 About "Cloudy"Cloudy 123 points (60 attributes, +32 skills, +25 adept, +10 wealth -4 edges/flaws) Name: Crispin Noir
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Physical:
Physical Damage Overflow:
Dice pools
Combat Pool Mod 1
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Pistols (QCK) 6
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Appearance:
Tap, tap, tap the raven beats on Crispin’s head with its beak while his bloated body lays on the ground in a refuse covered alley. Crispin tries to scream but no words come out as his mouth is sewn shut. The raven begins again tap, tap, TAP. Crispin's eyes pop open, his head still pounding, but he sighs with relief as he realizes he is in his bed, alive in one of his cramped little safe houses. He concludes, it’s just that dream again. He lays in his bed breathing erratically with sweat pouring off his body, the sour odor of his unwashed body mixes with the smell of alcohol and his breath creating something noxious. Crispin shakes his head as he begins to work his jaw, making sure his mouth isn’t sewn shut. No I’m still alive, he decides as the pounding in his head grows louder and the sound of Zydeco music drifts up from the bar below, he thinks it’s Woman by Slippery Sneakers. He listens to the music for a second as he contemplates the ominous dream and consoles himself with one of the sayings of his mother’s people, we come to earth not to live but to sleep and dream. It takes him a second to realize that it isn’t just his skull that is pounding but his phone is buzzing as well. He reaches for the phone and looks at the caller ID and thinks, Angie, could be trouble. He hesitates for a second and answers saying in French Creole, “Bonjou.” He listens to the voice at the other end asking, “Parlé? He nods his head and checks his watch before replying, “Wa pli tar.” Crispin hangs up the phone while he untangles himself from his sheets. He runs his fingers through his thick hair as he reaches with his other hand for the mostly empty bottle next to his bed. Greedily he brings the bottle to his lips and finishes off the contents. He tosses the bottle aside and carefully gets up, the bed groans in relief as his weight is lifted. Sluggishly he makes his way over to the bathroom sink and turns on the faucet. As he splashes water on his face he looks up and catches his reflection in the small mirror that sits above the sink. He smiles at his likeness, it was a look that would make a mother hide her cubs, a banker clutch his credsticks a little tighter, or a lawyer to stutter. He mused that while he was not yet 30 years old the reflection looking back at him seemed older. Weary looking, he tells himself. As Crispin continues looking at his reflection he noticed his eyes and thinks, they are same color of the sky right before a storm, at least when they’re not blood shot. But it is more than their color that draws Crispin’s attention, his gaze appears knowing and penetrating. His eyes are set in a well-proportioned and espresso colored face which is framed by slicked dark flowing hair, the color of a raven’s wing, with a small soul patch under his lower lip and long sideburns that extend to his jaw. Crispin is startled from his reverie by the unrelenting ringing of his phone. He admonishes himself, stop admiring yourself there is business to attend to. He shakes his head thinking, probably trouble.
Background:
Crispin hops out of the shower and dries himself off. I’ve still got some time before I meet Angie. Might as well put it to use, he thinks as he drops down, taking a seat on the floor cross-legged. He relaxes and begins counting his breaths as he tries to find his center. The music below is a distraction at first, his senses acutely aware of every note, but eventually he loses himself in his thoughts. Tap, Tap, Tap, the raven bangs on the side of the wooden pallets that serve as the framework for the hovel Crispin called home during his childhood in the slums of the Ninth Ward of the Crescent City. Crispin is raised by his mother and her people in the urban squalor of the inner city, SINless. They are descendants of the once proud Choctaw Indian Nation now just known as Urban Indians barely surviving on the detritus of society. Crispin is Choctaw on his mother’s side while his father considered himself pure Louisiana Creole, a mixture of French, Spanish, and African. It was in this environment Crispin was raised under the Indian name Two Birds where he sold trinkets in a picturesque costume of a bygone era to tourists. Crispin also spent a lot of time under his Grandfathers tutelage. His grandfather, Running Wolf, was a tribal shaman who had a deep faith in supernatural forces linking humans and other living creatures. He believed in the importance of maintaining harmony with nature, fellowmen, and the supernatural world. It was under his grandfather’s guidance that Crispin discovered he was one of the awakened and could manifest control over his body. His grandfather called it the power of the natural spirits while the white man called it the somatic way. When Crispin was twelve his mother’s body wasted away and her spirit went to dwell with their ancestors. This resulted in Crispin’ grandfather telling him he must go live with his father for up until now Crispin had only been living in one world, to become a man he must live in two worlds and be Two Birds. It was under these circumstances that Crispin was thrust upon a man he hardly knew. His father was a musician, who went by the stage name Swamp-Thing, with some talent and an even bigger drug problem. Over the next several years Crispin lived with his father and they eventually became quite close. As a result he learned to love the music and food that New Orleans is famous for. Because of his father’s addiction they never had much money, so to help out Crispin became a roadie for his father’s band. Shortly after taking this job Crispin’s life changed forever. Late one night, after a show, as they were making their way out the back door of the club, his father was confronted by three gangers that he owed money to. They began to beat his father for what was owed and Crispin rushed in and quickly dispatched the gangers. As he helped his father to his feet Crispin was approached by the bouncer of the club who had watched the encounter. The bouncer told him he was a natural and offered him a job. At first these were small time capers, B&E, Currier runs, and body guarding but eventually his reputation helped him become a full-time runner. The images before him disperses as he hears the shrill alarm of a raven’s cry and Crispin opens his eyes. Crispin stands and begins to rub the numbness out of his legs. He quickly gets dressed in his club clothes, puts on his shades, and guzzles down a beer before he leaves for his meeting with Angie Personality:
Crispin enters the upscale club as some Orc Techno Punk blasts, vibrating the walls in synchronization with the beat. They call this music, he thinks as he scans the room noting the faces and then casually marks the exits. He remarks to himself, it’s nice to have a way out. Some might say he was paranoid but as a runner it pays to be careful and Crispin always tries to be careful. It is early evening but there is already a crowd of Corp Bigwigs, deal makers, and wannabes showing off their expense accounts. Satisfied that he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary he makes his way to the back bar where the noise is lower and where he hopes to find Applebottom. Crispin smiles as he makes his way through the smoke filled club and observes several of the dancers gyrating with customers trying to earn some Nuyen. He approaches the bar and is recognized by the bartender who says, “She’s waiting for you. Room 3,” the bartender directs as he places a frost coated sterling silver tumbler in front of Crispin. Crispin picks up his drink and heads to room3 as he sips his Mint Julep and sighs, perfect. Crispin enters the room and goes from relaxed to alert in a fraction of a second as his senses determine someone else is in the room with Angie. I don’t recognize the scent, he thinks as he enters the room. Crispin surprised to see an impeccably dressed troll with several gold chains dangling from his neck sitting across from Angie. Cloudy turns toward the troll and nods his head as he says in his best French, “Bonsoir.” The troll grunts, “Me no hobla da lingo.” Applebottom interjects and calls Crispin by his runner name, “Cloudy, glad you could make it. Let me introduce you to Thrash.” She continues with a smile, “Thrash is looking to hire a runner and I thought you would be perfect for the job.’ Thrash hurriedly interrupts, “Me ‘eard ye been hoodin” Crispin answers nonchalantly, “don’t believe everything you hear.” As he cautions himself, Careful, this could be trouble. “Me ‘eard ye muck’d up ya last run big time” The troll adds with a scowl. “Pay him no mind,” Applebottom interjects and motions towards the Troll, “you promised to be nice.” The troll ignores the Angie, “ ‘Me ‘eard all about ya, ‘opeless gambler, womanizer, and drunkard. It looks like ya arrogance finally did ya in da udder night.” ”You forgot slothful and I have a tendency to talk with my mouthful. Also, technically, I’ am more of a philanderer than a womanizer,” he grins at the troll. “And smartass,” the troll retorts. True, True, Cloudy chuckles. And continues, “Now friend, I’ll be the first to admit that there is a fine line between arrogance and self-confidence and that sometimes I cross that line. But people don’t hire me for my personality.” “And full of crap,” adds the troll. “I ‘eard what happened to Nad. He were a friend o’ mine.” “Well, that was unfortunate business. He tried to betray me and take the score for himself, Cloudy thinks as he prepares for the worst. "Unlucky for him, but a lucky turn for me. And let’s be honest friend, Nad will handle the rigors of Corp lock-up much better than I would. I’m afraid I'd be a bit too popular with the inmates, so to speak. Moreover, the guards would probably lose their meager paychecks gambling with me and start beating their wives. So as you can see the way it worked out is better for everyone," Cloudy concludes and begins to hum an upbeat tune from the last century. Applebottom stands up and faces the troll as she chimes in, “Now most people would conclude that Cloudy is a cad and they may very well be right. However, if they paid attention they would find that there is more to him lurking below the surface. Understandably, he might be the first person you would think of if you wanted to go out carousing. Nevertheless, he would be the first person to buy you a drink the next morning to help you get over the hangover.” She continues as she glares at the Troll, “He is a professional that gets the mission done with low casualties. So if you’re looking to hire someone get on with it.” She pauses for a second and adds, “Oh, and most importantly for you, he has a tendency to hum when he is angry.” Language:
"Zydeco a Pas Sale" performed by Jeffery Broussard & the Creole Cowboys
nglish (Français) Choctaw words
Slang:
Angel n. A benefactor, especially an unknown one.
More Slang |
