Post by fappy on Jan 14, 2024 0:50:13 GMT
General
Name: Honore Clouzot
Alias: “La Tenia” “The Tapeworm”
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Date of Birth: February 9th
Place of Origin: Vichy, France
History:
Consider life without movement. Weak, burdensome; limbs akimbo, reserved to only befriend the thoughts in your head. Imagine being born a shimmering glow, a newfound promise, and following the motions with ease until one day you’re no longer in control. Two years old: your fingers stop moving. By five you’re permanently bedridden. Paralyzed from the neck down. Don’t fight; just listen.
Clouzot’s father was a poor man. He fought for his bread and meat and prayed daily to god. His prayers were never returned, and soon the bread and the meat were scarce. His son’s condition forced him out of work. Yet, by some miracle, he nave gave up on his son. He loved him.
His mother called him “La Tenia”: the tapeworm, the infestation. She doted on his every need, silently disgusted. Why would god trifle them with such? Why did they deserve a curse and not a blessing? Most sons were off to school by the age of nine; Clouzot at nine couldn’t even defecate without his mother present to dutifully wipe his ass.
Honor and integrity, however, are not gained simply through parlance. Years can pass before the virus of individuality develops. Yes, individuality is a virus in these days of heroes and villains. Clouzot knew nothing of the outside world, only the warmth of his father and cold sneer of his mother.
How does a virus spread? Clouzot first saw his parents in differing lights, then mindsights, and in passionate dreams these delusions formed the basis for apocalyptic good vs evil showdowns. It was all so ridiculous. He soon imagined what differences they’d possess if neither of them could move. What a dream indeed!
Now close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Move one leg. Control. One toe. Might. These quirks, poison. Cowards and fools are gods now. Arbitrary “villains”, snake charmers: chained to eternity in their little caves watching the souls of greater men flicker on moss covered walls. Could they escape?
Clouzot escaped. Through some miracle or divine intervention, he was visited by a doctor specializing in quirks. Curious things. His poisoned the blood. Harbinger for a powerful neurotoxin. A walking plague, to colliquise his tragedy. The doctor intoned with godly wit. No such curse! And in due time they’d come up with a temporary solution for all his ills.
Like when apes walked, Clouzot adapted to environs suited for manipulation. Blood made money, his name flew through circles most would kill to avoid. Once he poisoned a few arrondissements in Paris. Just to see weakness. The parisians recovered, confused, scared, but somehow at ease. And that’s what his endgame is: to remove people from their pathetic fabrications. Forced peace.
Now open your eyes. Can you feel your hands? Your face? Remember those sensations. One day they will be taken. Clouzot will to see to that. Au revoir!
“My father wasn’t wealthy. He went broke seeking some breakthrough medical solution for my paralysis. Bravely he toiled. I met with hundreds of doctors, wasted hundreds of hours in surgery. No result. Yet he fought, he pleaded, he promised me so many times that one day I’d walk again. He was right.”
La Tenia pulls from his breast pocket a syringe. He injects a light blue substance into his neck, and then proceeds to speak.
“This particular godsend wouldn’t fall upon me until after I’d come of age. Eighteen years old. I’d finally convinced my father to give up his quest. Selfish, I know. What else could you expect of me? I hadn’t pissed without help in five years. Acceptance was all I had left. Curiously though, and may I add fortuitously, we were soon payed an unexpected visit.”
A smile, subtle and welcoming, spread across his face.
“I wouldn’t dare give up the name of my mentor. Such an honorable man. He found his success in cases where medical science failed. Within days a temporary solution had been procured from my blood. My quirk - his designation - was venom. The strongest neurotoxin. It could never fully be cured, but when properly wielded its applications were endless.”
“Now you wonder just why I’m not gushing on about how great it felt to walk and masterbate freely. Little boys have puerile dreams. They enjoy the little things. Apes walk. Drunks walk. I’m neither. My mentor was kind enough to explain to me such. A gift couldn’t be spoiled on parlance.”
His face glows with vitriolic ecstacy. The smile becomes overbearing.
“Let me explain to you the real poison of the world. Think of a hero and villain. Constantly cycling through the same patterns. How different are they? Would their arbitrary roles matter much if neither one could do so much as scratch their balls? Would people think the same of either: the sterling symbol of justice and his scorned antagonist? Still flesh and bone. Still killable, if you play the right card.”
“The real poison of this world happens to be that nobody sees through any of this shit. You’re given a gift, you waste it playing cowboys and indians. The good doctor gave me the tools to escape the paradigm. I’ve constructed hundreds of different serums through my blood. Sold them to corporations, terrorists, even beloved heroes. Nobody thinks nothing of it when it serves their own need. And that’s the beauty of playing between the lines: you can spit in their food and they’ll happily thank you. A measure of need always outweighs a measure of doubt.”
He adjusts his suit and stands up. His guest, long silent, is catatonic.
“I suppose you’ll want to know how I’ve gotten here. You know those old tales. I’ve poisoned major cities, I’ve assassinated world leaders. I’m a villain, as sorry a title as it is. But I’ll be more than that soon.”
Occupation: Villain
Physical
Visual Appearance: A picture of your character. No realistic images please, just illustrations.
Physical Appearance:
A medium sized man, roughly 5’9’’. His most notable attribute is his long flowing black hair, which he minds with the precision of a cosmology student. His build is fairly innocuous: slight frame, semi-toned arms, content countenance.
Clothing:
Often a complex arrangement of dress shirts, ties, vests, and finely starched slacks. Has been known to favor Armani suits when the occasion for style arises
Outfit:
Clouzot prefers his everyday wears when breaking international law.
Personality
General Personality:
Clouzot a simple man of principle. Pragmatic, well humored, often energetic in his conversations. He is a driven man with an unquenchable ego. Thirsty for power.
Abilities
Quirk Type: Emitter
Quirk:
“Medulla”
Medulla is a quirk which doubles as one of the most powerful neurotoxins known to medical science. If properly introduced to any living beings bloodstream it’ll render that initially introduced area paralysed for a brief period of time (five to ten minutes at most).
Drawbacks:
Medulla is a neurotoxin, specifically one that is blood oriented. Because of such, Clouzot is permanently paralyzed from the neck down. Through an anti-toxin concentrated from his blood he is able to properly function his body for two hours at max; otherwise he is mostly bound to his bed.
Fighting Style:
Clouzot prefers dueling with a pair of knives. Clouzot often intimidates his opponents with acts of appalling self-mutilation, cutting himself to ribbons in front of his opponents before charging. With the high concentration of blood gathered on these knives after such, his opponents face the challenge of avoiding his blades, less paralysis is a goal.
