Username: finkel
Name: Dodger
Gender: Male
Race: Human, but the 1/4th imp in him really shows.
Colour: Red
Weapon: He keeps a four-shot derringer in his sleeve (usually the left, though it depends on the situation) hidden behind a simple flap to prevent anybody from catching a glimpse. He automatically slides blades into his clothing, and especially likes switch blades and razors for their quick deployment and easy concealment, respectively. He prefers small and simple tools for his trade, and would much rather strangle somebody with a small roll of piano wire than bludgeon them with a chair leg. He has a false tooth filled with enough of an extremely rare poisonous powder to kill three scores of healthy fit men. He often lines his blades with poison for insurance and personal enjoyment in watching its effects. He also has a soft-spot for explosions and things that whir or go *click*. However, explosives and technological trinkets are more of a hobby for him, albeit popular ones. He keeps a sliver of a compound of metal in the lining of his shoes that is specifically designing to open handcuffs by being easy to bend but resisting being taken out of it's new shape.
Abilities: Dodger doesn't have any superpowers, so to speak, but he is extremely skilled at stealth and thievery. He checks out whichever books strike his fancy at the library and reads them all twice. He's often found his way out of a tight spot by knowing some obscure fact. He has extremely nimble fingers and a face of a thousand expressions. He can pick up on languages he's never heard before, fake an accent with suave, and seem irresistibly charismatic towards whomever he chooses. He is a practiced and veteran liar, and is adept at the art. He keeps a two-hour work-out regiment a day, spending 60 straight minutes every morning and night keeping his body a well-oiled machine. He can climb buildings better than an ant and tread lighter than a cat, but is hardly infallible. However, instead of running, his confidence in his abilities will often cause him to stick around and find an ingenious and much more satisfactory way out of a tight spot when things turn sour.
Description: He smiles incessantly. There is a genuine smile so often adorning his face that he doesn't even have to try to fake one. His teeth are a fairly-clean shade of white that reflects the times in his life that he had better things to do than brush. He talks in a sweet, calm, low hum that vibrates in your ears, and is never asked to repeat his words. Though he would never show it, he takes bitter insult at the word "What?" being retorted immediately upon completion of his sentence or even worse, interrupting it. His exercise consists of working on endurance and straight strength. His back is slightly contorted from the slouching position he often takes when walking the streets of a bad town to go along with the stinging glance he throws to anybody that spares too much attention. His eyes are a brilliant green, and seem to be always slightly too open. This gives him the appearance of constantly perceiving more than those around him, and his gaze has humbled royalty. He is constantly processing his surroundings, and in the back of his mind is always deducing what has happened to cause every dent in a pillar and scuff in a carpet around him. He doesn't care what clothes he wears, but he gives thought to the impression they give. He is physically fit and has more muscle than the average high school kid, but his strength is regularly underestimated. He learned to fight by fighting, and has taken so many hits that he will often just let the punches fly to his chest and head until he sees the perfect opening. He likes a fair fight, but won't hesitate to slit a jugular or flick his wrist and fire his gun if necessary. He always carries a pack of smokes on him, though he's not an addict. He likes smoking and prefers cherry-clove cigars. He can often be found sitting on a bench puffing smoke-rings while scouting a target. He often wears fingerless gardening gloves that are a size too small for the extra grip and protection for his knuckles while retaining his dexterity. He cuts his hair short, and never styles it beyond sliding a hand through it. He never wears overtly styled clothing or accessories, and only wears jewelery for a cover ID. His only pair of sunglasses are a simple one-way opaque black pair, and he only wears them when it's sunny. He sees people as assets and tools, and says "sorry" and "that's terrible" out of habit and expectation. He sees the world as what it has been and could be, and is perfectly at ease wherever he is. His fingerprints are on file in a half-dozen jails and prisons across many planets and galaxies, but he changes them every time he gets out. He has few friends and many girlfriends. His wallet has a lot of cash and licenses to pilot pretty much any vehicle. He's deadly at poker but can be a great guy to hang out with, but the worst to find walking into the apartment you just broke into. He doesn't have a home, and enjoys the luxury of cheap hotel rooms. He doesn't have any permanent belongings or keep-sakes, though he would be sorely upset if he had to find another derringer or fake tooth. He can be kind, endearing, and empathetic, but in a heartbeat can completely turn on a person for his own benefit, if he finds it to his advantage. He never breaks a promise, and hardly ever makes one. He's a brilliant writer and a poet, but abhors the way that attempting to communicate strangles meaning. He has extremely fair skin, and has never had any birth marks or blemishes. He never suffered from acne, but is often teased for being only five feet tall. The imp in his heritage has caused him to grow up with a slouch and low stature that is ideal for blending in with crowds. He often does idiotically stupid things just for the fun of it and gets into trouble without good reason.
Biography: His father died when a burglar broke into Dodger's home when he was a child and started rummaging through his mother's jewelery box. His dad shakily pointed a colt 45 at the intruder and told him to drop the jewelry and get out. The burglar calmly took out an army-issue sidearm and ended the man's life. He made off with Dodger's mother's wedding, engagement, and anniversary rings and necklaces, and she fell into a deep state of depression which ultimately led her to take her own life a few years later. Her father was an imp, and so Dodger's Mother was born while her mother was in exile from her and her husband's families. Dodger grew up on the outskirts of a small village outside of a suburban town. He learned to appreciate what he had and be content with a book and a blanket. He never believed in god or gave it any thought, and when asked later in life would only laugh increasingly harder when prodded, causing the other person to become frustrated with his attempts and give up. Dodger developed an early habit of collecting things he found. This led to some childhood trouble when the things he "found" were actually somebody's prized possessions. Nevertheless, some of his favorite inventions were inspired by a piece of wire he found lying by a sewer or some tinfoil on the armrest of a bench. He often fell sick as a child, but has never broken a bone. He hasn't caught an illness since the age of 17.
I think that should do it. My brain just fried, and my stomach has been rumbling for the last half-hour, so I'm going to go fix myself a second lunch. Or maybe an early dinner.
