The Suffering RP- Diego Clavijero and Paul Wilkes
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Diego Clavijero
Name: Diego Clavijero
Gender: M
Age: 19
Position: Inmate
Appearance:
History:
As a child, Diego's uncle was a little... overly enamoured with him, shall we say? Years passed, Diego grew up, and became involved with a street gang. They were, quite obviously, a bad influence and he soon started committing crimes. One day, he was involved in a shop robbery that went bad. The cops arrived before they escaped and fighting ensued, Diego (non fatally) shooting a police officer. They were arrested after a brief car chase and put on trial. He is currently serving a sentence for Aggravated Robery and Assaulting a Police Officer. Soon after arriving in prison, another inmate attempted to make him his 'bitch'. Long-suppressed memories surfaced and Diego snapped. The inmate was hospitalised and Diego was put in solitary confinement for several weeks. When he was let out, people treated him with a little more respect.
Equipment: Nada
RP sample:
Diego was a little nervous. Despite his friends' confidence, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. This was, after all, the first time he'd done this. Before, it'd just been small things like muggings. The car parked outside a jeweller's shop. They pulled the stockings over their heads and got out. Juan had the shotgun, he went in first. Diego went in after him. "Hey!" yelled Juan. "Dis is a hold up! Everyone, down on de floor, no funny shit! You!" he jerked his weapon at the cashier. "All de money. Now." Diego tossed him a bag. the other guys were smashing display cases and grabbing necklaces, rings, brooches and other valuable items. The cashier opened the till and started filling the bag. The till was about half way empty when someone outside yelled "This is the police! Come out with your hands above your heads!"
Diego swore. Juangrabbed the bag and yelled "Run!" He bolted for the exit, Diego and the rest in tow. There was a squad car parked across the street, with two cops behind it. Juan fired a shell at them and Diego followed his lead, pointing his pistol in their general direction and firing off several rounds. He didn't aim at them, and was shocked when he saw one of them go down. The gang members piled into the car and drove off, tires screeching.
Paul Wilkes
Name: Paul Wilkes
Gender: M
Age: 38
Position: Corrections Officer
Appearance:
History:
Paul was born during WW2 and grew up in a working class family, gaining no qualifications. He was drafted in 1961 and sent to fight in Vietnam. While there, he proved to be a good soldier, and decided to continue with an Army career. This would have happened if, in 1966, his left hand hadn't been blown off by a Viet Cong boobytrap. He was invalided out of the army and sent home, where he faced a future with no qualifications, unable to get manual work, in short no career. He applied for a job as a prison guard, as that or security were the only jobs he had a chance of getting. He was accepted and that's what he's been doing for the past several years. He doesn't care about the prisoners as long as they behave, and has a profitable side job selling items to the inmates, sneaking in various substances, getting stuff out, ETC.
Equipment: Baton, S&W Combat Magnum .357 revolver, keys, cuffs, wallet containing cash and photographs.
RP sample:
There was a roaring coming from inside the shower room. Every now and then, a heavy thud could be heard. Paul stood outside the door, smoking a cigarette. Eventually, the roar died down. A few moments later, there was a cheer, and men started walking out, some grinning, others looking disappointed or angry. A small Italian-looking man approached Paul. "A good fight, mister Wilkes. Da loser's still inside with two o' da boys. Here is your cut. Enjoy." Paul grinned and took the proffered wad of cash. "Many thanks, Joe." He opened his wallet and put the money inside. "That guy of yours is a real bull, ain't he?" "Dat he is, dat he is. Look, I gotta run. See ya 'round." The mobster left, quickly catching up with his champion, a hulking brute of a man in for murder. Paul went through the door. On the tiled floor was a battered young man who had evidently thought he had a chanmce of winning. "Pick him up and follow me to the infirmary. He fell down the stairs." The two goons nodded and hauled the fighter to his feet. One said to him "Yous got dat? Ya fell down da stayers." He nodded weakly and they moved off.
