Parade
| Parade | |
|---|---|
| Author | /u/EldritchEldrazi |
| Civilian name | Artemis Shaw |
| Alignment | Villain |
| Affiliation | Noncanon (Devilfish) |
| PRT Classification | Striker |
| Status | Noncanon |
Parade is almost completely unknown
Character Sheet
Appearance
Equipment and Resources
- Shitty car
- House
- Two people they share the house with
Skills and Specializations
Mentality
Parade is a man who delights in their villainy. They love nothing more than being in complete control of the situation, and view the world as though it were a stage-play, with them as the lead actor.
They are willing to do many things for attention, although there are things they would never dream of doing. Murder, however, is not one of those things they refuse to do. Anyone who wrongs them will die, and all it is is a matter of how, and when. Parade will attempt to make an example.
Parade generally seems to enjoy mocking people, and pissing them off, often taunting people repeatedly, whether ally or enemy.
Parade tends to not care about people they don’t know, or view as important for some reason
Parde tends to panic when the situation slips out of their control, their speech becoming more frantic, and their actions
Out of costume, Artemis is a very friendly-appearing person, though no less attention hungry. Often they start a fight or argument just for the attention.
Power
Artemis’s power is always on, and must be consciously suppressed to be disabled.
Glass tends to stick onto Arty’s Face, hands and forearms (Armour cannot form anywhere but these places), if it isn’t held back by something, forming an armored, skeletal visage. The glass Armour of Arty is unnaturally hardened, around equal to the durability of bone.
The fingers of the Armour are sharp as knives, while not losing durability, they do tend to lose some amount of dexterity and fine control.
Backstory
The evening had started off great. A visit to the local bar in the shadier parts of town. Grab a drink or two, pick a fight, get attention. It was a simple routine, and he loved it.
And as you so often does when you go out to a place like this, you had picked a fight. In this case, a big guy who looked like they could use a shower or three standing in front of you in a clumsy approximation of a boxer’s stance, swaying lightly from the alcohol the guy had already drank that night.
Your own stance is far better, a lot showier too, each fight having made you just a bit better at fighting, just a bit showier for the next crowd. Speaking of the crowd, they’re watching intently, all eyes on the two of you.
You make the first move, getting in close and throwing a hook. And with that, the fight began. Punch twice, duck under a clumsy haymaker, hit to the gut to make him double over and pull the other guy’s head down your knee to stagger and confuse him.
As the other guy staggers back, holding his head, you’re riling up the crowd, drinking in all of the attention. And then you hear the guy’s footsteps and turn back, you take a solid hit to the cheek, glass shattering, cutting into your skin… and then the rest of the glass hits your face.