Totes Legit Potential Backstory

So, we were tasked with creating a short story about our superheroes/villains/antiheros. I opted for a backstory. It's a couple of dates late; I originally wanted to try to do something not related to Totes Legit for once, but the powers that be-- namely, writer's block-- forced my hand. so here it is, in all it's rough-draft glory:

Totes Legit: Sort Of A Backstory

"Nothing good ever happens in grungy alleyways. At least, that's what my mom and television taught me."
A tall, incredibly pale man leans up against the corner of an old, dilapidated brick building in downtown Detrago. Donning a black, red-rimmed fedora and an old gray trench coat-- presumably lifted from the refuse of the Salvage Corp. dumpster-- he waits for action. For a mark. For business. He idly flicks ash off of his cigarette, draws a breath through the carcinogenic tube, and continues to speak.



"They were places of corruption, of crime, and of terror. They were to be avoided at all costs no matter how convenient they were for slicing time off our daily commutes to shops catering to our preferred vices. Of course, when I was a child, these streets were more overtly violent, so there was legitimate concern. These days they're not much better; the violence is just rearranged like a depressing shell game centered around tourist revenue under the guise of an urban renewal. "Nothing good ever happens in grungy alleyways," I always told myself that. Until one became my home, that is. He inhales yet another drag from his cigarette, the smoke blowing out through an invisible mouth. "Funny how things work out like that."



"How'd that happen, anyway?"



"Oh, you don't want to hear about that. It's a boring story. No, my life was never particularly interesting until I hit rock bottom. That's when this happened." He raises his free hand and looks up as the shadows seem to dissolve away to reveal a blank, featureless canvas save for a single black scar poking out from underneath his dark sunglasses. "I don't know how this works, it just does. It's great for business, but..." He removes his sunglasses, revealing yet another pair underneath. He wipes them clean, then tosses the shades to the side. As he does this, they seemingly fade from existence as they touch the dirty pavement. "It's quite difficult for personal relationships. As to how I got like this? I like to call it a wardrobe malfunction."



"That doesn't really explain anything. What's with the suit?" Totes looks off to the side at his companion.
"You really wanna know? It's pretty exposition-heavy and may take a while."
"It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"Fair enough. I found it in the dumpster." Totes flicks his cigarette butt at the wall, and starts searching for another cigarette in his coat.
"And then?"
"Then I started a traveling business finding and selling things to those in dire need, sometimes saving kittens from trees, stuff like that." Eying a suspiciously-placed piece of rubbish, he overturns it, revealing an old pack of smokes. "Ah, there we go." He grabs the pack and stands back up, leaning against the wall again.

"I meant, why's the suit stuck to you? Why's your face all white?" His companion is starting to get impatient; he could tell by the unamused stare he was getting. Totes drags a cigarette from the old, weathered pack. he puts it in his face where one would expect a mouth to be, pulling out a sleek lighter from seemingly nowhere. He lights the cigarette, and takes a puff.



"Alright," he says, closing the lighter and pocketing it, "First, I wanna say that I got all of this information second; third; twelfth-hand. I wasn't there for it, and this is just what I pieced together over the years, so I can't exactly speak to it's credibility. It starts with a children's show."

___________



Suddenly, the scene shifts--dark, wet, grungy. A long abandoned talk show studio set, vandalized and busted to pieces with nothing of consequence left, save for the terrifyingly stained furniture and the faint remains of what took place one fateful week. Remains even some among the dead would consider cause to board the nope-train to Nopesville.



"You know that old studio? The Detrago Public Access complex?" Totes looks at his companion, taking a drag before expelling rings into the air, waiting for an answer.



"Yeah; it closed down a decade ago. I heard it was closed down 'cause the building was deemed unsafe." his companion asked quizzically. Totes lets out a hollow, short-lived laugh. The scene fades to a clean set, an audience in the cheap, bleacher-style seats. A handsome-yet-generic, tall man with perfectly tousled hair wearing a dark pinstriped suit and a black, red-rimmed fedora is on stage.

"It was, but not structurally, no no. Some magician that went by the name Gilbert the Great used to have a children's show every day right around the time kids would be getting home at school. Part of his shtick was that he'd have a half-assed plotline throughout the week that typically played to some moral lesson. He made the mistake one season to try to speak out against the mob's corrupt practices. He figured, 'If the children learn to laugh at adversity, maybe the rest of the city will follow.', you know?" He takes another drag, then flicks the ash off his cig.

"Well, the local mob boss didn't take to kindly to his likeness being reduced to a caricature. So one day, dressed in his mobster getup, Gilbert walked up on stage, business as usual. As the story goes, partway through his act, the mob opted for a fairly public execution. They busted onto the set, forced him into a chair, and had his eye gouged out and forced down his throat. Remember how I said it was a live recording? It was also a live broadcast-- the boss wanted an example made of those that spoke up. He wanted people of all ages too scared to act out. Far as I know, they confiscated the footage after, since I haven't found any trace of it."



Denial, then shock, then panic washes over the crowd as the terrible act befell the man. Parents, children, and even his assistant run screaming-- those that aren't too paralyzed with fear. Gilbert's twitching body is left mangled, abandoned, still strapped to the chair. The scene ends, fully returning to the present alley in which we find our duo.

"From there, details are pretty sparse. All I know is rumors that the mob just left the body there, fully-clothed but defiled, rather than their usual disposal methods, and that some punk kids messing with occult rituals they found for shiggles cursed the body-- or at least his clothes. and I only know that because one of 'em came searching for the guy's hat looking for a keepsake a bit after, and only found me wearing the guy's clothes. Freaked him out a good bit, though I dunno why. It's just a cursed hat. and suit, apparently."

"That got dark hella fast."

"Yeah, well, that's this city for ya."

The view pans out, showing Tote's companion in all of their glory:

A porcelain cat, black, with yellow eyes, wrapped around a lamp post as if rubbing up against it for attention, the cat's gaze peering through tote's location into the black, empty void.

"Sooo... what else does the suit do, other than obscure your features?" Totes squeaks, poorly performing ventriloquy to himself. he flicks the but of his cigarette at the same brick as before, pulls out another cigarette and, flipping out his trusty lighter, chuckles.

"That's a whole other story. Gimme a sec to collect my thoughts. 'sides," He takes a long draw, and peers down the street, eying a desperate-looking balding man frantically looking down the alleyways as he passes them by, swiftly approaching Tote's location."I think I have a customer en route. I will say this though,"he turns to look at the porcelain cat, "Sometimes, great things happen in grungy alleyways."