Dylan Hugo Black

[Dylan Black]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Dylan Hugo Black
Nickname: Dylan, Dy, Dill, Dilly (if you want to get punched)
Age: 27
Member Group: Local - Hammel Janitor
Power(s): Animation -
Dylan can use his own energy to bring inanimate objects to life. The larger the object, the more exhausting it is for him, much like having more than 4 objects going all at once would make him collapse. If he animates too many things, he becomes inanimate himself, and is stuck for more than an hour.
Play By: Julian Casablancas

Let it F L O W . . .

Four Times Dylan Abused his Power

One.

Dylan was not the most pleasant of children, nor one of the most vile. A balance of slightly bratty and attentive, with the occasional splattering of cuteness when the moment was right. He liked his mum, disliked his dad and had a fondness for computer games and comics. The average child, really.

So when Dylan was fed up of being told off by his dad for not helping his mum round the house, he proved just how un-average he was.

At first there had been the sulking, since Dylan wasn't a fan of helping with cleaning and the whole... washing and apron deal. Still, he didn't want his allowance cut, so he silently began scrubbing begrudgingly at the sink like his mum had asked. The sound of the sponge scratching at the porcelain set his teeth on edge, as did the smell of the cleaner. He was about to go off on a moan when the sponge began moving by itself. As did the polishing cloth.

Dylan thought he was high on cleaning products.

He stared, unblinkingly as everything started doing the cleaning for him. When he did try to blink, he found his eyelids wouldn't move. Nor would his hands. Or his feet. He tried to swear. He couldn't. He tried shouting, and that didn't work either. He was stuck, and none of him was moving. Panic settled in his stomach as he realised his mum had left the room to go and vacuum.

It took two hours for Romana to notice her son was stuck and couldn't move. She'd screamed and cried and fussed as though the boy had died. After dialing 911, her husband and everyone she could think of, she actually realised the sponge and cloth were still moving. Her mouth fell open, and she fell to the floor in a dead faint.

Really helpful, Mum. Thought Dylan.

When he was finally picked up and lain flat on the ambulance trolley, he couldn't help but feel incredibly stupid, being stuck in such a way, with a sponge now trying to wipe his face insistantly and a polishing cloth besieging his mother. He couldn't talk to the ambulance crew, he couldn't get the DAMN SPONGE to get away from his face and he certainly couldn't get his mother to stop screaming. The journey was hell, and he just wanted to yell out that he wasn't dying, he just couldn't move.

Five minutes after he got his blood taken for the seventh time, he was finally able to let go of the expletives he had been saving. The sponge stopped attacking his face and all was well again, aside from the fact he was apparently a 'meta human' and had magical powers. What the hell? His father stood by the bed, and Dylan wrinkled his nose.

“And that's why I don't do housework.” He said stubbornly.



Two

Down a back alley in Pilot Ridge, a group of boys chortled to themselves as they lit up, taking deep drags of smoke and leaning against the wall. One of the boys held onto a packet of marijuana, rolling up a joint one handed, a confident smirk on his face.

“That'll be forty dollars, my friend.” He said, offering the pack out with a tight grip still on it, the unlit cylinder dangling from his lips. The first boy coughed up, handing out a small fold of dollar notes, then taking his share and leaving. The second boy, much like the first, heaved a heavy sigh and tossed the money over. The third boy, however, stood scowling, sunglasses on his head, expression blank.

“That's a rip off.” He said, exhaling smoke and shoving one hand in his pocket. The boy with the packets narrowed his eyes.

“Cough up Dylan or you don't get anything.”

Dylan rubbed his nose and dusted off his leather jacket. “I'm telling you that's a rip off.” He repeated, grabbing the bag from the other boy's hand and fishing out a ten dollar note. “This shit is half oregano anyway, a retard could see it.” He grunted, shaking the plastic packet with an arched eyebrow.

The next thing Dylan knew, he was being pushed against the wall, with the taller boy in his face. “Pay up.” He growled, right in his face, close enough that the animator was certain he'd had a burger within the last few hours.

“Cuddling? Oh Luke, if you'd only asked, we could have been snuggled up on the sofa.” Dylan cooed provocatively, sliding his hands up and shoving the note in Luke's mouth. “Now get out of my face.”

It wasn't any surprise that the next move involved a thud and a broken nose. But it WAS a surprise to Luke when the waste bin he had been so close to began to try and bite him. Dylan was too busy wiping blood on his t-shirt to enjoy watching the boy being chased down the street by a vexed disposal unit, but he did pocket the weed, and pick up the saliva covered money.

He wondered silently whether a broken nose was worth all this, but then he heard a yelp, and the sound of a bin lid closing, and decided it was.




Three

No matter how much Dylan wished he could live without money, he had an axolotl to feed, weed to buy and a trailer to look after and maintain, and of course, bills to pay. He'd tried jobs that involved minimal effort and minimal brainpower before, with terrible staying power, so he decided the best thing to do would be to maybe branch out to something a bit different.

A pink circle was highlighted around an ad in the local newspaper, and he'd driven to the place he'd once called home, walking up to reception and leering over at the woman behind the desk, hands in his pockets.

“I'm here about the cleaning job.” He said simply, and all he got was a small nod, and a thumb jerk to another room.

Cleaning products. Lots of them. Bad memories of the sponge that wouldn't leave his face alone suddenly showed up, and he very nearly backed away. He didn't want cleaning products attacking him left right and center, but the need for money kept him standing, and, thanks to that previous disaster all those years ago, he actually knew what some of the products were.

But like hell was he going to start scrubbing. Sitting back in one of the chairs, he plugged in the vacuum cleaner, stared at it, then told it to go and do the floors. It did so with a sort of sad sighing noise, wiggling around the carpet and hunting for any goodies for it to eat. Then the dusting cloth began snuggling up with the books, rubbing itself against them like a cat. That left him with the scrubber, and tables covered in marker pen. Heaving himself over the table with a melodramatic groan, he began washing off the various scribbles, while having a good read of them himself. Apparently Jesse Adams was a dick, and Z. LR was the hottest guy in the school.

Snorting to himself, he lifted off the stains till every table was clean and spotless. He'd picked up a lot of useful information on the students, all for a bit of scrubbing with a brush and some cleaner. Surveying his rather awesome job, Dylan leant against the wall, and waited for someone to assess his fantastically epic skills. He did stop the vacuum from repeatedly bashing against the wall in frustration though.

When he got hired, he celebrated by getting stoned and eating dim sum. At least he wouldn't have to keep eating toast.




Four

“Y'an'Sammy should totally b'pot buddies!” The voice called down the hallway, leaving Dylan scowling as he pushed the trolley into the men's bathrooms. “Y'can have sexy potbabies!” It was getting louder, and no matter how high the volume went on Dylan's MP3 player, he could still hear the obnoxious teenager squawking at him as he sprayed dettol down the urinals.

“Anyway, how y'doin'?” The boy persisted, leaning over the taller man's shoulder. A heavy sigh followed.

“Wonderful.” Dylan said flatly, sending the plunger to go and attack the toilets for him. “Nothing in my day makes me happier than cleaning up your waste products.” The gothboy next to him screwed up his face, wiggling a finger at him.

“Are y'bein' sarcastic?” He asked accusingly, climbing on one of the toilets in the adjacent bathroom stall, peering down at the cleaner as he changed the toilet roll. Dylan decided not to dignify it with an answer, instead crumpling up the wrappings and tossing them in the trolley bin. The boy was so persistant. Every afternoon around 3 he'd appear, spot on, as though he'd memorised Dylan's schedule just to irritate him. Nothing seemed to shake him off. Threats of violence, grumblings, ignoring him, nothing.

“Vincent.” Dylan said simply, looking up. “Your crush on me is very endearing, but you're standing in my way. Move.”

What happened next will be forever stamped in Hammel History.

At having the tiniest modicum of attention, Vincent dropped trou right in front of Dylan, nearly giving the poor janitor a heart attack. An irked expression drifted across his face, followed by a whistle, one mop standing up straight as though saluting.

“Get him.” Dylan grunted, pointing at Vincent with one of his fingers. The mop charged, the goth squealed like a girl and began running, pants round his ankles, away from the aggressive cleaning item. Anyone in the corridor could have chuckled at watching a half naked idiot running away from a handle that was desperately trying to get to his ass.

Dylan finished the bathroom and began wheeling the trolley down the hall again, occasionally chuckling to himself as Vincent ran past him, cursing. “Unrequited love is so cruel.” He said simply, before disappearing into another room.

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Chezuu/Zuu/Chez etc
Age: 21
RP Experience: 8+ years
How did you find us?: Ouija board.

Show your S K I L L S . . .

Please see my harem of characters for an example!

[Raena *]

SQUEE! Accepted!

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Take it away, my dear. [/blockquote][/center]