Welcome to Gaia! ::

Yo! Just dropping by for some questions. Interesting guy here by the way. XD

Anyway, what are some things that really get under his skin?

Being a ranged fighter, does he get antsy at all if people manage to get close to him in combat?

Does he have any family worth noting?

Lessee... *thinks for a moment*

Okay!

How does he feel about "lesser" creatures? Ghosts, undead, etc?

What classes will he take? Does he have certain preferences in subjects?

What is his favorite thing to do? Other than collecting sculls and guns, that is.

What is his greatest fear? (not just having his hat taken away.)

What is his greatest weakness?

Does he have anything that he's secretly embarrassed by?

What type of personality bothers him the most?

Not so much a crit (I-I'll try to leave one after my finals tomorrow!) rather than a very excited oh man, is Mot (loosely?) based off P3's Reaper? *A* I think I remember Enoh mentioning something about that a while ago, but aldfjlasdf.

If so, then you = the best ever, okay. :C *adores P3, as her profile makes it rather obvious* And even if not, Mot's design is really cool. *u* A-AGAIN I promise I'll leave a proper crit (or attempt to--I'm rather uh, terrible with crits) sometime tomorrow, hopefully!

Fff, that's awesome. *u* It only hit me because of the gun/chain thing. 8D

OKAY WELL, crits. I suck at crits. |: BUT I really do this character (and that has nothing to do with me being biased, I swear). I'm just curious why he has such an attachment to his hat, whether it holds some kind of special meaning to him, or if he just really, really likes it?

Also, just to expand on one of the previous questions, what would he do if he did encounter someone who was overly affectionate? What does losing his temper/becoming irritated entail (snapping/cold shoulder/etc)?

Does he rattle when he walks The P3 reaper terrified me until I beat him, okay. :C

A gift from Ice Queen for Mot!

Candlejack!! Mot cursed himself over and over in his head, hiding behind a carny shack during a fair. Sweat beaded down his forehead under his hat as he sat trying to catch his breath. I seem to have bitten more than can chew this time.. That big bad Reaper was after him. He didn't look happy. In fact, he looked a little more than cross with the teen reaper. With a nervous grin, the teen chuckled quietly at his situation. He needed money, and fast. That or a miracle. He was no match for this more experienced Reaper.

His first idea? Get more money by gambling! A big gamble! His senses kicked in again, reminding him that while he was panicked, he was neglecting to remember that getting himself into more debt would not help him. In fact, it could get him into more serious trouble than he already was.
Jackdamnit.

Mot took off his hat for a moment to ruffle his sweat dampened hair before placing it back on his head. He needed to run away, right? But this guy was after him, and it looked like he had company. They all knew what he looked like. Mot was fairly easy to pick out of a crowd with his coat and hat. He needed... a disguise.

Licking his lips, and breathing in deeply, Mot crawled behind the booths. He peeked under each tarp, to see what each booth had going on inside it. Many strange and frightening things happened inside those booths that Mot wished he had not seen. What a Carnival Worker did behind their booths was clearly for their eyes only. Mot wished he could gouge his out. There were some things that happened between bearded ladies behind closed drapes really is their own business. On the verge of throwing up, Mot finally found a booth worth snooping in. It seemed to be the dressing room for one of the performers. One of the female performers, as it were.

Luckily for Mot, his frame was bony, and could probably slip into these outrageous dresses. Unluckily for him, they were girls clothes. Did he care? He compared his options; letting the older Reaper kill him, or running back to his neighbourhood dressed like a showgirl?

Showgirl it is. He could deal with the embarrassing consequences better than a slow painful death. Mot took one of the more layered dresses from the unmanned booth, and a giant bonnet with a wig. With the privacy of a small change room, he slipped it all over his clothes, sans his hat and coat, which were shoved into someone’s bag, liberated in the name of not dying or being beaten to a pulp.
Finally, he took a feathered fan and waltzed out of the booth like he owned the place, fully intent on going home.

Oh yes. Things were coming up in Mot's favour! That is, they had up till this point.


“Hey you! All ghouls to the stage, pronto! Git over here, missy!” What? WHAT? Mot turned, albeit with a very rigid form, careful not to let his thin, obviously male face show. “uh...um..” He whispered nervously, trying to think of a lie to get out of this situation. He kept his liberated feathered fan hovering over his face, trying to conceal his identity. “Quit yer stutter'n and git at 'er!”
The carni grabbed Mot's arm and pulled him away, practically dragging the poor boy to an unknown location. Oh Jack. What was going to happen to him? Stage!? Oh Jack Oh Jack... He just prayed he didn't have to do some kind of dance or strip tease or, Jack forbid, sing.

Mot was eventually shoved backstage with a bunch of ghouls, all of them staring intently at the flat chested, tall and bony Mot. The Mot who was definitely not a ghoul. They did not know that, but he did. His seemingly bad mess he had made had become rather worse. He could not very well ask them what he was supposed to do and get found out, both from ignorance and from having a masculine type voice.

“Curtains up! Places!” The Carni yelled gruffly, waving off the scurrying femmes as they got into place. Mot inched his way behind everyone, mimicking their military stances. What kind of show was this anyway? All standing in rows, like the front lines of a war.

The curtains rose, and Mot hunched down, trying not to stand out in the back row. “Welcome, boyles and ghouls to the long awaited Beauty Pageant!” Te crowd cheered, and Mot's confidence in his ill fated escape plan crumbled. Not only was he in a pageant for ghouls, he could see a familiar face in the front row. The Reaper. The Reaper who he owed money to. Oh JACK! He was dead if he saw him!
“The grand prize to the lovely ghoul to win this contest is 100'000 Pumpkin Seeds!”
Wait. Wait. What? That was more than enough to pay back the Reaper! So what now? Try to run, but be on the big bad Reaper's most wanted list? Or try and pass off as the most beautiful ghoul in the pageant?

Mot was a gambler, and he loved the riskiest chances.

I will win this! He thought to himself, a look of determination on his hidden face.

The crowd roared, full of overly excited boyles and a few passer bys. While the MC continued to rev up the crowd, Mot turned his back and crouched down, rifling through the bag he had swindled. This was a bag that had belonged to a ghoul, so it had to have make up right? He would not pass off as feminine as he was. If he was gonna win? He was gonna win.
Luckily, he found makeup. But now, what to do with it? He'd never touched the stuff before! Jack.. He tried to subtly look at the faces of the other contestants, some ghastly looking, others looked like hard competition. With his stolen liberated beauty station, he attempted face art.

And wow, he could have been a pro! Mot was amazed at the transformation! So amazed he didn't hear the MC start announcing contestants. That was until people started moving away from him to gie their introductions. He hurriedly packed his things and slung his purse back on, standing pretty and waiting for his name... oh right. He wasn't a participant, or maybe he was? He had taken someone's costume, right? He rifled through the purse again, looking at some kind of contestant badge inside. Huzzah! He found one! Rossetta Stone? Wow, what a stage name. As soon as he read it and pinned it on, his “name” was called.
Mot cleared his throat and stepped up to the microphone, staring at the MC then back at the crowd.

Oh Jack. What to say?

He was not faking a female voice. He would just pretend to be mute! Mot cockily flipped his wig hair prettily and blew a kiss to the audience before swaggering back to his spot in line. Oh yes. He nailed it! The audience seemed pleased too! “Hoo hoo! A ghoul of few words, I see! Fantastic! Now then, next up is the talent show!”
Mot prayed to Jack there would be no bikini contest!

The acts came and went, from sewing their own parts back together, and other powers and talents based on their species. Finally, came Mot's turn. With the help of a stage hand throwing tin cans in the air from various direction, Mot summoned his Smith and Wesson, spinning it for the audience as an entertaining stunt, then used his sharp shooting to take difficult shots, holding the gun behind his back, over his head, turning and spinning to keep the audience’s attention. These were no ordinary bullets either, these were his magic Fear bullets, sending off brilliantly coloured lights shooting like fireworks after hitting each can, all filled with glitter. The big finale was a giant keg filled with glitter and confetti, shot over the audience. He winked, bowed, and they cheered! It was a fantastic moment! He would almost feel proud of himself, were he not wearing a dress and curly blonde wig. Sad.

Finally, the end came, and Mot was sweating, praying he would win, hoping he had not just winked like a flirtatious ghoul for no reason other than looking like a fool.
“And the winner is.....Rossetta Stone!” Mot almost let out a big manly shriek of joy, but managed to keep it to a small “eeee!” as he wiggled in excitement. Success! He skipped up to the MC passed the glaring group of jealous and bitter contestants, grabbing his tiara and bag of seeds. He waved at his audience, smiling brightly, when all of the sudden..
“THAT GHOUL STOLE MY PURSE! I'M ROSSETTA STONE!” The audiace gasped, the MC glared at the shifty Mot. He grinned, waving his bag of loot. “Lataz!” He said into the mic, and ran like a madman off the stage.

He was chased, oh was he ever, but a swift turn here and there, ripping off his dress and wig along the way, Mot soon took refuge in a bathroom. A men's bathroom. He washed his face of the makeup, while being watched by a baffled boyle using the facility, before putting his hat and coat back on, triumphantly adjusting it before ditching the purse.
He emerged just in time to come face to face with the big bad Reaper, who took no time in lifting the teen off his feet by the collar of his shirt. “Well, fancy seeing you here. Excited, are we?” Mot said with a smile. The Reaper sneered, gripping the top harder. “Where's my--”
“Money? Oh ho, you didn't think I was skipping out on you, right? My good Reaper, I would never!” Mot tossed the bag of seeds onto the ground, which led to the Reaper dropping Mot like a sack of dead weight and grabbing the money. “Later, punk.” Said the overbearing gentlemen, as he kicked dirt at the teen, walking away into the crowd.

Mot snicked, patting his pockets, filled with seeds. “Bye bye.” He said to himself. “No hard feelings, I hope.” The sneaky little teen had taken most of the winnings for himself, leaving his Reaper buddy with about half what he actually owed. “Call it a labour fee.”

After the long night had ended, Mot finally made it back to his room. He closed his door, dragged his feet to his bed, and fell face first into his bed. “Excelleeeent...” he muttered to himself, pulling his limbs into a ball. Such a long adventurous day had left the teen reaper exhausted. But in the end, he came out a winner. All was well with his world.