04-10-2017, 01:20 AM
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What did Mettaton love most about his home? It was a city. It was huge. There were streets and roads and highways, an old beltway that circled the entirety of the blocks of homes and stores, though the asphalt was cracked, pockmarked, with plants beginning to spread. He'd lived here most of his life, and hadn't yet explored the majority of the city. There were the upper-class blocks with grand old residences, covered in ivy, blood stains on the marble steps, fitting some sort of macabre aesthetic he quite enjoyed. There were rows of boarded up townhouses that looked no different from before the power outages. There were shops, glass windows mostly shattered, but some still intact, some even with old, unwanted displayed mannequins still modelling their faded wares.
Of course, much of what had once filled the markets and shops, and even homes, had long been looted, destroyed or consumed, but when those who'd first taken over the city in the name of the Badlands cracked down, the population diminished and so too did the squatters and looters who couldn't stand up to the fiercely territorial band of vagabonds. And these days, they really were their own civilization--not just a haven for outcasts of the remnants of society, but truly a society of its own--sure, their laws were loose and their hierarchy dangerous, but if the lifestyle didn't suit you--you died or you got out. They didn't claim to be paragons of equality, though many of their number did display morality--it just wasn't particularly celebrated.
The war-chief was on one of his exploration endeavors, as the weather was both briskly windy and sunny--perfect day to enjoy the fresh air and hopefully score a good find. With his new position--in charge of leading raids, training grunts of war--he felt more at home, more confident--and a lot more deadly. He had taken to wearing his leather jacket once more, all black material and sharp angles, with glittering earrings and rhinestones glittering in the light-- he felt like a punk rock harbinger of doom, when the mood took him. Right now, though, he was really just excited and happy--and in no mood at all to bring doom upon anyone. He'd found an abandoned rink, with the smooth oval of polished wood still intact for the most part--and though most of the shelves were empty, it wasn't long before he found them: a pair of large, pink inline skates.
He pulled them on eagerly, grimacing and giving a shout when he finally pulled on the left, falling back onto his rump but successfully wearing the skates. He began to pick himself up, feeling stilted and off-balance. He was disconcertingly tall, his eye level well above the tops of the vending machines, and his hand gripped the low wall by the rink desperately. He didn't want to skate in here--he wanted to skate outside. He wanted to skate--not as a hobby. He wanted a means of transport.
Ten minutes later, the pink and black, glammed up warchief was flying down the streets of the city, whooping and nearly tripping every thirty feet--his arms were thrust out at odd angles, struggling to keep his balance--he'd figured them out enough to be able to turn corners, but he'd been picking up speed and frankly--he doubted he'd be able to stop without flying headlong into someone.
[spoiler=info  updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ METTATON DARLING | METTA | afab male (gnc)
★ panromantic | pansexual
★ 24| oct/15 | real time
★ the badlands | warchief
IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ cute
★ glam
★ has a stash of makeup
PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 90%
 6'3'' & 195 lbs; slender torso but muscled, great posture but narrow shoulders. Long, thick black hair that's wavy and shoulder length, often tucked behind an ear, rarely in a ponytail. Often covering up the eyepatch over his right eye. Blue eyes and generally wears black, accented with pink, purple, and blue.
 [i]major injuries: (missing an eye, affects peripheral vision and depth perception)
PERSONALITY:
- mettaton has a huge fear of being genuinely hated, not cared about, not being good enough. he is pretty good at masking this but he has anxiety.
- mettaton has black hair and blue eyes, he's caucasian. he has two studs above his eyebrow and he wears very dramatic clothing as well as wearing makeup quite frequently, as he has compiled a stash. He is about six feet, three inches tall, and is pretty average of weight. He has one eye and wears an eyepatch.
- Mettaton is extremely dramatic, flamboyant, and glamorous. He loves making a statement--of any kind. He's friendly, though quite self-centered, and likes to use pet names a lot--notably, calling people 'darling' quite often. He gets extremely enthusiastic about quite a lot, and thinks of himself as above most earthly things. Though he can seem shrewd and is certainly intelligent and creative, he can be quite idealistic, naive, and even gullible, easily manipulated. It can seem hard to shake his confidence, but he can be made an unwitting pawn of someone's game if they know how to play him.
RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest
INTERACTION:
★ interacts with literally everyone he sees + quite friendly, even flirtatious
★ difficulty: 7/10 in battle | + strength, speed, agility | - stamina
★ tends to negotiate, but if he feels that's impossible, he likes to make the first move
★ attack in bold #D600BA
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]
text
[align=center]![[Image: 9d5abbbfdbe5f60875725f019abf9cf4.png]](http://fontmeme.com/permalink/170125/9d5abbbfdbe5f60875725f019abf9cf4.png)
[div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 350px; font-size: 8pt; font-family:arial; text-transform:lowercase; text-align:justify; color: black;"]What did Mettaton love most about his home? It was a city. It was huge. There were streets and roads and highways, an old beltway that circled the entirety of the blocks of homes and stores, though the asphalt was cracked, pockmarked, with plants beginning to spread. He'd lived here most of his life, and hadn't yet explored the majority of the city. There were the upper-class blocks with grand old residences, covered in ivy, blood stains on the marble steps, fitting some sort of macabre aesthetic he quite enjoyed. There were rows of boarded up townhouses that looked no different from before the power outages. There were shops, glass windows mostly shattered, but some still intact, some even with old, unwanted displayed mannequins still modelling their faded wares.
Of course, much of what had once filled the markets and shops, and even homes, had long been looted, destroyed or consumed, but when those who'd first taken over the city in the name of the Badlands cracked down, the population diminished and so too did the squatters and looters who couldn't stand up to the fiercely territorial band of vagabonds. And these days, they really were their own civilization--not just a haven for outcasts of the remnants of society, but truly a society of its own--sure, their laws were loose and their hierarchy dangerous, but if the lifestyle didn't suit you--you died or you got out. They didn't claim to be paragons of equality, though many of their number did display morality--it just wasn't particularly celebrated.
The war-chief was on one of his exploration endeavors, as the weather was both briskly windy and sunny--perfect day to enjoy the fresh air and hopefully score a good find. With his new position--in charge of leading raids, training grunts of war--he felt more at home, more confident--and a lot more deadly. He had taken to wearing his leather jacket once more, all black material and sharp angles, with glittering earrings and rhinestones glittering in the light-- he felt like a punk rock harbinger of doom, when the mood took him. Right now, though, he was really just excited and happy--and in no mood at all to bring doom upon anyone. He'd found an abandoned rink, with the smooth oval of polished wood still intact for the most part--and though most of the shelves were empty, it wasn't long before he found them: a pair of large, pink inline skates.
He pulled them on eagerly, grimacing and giving a shout when he finally pulled on the left, falling back onto his rump but successfully wearing the skates. He began to pick himself up, feeling stilted and off-balance. He was disconcertingly tall, his eye level well above the tops of the vending machines, and his hand gripped the low wall by the rink desperately. He didn't want to skate in here--he wanted to skate outside. He wanted to skate--not as a hobby. He wanted a means of transport.
Ten minutes later, the pink and black, glammed up warchief was flying down the streets of the city, whooping and nearly tripping every thirty feet--his arms were thrust out at odd angles, struggling to keep his balance--he'd figured them out enough to be able to turn corners, but he'd been picking up speed and frankly--he doubted he'd be able to stop without flying headlong into someone.
[spoiler=info  updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ METTATON DARLING | METTA | afab male (gnc)
★ panromantic | pansexual
★ 24| oct/15 | real time
★ the badlands | warchief
IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ cute
★ glam
★ has a stash of makeup
PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 90%
 6'3'' & 195 lbs; slender torso but muscled, great posture but narrow shoulders. Long, thick black hair that's wavy and shoulder length, often tucked behind an ear, rarely in a ponytail. Often covering up the eyepatch over his right eye. Blue eyes and generally wears black, accented with pink, purple, and blue.
 [i]major injuries: (missing an eye, affects peripheral vision and depth perception)
PERSONALITY:
- mettaton has a huge fear of being genuinely hated, not cared about, not being good enough. he is pretty good at masking this but he has anxiety.
- mettaton has black hair and blue eyes, he's caucasian. he has two studs above his eyebrow and he wears very dramatic clothing as well as wearing makeup quite frequently, as he has compiled a stash. He is about six feet, three inches tall, and is pretty average of weight. He has one eye and wears an eyepatch.
- Mettaton is extremely dramatic, flamboyant, and glamorous. He loves making a statement--of any kind. He's friendly, though quite self-centered, and likes to use pet names a lot--notably, calling people 'darling' quite often. He gets extremely enthusiastic about quite a lot, and thinks of himself as above most earthly things. Though he can seem shrewd and is certainly intelligent and creative, he can be quite idealistic, naive, and even gullible, easily manipulated. It can seem hard to shake his confidence, but he can be made an unwitting pawn of someone's game if they know how to play him.
RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest
INTERACTION:
★ interacts with literally everyone he sees + quite friendly, even flirtatious
★ difficulty: 7/10 in battle | + strength, speed, agility | - stamina
★ tends to negotiate, but if he feels that's impossible, he likes to make the first move
★ attack in bold #D600BA
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]