Post by Basil on Apr 30, 2012 13:01:17 GMT -8
Name: Basil of Baker Street (last name unrevealed)
Alias: none
Age: 26
Is From: Baker Street, London, England
Species: mouse
Height: 3 1/8"
Weight: 2 3/4 ounces
Gender: male
Likes: mysteries, puzzles and cyphers, cheese, tea, darts, chess, science, especially chemistry, books
Dislikes: crime and criminals (ESPECIALLY Ratigan), cats, children, boredom
Normal Attire: Like all proper English gentlemen, Basil is properly attired at all times. He wears respectable tweeds in the Victorian fashion, with high collar, waistcoat (vest), braces (suspenders), and sometimes spats, but these last are not de rigeur. He is fond of his Inverness overcoat, and wears a deerstalker, a country hat, even in town, as a sort of trademark, a nod to his country origin. He does on occasion wear other hats and would rarely be seen out of doors without one. One thing Basil does not wear is a watch; his great brain always knows what time it is.
Powers: none
Strengths: genius-level intelligence, expert in observation and deduction, master of disguise, knowledge of science, mathematical wizard, speaks French, Italian, Latin, classical Greek, and some Mandarin Chinese, fencing, boxing, can fire a pistol, but is by no means an expert marksman, plays the violin tolerably well, plays chess, billiards and darts
Weaknesses: gigantic ego, manic-depressive tendencies, oblivious to the feelings of others, sometimes rude
Allied with: His colleague Dr. Dawson and Toby the hound
Mortal Enemy: The nefarious Professor Ratigan!
History: Basil was born in a modest country home in rural England, the youngest of four children. His genius displayed itself at a very early age, astonishing his parents when he taught himself to read at the age of two. His young brain craved stimulation, and the family had great difficulty keeping the boy supplied with books, which he read again and again until he learnt them by rote.
Even more distressing was Basil's ability to deduce volumes about others by simple observation. It was frightfully embarrassing to have a child blurt out to strangers details of their occupations, medical histories, and who knows what all. So Basil was taught to keep his thoughts to himself, particularly where his elders were concerned. But the lad was obedient and eager to please, and family life was generally happy, until he reached the age of six.
Basil yearned to attend school with his brothers and sister, for what could be more wonderful than learning new things every day? The reality, when it finally came, however, was a wretched disappointment. The rigid, unimaginative schoolmaster had no idea what to do with such a child prodigy, and attempted to force him into the standard mould. Never mind that Basil had already read and reread the textbooks of his elder siblings, he was expected to spend hours copying the alphabet and other such tasks far beneath his abilities. Little wonder that the lad was bored beyond measure and derided by the schoolmaster as lazy and uncooperative.
His brightest joy during this time was the periodic trips to the great library in London, where his father would let him roam for hours, trying to quench that insatiable intellectual thirst. Although he devoured books on every subject, Basil's favourite tales were of medieval times: knights and quests and chivalry.
When he was still quite a lad, Basil witnessed an unusual incident in the quiet village: the arrest of a housebreaker who had been hiding in a nearby wood. Telltale mud on the felon's shoes spoke plainly to the young mouse of the criminal's recent wherabouts and aided the local constabulary in recovering the stolen goods. Basil was even called to appear as a witness in the trial. For once, his deductions were more than a peculiarity to be ashamed of. Indeed, they were a source of pride.
From that day, Basil determined to use his abilities to fight crime. Everything he read, he saw as potentially useful toward that end. He studied those about him more than ever, learning to tell their past, their occupations, almost their very thoughts from a mere glance. His parents attempted to steer their boy into a law career, but Basil's plans were set: he would attend a university to learn all he could possibly learn, then join the London force and work his way up to the rank of Police Detective. After all, prosecuting criminals would not be half as interesting as catching them.
When the village schoolmaster resigned, he was replaced by a new schoolmaster, or rather, mistress, a clever and vivacious spinster who saw Basil's potential and encouraged it. Basil blossomed under her tutelage, and was promoted beyond his years until that good lady declared she could teach him nothing more. At the age of sixteen, he easily secured a full scholarship to one of the lesser-known universities.
Traveling up to London, Basil threw himself into academics. He took impossibly heavy class schedules, studying everything he thought would be useful in his chosen career. Chemistry, botany, law, anatomy, geology, besides the requirements of literature, history and Latin...Basil tackled them all and acquitted himself brilliantly. He learnt fisticuffs and fencing. He joined the chess club and even the dramatics society, believing that acting ability would be helpful in undercover work. And he made friends for the first time in his life; some of the fellows were more intrigued than repulsed by his peculiarities. And for those who resented his brilliant mind, Basil didn't care a rap what they thought. He had a goal and he pursued it with single-minded fervor.
When one day, quite by accident, he encountered the human detective Sherlock Holmes, Basil suddenly realized his true calling was to become the rodent world's first private consulting detective. No need whatever to join the official police force and work one's way up through the ranks. Here was a chap...a human, it's true, but a successful man who was accountable to no one but himself, to whom clients came, bringing intriguing problems and paying for the solutions. Here was a career filled with excitement and infinite variety, a true stage for his powers of observation and deduction.
Upon graduation, Basil moved to Baker Street (his poor landlady Mrs. Judson had no idea what she was getting into) to better study the methods of Mr. Holmes. He kept his family name a secret and adopted the nom de guerre of Basil of Baker Street, certain that, as he solved case after case, the underworld would soon be clamouring to do away with him and his loved ones.
Alas, there is more to starting a business than hanging out a shingle, and clients were not plentiful at first. A few modest successes paid the rent and put cheese on the table, but Basil needed some way to fill his too-abundant leisure time. He spent his days studying the environs of London, observing everything, and adding to his store of knowledge. He also put in an appearance at many a crime scene, attempting to prove his abilities to Scotland Yard, who thought of Basil as a meddler and a general nuisance.
At this time, Basil also tried his hand at dog-training. He believed a dog would be useful in tracking down criminals, but the task proved to be more difficult than anticipated. After several disasters that nearly ended in his being devoured, Mr. Holmes' assistant came home one day with a pup named Toby. The young animal proved a good deal more tractable than those other dogs, and Basil managed, with patience and endless treats, to train Toby to assist the mouse without eating him. Basil is quite fond of the hound, and considers himself the dog's true master.
Gradually, Basil became aware of a great brain behind much of the underworld activity in London; thus he encountered his greatest enemy, Prof. Ratigan. Whenever he had no case in hand, Basil delved deeper into the seemingly-respectable professor's affairs, seeking to uncover solid evidence to have the crime lord arrested. Their paths crossed on several occasions, and Ratigan soon shared the official police force's assessment of Basil.
After two highly-publicized cases, including solving the Trupshaw disappearance, Basil began to see his name in print at last and had truly arrived in his chosen profession. The pinnacle of his career thus far has been rescuing the Queen (God Save Her) and putting an end once and for all to Ratigan's evil machinations in the case that introduced him to his friend and biographer, Dr. Dawson. Now Basil has hopes to see his name in the next honours list and to be knighted as Sir Basil of Baker Street.
Alias: none
Age: 26
Is From: Baker Street, London, England
Species: mouse
Height: 3 1/8"
Weight: 2 3/4 ounces
Gender: male
Likes: mysteries, puzzles and cyphers, cheese, tea, darts, chess, science, especially chemistry, books
Dislikes: crime and criminals (ESPECIALLY Ratigan), cats, children, boredom
Normal Attire: Like all proper English gentlemen, Basil is properly attired at all times. He wears respectable tweeds in the Victorian fashion, with high collar, waistcoat (vest), braces (suspenders), and sometimes spats, but these last are not de rigeur. He is fond of his Inverness overcoat, and wears a deerstalker, a country hat, even in town, as a sort of trademark, a nod to his country origin. He does on occasion wear other hats and would rarely be seen out of doors without one. One thing Basil does not wear is a watch; his great brain always knows what time it is.
Powers: none
Strengths: genius-level intelligence, expert in observation and deduction, master of disguise, knowledge of science, mathematical wizard, speaks French, Italian, Latin, classical Greek, and some Mandarin Chinese, fencing, boxing, can fire a pistol, but is by no means an expert marksman, plays the violin tolerably well, plays chess, billiards and darts
Weaknesses: gigantic ego, manic-depressive tendencies, oblivious to the feelings of others, sometimes rude
Allied with: His colleague Dr. Dawson and Toby the hound
Mortal Enemy: The nefarious Professor Ratigan!
History: Basil was born in a modest country home in rural England, the youngest of four children. His genius displayed itself at a very early age, astonishing his parents when he taught himself to read at the age of two. His young brain craved stimulation, and the family had great difficulty keeping the boy supplied with books, which he read again and again until he learnt them by rote.
Even more distressing was Basil's ability to deduce volumes about others by simple observation. It was frightfully embarrassing to have a child blurt out to strangers details of their occupations, medical histories, and who knows what all. So Basil was taught to keep his thoughts to himself, particularly where his elders were concerned. But the lad was obedient and eager to please, and family life was generally happy, until he reached the age of six.
Basil yearned to attend school with his brothers and sister, for what could be more wonderful than learning new things every day? The reality, when it finally came, however, was a wretched disappointment. The rigid, unimaginative schoolmaster had no idea what to do with such a child prodigy, and attempted to force him into the standard mould. Never mind that Basil had already read and reread the textbooks of his elder siblings, he was expected to spend hours copying the alphabet and other such tasks far beneath his abilities. Little wonder that the lad was bored beyond measure and derided by the schoolmaster as lazy and uncooperative.
His brightest joy during this time was the periodic trips to the great library in London, where his father would let him roam for hours, trying to quench that insatiable intellectual thirst. Although he devoured books on every subject, Basil's favourite tales were of medieval times: knights and quests and chivalry.
When he was still quite a lad, Basil witnessed an unusual incident in the quiet village: the arrest of a housebreaker who had been hiding in a nearby wood. Telltale mud on the felon's shoes spoke plainly to the young mouse of the criminal's recent wherabouts and aided the local constabulary in recovering the stolen goods. Basil was even called to appear as a witness in the trial. For once, his deductions were more than a peculiarity to be ashamed of. Indeed, they were a source of pride.
From that day, Basil determined to use his abilities to fight crime. Everything he read, he saw as potentially useful toward that end. He studied those about him more than ever, learning to tell their past, their occupations, almost their very thoughts from a mere glance. His parents attempted to steer their boy into a law career, but Basil's plans were set: he would attend a university to learn all he could possibly learn, then join the London force and work his way up to the rank of Police Detective. After all, prosecuting criminals would not be half as interesting as catching them.
When the village schoolmaster resigned, he was replaced by a new schoolmaster, or rather, mistress, a clever and vivacious spinster who saw Basil's potential and encouraged it. Basil blossomed under her tutelage, and was promoted beyond his years until that good lady declared she could teach him nothing more. At the age of sixteen, he easily secured a full scholarship to one of the lesser-known universities.
Traveling up to London, Basil threw himself into academics. He took impossibly heavy class schedules, studying everything he thought would be useful in his chosen career. Chemistry, botany, law, anatomy, geology, besides the requirements of literature, history and Latin...Basil tackled them all and acquitted himself brilliantly. He learnt fisticuffs and fencing. He joined the chess club and even the dramatics society, believing that acting ability would be helpful in undercover work. And he made friends for the first time in his life; some of the fellows were more intrigued than repulsed by his peculiarities. And for those who resented his brilliant mind, Basil didn't care a rap what they thought. He had a goal and he pursued it with single-minded fervor.
When one day, quite by accident, he encountered the human detective Sherlock Holmes, Basil suddenly realized his true calling was to become the rodent world's first private consulting detective. No need whatever to join the official police force and work one's way up through the ranks. Here was a chap...a human, it's true, but a successful man who was accountable to no one but himself, to whom clients came, bringing intriguing problems and paying for the solutions. Here was a career filled with excitement and infinite variety, a true stage for his powers of observation and deduction.
Upon graduation, Basil moved to Baker Street (his poor landlady Mrs. Judson had no idea what she was getting into) to better study the methods of Mr. Holmes. He kept his family name a secret and adopted the nom de guerre of Basil of Baker Street, certain that, as he solved case after case, the underworld would soon be clamouring to do away with him and his loved ones.
Alas, there is more to starting a business than hanging out a shingle, and clients were not plentiful at first. A few modest successes paid the rent and put cheese on the table, but Basil needed some way to fill his too-abundant leisure time. He spent his days studying the environs of London, observing everything, and adding to his store of knowledge. He also put in an appearance at many a crime scene, attempting to prove his abilities to Scotland Yard, who thought of Basil as a meddler and a general nuisance.
At this time, Basil also tried his hand at dog-training. He believed a dog would be useful in tracking down criminals, but the task proved to be more difficult than anticipated. After several disasters that nearly ended in his being devoured, Mr. Holmes' assistant came home one day with a pup named Toby. The young animal proved a good deal more tractable than those other dogs, and Basil managed, with patience and endless treats, to train Toby to assist the mouse without eating him. Basil is quite fond of the hound, and considers himself the dog's true master.
Gradually, Basil became aware of a great brain behind much of the underworld activity in London; thus he encountered his greatest enemy, Prof. Ratigan. Whenever he had no case in hand, Basil delved deeper into the seemingly-respectable professor's affairs, seeking to uncover solid evidence to have the crime lord arrested. Their paths crossed on several occasions, and Ratigan soon shared the official police force's assessment of Basil.
After two highly-publicized cases, including solving the Trupshaw disappearance, Basil began to see his name in print at last and had truly arrived in his chosen profession. The pinnacle of his career thus far has been rescuing the Queen (God Save Her) and putting an end once and for all to Ratigan's evil machinations in the case that introduced him to his friend and biographer, Dr. Dawson. Now Basil has hopes to see his name in the next honours list and to be knighted as Sir Basil of Baker Street.