Hurrah!
I've just bought City of Heroes & City of Villains, at the same time, in an overexcited spending splurge. I've played a 14 day trial of City of Heroes before, where I played the wild haired magician Hyter Moran. Having booted up the shiny CoV, I decided that for the first time in my online history I would attempt a female character. I've been various chaps in Guild Wars, Anarchy Online and my CoH trial... time to try the deadlier of the species!
And so I came up with this curious creation, a sort of mix of characters cribbed from obscure sources, tinkered with, and shoved together into one unholy whole. All my characters have been a little po-faced so far, so I decided to go with something incredibly unlikely and humorous this time, as it would be more fun writing. And so I could probably subtly steal jokes from Alan Moore's Halo Jones and D.R & Quinch. It'll be in diary form, as I play, hope you like!
Anyway, here she is, my first online female character and my first City of Villains character in...
THE CRIMINAL ADVENTURES OF CHIC DEMONIQUE
http://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y20...nique2beta.jpg
DAY ONE:
Dear Diary...
After the incident with the staplegun, the counsellor has advised that I keep a diary to better express my feelings, rather than resort to brute violence, and so here I am, writing sentences with far too many commas in them. She advised that I try to come to terms with my past, and think about what I want to make of my life in the future. Well, here I go:
My Past:
I was an only child, as being so unutterably perfect my parents felt no need to spawn another. I had a happy childhood to begin with; daddy buying me a pony, then a stable and still later a veal restaurant. For a human I was rather a pretty little thing, and nothing I desired seemed to be out of reach of my daddy's wallet. It was an idylic childhood, and pater and mater never chided me - even when I burnt down the Groundskeeper's home and shot the family pet.
But then came my 15th birthday, and with it a very painful period of mutation. Mamma and pappa, aghast, locked me away as I spiralled in height to six and a half feet, had my dark brown locks turn to blue and my skin to lilac. Worse, two great ram's horns grew out of my head, which meant that never again would I enjoy the refreshing shade of a big floppy hat.
And so they exiled me. Sent me to the Home of the Terminally Freakish and refused to ever speak of me again. They were ashamed of what their daughter had become. And possibly headbutting my mother, stealing their jewelry before trying to flee to Mexico in the family Rolls prejudiced them against me as well.
But I escaped! Ha! Escaped to live a life on the streets, my clothes becoming increasingly shabby and my disconnection from the ongoing and frankly baffling storyline of Lost more and more painful. I'm proud to say I skipped the phase of rooting through garbage cans, instead opting to root through people's fridges, relying on my dominant personality and sizable fists to cow opposition to my foraging activities - before making hasty exits down fire-escapes. Still, I missed my life of unfettered wealth, and the clothing that required an unreasonable number of endangered species. and so I robbed a bank.
Was it my fault that four people died? The guard should have called me ma'am! The old man should have warned me he had a pace-maker! How was I to know that blunt trauma's to the head cause massive aneuyrisms? And that granny really shouldn't have mouthed off like that!
Well, I was cornered by the Swat team in the local Gap store, shopping for some raybans. I gauged their strength, and noted that there were far too many of them for even my mighty powers to handle. And so I grabbed the door and made my exit.
Unfortunately, it wasn't the exit door, it was the changing room door, and I was piled to the floor atop of a spotty youth and handcuffed in a shower of coat-hangers and discount burberry.
And so here I am, in a prison on Mercy Island. I've won my first few prison fights and counted my haul of treasures: a comb, a shiny pebble, nineteen smartie tube tops and a fork I've adopted as a pet and called Mr Spoony. Some of the inmates sniggered at this name and called me dumb, but with the help of my mighty fists I was able to introduce them to a concept called 'irony'. (The opposite of stated fact)
There seems to be trouble brewing in the prison though. I think a very bloody riot is about to take place, which is nice. With any luck I might escape, I hear that the Rogue Isles is a good place for an enterprising young girl with French as a second language, knowledge of Microsoft packages and an ability to punch through concrete walls and kick people's faces off.
Ah! As I predicted! Alarms are sounding! I best finish off the diary entry here and retrieve Mr Spoony, 'cos I can here footsteps approaching. I do hope someone has come to break me out, I do believe that mixing with the great unwashed for so long is making me a little... common. *Shudder*
Ooh! My cell door is swining open!
Freedom! Luxurient freedom!
P.S: Don't forget to thank Joey JoeJoe for knitting me that woolen beaney baby.
T.B.C!
