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#Post#: 418--------------------------------------------------
Character Backstory:The Rabbit P1
By: Sixx Date: March 11, 2013, 2:07 pm
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The darkness shrouded his vision as he stood from the ground,
feeling the blood pour out of his open wound. The conflict was
over, but he needed Coman to help him to his feet. Standing,
finally, Eight and Scary were outside of the isolated Gas
Station, scanning the area around to make sure there was no
others that wanted to come and try their look. Rabbit
exhasperated in pain as Coman released his support on him,
leaning on the counter for further rest. All Rabbit could hear
now was a buzz, and he turned to see the haunted expression on
Jewel's face as she sat there in the corner. He tried to say
something, but he couldn't. All the words that wanted to come
out of his mouth simply scratched at his throat. He fell onto
the counter, finally. Coman and Eight realizing him standing
wasn't such a good idea. They needed to get him laying down, but
The Rangers would be here very soon. Rabbit grasped at his wound
once again, listening to the faint sound of Johnny Cash on the
radio. He turned his head, looking once again at Jewel.
"Jewel.." he said, spluttering up blood as he crafted the words.
"I need. Blood." This seemed like a cynical request to everyone
surrounding them, but non the less, Jewel stood from the corner,
and everyone shrugged and started searching for medical
equipment. Never deny a man his dying wish.
Looking up at the ceiling, Rabbit knew his time was short, if
not in expendable.
Everything began to fade, and the sound of the Radio slowly
drowned out with a veil of silence cast over the sky.
***
A crying baby lay on the floor, screaming for something it did
not even realize it wanted. Its mother desperately searching in
a dumpster next to a large building with a neon sign 'Mick n'
Ralph's' bolted above the entrance. Yelling out in joy of
success, she pulled herself out of the dumpster holding a medium
sized syringe containing Jet. Injecting it into a vein that
pulsed through her arm, she sighed in pleasure and sat and
watched the baby with a smile on her face. What she did not
realize was the bullet that was travelling 6,000mph towards her
forehead. With a devilish crack, her skull was punctured and the
blood that once ran through her was now running out. Like the
boy's Father. The man that had shot the woman dead holstered his
Sniper Rifle around his back, and picked the child up, wrapping
him in a soft blanket. The man was named Sixx. And he was to be
the Boy's Guardian.
***
7 Years later, the boy flourished into a natural born
survivalist. Raised in a town known as Goodsprings, the man he
considered to be his Father, Sixx, had began to teach him the
tricks of the Wastes. With Easy Pete's guidance, the Boy learned
of Explosives. With Doc Mitchells help, the Boy learned of
Medicine and how to patch people up. With Chet's help, the Boy
could take apart a Hunting Rifle and put it back together again
within seconds. He grew up with Sunny Smiles and her puppy,
Cheyenne. Together, they both learned to live in a place that
was considered dead.
***
At the age of 17, the Boy's Father had passed away, a memorial
of him remains in the Goodsprings Cemetery. With little to
nothing left there for him, the Boy decided he would too, pass
on. Although not in death, he would challenge the Wastes as his
Father had done so many times before. And he would succeed, on
his Father's deathbed. With a brief goodbye to the town
residents, Trudy, his friends, and more importantly, his
girlfriend, Sunny, the Boy left Goodsprings with nothing but the
clothes on his back, the 9mm on his hip and whatever Caps he was
left. He was going to make something of himself. Oh, if only he
knew that his anxiety to beat something that couldn't have been
beaten would be his downfall. If only his Father had taught him
better.
***
At the age of 19, the Boy could not comprehend the sights the
Wasteland had to offer. Making a name for himself out of the
reputation his Father had carved, the Boy was soon known
throughout the Mojave as the son of a Legend. As he passed on
through the likes of Novac, Primm and whatever other Village
that he considered a place to stay, all the locals would tell
him the stories his Father had written with his actions. How he
had slew the Deathclaw Mother and her babies single handedly,
how he was there during the first Battle of Hoover Dam in his
youth, and how he had a personal vendetta to clean up the
Wastes, a vendetta to try and make it a home for all. How he
tried to instill a sense of sanity.
***
Now experienced in the life of a Wastelander, the Boy now had
enough Caps in his pocket to settle down. But at the age of 21
and the burning anticipation to view everything the Wasteland
had to offer, he was more anxious than ever to visit everything
the Wasteland had to offer. With one more story left to uncover,
he travelled to the edge of the Mojave to visit Bitter Springs.
What he saw there was the thing that would shape his life.
Famine, Pestilence, Hate, War. The NCR struggling to keep the
Legion at bay. The Boy vowed to help. He vowed to destroy the
Legion.
***
Travelling along a long road, the Boy travelled to the town of
Nipton in hopes of finding out where the Mojave Outpost was.
Planning to Enlist. What he found only built up his hatred of
the Legion more.
Crucified innocent people. Home burnt to the ground. It was only
in that point of time did the Boy finally got his true test of
the Wasteland. The test to keep his sanity.
What he did not realize, as he walked the streets, was that
within shouting distance from him was the Legion in all their
glory. Turning the corner and seeing the Legion stood in
formation, with Vulpes Inculta stood in the middle of them all.
As Vulpes turned away from the burning Town Hall, he made direct
Eye contact with the Boy. And instantly the vile parasitic hate
had taken over the Boy's mind. Drawing his Hunting Rifle from
his shoulder, he aimed down the sights, taking a few shots at
the Frumetarii Leader and his men. Knowing what was to follow,
he dived out of the line of fire behind a house, sprinting
through the garden, jumping fences, hoping to flank them or gain
a vantage point. He turned the corner of a fourth garden to find
a Legionnaire waiting for him with a Katana held high in the
air, thrusting down upon sight. Dodging, the Boy kicked the
Legionnaire into the wall, making him drop his Katana. Picking
it up, he stabbed his attacker, forcing the blade through his
neck into the wall. He didn't realise it yet, his body was ahead
of his mind, but that was his first human kill. Knowing he was
outflanked and outnumbered, the Boy took the blade out of the
corpse and turned the corner again, now standing in the street.
Gripping the Katana tight, he scanned around the street with
deadly perception. Another Legionnaire ran towards him wielding
a blade. Screaming the Legion warcry; 'Retribution!' Avoiding
the oncoming attack, the Boy sliced through the man, dropping
his Katana and reaching once more for his Rifle as he
immediately saw the numerous Legionnaires that followed. Firing
with as much accuracy as his reflexes would allow, he managed to
take down one or two of the Crimson Devils before being forced
to again dive out of the way. Once in cover, the Boy randomly
started to splutter blood. He had been shot. His vision started
to blur. But he would not let this slow him down. He shook his
head, checked his clip and turned the corner. More bullets
darted past his head, just a fracture of a hairline away from
his face. Standing back in cover, he could recall seeing about
10 Legionnaires to start with. He could see about 6 standing a
few feet around the corner away from him. They were closing in.
He had to prepare to make a move. He had to prepare for death.
Turning his head he noticed the window of the house he was
covering in was cracked, and he could have easily gotten over
the shards of broken glass without losing any extra blood.
Diving through, he came into the kitchen with a crash, knocking
over a few chairs. Stumbling to his feet, he made his way
through the hallways into the Living room. Looking out of the
window, he observed to see where the Legionnaires were. The
streets were empty. They were around the back of the house.
Or atleast, that is what he thought before he heard a smash and
turned to see 3 Legionnaires barge in through the Entrance, two
of them wielding rifles. The other, a sword. Screaming the same
warcry and charging him the same way, thrusting the blade down,
the Boy used the butt of his rifle to smack the enemy in the
face. A dark crack echoed through the room. Gripping the body
before it fell, he felt a massive pushing force as the other two
fired upon the body. Although none of the bullets made it all
the way through the carcass, he could certainly feel his wrists
giving away. Hearing the ****ing of their rifles, he knew they
were reloading. Throwing the body over his shoulder, he picked
up the blade and charged into the two. Within one dire slice, he
had to shield his eyes from the blood that splattered from the
deep cuts in their neck. Once he was sure there were no more
around him, the Boy breathed a little easier. But his relief
lasted very very short. He stumbled back, now in dizziness,
whacking himself off the wall. Bouncing slightly, he looked at
the doorway. Vulpes and the remaining two Legionnaires were
beside him. And although he was sure he was going to die, the
Frumentarii instead knocked him unconscious and dragged him off.
The bear had its leg caught in the trap.
***
Slowly regaining consciousness, he found himself dressed in
rags. Rags embroidered with a red Cross gashed on the Torso.
Waking to the sound of a crowd jeering at him. Slowly, his world
came back into normal view. And he found himself in the Arena of
the Fort. He was far from dead. He didn't think he had ever felt
more alive. Standing, he felt the cold ground beneath his bare
feet. Looking up and around the many, many faces of Legionnaires
that had laughed and booed at him. The crowd then burst into
cheer as Aurelius of Phoenix, a Centurion, walked onto the Arena
grounds. He could see a man with white hair sitting in a relaxed
pose on a raised platform above the stands, with Vulpes and
several other men stood next to him wearing similar armor. They
all had their eyes fixated on the Centurion as he walked into
the centre of the Arena. Raising his hands, shouting out to the
crowd 'This man has commited severe crimes against the Legion,
and so, shall receive the punishment of a humiliating death in
front of Caesar himself!' An uproar of cheering and shouts came.
'Do not be fooled, however. This dog may look like another mere
worm, but he is also to be known as the successor to the one we
know as Sixx.' A sudden silence fell upon the crowd, and Caesar
himself sat up straight. 'Watch, my fellow brethren, as I show
you how easily the might of a Legionnaire can crush a so called
Legend!' The silence that had befallen the crowd was lifted, and
in a second the crowd was once again shouting. The Centurion
threw down a long, rusty Machete down to the Boy's feet. Picking
it up, he felt how light it was. The Centurion drew his Katana
and stood in a stance. In a flash, the Centurion was throwing
himself at the Boy, swinging in a sophisticated motion. The Boy
ducked and dipped out of the way, time seemed to slow with each
passing moment. The Boy slid to the left, rotating and slashing
at the Centurion's side. A gash was cut through his armor.
Despite the bluntness of the sword. A grin was branded on the
Centurion's face as he looked astonishingly to him. The Boy was
already fatigued. More slashes meant that the Boy was pushing
his limits to stay out of the blades reach. When he knew he
couldn't take it any longer, the Boy finally attempted a parry,
swinging his blade in the direction of the Katana. Knowing how
close he was, the Centurion pushed harder, baring his teeth as
he smirked in joy, looking at the fearful expression in the
Boy's face. The Centurion, once pushing the Boy back a little,
nearly knocking the blade out of his hands, swung down, a slice
through the air. But as much as defenseless as the Boy was, and
as close he was to death, the blades cold touch only met the
thick ground. The Boy's blade, however, punctured through the
armor with ease, and with that. Through the skin also.
More silence befell the crowd as they watched in horror at how
easily the Centurion had fell.
The Boy could see Vulpes raise his rifle, but Caesar raised his
hand and pushed it back down, gently. Caesar looked astonished.
While the Boy held his stare at Caesar, he did not detect the
Legionnaires that stood behind him. They began to beat him until
he was unconscious.
He was, alive.
***
Waking up with his hands bound to some sort of column, he again
awoke in the same rags. Looking around, he could see he was in a
tent. Atleast he could breathe without pressure. Like all
luxuries, however, this too was shortlived. Two Legionnaires
walked into the tent and unbound his hands and feet. The Boy
thought about trying to break free, but he knew how dire the
consequences would be if he failed. And he would fail. He
obliged to the two, standing and walking out of the tent. The
sunlight seemed blinding. He shielded his eyes from the sun and
walked along the roads, looking at all of the crucifixes that
aligned the paths. He eventually came to the slave part of the
camp.
And he was put to work.
#Post#: 421--------------------------------------------------
Re: Character Backstory:The Rabbit P1
By: Victoreno Date: March 12, 2013, 8:36 am
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Just some logic flaws:
"With Chet's help, the Boy could take apart a Hunting Rifle and
put it back together again within seconds. He grew up with Sunny
Smiles and her puppy, Cheyenne."
Considering that happened 25 years before New Vegas and Chet is
not older than 35, Sunny Smiles not older than 25 and dogs don't
live that long...
Also, you copied and pasted the first few paragraphs twice.
Actually, I doubt that Nipton has already been destroyed for 11
years before the courier arrived there.
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