Jerome "The Bro" Douxregaurde

Stats

Phys- 20%

Soc- 60%

Ment- 20%

Phys Ads-

Soc Ads-

Composed- 40% - You are hard to rattle. You apply your Composed rating a penalty to Stress from [S] Damage.

I'm a Rockstar, Bitch- 15% - You can get away with things others simply can not. You gain a +15% bonus on attempts to talk your way out of taking responsibility for your actions.

Ment Ads-

Human Ads-

Cynosure- 5% -

Social Specialist: Your [S] maximum is raised to 80%.

Burning Spirit: Any Burning Spirit you would gain from a social action is doubled.

Rousing Speech: Your words have the ability to inspire others, allowing them to exceed their normal limits and achieve things they would normally think impossible. You may spend a Misc. Action shouting inspirational things at your allies. This requires a roll against [S]. If you succeed, human allies who can hear you gain Burning Spirit equal to ¼ your [S].

Walker [Calming people down]- 10% - 

Phys Ods-

Klutz- -10% -

Soc Ods-

Dumbspeak- -5% -

Hard Knock Life- -10 % - [Hard-Knock Life][-10%] If things are going to go wrong, they are probably going to go wrong at you. You suffer from extremely bad luck which has no specific mechanical effect, but tends to leave you worse for the wear when shit goes down hill.

Terrible Liar- -5% - [Terrible Liar][-5%] You… you are just an awful liar. You take a -20% penalty to [S] on all attempts to lie or deceive.

Appearance:

Average height, slightly overweight. Long, shaggy brown hair. Wears a ratty old bathrobe over a filthy, worn T-shirt, a pair of shorts, a pair of sandals, and a pair of sunglasses.

     Way out west there was this fella, fella I wanna tell you about. Fella by the name of Jerry Douxregaurde. Least, that was the handle his lovin' parents gave him. But he never found much use for it himself. This Douxregaurde, he called himself, The Bro. Now, Bro. That's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about The Bro that doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, likewise. But then again, maybe that's why I found the place so darned interesting.

     They call the RADlands the "kingdom where insanity reins." I didn't find it to be that exactly, but I'll allow there are some disturbin' folks there. 'Course, I can't say I ever seen London. And I never been to France. And I ain't never seen no queen in her damned cocoon as a fella says. But I'll tell ya what, after seein' the RADlands, and this here story that's about to unfold... well, I guess I've seen something ever' bit as stupefyin' as you'd see in any of those other places. And in English too. So I can die with a smile on my face, without feelin' like the good Lord gypped me.

     Now this here story I'm about to unfold took place back in the early days, afore we came up with th'new calendar, just about the time of the Crash. I only mention because sometimes there's a man... I won't say a hero, 'cause what's a hero? But sometimes there's a man, and I'm talkin' about The Bro here, sometimes there's a man... well, he's the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that's The Bro, in the RADlands. And even if he's a lazy man, and The Bro was most certainly that, quite possibly the laziest man in alla what used to be Los Angeles County, which puts him high in the runnin' for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there's a man... sometimes there's a man... aww, lost my train a' thought here! But I.... aww hell, I done introduced him enough.

Some'd say The Bro lived a simple existence, 'n while I don't know that I'd subscribe to that particular choice a'words, he certainly was not a man of great aspirations. Afore the Crash he lived in a small aparment in Los Angeles, a town you younger folks won't be familiar with, seein' as it ended up geographically inserted into some feller's molar. He was content to live his life without botherin' no one, so longs they didn't bother him back. 'Course, there ain't a soul around didn't get bothered by th'Crash. The Bro got bothered by it in a very specific way, and most'd say he came off luckier'n just about anyone else. Y'see, notta one a'The Bro's possessions was harmed by th'Crash, outside a'just one thing: a rug he had in his livin' room.

     That rug. Now, I ain't ever seen it afore, but to hear The Bro tell it it was truly a sight to be seen, somethin' that really, well, like The Bro used to say, somethin' that really tied the room together. But, as all great things must come to an end, that rug was ruined durin' th'Crash, which, in all its chaotic wisdom, translocated a puddle a'piss right in the middle of it which smelled somethin' awful. Now The Bro was a peaceful sort of fella, but I don't care who you are or where you come from, a piss stain in your rug is just somethin' that you can't take sittin' down. And so, The Bro left the comfort of his tiny Los Angeles apartment and journeyed out into the RADlands to find himself a suitable replacement, and it's that little nugget that our whole story starts from.

Possessions:

-A bowing bag, containing a bowling ball.

-A small fanny pack, containing a bag of pot and some cigarette-rolling paper.

-A walkman, containing a cassette tape with the sounds of a bowling alley on one side, and a recording of Whale Sounds on the other.

-An incredibly beat up old car, in the trunk of which is a highball glass and the ingredients necessary for a White Russian.