| Warm, soothing goo surrounds your body. It's so hard to move, and impossible to think. You may not realize it yet, but you have been selected for the Crew of the Vesmir. Oh, sure, you may not be capable of anything good or wholesome, and fine, you not even know what space is, but that doesn't matter to your moon-sized captor. You have been chosen, stolen from the only home you have known, and are now forced to suffer the indignities only a ship of kobolds can provide. Perhaps it's not as serious as all that. Somewhere between the crystal spheres and the endless void of space drifts a giant, living, silent ship. The Vesmir. Home. Once you log in, this annoying block of text goes away: |
| Herr Doktor Eugen Metzger; "The Good Doctor" | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 30 2009, 11:19 PM (294 Views) | |
| Herr Doktor | Mar 30 2009, 11:19 PM Post #1 |
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Name: Herr Doktor Eugen Metzger, "The Good Doctor" Race/Specie/Ethnicity/Bloodline/Beinghood: Human, German Age/DOB: May 21st, 1925 (43 years old at his time of capture in 1968) Gender: Male Home Planet: Earth Height: 6’5”, although he tends to slouch. Weight/Shape: 220, a nice lean build, but muscular in his own right. Hair/Scales/Plumage/Dangly Parts: Short cropped brown (but graying) hair. Large foofy bang. Eyes or other important sensory apparati: Two eyes, dark blue. They are intelligent and piercing. One often has the impression that Metzger is looking for some sign of weakness in both friend and foe. Skin: Pale, but accented by a light, but pleasant tan from spending time in the desert with RED. Other Important Features: Several distinctive scars. From the right cheek to the left cheek, and over the bridge of his nose, he has a wide pale strip of scar tissue. The left corner of his mouth has a small vertical scar. Other assorted scars on his body; most are small. Physical Description: Tall, and powerfully built, Herr Doktor Metzger is an imposing figure; he can easily carry heavy field gear and lift struggling (smaller) team mates to safety. He is in good physical shape, considering his age; he is lightly muscled and only slightly graying. (If he dyes his hair, his teammates are none the wiser, and a gentleman never asks…) His clothing of choice is either his team assigned white lab coat and dress shirt, brown jhodphurs, and red tie or his favorite pinstripe burgundy three piece suit. Both are tailored for him. He favors his right leg somewhat, but appears to run and walk well enough to not be a hindrance. His skin, while pockmarked with scars from both World War 2 and skirmishes with BLU, appears healthy. He makes no attempt to hide his injuries from others, and on occasion, even uses them to intimidate others. Personality: While displaying utterly immaculate bedside manner,Metzger is actually quite cold, calculating, and cynical, something that his enemies more often experience than his allies. He has been around long enough to know that most of the people he’s working with won’t be around for long, and accordingly he tries not to get too attached. However, he always treats his team mates/ allies with respect, or as much respect as he can muster. His brutality can often be off putting, and he has been reshuffled to different bases several times. Interests/Likes/Dislikes: Metzger is interested in classical music, wine tasting, poisons, fashion, and interrogation (for fun and profit!) and dislikes having office hours, Bostonians, up-tight people, and the French (especially the Vichy French he once knew). Though, it is safe to say that Metzger has other interests he is more secretive about. Abilties, Powers, Skills, Weaknesses: Qualified battle medic, can repair his own medi-pack when necessary, skilled interrogator, well versed in poisons, and can use chemistry laboratories to produce new materials for his experiments. Metzger is allergic to cats and strawberries. Metzger also finds himself at a disadvantage when it comes to a “pretty” face; he is notoriously loose lipped around femme fatales and pretty boys. His propensity for getting injured during brawls also leads to increased recovery times. Home: Stuttgart, Germany (born), RED base, undisclosed location, USA. Items: Medi-gun, first aid kits, field surgery kit, poison collection, suit, RED team uniform, pj’s, a small collection of German literature, and some medical journals. |
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| Herr Doktor | Mar 31 2009, 02:43 AM Post #2 |
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Carefully placing aside the few reports he had written that after noon, Herr Doktor Eugen Metzger glanced out of the window into the court yard below. The rest of the team seemed to be relaxing and taking the rather impromptu cease in hostilities to be a vacation of sorts. He, of course, had no time for this sort of thing. There were reports to be filed, paperwork to be looked at, cabinets to be resupplied, enemies to be poisoned, and missed sleep to be caught up on. (Not to mention, his skin had already gotten enough sun for quite some time. He didn't want to ruin his complexion.) As he pushed his chair away from the desk, he noticed an odd humming noise. Strange though it was, the doctor chalked it up to getting older and living through several years of gunfire so loud that it might well be described as having the loudest "rock music" band preforming inside one's head for several hours at a time. As if one could consider rock music anyways... Nonchalantly, he picked up his syringe gun, just for safety's sake, and headed out to the courtyard. He had appearances to keep, and he simply wouldn't stand for being called the stuffy old nazi in the office anymore. Not that anyone had dared to call him that in quite some time. Before he reached the double doors leading out, he felt...quite faint. Light headed. Spacey. Whatever one wishes to call it. He stuck his arm out, so as to lean against the nearest wall. Slowly, he checked his pulse. Upon detecting no oddities in rhythm, he tried to continue on, but found himself quite stuck to the spot. He felt as if he had been trapped in some paste or heavy viscous liquid, as if time had simply slowed itself around him. The most rational explanation, he thought to himself, was that he was having a stroke or a seizure of some kind. He couldn't get back to his office in this state and he doubted his team mates, as good to him as they were, would find him in sufficient time to save him. He would have laughed had he not felt so lethargic; he had never thought that he would find his end in such a benign and peaceful manner. No roar of gun fire, no blazing pain inside of him, no blood pooling out onto the waiting ground below, no words of his team mates or comrades to usher him into the afterlife, and no enemy to watch him fall. Just a deafening hum and then silence. He could have found it restful if his mind were not so preoccupied. He fell to the ground unconscious, and remained so for some time. |
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| Herr Doktor | Apr 4 2009, 12:38 AM Post #3 |
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![]() The Good Doctor in all his glory. (Done for me by Alice Webb~ it looks amazing.) Edited by Herr Doktor, Apr 4 2009, 01:37 AM.
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7:15 PM Jul 11