PLAYER: Tom Willoughby
Story: At one point in time, RiffRaff was part of the Rat Race. He worked his way up from the mail room while going to university to being an accountant with his degree, but was always working the angles and schemes. He grew up nearly in the Zero Zone, and knew all too well what it was like to be broke, and money was his big thing. He also liked power ... he found it quite fun to rat out the tall blonde good-looking people that always used to pick on him to the boss, whether it be by accidentally dropping mail off in the wrong place (After he'd read it, of course), forwarding some Email anonymously, or having some financial records 'Accidentally' find their way into the hands of people who would take action. On the street, might made right, but in the real world, information was ammunition, and he was the king.
Sadly, he found himself victimized by the very same tactics that he had previously endorsed. Branded an embezzler, which he was in fact guilty of, he was tossed out of the corporate world, locked back into the streets which brought him forth. But he'd been here before, had a nice nest-egg ratholed away where no one knew, and was able to get by. Soon, he found the very abilities that served him well in the corporate world had marketability on the street as well. He fancied himself something of a Street-Broker, arranging for this or that for a small cut of the profits ... never get greedy, tho. Better to be a live rat than a dead rich man. He was never the one doing the crimes himself ... he'd never sell drugs, for example, more for fear of being caught than any moral obligation, but he knew who did, for how much, and how to contact them. Need a gun? Well, he didn't have any, but he knows people who know people, if you know what I mean. He'd snitch for the law, snitch for the cops, cook the books, whatever was needed. And you know what? He's very, very good.
Description: In a world of muscle-bound, eye-scarred, stubble-wearing cops, six-foot tekes with knee-length hair, cosmetic-gene enhanced gladiator bimbos, teens with 'tudes, and sharp-pressed business suit mobile-phone mavens, RiffRaff is less of an ugly duckling than an ugly truth. He's the lil' guy, with buck teeth, a small frame, a slight pot-belly (Hey, just means I'm successful!) and a big nose. A few pimples, even at his age, balding a lil' bit, unkempt, odorous, with sharp feral features and long, dexterous fingers. Slouching like some cartoon bad guy and with a enchant for nose-wiggling when he's excited, there's little doubt as to why he's called 'Ratboy' half the time. But, he's also able to melt into any normal crowd in the city. Give him a cheap suit, and he fits into the law firm. Street clothes, and he's a street rat. Clubber clothes, and ... well, okay, he looks like a drug pusher, but even that can be handy! Most of the time, he's in grubby rags and a tattered brown trenchcoat, wearing ragged-out boots stuffed with paper and loves that lost their fingers the hard way. In short, he's not someone anyone would ever pay attention to. Which is just what he wants.
quote: Talk? Yeah, I'll talk, soon as you get yer stinkin' paws offa me! Sheesh. Some people gots no respect for a proper bidnessman. Now, you want the info I got, and I wanna eat in the mornin'. But since you gentlemen are in sucha high-falutin' hurry, I'll make you a special deal. Just fif... no, no, no need for yer goon t'be reachin' inta his jacket, now. I was tryin' to say twenty credits, see. Just twenty. That's not so much, now izzit? Just slide 'em on over, and ... great, great. Now, it's like this. I get from Saulie who knows Mikey who knows this chick Shirley whose sister said...
Street Rat's Rule of Survival, Numer Twelve: A friend in need is a bother I don't need right now.
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