited Sojiro, I don't feel the least bit sorry for Envy. He's a bad dude, and he's a darn good bad dude. Interesting of you to say anime assassins usually have a trajic past usually involving their parents death. I thought the whole twist on Evny's past was a rather nice touch...