literature

Leroy Parks (Sierra-Wolf Character contest entry)

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“Allo! Name’s Leroy. Leroy Parks. You can usually find me wearing something nice (usually), I tend to prefer darker collared dress shirts and pants because they’re easy to match with my black fedora. It’s the only hat I wear and I wear it all the time because I really don’t like to do my dark brown hair which needs the attention of a barber I haven’t had the time or money to hire. I don’t worry much about my shoes (at present a dark orange running shoe…yes, the singular) because I only wear one, if I put a shoe on my prosthetic leg it slides around something horrible. More info on how I lost my leg (and arm) in a bit. I walk with a cane not because I need it but because the cane I have is actually a weapon. If I twist the shaft, the bottom opens and extends into something like a shortspear. I don’t like close combat which is why I didn’t go for a sword cane, the farther away I can keep the enemy the more chance I don’t get hurt. I do have a handgun, a WWII Colt m1911 (once again, story in a little bit) but I only have one magazine with eight rounds. I can’t reload the magazine speedily during a fight so I have to rely heavily on my spear. Like I said I really don’t like fighting up close, but every now and then I come to a place where either my spear won’t fit or I’m not capable of using it, in that instance I have a karambit (a type of small curved combat knife) in an ankle sheath on my prosthetic leg.
If you can’t tell by the accent I am English, grew up in the UK in a place called Sheffield. Well, kind of. Family moved away when I was just six. A couple years previous I had been playing in a place I should not have been (the middle of the street…) and a man took a corner too fast, broadsided me on my tricycle. My right leg had to be amputated at midthigh, my entire right arm was completely destroyed so they took the entire thing. Suffice it to say the next year or two were basically not very fun for yours truly. Most of the prosthetics we tried were dreadful, absolutely useless. But we kept trying to find me something that I could live with. We had gone to America to meet up with a man who told us he could give me a relatively normal childhood. He didn’t hold out on us. Carbon microfiber replaced plastic, hydraulics replaced springs and elastics and the connections became permanent. Flesh and bone melding perfectly with wires and steel. Course we had to cut down on the number of joints in order to keep the prosthetics functioning properly. Only got three fingers on my hand (well, two fingers and a thumb) and two toes on my foot. I was just starting to get used to these by the time I turned ten. That was about the time the real trouble started.
I’m not a norm or an ‘ungifted human’. I am what is called a Whismer or a Whisperer. Ya see, every action leaves a trace. Every dream, every thought, hope, and prayer. These traces also called memories or, by myself, stories, are not just stuck stagnating in the minds of those who made them, in point of fact they are spread over a small distance and absorbed into the area around them on creation. A lot of people who think their houses are haunted are just picking up on memories so strong (and usually violent or terrifying) that even the norms can feel them. But those are few and far between. Most people can’t sense memories like this, but a Whismer is masterful at doing just that. That being said, haunted houses are not the only places these memories reside. The Earth has stories, some sad, some happy, some indescribable and she wants to share them. Every animal has a story, those are the ones I prefer to listen to, but every now and then I’ll see a boulder on an ancient battlefield or a prop in an old theatre and I’ll step over put my ear to it and ask it to show me its history. Some of the things I’ve seen…but I don’t get to go to battlefields and theatres and other popular tourist attractions now. I’m a bit of a wanted man. See when I was fourteen I discovered something. Magic has a unique aura, I know this because ravens are one of several animals that can see aura and one of my good friends is a raven, we mingle, connect, share memories. The fact of the matter is, magic has a unique aura and magic users have a unique aura. If someone is born without a particular aspect to their aura, no amount of training or knowledge will ever allow them to use magic. We call these unfortunate people ‘Norms’. The thing is, I don’t have an aura that should allow me to use magic. How can I be a Whismer you ask then? Well, a norm can be given magical abilities by incredibly powerful magic users the most common of which are Angels, Demons, and Dragons. I decided to do some sleuthing, family history, figure out exactly how the Whismer line was started and by what. My parents had taught me how to commune with the world using my ‘Whismerism’, but it was common knowledge that an elder or a non-relation usually instructed the younger generation. I looked through my parents’ journals (yes, shame on me), found out where they had been taught, and went straight there on our annual family vacation back to Sheffield. Unfortunately, when I mingled with the trees around the area, the memories were fuzzy. I got a clear picture of the Teacher’s face but never caught his name. At that point I took a very keen interest in art classes at school. Eventually I was able to draw a picture perfect copy of the man in my head, ran it through an ancestry website and found a name. That led me back to America and to a cemetery…that was not a good thing. Us Whismers have what we call the Council, the oldest wisest whatever’s of the bunch. They have rules. Rules we must follow. One of them is that there are places our abilities are not allowed in because the memories we might find could be dangerous. Cemeteries are one such place. I reckoned I would just take the memory I needed and no one would ever know but some memories are so strong they overwhelm you. I got the memory I was looking for…and a lot of ghosts to boot. I learned there that the council was full of people who had murdered, blackmailed and robbed their way on. I honestly didn’t care you know, I was on a different mission and I certainly wasn’t going to wage war against people who were older, stronger and far more skilled than I was. But they didn’t know that. They had defenses set up, knew what I’d done immediately after I’d done it, and they sent a man after me. He was good man, instead of killing me he gave me the choice to run away…I left my family, my friends, everything I’d ever known. I ran. I was sixteen at the time. I joined up with a Gypsie caravan believe it or not. Traded stories for a couple weeks training in hypnosis. Mind you I’m still practicing even now but I got good enough to sidestep weak minded ticket punchers, line-men, cashiers and every so often a police officer. It got me around, let me travel where I needed to to continue my hunt. I was doing perfectly fine too until some namby pamby ignorant butt identified me as a missing person. I found myself in a lovely little park in the backwoods of some city staring down the barrel of gun as the man who’d years previous allowed me to run away looked me in the eyes and told me I had to die. That is where I met Death. A charmingly sarcastic young woman who, among other things, has a handy trick that allows her to stop time. If I may, my tongue is getting tired and I’m sure you’re sick of hearing me talk, could I show you the memory? Much easier than trying to describe it myself.”

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It was the middle of the day, a slight wind ruffling the summer leaves and the sun beaming proudly down, even so the park was nearly deserted, just her and the two men; one no more than twenty years of age and an older gentleman. The younger of the two was backed up against a tree holding a cane across his chest as though it would stop the bullets when they started flying.
“Why’d you do it Leroy?” the older man asked sadly, the pistol (an old-school m1911) in his hand was trembling slightly but its aim was fixed on the younger.
“Seriously Richards? You told me to run and I ran, what did you expect, that I’d just hide in a corner until I died!? The trail I’m following is more important than you’ll ever know!” The younger man’s voice was tinted with a light English accent that made the other man shiver lightly and shake his head.
“I let you go because the first time was an accident, you didn’t deserve to be executed but you went back and did it again! And then you kept on doing it! Some secrets are meant to stay hidden you know the rules!”
“Oh come off it Richards!” the younger man, Leroy yelled back. “I don’t care that the Council was based off murdered predecessors and stolen artifacts, I just want to know the truth about me!” Richards snapped his 1911 up and Leroy struck out hard swinging his cane like a baseball bat knocking the gun from the former’s hand. Richards roared and slammed the younger man against the tree as he was recovering from the swing, knocking the cane away and catching Leroy’s throat with one hand. The other hand appeared from under his jacket with a long knife, Leroy’s eyes widened and he brought his legs up, kicking Richards away from him. He shook it off almost immediately and went after Leroy again but the younger man had jumped from his cane. As he rolled to his feet the cane transformed, the bottom opening and allowing a bladed telescoping shaft to explode out of it turning it into an effective shortspear. Richards didn’t even slow down and they connected with a primal ferocity that intrigued her. Her…they hadn’t noticed her yet, watching from the shadows. Not hiding but out of the way enough not to be noticed. Light storm-cloud gray eyes capturing every detail in perfect clarity. She had been about to step in, take Richards’ gun, but Leroy seemed so sure of himself the second it had been raised, his eyes lighting up as though he had already won the proceeding fight. Of course he hadn’t seen her looking at him even though she’d been right in front of his face.
Time had been brought to a literal standstill allowing her to walk right up between them. At first she’d only noticed Leroy’s eyes, an almost unnaturally bright emerald green that seemed to glow behind his glasses. He was very average in appearance, not incredibly handsome but certainly not bad looking, dark brown hair that needed a bit of a trim under the black fedora he was wearing. He was nicely dressed too, a collared blue button-up, black dress pants, she had been surprised however to see that he only wore his left shoe. His right foot was obviously a prosthetic, as it was made of metal and only had two toes. The cane must’ve just been for show because at that moment she was pulled out of her reverie by a solid sounding ‘whump’ made as Leroy planted a kick with his prosthetic that sent Richards skidding several feet backwards. He growled and rushed forward again swinging his knife hard, Leroy spun his spear to parry seeing the trap too late. She didn’t have time to stop it and Leroy couldn’t have as Richards knocked the spear to one side with his unarmed hand and slashed up in a blow that would certainly sever the younger man’s right arm just above the elbow. Anyways, it would have, had the arm been flesh and bone, but the metal prosthesis the knife came into contact with was a lot stronger than flesh and bone.
The blow jarred Richard’s entire arm and he lost hold on the knife as Leroy released the spear and threw a left handed punch that cracked the older man’s jaw. Then, with a wicked movement, he sent a right uppercut that snapped Richards’ head back with the sound of breaking vertebrates. At that sound Leroy’s entire demeanor changed. His ferocity shifted to something more akin to horror, his eyes widened in terror and he gasped in shock unable to move for several seconds after Richards hit the ground. Then, he dropped to his knees and, after a moment, made his way over, feeling the older man’s throat for a pulse. It was obvious that he didn’t feel the life sign as he sat back.
“…I didn’t mean to kill him…” he whispered almost to himself.
“He was trying to kill you, why so upset?” Leroy closed his eyes and bowed his head at the voice. She was standing a few feet behind him folding her arms.
“…You don’t look like a Whismer but you’ve got the aura of magic user, who are you?” the young woman (Maybe late teens or early twenties) snorted slightly at that.
“What would you know you haven’t even looked me.” Leroy sighed and pushed himself slowly to his feet, turning around to see her for the first time. She was wearing all black including a hood and a half-mask that allowed only her eyes to show, Leroy noted that they were nearly colorless.
“Not with my eyes no, but the earth knows and wants to tell so I listen.” The young woman reared back a little and raised an eyebrow, pausing for a long moment before speaking.
“…Okay, that’s weird even by my standards.” Leroy sighed again and glanced around. He appeared to have gotten over the death of his competitor and he’d apparently decided that she wasn’t a threat; all the same he looked a little nervous
“More of the Council’s men are going to be coming so I’ll give you the short version.” He said, turning around to grab his spear and walking towards the 1911 still lying in the grass. “I’m a Whismer, basically I can talk to anything and I’m uniquely tuned to receive the response. Animals, trees, rooms in houses, it’s difficult to explain on the fly.” Leroy got to where he had seen the gun and stopped, glancing around the grass to try and find it as he collapsed the spear back into its cane form.
“You can talk to animals and inanimate objects so this Council sends a man to execute you?” the young woman was now standing off to the side trying to spin the gun cowboy style on her trigger finger, it was a lot heavier than it had looked. Leroy shook his head, it looked like he was getting more anxious to leave.
“No, there are places where a Whismer is not allowed to ask questions because the answers could be dangerous. My abilities are genetic, passed down through mother and father. I’ve been tracing my ancestry trying to figure out exactly where and when and who by this…Whismerism for lack of a better term was started. My search led me somewhere I shouldn’t have been and shed some dirty light on the Council itself and now they’re trying to kill me so I can’t pass the information along. I honestly don’t care, they can keep their unjust positions, I just need the answers to my own questions.” Leroy tapped his cane on the ground once and then tucked it under his arm stepping hesitantly forward until he was just a couple of feet from the young woman. She stared hard at him for a long moment before asking a single question almost warily.
“How do you trace your ancestry?”
“I look through pictures and journals until I find a place that they’ve made a strong memory. I go to that place, I mingle with the memory, and I follow it in reverse to where it all started. I hear names, see faces, keep going until I find the person who taught that particular ancestor how to commune with the world then I look at that person’s pictures and journals until I find a place where he or she’s made a strong memory and go from there. It’s long hard work.” He held out a hand and, after a moment the young woman conceded, handing over the 1911. Leroy slipped it into the back of his pants and then held out his hand again, this time for hers.
“Leroy Parks.” He said quietly. “You wouldn’t mind if I tagged along with you for a bit would ya? I need to disappear for a while and I have a feeling your good at that sort of thing.” The hand (his right) was also a prosthetic, made of metal and with only two fingers and a thumb. The young woman paused again before shrugging and taking the hand, giving it a firm shake.
“I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement, I help you, you help me? I lost a bit of memory.” Leroy retrieved his hand and cocked his head to the side.
“I can certainly try but are you sure you want me digging around in your memories?” he started saying when suddenly a bullet cracked past so close they could both feel it going by. Leroy didn’t even have a chance to flinch before he was suddenly and inexplicably standing at the far end of the park there were more shots and a lot of yelling back where he had been but for the moment it was the young woman that captured his attention.
“No, I’m not sure about that, but I’ve been around for a while and you’re the first Whismer I’ve ever met, I am going to need you to explain the whole talking to rooms in houses and stuff cause that sounds crazy. Course I tend to live a little bit crazy, hope you can keep up.” Leroy couldn’t see her mouth but he could tell from her voice that she was smiling. Sarcastically. Waiting for him to ask her how they had teleported without notifying a single magic user from the council. He sighed and followed as she turned around and began walking away, humoring her with just one question.
“Before I even ask, you haven’t given me your name.” she didn’t turn as she responded, clasping her arms behind her back and leisurely strolling down the sidewalk. She could hear the cane tapping with every second footfall and wondered why he even bothered with the act.
“Most people have trouble with my full name, so I usually go by Death.” Leroy raised an eyebrow at that but conceded.
“Pleasure. Now about the teleporting please?” he mumbled, wondering honestly if he was making a good decision, but looking back at the flashlights and incantations shining about in the park, he could only huff and follow the girl named Death. He was either in for the adventure of a lifetime, or a meeting with her skeletal namesake…and right then he found himself frightened at the thought of both.
“In short, My name is Leroy Parks, I am presently between twenty and twenty four years old and I’m a Whismer (more on that in the long version).  I’m very optimistic, usually happy especially when there are animals about I can talk to and trade stories with. I don’t swear very often but when my temper flares (which it very rarely does, I’m the calm one most of the time) or when I’m very stressed I may curse just bit. Nothing too horrible, but enough to get the point across. I dress upscale casual but always with a black Fedora, I don’t do my hair (dark brown, not horribly messy but it needs some work) unless it is absolutely required for the occasion. I wear thin rectangular wire-rim glasses (I’m near sighted so I can’t see things clearly the farther away they get) and a tan messenger bag that holds my meager few belongings I can’t consider life without. I carry three weapons, my spear-cane, a silver karambit boot-knife, and a World War II Colt m1911 with just a single magazine. I really don’t like fighting hand to hand but I can handle myself, my prosthetics are pretty strong, I can (and have) kick doors down, survive falls that would have broken normal legs and hold or use things that would have hurt or destroyed a normal hand. There are also countermeasures to electricity so if, say, I punch or kick a junction box to shut it down I don’t electrocute myself. I can’t use magic outside of my Whismerism but I do have some experience with hypnotism. I can on short notice do a few hand motions and some snapping to quickly gain control over weaker minded individuals but this lasts for, at most, ten to twelve seconds. Basically enough for me to pause them while I and others step past, when they snap back to it they won’t remember what just happened. For people with stronger minds or if I need control for longer, I do have a pocket watch. I’ll let it swing to and fro for a few minutes (they have to have a clear line of sight with the watch) and the second they ask me what I’m doing or waiting for I’ll snap my fingers. Everyone is different so control time varies anywhere from two minutes to an hour. Mind you if I tell them to hurt themselves or to do something that they as an individual are extremely averted to they can break the hold. I try to avoid killing as much as possible but when someone is gunning for me I’ll put them down hard if I get the chance. My ultimate goal is to figure out how the Whismerism line was started and by what but I will put that on hold to help a friend out. I consider myself a pretty good friend and a good person in general, I am English so you get the gentleman and manners factor that go along with that. All in all, I would like and be very willing to help Death stop the apocalypse. You know, if you’ll have me along for the ride.”
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