The Procacious ParvenuAlignment:
Doesn't ask and doesn't tell!Powers:Primary:
According to the Parvenu himself, he has absolutely no fantastical powers to speak of. His body is decidedly average in physique, he is known to become winded very easily when on the job, and he cannot breathe lightning or beams of plasma from his mouth, though that doesn't stop him from trying now and again. Nor is he an exceptionally intelligent
man; though he is eloquent and bombastic, there are quite a few nonsensical (read: made up) words in his personal vocabulary, and his grasp on the sciences is essentially zero. One might wonder, then, how such an infuriating grandstander could possibly have built up an army of shrieking metal death machines that perform his every bidding.
To put it simply, Jacob's ability is to "make things work". So long as he believes something will function according to his whims, it will do so perfectly. Many of his robotic henchmen don't even have any sort of power-source, let alone working joints and mechanisms. He just puts them together, presses a fanciful red button, and they come to life regardless of the laws of physics. If he were to fill a cardboard tube with rocks and point it at someone with the ironclad belief that they will shoot out like bullets, then they would do so immediately. In the hands of a mastermind, this power would be absolutely devastating.
Fortunately, Jacob is about as far from a criminal mastermind as one could possibly get.Secondary:
Excessive Politeness. The Parvenu is civil beyond all proper reason. He will dust off a man's jacket before his partners shoot him in the face, anonymously pay for the ensuing dry cleaning and funeral bills, and attend said funeral to pay his respects. He is prim and proper even when fired upon, apologizing profusely for property damage (of which there tends to be a rather large amount) over the hail of bullets. He treats both men and women with the same courtesy and respect, just as he would have either gender killed without batting an eye. He is everything a gentleman should be, and quite a few things it shouldn't.Weakness:
A really hard punch to the groin. History:
Varies. If his own reports are to be taken at face value, he could be: the Crown Prince of Whales; a down-on-his-luck Jazz musician-turned-bank robber; a martian; an android from the year 2187; Hephaestus, God of the Forge; Elvis Presley; Amelia Earhart; a former Presidential Candidate; a world class assassin; the son of a toy maker; an escaped genetic experiment; The Perfect Man; a former circus Ringmaster; a vampire; a werewolf; a werewolf that was bitten by a vampire; a Russian spy; one of the Fae Folk; the Man in the Moon; Death Incarnate; a bartender named William Potts; an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh returned from the grave; three leprechauns standing on each other's shoulders; a swarm of sentient bees; the owner of an extraordinarily lucrative Chocolate Factory, etcetera etcetera etcetera.
As for what he is now
: The Procacious Parvenu deals in mischief, mayhem, thievery, and jaywalking. Particularly jaywalking. But also a great deal of the former three. He thrives on publicity, recognition, and creative solutions to mundane problems. Each successive heist must be more spectacular than the last. Bigger, louder, and brighter. Flash with Substance. It is a compulsion, with each robbery planned for terribly long periods of time in advance. Some have theorized that, once Kendrick has pulled off the most magnificent bank robbery of all, one that is truly and completely incapable of topping, he will finally throw in the towel. Day Job:
You would think that a professional bank robber wouldn't need to have a second job after pulling off one or two major successful heists. And ordinarily, you would be correct. However, Jacob did not get into robbery for the money, and nearly every last cent he steals eventually finds its way into the pockets of various charity organizations. In order to make a proper living he operates his own "Miracle Machine" business out of his rather run down apartment building, where he cobbles together various gadgets out of scrap metal, makes them look sleek and high-tech, and wills them to perform various tasks and generally make life easier for the buyer. He lives from commission to commission, but often goes quite awhile without making a sale due to the understandably sketchy nature of his products. Nothing is quite so pitiful as seeing a self-proclaimed criminal mastermind lolling about in his heart-patterned boxers in the middle of the day, unshaven, unkempt, ravenously hungry, and with an empty fridge staring back at him.