Name: Abra, the Virtuoso of Aces and Eights

Alias: Alphonse Baron Roland Archimedes

Gender: Male

Misc: 6’0”, looks 27, Caucasian, bisexual

e suit, softer than silk and gleaming like freshly fallen snow. Standing out on this white outfit is a crimson red necktie, held in place by a platinum tie clip. He has platinum cuff links, white gloves, and black leather dress shoes. It’s needless to add that everything is of the finest quality. His golden blonde hair is slicked back so that nothing is hiding his electric-blue eyes. He can create one other thing besides swords with his cards, and it’s a top hat. Acting as a fashionable accessory and also as a spare deck if need be. He always has the top of the line electronic device encased within pure gold encrusted with diamonds.

After a run-in with Irascor, Abra has lost his right forearm and hand. He hasn't found a proper prosthetic for it yet but can make him one out of cards. It isn't very advanced, only capable of opening and closing, devoid of any wrist action but it packs quite a punch.

also possesses suits that range throughout the entire neutral color spectrum. Though he won't often wear grey or brown suits, he has them in his arsenal. They are all three pieces with matching gloves. His most common choice is white with platinum accessories, followed by black with golden accessories. His accessories are as followed; earrings, cuff links, watches, and tie pins. They can all be set with a precious gem which will be ruby. He will also match all his suits with his black dress shoes, crimson red tie, and an appropriately colored dress shirt.[/spoiler]
Tl:dr= Devilishly handsome (emphasis on the “handsome”- Abra)[/spoiler]

tle and in his own personal life. He’s a professional in all accounts due to his experience. However though he takes his pleasure seriously, he still enjoys talking and jibing his opponents. As simple logic dictates, the worse they do, the better you do. And he still finds beauty inflicting chaos, pleasure inflicting madness, and joy inflicting despair. He’s a professional artist, and his medium is death. “Perfection isn’t ever enough.”[/spoiler]

, always with a few decks on hand hidden in his various suit pockets (chest, sleeves, pants, lapel, side, inside). His cards can morph into swords and can even be used as a projectile itself.

It also has defensive capabilities. The cards' objective when it comes to defense is to prevent things from touching Abra. So he can use his cards to float and as stairs, however they're static obstacles and so he cannot fly with them. They are also one-time so after he steps off they will lose their magic and drop.

He himself personally is capable of teleporting about short distances, maximum of a few meters.

He’s physically lithe and acrobatic.

Just for fun the man is capable of creating various instruments out of cards. He is adept to all of them and enjoys passing time with them. However they are not viable as weapons.
ble of absorbing solid objects under a certain size as well as if they’re inanimate. He cannot absorb large quantities of liquid or things that aren’t solid like fire or plasma, he would only steal a single unit of it: a droplet, an ember, a bolt. However he can steal fireballs or icicles as they’re solid projectiles. He can steal moving cars; however the car will maintain its current velocity when he releases it. He can steal shot bullets as well. The cards are blank in the start of every fight. His size restriction is a car. [/spoiler]
r into his personal life by protecting his clothing. His clothing are set to automatically mend and clean themselves if such a situation ever arises. Regardless of how awful the stain is or how severe the tear, the stain will disappear and the tear will fix as if nothing happened. This does not provide any defensive benefits as it doesn't make his clothing stronger in any way, it simply allows him to continue looking professional regardless of the situation at hand. Of course he can also make any bloodstain or tear remain on his suit. So if a sword does stab him, the hole will fix itself but the suit will still get stained by his blood and he can simply let the blossom stay there. [/spoiler]
[/spoiler]

d. Being belittled by those who he belittles really gets him on edge. He can easily get hotheaded and led about just as he is capable of making others hotheaded and dance to his notes. This of course depends on his opponent's own levelheadedness and ability to brandish words and emotions as well or even better than Abra can. A notable feat.

His cards, though magically imbued, are still cards. So they are vulnerable to fire, water, and sharp objects. Except for his swords, a sharp object will destroy a card, even one of his Final Gambits. Even though they can magically store objects, they are still cards, and when destroyed will drop the object it was holding. However if they are empty then any object that hits them will be absorbed instead.

His new prosthetic is nowhere as deft as a normal hand, he cannot throw any cards with it, rather it can simply hold a sword which he can then swing about like a toy soldier. Its primary purposes are as a form of defense as well as just a convenient bludgeoning device. [/spoiler]

n the limelight. But… it’s not enough.” Abra spun his mask and sighed. “I need more, I want to feel alive.” He jumped up, “I want to be ENTERTAINED!” He snapped his mask across his knees, throwing it off the stage. He kicked the throne over and glared at the troupe that stood around him, covered in blood with raw meat in their hands. They had just finished their latest performance and were feasting upon the audience. Everyone was present and Xerxes and Artemis jumped up surprised as they woke up from their light siesta from next to the throne. “I don’t want this anymore!” He yelled. “You guys bore me now, away! Away with all of you!”

Stefan looked at Abra, “But that’s not within the contract.” He swallowed. “We cannot just leave.”

Abra jumped from the stage and marched up to Stefan, grabbing the clown by the head and smashing him into the ground. He stamped down in anger, punctuating his statement with his violent action. “If I say leave, LEAVE!” He pulled out a knife made of cards and stabbed Stefan in the heart, dissolving the body into black smoke.

“Just saying leave won’t make us leave.” Tum Tum piped up. “We’re not the ones you signed the contract with.”

“Oh if you’re not who I wrote it with who was it? Him? Was it him?” Abra pointed at his shadow and snapped his fingers. “Hey wake up you bastard! We got a contract to rewrite.”

The room grew dark, the crumpled curtains got whipped into the air as some type of presence weighed upon the setting. It seems like all light was sucked from the room as Marionette came out of the pitch blackness, filling the room, each of its arms reaching the far corners. The rest of the troupe dissolved into black smoke and flowed into the puppeteer. It leaned down, its bone-white mask’s nose inches away from Abra’s face. “The contract cannot be rewritten.” It whispered, the sinister hissing echoing around the concert hall.

“Then don’t rewrite it! Rip it up! Get out of my body!”

“You could not have reached this status without us!” It howled, rearing its head up. “We demand payment then! Your soul! We shall have your soul!”

Abra laughed. “Who in their right mind would give you that? I gave you enough souls to pay for a million of your petty little contracts.” The knife in his hand grew to become a sword and he raised it menacingly. But Marionette simply stared at the magician and the sword crumpled into useless playing cards.

“Without our powers, you are nothing.” It hissed. “Now we will take what is ours, then the contract will be fulfilled and we will leave.” It reached for the magician.

Abra pulled out a silver dagger. “Without me, you’re nothing.” Abra taunted and stabbed himself in the chest. He only wished he had his real face so that he could smile in that bastard’s face before he died. He collapsed onto his knees, and staring down he saw his broken mask. Picking up the snapped bottom half, he held it to his face. “Abra, Kadabra, bastard.” He collapsed onto the ground.

Marionette screamed in laughter and spiraled down to Abra’s level, “You fool! We shall have your soul, the contract deems so.” It stood over Abra and leaned in. “You have achieved nothing.”

“No I achieved everything.” Abra pulled the knife out and stabbed Marionette in the face, hooking it under its mask to stab it in its mouth. The blessed metal burned the demon and it wailed in anguish, trying to fly away but bound to Abra by his shadow. It collapsed onto its side and Abra pulled his knife out and began hacking away at the monster, getting into a crouch to begin sawing off its limbs. Every cut cracked the portal on his face and he saw chips of the portal clatter on the floor. He fully dismembered Marionette and finished it off with a stab in the heart. “Good bye you fuck.” He laughed. It dissolved into black smoke, and he breathed in deeply. “Good bye good bye good bye!” Abra stamped down on the plague doctor’s mask. The pieces of mask and portals melded together and they formed five blank white cards which the magician picked up and put in his pocket. He snapped his fingers and the disarrayed sword recombined back in his hand. The wound on his chest healed thanks to the density of magic he absorbed, but a vast majority of it had already vented out of his body, unable to be contained.[/spoiler]

e card table, making the ice cubes in his glass dance and clinks. He stared at the audience sitting before him, though audience would be stretching it. Physically they were all on the same playing field but in actuality, they all knew he was on a pedestal, created by the mound of chips that sat before him. They were like peasants, gripping at the tails of his coat hoping it would drop a few coins for them to fight over. Holding their breath as they waited for all that money to get to his head and make him do something stupid and he’d lose it all. But they will suffocate, he smiled and looked down at his cards, then at the row of five on the table. He had two pairs, not a bad hand but he could tell the woman at the far end had better and she was loving it.

She wasn’t like other girls, she didn’t flock around men of power and money, wanting for small tokens of affection. No she was one of the men, holding a dominating presence in her emerald tight dress that clutched onto her body down to her thighs, a slip cutting down from just below her waist so that it revealed just enough to almost be pornographic but still be… Dignified. Her high 5 inch green stiletto heels allowing her to stare at the taller men in the eyes while she could look down on the shorter ones. She used her womanly charms like the best, she has beautiful mocha skin and the most stunning green eyes. Her long brunette hair framed her beautiful face and made everything a beautiful harmony that even a painting couldn’t rival with. A beautiful golden brooch hung an expensive gem low into the crevice of her breasts that were either a gift from God or a gift from a plastic surgeon. She kept her legs crossed so that one could always see the fine toned curves of her leg. He enjoyed the mixed messages she was sending him, most were those of annoyance and irritation that he was drawing all the money and attention to himself, but others were of lust and want, afterall it wasn’t often you met someone with more power and money than you.

It wasn’t surprising he was getting all the attention, he had the looks to attract the most beautiful of women and the personality to entrance even the most serious of men. His golden blond hair was slicked back, catching the sunlight to create a halo of light. His pure white suit practically completed the angel-like image he had. His electric-blue eyes dazzled with merriment and intelligence but nothing escaped its piercing gaze, as if he was staring directly into your soul. The same eyes that were staring at the woman now, watching her barely hold in her excitement; through the dilating of her pupils, the small flexes in her face to keep it straight, and the slight twitching of her fingers. It was an interesting show to see as normally she kept a very passive, yet seductive poker face. What could it be… Full House? Straight? Royal Flush? He wondered if he should feed her ego and give her a bone… A morsel for her to then began following like a trail of breadcrumbs. No one else interested him as much as she did, there were a few men in black suits and an old man. A few spectators circled about, mostly waiters and prostitutes. He tapped his glass and watched it promptly exchanged for a fresh Jack and coke, he pulled one of the smaller chips, a mere 1k and flipped it behind him and heard the satisfying smack of someone shooting out his hand to desperately grab it.

The dealer looked to him and gestured to the table. “Do you fold or stay?”

He stared at those around him, as their eyes shifted from him to his mountain of chips. He knew what they all wanted, so why not trail them along as well? “I’ll raise.” He grabbed a small column that resembled a hundred grand and plopped it into the center. Just like the grand he tipped the waiter with, this column was pocket change but a fortune to those losing around him. Greed took over, and casting aside the doubt of losing yet another hand, the men in suits raised, going all in if need be. The old man however had enough years under his belt that he folded without saying another word. The old man intrigued him as much as the woman, but unlike the woman, the old timer was nothing impressive to look at so he just didn’t. He gave a slight smirk to the woman who had raised the stakes another one hundred grand as it rounded to him again and stated promptly, flipping his cards over to reveal his pairs, “I fold.” A king and a queen of spades to compliment their heart counterparts. He could see by the surprised and confused looks on the men’s faces that his hand would’ve beaten theirs so obviously they wondered why did he fold. He saw more of a look of dejection from the woman.

He split his chips into two, sliding a pile to the old man. “It was a good game sir, the pleasure was all mine.” Then he shoveled the rest of the chips into a briefcase and sauntered off. He listened to the scene behind him as all the other men went all in and promptly lost everything to the woman who, with a quick glance back to confirm, had a royal flush. His chuckle turned into a cackle as he walked over and redeemed his chips. The teller began making small talk and he complied, chatting with the woman and getting to listen to all the awful customers she had to deal with.

He enjoyed listening to the cute lady chatting and his ears perked as he heard what sounded like an invitation begin crossing her lips, but before she could start, a voice from behind interrupted them. “Excuse me I need to get past.” He turned to see the woman from the poker table, behind her two men carry

Would be interesting to see Abra and Wilder go at it.

Anyway, neat character and welcome back to the scene!

It makes me feel good that your psychopath can make my pending pychopath look like a paragon of justice

Then he's not a true psychopath, simply a wannabe, or a vigilante with edge lol jk. Looking forward to this "pending psychopath that looks like a paragon of justice."

Love the new epithet. I wonder what clever devil came up with that ;P

I gave your deserved prompt in my post in the Hall of Warriors. Less you want me to say here as well that it was you who thought of it.

lel, I was mostly just going to be a cheeky shitwad and just leave that there as an ironic joke that only the people who were in the skype group would get a minor giggle at.
But if you feel the need, inflate my ego further and spread the gospel of Malacal. Maybe my head will eventually pop and I'll finally die just like everyone has been wanting.

So Abra has returned? Hmmm...maybe I should bring (the now truly immortal) Vamprina back just to spite him haha. She'd get a real good laugh out of his troubles with his shadow for sure. :D

Of course I'm keeping Leelee, but maybe Aquila and I may have a little collab of our own someday. :)

Oh Vamprina... now that does bring a sour taste to my mouth. And keep that happy-go-lucky rainbow-blooded whatever the crazy tarnations sweeter-than-honey optimistic thing away from me. Her positivity is gonna make me vomit.

You just say that because an optimistic feral fighter reminds you of August at break-neck speeds

Crank I have no words but to tell you to bury yourself in a hole along with Hollywood and burn in Hell.

Card Warfare is suddenly becoming a very serious thing, hehe. Nonetheless, I enjoy your character to a great extent and I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't imagining the fight between Abra and Wilder while I was reading this.

Quote from Abra

Oh Vamprina... now that does bring a sour taste to my mouth. And keep that happy-go-lucky rainbow-blooded whatever the crazy tarnations sweeter-than-honey optimistic thing away from me. Her positivity is gonna make me vomit.

Quote from Leelee

Awww...he's intimidated by me? That's just adorable! I love his pretty suit and bunny-blonde hair and handsome eyes and his hat...I love his EVERYTHING! But I love his hair the most because it's blonde like my fur.

Uh oh. Looks like she's already bent on making friends with Abra. :D

I'll skin her I swear to god!

Keep it in your pants, guys, seriously.