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Posted: Tue May 21, 2013 10:27 pm

The Butcher

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My name is: Robert "Robby" Graves

My Alias is: The Butcher

I have this many candles on the cake: 18

I am on the side of: Brotherhood, for sure. And even they're wary of him.

I have these quirks: Aside from being a total psychotic freak that's likely to murder you and everyone/thing you've ever loved with a smile on his face, Robby is a cold, ruthless killer who's totally irrational, completely beyond reasoning with, and incredibly random with his various acts of over-the-top violence. He has a certain flair for the dramatic, and a taste for poetic 'justice,' as well as a heavy appreciation for irony. He responds poorly to open hostility, but also responds poorly to just about any other way you could approach him... And considering the fact that being around him puts you in his firing line, the best defense is often a good offense. He's a sociopath who's incapable of feeling practically any human emotions aside from a primal psychotic fury and a sort of mild amusement, but either one is bad news, as he finds his sole pleasure in the sadistic torturing of others. He is a functional member of society in that he realizes there are consequences for his actions, so he doesn't go on endless killing rampages, as much as he'd like to. But if he decides he's after you, stop praying and start running. Because not even your God can save you now.

We cant all have sad stories now can we? Robby is not a trained assassin. Robby is not a soldier capable of killing a man forty seven ways with just his thumb. Robby is not the bogey man, he is not the monster hiding under your bed.

He is much, much worse than all of these things.

Robby was born to a girl of about 14, a victim of rape who never intended to keep the child. Her highly religious and fanatical mother went so far as to tie her up and keep her in bed until she came to term, beating the girl both for allowing herself to be violated as well as even considering aborting the child. By the time Robby came into this world, his religious zealot of a grandmother had driven her daughter to the brink of sanity. Robby's existence became a plague to his mother, who decided upon the lie that ended everything; Robby's grandmother would act as his mother, and she, his true mother, would be his older sister. She prayed and prayed for forgiveness, for help, for patience, for anything... But her own trauma added with the lack of sleep, as Robby was a crier, was more than anyone could take.

Of course, she blamed it all on the child. But her first attempt to kill him; a steak knife driven into the child's gut; failed miserably, as the wound simply closed when she pulled the knife out, and the baby's screams brought on the wrath of her mother, or Robby's grandmother. After that, Robby's mother (still posing as his sister) made it her life's work to torture the boy in any way she could, abusing him to and past the limits the human psyche should be able to stand. He suffered this torment until he was about 11, and by then he was less sane than the woman who had birthed him. His regeneration had kept him alive, and his will to live was driven only by the hatred of his own torturous monster of a (in his mind) sibling. Of course, when during a particularly brutal beating, she let it slip that she was actually his mother... Well, something inside Robby broke that day. Something that may never be fixed.

The police found the boy about two hours later, in a corner, in a puddle of blood, rocking back and forth. None of the blood belonged to him. His mother had been disemboweled, her own intestines strung around her neck and used to hang her from the ceiling fan like some sort of nightmarish pinata. His religious zealot of a grandmother had been crucified with what appeared to be spikes made of bone, upside down, against the far wall, a pentagram drawn around her in her own blood. And carved across every inch of both the woman's skin, and written across all the walls in blood until there was no more, and carved when he'd run out of their blood, a single word. "HATE."

The police tried arresting him. And they honestly did a pretty decent job; they managed to stay alive for all of fifteen seconds. Robby fled into the night midst the sound of sirens and gunshots, slaughtering anyone that stood in his way. Until, of course, he met with a line of highly trained SWAT team members. Even after pumping him so full of lead he might as well have been a no. 2 pencil, he still managed to kill three of the men before one of them landed a headshot. Even after that, another one was horribly mangled before they put him down; it took four shots clean to the head before the boy stopped kicking. They didn't even wait to examine the body. They shipped it off to the morgue.

That's where Robby woke up two days later. On the examining table, with his chest torn open and his ribs spread apart. Without closing himself up first, and carrying his intestines the whole time, he killed and mutilated the bodies of the mortician and two of his assistants, then fled the scene without so much as a cloth to cover up with. Since then the boy has been wandering, growing in strength and hatred, killing occasionally but never going so far as to come back into the spotlight. But he's back. He's mad. And he's ready for someone to die... But it isn't going to be him.

My power lies with-in:
Bone Manipulation: Robby can generate, manipulate, and destroy his bone matter with a thought, alter his skeletal structure and change the density of his skeleton all naturally. He can form weapons or tools from bones, produce a crude sort of jointed exoskeleton-like armor from it, even produce mostly-functional limbs with cartilage and ligaments and all. He can also fire bone-spikes as projectiles at high speeds.

Cellular Regeneration: Robby's body regenerates constantly on a cellular level, giving him what some would call 'biological immortality' in that old age will not kill him. Also, the vast majority of flesh wounds close up far faster than they should, making him incredibly difficult to kill. While he requires nutrition to regenerate, he can get that from food... Including human flesh.

What I carry with me: What you see is what you get; Robby packs light and doesn't believe in weapons. The most he usually has on him is an iPod he took from the pockets of a victim who shared his taste in music.

What I rock too: "Natural Born Killer," By Avenged Sevenfold

Any extra information: Robby is a very serious, very dark character. If you have a weak stomach, be very cautious when reading posts that involve him, as he's likely to be committing some unthinkable atrocity. Also probably important to note is that he is a sadistic masochist; he finds joy and pleasure not only in the pain and suffering of others, but his own physical pain is a sort of sick enjoyment.

Posted: Tue May 21, 2013 11:38 pm

Robby "The Butcher" Graves

Friendly Neighborhood Psychopath

Company:

Thinking:

Feeling:

"Kill you? Ha! Oh, you poor, deluded fool... I'm not just going to kill you. Oh, no. You're getting something a lot more fun than that..."

The cold, quiet hum of distant machinery was all that stood between him and his current prey. A young man, probably on a dare from some friends. Crawling through the sewers. Alone. "First mistake," he whispered to himself, following after the boy with a smirk. There was no sound in the sewers aside from the trickling of water, the thump of his prey's footsteps, and always that hum. That low, groaning pain that drummed in the back of his mind. Hungry. Robby was hungry. And that was not a good thing for the boy crawling through the dark tunnels ahead of him.

He moved like a predatory cat, slinking through the shadows quietly, hungry yellow eyes never leaving the boy's shadow before him; he turned a corner, and Robby was right there after him. He'd made some noise here and there, just to keep the child on his toes; it was no fun, otherwise. He knew these dark tunnels better than anyone; he'd lived down here for weeks now. And nobody was scared of alligators in the sewer in these parts. There was a new monster, so much worse than crocodiles coming up drainage pipes. The boy turned a corner a bit too suddenly and hit something that almost felt like a brick wall; the boy's brain took a moment to register what he was seeing, before he scrambled back. "Hello." There was a smirk on his face, this dirty, blood-stained young man. A smirk that crinkled its way through dozens and dozens of thin scar lines, almost making him look like fractured glass. He smiled suddenly, revealing a row of too-pointy teeth, and the boy on the floor cringed.

"What's wrong? You don't want to play?" Robby asked innocently, stepping forward with a grin. "But you're the one who came into my house... The least you could do is play with me." The boy's eyes started widening as Robby stepped forward again, but he could back up no further unless he wished to take a plunge in the sewage. Then Robby held his hands up, as if to embrace the boy. And the insides of his wrists began bulging. The skin stretched and stretched until it finally snapped with a sickening squelch, blood almost immediately clotting around the break wounds. But the protrusions, those twin blades of Robby's bone, stretched out further until they were nearly two feet long each. All the while the boy watched in a grotesquely fascinated trance, paralyzed by fear.

With a sudden strike that could rival that of a viper or mamba, his bone splinter had caught the boy in the shoulder and pinned him to the floor of the sewer. His high-pitched shriek echeod through the tunnels, soaring down the shadowy walls until it finally returned, a whisper in the dark. A pair of cold, dead eyes settled on the boy, as a meaningless smile lowered closer to the boy's face. After a moment of simply standing there, observing him, relishing in his fear, Robby laughed as he stepped on the boy's arm, trapping it under his foot. He hummed to himself, twisting the spike a bit just to get a fresh scream out of him as he seemed to ponder what to do next.

"I know a fun game," he said suddenly, his free hand suddenly driving down onto the boy's own, Robby's bone knife driving through the boy's pinky finger. "This little piggy went to market," he said, grinning as he pressed further and twisted, snapping the digit off. It made a *plink* as it hit the sewer water, and Robby laughed. "This little piggy stayed home." Another dull thud, another jerk and twist, another pathetic scream. The boy was missing a ring finger. "This little piggy had roast beef" beef was strained because he'd missed the middle finger, instead stabbing the boy right through the middle of his hand. His eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and rage; the game was practically ruined now, but all this fresh new pain! "And this little piggy had NONE!" On the last word he pried the boy's arm apart entirely, dividing the radius and the ulna where they met the hand; the hand dragged along limply with the radius, and Robby sliced the boy's arm in half all the way up to the elbow. His screaming had become squealing, and now they were just pitiful whimpers as the boy begged to die.

Robby just laughed and kicked the boy's stomach. "Now. Run along home, little piggy. And cry 'wee, wee, wee,' all the way there. Run to your heroes, cry to your Titans. And tell them the Butcher is here. And they're looking like the perfect kind of meat." He laughed as he removed his foot from the boy's destroyed arm, cackled as he staggered to his feet despite the blood loss and straggled down the hallway. Robby smirked, rolling his eyes. He'd had enough fun. Did he really want the Titans to come after him? That question gave him pause. Maybe he did. What could they do to him, after all? They certainly couldn't kill him. And there was no way they could imprison him forever; he'd get out, somehow. Maybe it was time for a little fun. But the boy seemed to be going a bit... Fast. "Have to have time to prepare, after all," he hummed to himself quietly, pointing a finger at the boy. A single needle of bone, perhaps as wide around as a pencil, fired itself from his fingertip like a bullet, forcing itself through the boy's calf and cracking his tibia.

The boy collapsed, sobbing in the dark as Robby walked up behind him. He crawled as desperately as he could, but got nowhere fast; satisfied, Robby crouched down next to the boy and grabbed his hair, pulling him up so that his mouth was in his ear. "This is not the end," he promised the boy, his voice a deathly whisper. "If you don't tell them, I will find you. I will be behind every corner. I will be in every reflection. Under every bed, in every shadow. Until the day you die. And if you thought this was pain," he muttered, gesturing vaguely to the boy's current shape, "You've got another thing coming. So go on," he whispered, dragging the boy by his hair a few feet. "Go tell them... I'll be waiting." The young boy, broken in so many more ways than one, crawled through the dark tunnels, leaving a trail of blood that lead right to The Butcher's front door. And as he screamed, and exited the tunnel, and all his friends screamed when they discovered what had become of him... Robby smiled.

He'd be hungry again soon.

"I'm going to kill everyone you've ever loved, right in front of you. With a smile on my face. I'm going to make you beg for death. I'm not just going to kill you... I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born."