Post by futuresuperstar on Oct 28, 2004 19:18:54 GMT -5
#1 = Robert Mitchell Reginald
Name - Robert Mitchell Reginald, Robert Reginald the Second
User Name - Zero_Diamond
Gender - Male
Age - 15-16, circa 1997
Height - 6'
Weight - 90 lbs. (he's tall, but he's built like a scarecrow)
Race - Human
Game - Happy Bob RPG (Incomplete), Happy Bob: Brawler of 199X (Incomplete), EarthBound (Not an actual character, of course)
Physical Description -
Hair Color: Orangey Blonde
Hair Style: Ragged, matted bowl cut
Eye Color: Black/Red (Depends on his mood)
Clothes: A long black coat with short sleeves and tails, a gray and dark gray striped shirt, torn up blue jeans and white tennis shoes. Occasionally wears a fedorah hat and loafers.
Weapons - Knife, Revolver, Dual UZIs, Dual Colt Commandos, Sawed-off Shotgun, RPG Launcher, BFG 9000
Attacks - Nothing nobody else can do.
Biography -
On February 13, 1981, a child was born of Mary Ann and Robert Franklin Reginald. Friday the 13th hadn't been the expected date of birth, but through an ominous universal coincidence, he was born several days early. Either way, Mary Ann couldn't have been happier.
Robert, however, was not at all happy. Early on in his wife's pregnancy, he had begged her to look into an abortion. In his mind, a child was only another mouth to feed, something you had to waste precious time and money on. And even though he was in the employ of the super-rich megaconglomorate, Astelicorp, his assembly line work could barely pay the bills as it was. However, she was dead set on becoming a mother, and refused to have the child aborted. This, mixed in with his short-fuse temper and his growing alcoholism, brought an everlasting hatred of his son.
Since Mary was the only parent who cared about her son, she was left to give him a name. So she named her son Robert Mitchell Reginald, or Robert Reginald the Second. Regardless of this, the father still hated his son. And after a few weeks, this hatred was no longer a silent one. Reginald Sr. began a daily regiment of getting drunk and hitting his son. Whenever his wife tried to stop him, he'd beat her up as well.
With the passing years, his father's beatings became more and more severe. By the time he was six, Bob was coming to school with black eyes and dried blood in his nose. Throughout the year he was eight, he wound up with twenty broken bones throughout the year. And the trauma wasn't just going to his body. At the age of ten, he was completely scatterbrained and random, and he suffered from selective memory patterns. The only thing he could always remember was his burning hatred for his father, and his undying love for his mother.
The very year he turned ten, around Christmas, his father was invited to the first annual Astelicorp Christmas party. It was an extravagant gala, to which all employees of Astelicorp were invited. Mary Ann was reluctant to go with her husband, but he was able to convince her that he had gotten a babysitter for their son while they'd be gone. Still hesitant, but afraid of his temper, she agreed to go. Of course, a babysitter never came. One was never hired, and the thought had never even crossed Reginald Sr.'s mind.
At the party, Reginald Sr. drank an incredible amount, ignoring his wife's pleas for him to stop. By the end, he was hardly able to stand he had so much alcohol in him. Regardless, he still managed to drag his wife into his car and drive off. They didn't get more than three miles before his drunkenness caused him to swerve off of the road. The car rolled down a steep hill, only stopping when it hit a tree at the bottom. Both of his parents were killed on impact.
The next day, Bob awoke to find his parents were still gone. This was quite peculiar. He grabbed some bread to make a sandwich, forgot what he was doing, and decided to watch some TV instead. What was on the screen when it came into focus would be the straw that broke the camel's back. It was the morning news, and they were covering the fatal accident his parents were in.
"Local authorities found the bodies of Mary Ann and Robert Franklin Reginald in their car, smashed at the bottom of a ravine alongside the highway. Police believe that Robert was heavily under the influence, and lost control of the vehicle."
He looked at the screen, his eyes widening.
"Mom... she's... she's gone..."
The anchorman's words still rang through his head. His eyes suddenly narrowed again, and he glared towards the driver's side of the car, still pictured on the TV.
"And it's your fault... you bastard, you killed her! You killed mom! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you were still alive, so I could kill you myself! I'd kill you again and again and again for what you did!"
All at once, what remained of Bob's sanity slipped out of his reach. The fragile, scattered remnants of his reasoning were shattered. In fury, he threw the remote into the screen, shattering it. He stormed across the room, knocking various things to the floor as he went. When he reached his father's toolbox, however, he stopped completely. His eyes became transfixed on it, like it was some sort of treasure chest, waiting to be opened.
It was locked, but with part of a lamp he had knocked over and broken in half, he was able to pry it open. Inside, he found many uninteresting things, all of which reminded him of the hatred he held towards his father. However, in the bottom, beneath piles and piles of tools, he found a large metal case. There was some faded stencil print on it, which even though it was still legible, he couldn't make out in his state. When he cracked it open, he found his father's most prized posession: his knife.
The blade was 16" long, serrated all the way down one side, barbed on the end. It was a piece of work, a killing machine, reminiscent of his father's days spent in the army. Stealing it would be the ultimate revenge on his father. Grabbing the knife, he jammed it into his pocket, and laughed crazily. As for the toolbox, and the rest of the tools, he threw them through a closed window, sending glass and heavy, sharp things flying everywhere.
He traveled around the house, intermitently raving like a lunatic, having very little control over himself or his actions. Occasionally, his brain would turn on again, but as if by some dark influence, it was forced out of working again. Bob wandered around breaking things and ranting for about fifteen minutes, before he knocked a book loose from a shelf which caught his eye. This was his mother's personal log.
His raving was halted, and he suddenly fell to the floor in a heap in front of it. Trembling, he reached for it and opened it up. Within the pages, he found all his mother's loving words about him, written down from the day he was born. There were a few pictures here and there, and he took each one of them. Between the last two recorded pages, he found a pressed rose. There was also, of course, some writing. But this writing caught his eyes. By some miracle, his mind unclouded enough for him to roughly comprehend what was written.
"Many years ago, when I was a young girl, I had gone walking. The summer was still young, and adventure was in the air. I decided that I was going to go exploring in the woods. For hours, I wandered around, until I found a beautiful clearing. And in the center of that clearing, in a ray of sunlight, was a rose bush, upon which grew the most perfect rose I had ever seen. Carefully, I picked it, brought it home, and I pressed it. I was ten at the time. I have long since passed my youth, and the wonders it once held for me are now fading. At Christmas this year, I hope to pass it on to my son, as a reminder that sometimes the most beautiful things are those that are wild, and are hard to find. A beauty like this is one of a kind, just like my darling son."
Name - Robert Mitchell Reginald, Robert Reginald the Second
User Name - Zero_Diamond
Gender - Male
Age - 15-16, circa 1997
Height - 6'
Weight - 90 lbs. (he's tall, but he's built like a scarecrow)
Race - Human
Game - Happy Bob RPG (Incomplete), Happy Bob: Brawler of 199X (Incomplete), EarthBound (Not an actual character, of course)
Physical Description -
Hair Color: Orangey Blonde
Hair Style: Ragged, matted bowl cut
Eye Color: Black/Red (Depends on his mood)
Clothes: A long black coat with short sleeves and tails, a gray and dark gray striped shirt, torn up blue jeans and white tennis shoes. Occasionally wears a fedorah hat and loafers.
Weapons - Knife, Revolver, Dual UZIs, Dual Colt Commandos, Sawed-off Shotgun, RPG Launcher, BFG 9000
Attacks - Nothing nobody else can do.
Biography -
On February 13, 1981, a child was born of Mary Ann and Robert Franklin Reginald. Friday the 13th hadn't been the expected date of birth, but through an ominous universal coincidence, he was born several days early. Either way, Mary Ann couldn't have been happier.
Robert, however, was not at all happy. Early on in his wife's pregnancy, he had begged her to look into an abortion. In his mind, a child was only another mouth to feed, something you had to waste precious time and money on. And even though he was in the employ of the super-rich megaconglomorate, Astelicorp, his assembly line work could barely pay the bills as it was. However, she was dead set on becoming a mother, and refused to have the child aborted. This, mixed in with his short-fuse temper and his growing alcoholism, brought an everlasting hatred of his son.
Since Mary was the only parent who cared about her son, she was left to give him a name. So she named her son Robert Mitchell Reginald, or Robert Reginald the Second. Regardless of this, the father still hated his son. And after a few weeks, this hatred was no longer a silent one. Reginald Sr. began a daily regiment of getting drunk and hitting his son. Whenever his wife tried to stop him, he'd beat her up as well.
With the passing years, his father's beatings became more and more severe. By the time he was six, Bob was coming to school with black eyes and dried blood in his nose. Throughout the year he was eight, he wound up with twenty broken bones throughout the year. And the trauma wasn't just going to his body. At the age of ten, he was completely scatterbrained and random, and he suffered from selective memory patterns. The only thing he could always remember was his burning hatred for his father, and his undying love for his mother.
The very year he turned ten, around Christmas, his father was invited to the first annual Astelicorp Christmas party. It was an extravagant gala, to which all employees of Astelicorp were invited. Mary Ann was reluctant to go with her husband, but he was able to convince her that he had gotten a babysitter for their son while they'd be gone. Still hesitant, but afraid of his temper, she agreed to go. Of course, a babysitter never came. One was never hired, and the thought had never even crossed Reginald Sr.'s mind.
At the party, Reginald Sr. drank an incredible amount, ignoring his wife's pleas for him to stop. By the end, he was hardly able to stand he had so much alcohol in him. Regardless, he still managed to drag his wife into his car and drive off. They didn't get more than three miles before his drunkenness caused him to swerve off of the road. The car rolled down a steep hill, only stopping when it hit a tree at the bottom. Both of his parents were killed on impact.
The next day, Bob awoke to find his parents were still gone. This was quite peculiar. He grabbed some bread to make a sandwich, forgot what he was doing, and decided to watch some TV instead. What was on the screen when it came into focus would be the straw that broke the camel's back. It was the morning news, and they were covering the fatal accident his parents were in.
"Local authorities found the bodies of Mary Ann and Robert Franklin Reginald in their car, smashed at the bottom of a ravine alongside the highway. Police believe that Robert was heavily under the influence, and lost control of the vehicle."
He looked at the screen, his eyes widening.
"Mom... she's... she's gone..."
The anchorman's words still rang through his head. His eyes suddenly narrowed again, and he glared towards the driver's side of the car, still pictured on the TV.
"And it's your fault... you bastard, you killed her! You killed mom! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you were still alive, so I could kill you myself! I'd kill you again and again and again for what you did!"
All at once, what remained of Bob's sanity slipped out of his reach. The fragile, scattered remnants of his reasoning were shattered. In fury, he threw the remote into the screen, shattering it. He stormed across the room, knocking various things to the floor as he went. When he reached his father's toolbox, however, he stopped completely. His eyes became transfixed on it, like it was some sort of treasure chest, waiting to be opened.
It was locked, but with part of a lamp he had knocked over and broken in half, he was able to pry it open. Inside, he found many uninteresting things, all of which reminded him of the hatred he held towards his father. However, in the bottom, beneath piles and piles of tools, he found a large metal case. There was some faded stencil print on it, which even though it was still legible, he couldn't make out in his state. When he cracked it open, he found his father's most prized posession: his knife.
The blade was 16" long, serrated all the way down one side, barbed on the end. It was a piece of work, a killing machine, reminiscent of his father's days spent in the army. Stealing it would be the ultimate revenge on his father. Grabbing the knife, he jammed it into his pocket, and laughed crazily. As for the toolbox, and the rest of the tools, he threw them through a closed window, sending glass and heavy, sharp things flying everywhere.
He traveled around the house, intermitently raving like a lunatic, having very little control over himself or his actions. Occasionally, his brain would turn on again, but as if by some dark influence, it was forced out of working again. Bob wandered around breaking things and ranting for about fifteen minutes, before he knocked a book loose from a shelf which caught his eye. This was his mother's personal log.
His raving was halted, and he suddenly fell to the floor in a heap in front of it. Trembling, he reached for it and opened it up. Within the pages, he found all his mother's loving words about him, written down from the day he was born. There were a few pictures here and there, and he took each one of them. Between the last two recorded pages, he found a pressed rose. There was also, of course, some writing. But this writing caught his eyes. By some miracle, his mind unclouded enough for him to roughly comprehend what was written.
"Many years ago, when I was a young girl, I had gone walking. The summer was still young, and adventure was in the air. I decided that I was going to go exploring in the woods. For hours, I wandered around, until I found a beautiful clearing. And in the center of that clearing, in a ray of sunlight, was a rose bush, upon which grew the most perfect rose I had ever seen. Carefully, I picked it, brought it home, and I pressed it. I was ten at the time. I have long since passed my youth, and the wonders it once held for me are now fading. At Christmas this year, I hope to pass it on to my son, as a reminder that sometimes the most beautiful things are those that are wild, and are hard to find. A beauty like this is one of a kind, just like my darling son."