Realistic or Modern Grad Night Character Sign Ups

[Geun Sae]

So I just wanted to write here as a preface to the signup sheet that I'm not very picky with my characters in terms of details regarding their height/appearance/favorite food and random qualities like that. What I am picky on is that the character designed and written should fit the world that this Roleplay takes place in. This roleplay is fairly central in the world of 1990's slashers like Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer, Valentine, and Urban Legend. It takes place in 1995 so please keep that in mind when designing your character. Feel free to embrace the tropes and archetypes typically found in Slashers like the ones below:

• The Shy Girl
• The Jock
• The Red Herring
• The Party Girl/Guy
• The Nerd
• The Mean Girl/Guy
• The Stoner
• The Fool
• The Nice Guy

Keep in mind that I'm also accepting characters who survived the original massacre! There will be two different sheets; one for characters who are a part of the graduating class of 1995, and one for those who survived the original massacre.

• Character Sheet
• Writing Sample
• Killer Selection and Character Deaths

• 
  
  For the Graduating Class of '95:
  
  || Name ||
  
  || Age ||
  
  || Appearance (Description or Image will do) ||
  
  || Brief History/Backstory (What are their plans after high school? Do they intend to go to college?) ||
  
  || Personality ||
  
  || Anything Else (Anything else you feel would help expand your character's depth) ||
  
  || Your Character's Theme (Pick a fun 90's song you think your character would love) ||
  
  For Survivors of the original massacre:
  
  || Name ||
  
  || Age (27-29) ||
  
  || Appearance (Description or Image will do) ||
  
  || Brief History/Backstory (What were their plans after high school? Did they intend to go to college? What happened to them after the massacre?) ||
  
  || Did your character receive any injuries or scars during the original massacre? Did they lose any friends or family? ||
  
  || Personality ||
  
  || Anything Else (Anything else you feel would help expand your character's depth) ||
  
  || Your Character's Theme (Pick a fun 80's song you think your character would love) ||
  
  Don't forget; a good murder mystery is all about motive! Don't be afraid to find a way to make other characters suspect you. Whether you're a red herring, the killer, or somewhere in between, it's always a good idea to keep the other players guessing.
  
• 
  As part of your character sheet, I'd like a writing sample. You can choose to respond to any of these prompts or write your own scenario. These prompts will not be used in the actual roleplay, and are just a chance for me to gauge your abilities.
  - Your character is walking home alone after going to see a scary movie with some friends.
  - Your Character is getting ready for their graduation ceremony.
  - Your Character Is discussing their summer vacation plans with some friends
  
• 
  As a final note, I want to remind you that your character runs a fair chance of being killed. If you would like to write an extra character specifically to be killed in addition to your main character that's fine, but you're main character's fate will be decided by dice rolls. This process will be done mainly through private conversations and if your character is chosen to die I'll let you decide the manner of their fate and how we'll go about it.
  
  As for who I select to be the killer, that process will be done once I feel like I've found a character who I think would have a good motive to do so. If you're interested in being the killer feel free to shoot me a dm and we can discuss it. There'll be no announcement once the decision is made just to keep things suspenseful.
  
  and just to make sure you've read everything over please add an emoticon somewhere on your character sheet

 

[Geun Sae]

Mickey Mickinley - The Mean Guy - Work In Progress

|| 18 ||

|| Once an exceptional athlete, Mickey quickly climbed the social ladder of Newby County High. A stellar athlete in Track and Field, Wrestling, and Football, Mickey's career was ended following a devastating injury his junior year. Since then, Mickey's become a cynical pessimist who walks with a slight limp that he tries his best to hide. Mickey's worldview has been entirely informed by his parent's poor financial decisions and struggles with addiction. His once cushy life on the south side of town was slowly uprooted by his father's chronic gambling addiction and his mother's alcoholism. During his junior year, he was forced to move into a trailer park. He eventually learned to express himself creatively in writing. Eventually, the once flashy and egotistical athlete became a sarcastic and bitter writing club loner. Mickey still managed to maintain a healthy relationship with his old friend group, still attending the parties and celebrations of Newby High's football players, even despite his indifferent demeanor. Despite his hardships, Mickey's managed to attain great grades throughout high school and was accepted into an early admission to Northeastern University on a scholarship for his writing. This has been all he's ever wanted, to get away from his parents and hometown.||

|| Mickey is a bitter pessimist. He has no qualms about being brutally honest and callous. People who Mickey dislike would describe him as a difficult person. However, those who Mickey likes would describe him as a clever guy who'll flick your ego away like a pea on your shoulder. In a hypocritical way, Mickey's ego is massive. He knows he's smart, and despite his injuries, he still maintains enough muscle to throw a good punch. Mickey still holds on to vestiges of his old life. For as resentful and dissatisfied he is with his life in Newby, Mickey loves cutting loose on the weekends and enjoying a beer or two with his old teammates. In a way, his injury and newly found perspectives on life have liberated him from the societal pressures of extracurricular activities and competitive sports. The teammates he once found himself competing with and desperately trying to impress, he now finds benevolent and tolerable. And alternatively, those who he once forced himself to tolerate now find themselves the brunt of his meanest jokes.||

The sky was blurry. The stadium lights shone so brightly he had to reach his hand up and shield his eyes from their fluorescent beams. The ringing in his ear was loud, but as it slowly died down he could hear the voices of his teammates and the familiar grating sound of his coach.

“Mickey? Mickey, can you hear me all right?”

There was a brighter light, the up-close shine of the paramedic’s penlight. How long had he been laying there on the turf? He tried to speak,

“Wha? Where?”

He could make it out clearly now, the faces of two paramedics kneeling above him.

“You took a pretty hard hit. Mickey, can you talk to me?”

He turned his head for a brief moment. Between the legs of his coaches, he could make out the stands. Hundreds of students were watching him closely with glassy eyes and dazed stares. The cheerleaders had made a pyramid formation in a failed attempt to divert the audience’s attention away from him.

He felt the latex glove caress his face. “Mickey, I need you to keep looking up okay?”

“I don’t feel too good.” He moaned, feeling the beads of sweat trickle down his neck. “Was I hit?”

“We need to get in the ambulance.”

Mickey’s breathing got heavy. “Who hit me?” He rolled his eyes back, hoping to spot the member of the rival team that had knocked him clean off his feet. Who was it? Mickey was gonna kill him. Who the hell had the nerve?

The next thing he knew he was being lifted. The sky grew closer for a brief moment, and the bright yellow lights of the stadium slowly dimmed into flashing reds and blues. He tried to turn his head this time, only to realize the paramedics had secured some type of brace around his neck.

“Where are his parents?” One of the paramedics asked.

“The coach is calling them to let them know”. He shook his head and whispered. “You know how those Mickinley’s are. They’re a bunch of deadbeats.”

Mickey couldn’t help but stare at the grey metallic ceiling of the ambulance. As he rocked ever so slightly back and forth he could feel the pressure in his chest. That sense of sadness he’d carried with him all his life. He couldn’t even be mad at the paramedic, after all, they were right. He knew it, the paramedics knew it, the whole town knew it.

​

 

[themagnoliaofutah]

- The Shy Girl -
|| Margot "Maggie" Rooks ||

|| 18 ||



|| Raised by her reclusive, paranoid father, Maggie plans on following in his footsteps and attending Yale to become a historian. She's never had many friends, but has worked hard for her grades and is graduating with honors. Rumors swirl that her family has a past involved with witchcraft, although Maggie's obsession with folklore probably does nothing to help that. ||

|| She's just as anxious as her dad, with a million little nervous habits. She's kind, but struggles with speaking to others, and prefers snacking on sweets to starting a conversation. She is intensely focused, and often needs to be dragged away from tasks she works on. She may be uncomfortable around new people, but those who get to know her say she's a good, trustworthy friend (and one who can make a mean snickerdoodle cookie to boot). ||

|| She adores anything cute, and her otherwise tidy room is strewn with stuffed animals. She also enjoys rock music, and keeps a small collection of CDs in her car. ||

|| Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind ||



- Writing Sample -

98, 99, 100.
Maggie squinted at herself in the mirror, setting the brush on the vanity table. To anyone looking at her, she seemed spaced out a little, wide blue eyes scrutinizing the middle distance. Her mind, however, was aflurry with activity. Everything had to look just so for the ceremony - after all, it was the only high school graduation she'd have, and the last thing she wanted was to mess something up. She always messed something up.

Besides the faint hum of the light, the only other noise audible was a faint snoring from the other room. Her dad had stayed up until two in the morning again, finishing a chapter of the book he was working on. Devil's Dice, or something like that - talking about the early days of Las Vegas, of all places. Nothing made a good history book like true crime - people ate that stuff up, so she heard.

She, frankly, didn't understand it. Although maybe enough time would trivialize any tragedy. It sure didn't seem trivial in this town. It shouldn't be trivial anywhere.

Finishing off her mascara, Maggie gave a small, photograph smile to her reflection. There. Perfect.

There was nothing to be worried about.

 

[BELIAL.]

​

Jenny Johnson

• Basic Info
• Personality
• Biography
• Writing Sample

• 
  FULL NAME: Jennifer Jolie Johnson
  
  NICKNAMES: Jenny, J.J., Jenny-I-Got-Your-Number, Jenny-Don't-Change-Your-Number
  
  AGE: 29
  
  HEIGHT: 5'6"
  
  WEIGHT: Around 140 lbs, mostly on the lean and muscular side
  
  HAIR COLOUR: Blonde
  
  EYE COLOUR: Blue
  
  DESCRIPTION: Jenny's always been a pretty girl and was known as a looker back in high-school. Athletic and put together, she was always the picture of femininity. Her soft face and softer eyes have only managed to harden over the years, aging with the trauma and some minimal substance abuse. Gone is the sparkle from her eye, replaced with a cold stare and a colder grimace, usually lost to staring into space or thinking about things that shouldn't matter. Her beauty has matured, appearing more of the graceful melancholy than any youthful spunk that once captivated the eyes of others. Jenny's got a nasty glare, and she's not so afraid to be seen with it.
  
  Dealing with physical therapy after the massacre of '85 left her with a bit of a limp that's only managed to subdue just slightly in the last couple of years. Her shoulder manages to catch every winter, stiffening in the cold and from a lack of physical activity. Her body is always moving, seemingly afraid of being still for too long. She's got one big scar over the left collarbone, snagged and jaded with scar tissue, a few inches over the spot where her heart and left lung sit, and just below the sensitive area of her neck. More scars lance across her lower back, streaking into each other, remnants of quick and messy stabs.
  
  Her blonde hair used to catch white in the summer sun, but now it's managed to fade and has taken a darker hue, closer to a dirty blonde than anything close to how she used to look. Brushed away from her face, her hair is often swept away while she's occupied with busier things. Jenny's maintained the length, though everyone tells her she should cut it.
  
  FACECLAIM: Kathryn Winnick
  
• 
  PERSONALITY: Once a bubbling, bright and extroverted soul, Jenny has managed to fold so deeply into herself that she's lost most of the person she used to be. In high-school she was friends with everyone, in that distant and popular way, with a little investment in most of the clubs at school. She did athletics, she did leadership and she prided herself on vying for captain of the cheerleading squad. Surface level in interaction, you'd get this perfect image of Jenny Johnson, someone so elevated that they could do no wrong. Even back then, beneath those ambitious layers, you'd find the nervous wreck that was J.J.. Perhaps a pre-cursor to the woman she'd become after surviving death itself, this neurotic and depressed version of Jenny expressed itself in her need to live. She was impulsive and charismatic, and she loved going to parties. Casual drug use was a regular for her, though she got exceptionally good at hiding such habits from her parents when they pried.
  
  Since the events of 1985, Jenny's recovery took more than a physical toll on her. Survivor's guilt plagued the girl, and she spent months and hundreds of dollars in therapy trying to deal with it. Her parents just wanted their baby girl back, but Jenny wasn't herself anymore. Jenny was constantly wound up, fearing everytime she thought something was wrong with her health, or leaving the house. She became a recluse once she'd been released from the hospital. At this point in her life she became an intensely withdrawn person, inside and out. All connections to Newby County were severed, and at Jenny's hysterical insistence her parents packed up from their hometown and split for greener pastures.
  
  These days she's managed to move on from having a mental breakdown anytime anyone mentions the killing spree. Jenny's rounded her sharp edges, though she is seen as colder and more clinical than she used to be. Humour escapes her, save for dry wit and snark. Jenny holds anger, deep-seated and a little easier to toss up than it should be. She's lashed out once or twice... with significant consequences. Because her career is dedicated to helping children in distressful homes, and finding better outcomes for them, she's still maintained her empathetic roots. Gregarious around kids and to those who she's allowed past her barbed wire fences, Jenny loves being someone's hero. She avoids talking about Newby County, anyone related to the killing spree, or her teenage years-- out of her own sanity. She's constantly on the tight rope between breaking down again, and Jenny's afraid of what could happen if she snaps again.
  
  OTHER INFO: Jenny's on medication, treating her PTSD and General Anxiety. She can sometimes lapse into acute anxiety attacks, but she's well versed enough in her triggers to know how to talk herself down as well as to step out of them. Her PTSD manifests in nightmares, leaving many a sleepless night for Jenny at times. Staying on her meds is priority, though she tells no one about it. The stigma would be too great.
  
  She owns a gun, though most people-- her parents-- think she shouldn't. Maybe it's an overreaction, but it's the one thing that she focuses on that reminds her of that night. Just a simple pistol, she keeps it on her person more oft than not. Once she nearly got charged for shooting a guy in the shoulder. She'd thought he was breaking into her house, during one of her fits, and shot at him through the front window of her apartment. The guy didn't press charges, but there's a note of it and she'd gotten processed.
  
  Currently working as a child welfare social worker, Jenny loves her job. That being said, she has been written up a few times for lashing out at coworkers or families that they had taken children from. Her anger is well documented by her superiors, but they know she's got a good spirit.
  
  Jenny's afraid of snapping again. She avoids mentioning Newby County or the killings, and as of recently resides out of state. Her younger sister, however, moved back to Newby some time ago. Divorcing with an abusive husband, and struggling to get back on her feet with her two children in tow, her sister's been in a crisis for some time and Jenny's made her way back to help care for her and the kids.
  
  
• 
  BIOGRAPHY:
  
  Spoiler: Before the Massacre

  Upper Middle Class and the oldest daughter, Jennifer Jolie was prized by her mother and father when she was born. With a cherub's face, and with their own selfish need to show the world how beautiful their baby was, Jenny was only a few months old when she started doing child modeling. Mostly for catalogue covers, the odd magazine or two and Jenny was off and running in the sphere of being perfect. The problems were brewed there, with her parents choosing to commercialize their child. Backdropped against the rest of Newby County, Jenny was pretty much unaware of the plight of anyone else living in the city. Privilege and snobbishness from her mother kept Jenny from going to elementary school when she was born. Her mother had insisted on private tutoring, though her father was a little more grass roots and didn't mind so much. Her mother always got her way, however.
  
  They compromised and after sixth grade she was released into the world. Jenny remembered summers before being spent at Lake Millen, with cousins who traveled in and family friends who'd throw parties and barbecues to pass the time. It was all she knew, really. Being tossed into another reality entirely, however, noting her differences from the other kids, left her raw and uncomfortable. She wasn't as spoiled as her mother would have liked, humbled by now from her parents having a second child, but she was snubbed by some of the poorer kids for wearing nicer things. In no way did she feel like she was alone, however, and naturally turned to the other kids who matched her situation. Some of them were harsher than she'd have liked, Jenny always soft to everyone. She was well-liked for this, once everyone was old enough to see past their pre-existing notions. For the most part, anyway.
  
  Still, Jenny liked to rub elbows with anyone and everyone. Using her benefits for the benefit of all, she'd sneak alcohol into her backpack to take to girlfriend's houses for sleepovers. She was a bad influence on the inside, though managed to float and maintain her good girl exterior when it was needed. Good grades, good family and plenty of after school activities to keep her busy. It wasn't like she could get into any trouble, right?
  
  Floating between social groups based on good nature gave Jenny an edge that the other girls, in her same socioeconomic situation, didn't have. They didn't stray too far from their homes at night, save for the odd kegger on a weekend. She had her first cigarette at 15, though she pretended to hate it a little bit more than she needed to. High School changed someone, and Jenny was pulled closer into the higher spheres, becoming one with the more popular girls. They busied themselves with sports and cheerleading, and seemed occupied with maintaining their appearances for after high school. Most wanted to become nurses, others wanted to stay close to home and settle with their beaus, but Jenny... wanted a bit more. She had higher goals, knowing that she had a brain enough to do something with it (her math grades were better than Maxine's, even), and that she could try and capitalize on all the resources her parents had shoved her into. Modeling, sitting in on meetings with her mother, all of it culminated to a headstrong and business oriented Jenny. She'd follow in the footsteps of other women who paved the way in fashion and merchandising.
  
  It wasn't lofty to her, and her mother approved. Things couldn't be better, anyway.
  
  By sophomore year, heading into the summer, Jenny had her first kiss. A friend, someone she knew for a few years from her first years in public school.
  
  C.C.
  
  It was sort of stupid, but a weird sense of 'meant-to-be' for her. Her parents wouldn't hear of her having any kind of boyfriend, especially not one that they'd already vetted. They kept it on the down low, but Jenny had some of the most fun she'd admit with him. Late nights spent sneaking out of the home, driving towards nowhere with the radio cranked up; smoking cigarettes wearing his coat, so that her parents wouldn't smell it on her later; and even staring up at the stars and being silly and young in love. All that it was, if you asked her now. They never made it past second base for an unconscious reason: Jenny liked Colt a lot a lot, but the reservations of her family and her future stood ahead of her. She didn't want to risk losing any of it, even from any kind of stupid mistake.
  
  Maxine was probably the only person that she told about Colt, though they never mingled too much in the same circles. Prom came and Colt took her, much to everyone's surprise, but they chalked it up to being friends. Popular, real stars of the student body, in fact. Handsome and put-together, everyone almost wished they'd get together. It was funny like that, and they laughed about it afterward... But it was happy. Probably the best times before everything.
  
  
  Spoiler: The remnants

  The Massacre of '85 proved to be horrific for everyone, but Jenny felt the most unfair dose of fate having been dished upon her. It was a night like any other, excited to be graduated, even more excited to kiss their childhoods goodbye. Jenny had Colt there, and Maxine and some of the other friends, and they'd planned on finally coming out as a couple-- though Jenny had had plans to end things in the months following, anyway. She hadn't told Colt this, them barely able to even enjoy being a public couple, when the attack happened.
  
  It came out of nowhere, or so it felt. Tragedy and shock had that effect of absolutely stopping time, with little attention paid to the smaller movements of one's body.
  
  They'd had a fight. Her and Colt. She'd wanted to leave with Maxine, who had been sober that night to drive whoever had needed a lift. Jenny had had some to drink, out of her wits, when she saw with her own eyes Maxine getting knifed. Gutted. Right out the front door, hardly two steps passed the threshold. Time had slowed in that moment, aching in pace, but Jenny had acted out of impulse. Foolishly, it seemed trying to go for Dunne with the knife in his hand was a good idea for her. Irrational, adrenaline instincts had taken over. He'd struck her down just as fast. One stab in the chest. Three in the back when she'd flipped onto the floor. Left for dead.
  
  It was blurry afterwards. Nothing but pain, fading consciousness and the stream of voices from the terrified few that had stayed late at the party to clean up. Terrible fate for everyone. Worse for Jenny, she'd... almost accepted that she died. Seeing Maxine's life bleed out, her eyes lose their shine, were the last thing she'd seen before passing out.
  
  Then formally waking up, afterward. In the hospital. Alive. It had taken a few days for the survivor's guilt to really settle in, as well as the realization of the night's events, but the panic was immediate. Offset, offput, nothing felt right. Being awake didn't feel right. Her mind seemed to want to eat itself alive, crying every night she spent in the hospital, finally hitting the mental breakdown that had been building from the perfect, artificial smile she'd worn for the last eighteen years. Nothing would be the same. She didn't even feel the same-- maybe she had died back there.
  
  The rehab was the worst. Several surgeries had been needed to save her life, paid with little concern by her family. Perhaps she'd truly been lucky then. Everything was taken care of. She had to worry about nothing. And yet, she worried about it all. They got her a shrink when they noticed she'd stopped really paying attention to the world around her. She just seemed to fade away. Fix our little girl, please.
  
  Less than a year after, Jenny had begged that they would move away from all of it. Go to Chicago, go anywhere. Just not... Newby County. It took a few more breakdowns, with visceral displays, before they'd really agreed. Jenny said goodbye to no one, taking herself in stride and leaving without a word. Another fight with Colt before it all, because maybe he'd known, but she'd not wanted any pieces left. Nothing to take with her. Just her own stupid, selfish life.
  
  And they left. It took another year and a half before she felt somewhat normal, or could even walk normally again. Having been unable to take the straight shot to college that she'd planned, with her dad's help she'd managed to get her roots down in New York. Far away, away from everything. She went to school, she took her medications, and she lived. Sort of, anyway. There was a brief stint of alcoholism and a very slight abuse of OTC medicine... But it wasn't an issue to Jenny. Not externally. She was safe now, and she had nothing to remind her of the horrific nightmare. She had survived, wasn't that enough?
  
  Graduating college she got her master's, then moved quickly into social work. A 180 from the avenue she'd planned on going down, Jenny decided to do some good. It felt good. As horrible as it was having to help children who were traumatized, abused or worse, Jenny liked being a source of strength. A hero. She'd failed before, quite terrifically, and this way she could do something about it. Then life really moved on. A few hotspots here and there, a relapse once or twice and almost getting arrested once and fired five times gave Jenny some realism to her bleak life.
  
  For the most part, she's done her best to forget about high school. A different person, almost entirely, she's jumped between relationships and settled on none. She's stayed in the same apartment since she moved to New York... but she's elected to return to Newby County. Her sister, someone who was too young to really understand what had happened, dated some shithead who'd knocked her up twice and still had the guts to lay a hand on her. Alone with the two kids, brutalized by her partner, her sister cried for help. Jenny responded, pushing aside her horrors to return home one last time.
  
  
  THEME SONG: (Don't Fear) the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult.
  
• 
  "Jennifer?" A voice broke through the ether of self sustained relaxation. Jenny perked just slightly, the rise to her brows the only indication that she'd heard her therapist calling her name. Her shrink, so she liked to call her. The blonde sat, supposedly nestled with a nice blanket over her lap, supposedly fiddling with a teddy bear with a bow tie. They were in the office to help you get comfortable, to talk. Jenny, however, only had one limp hand on the blanket over her shoulder and the other limp hand on top the bear discarded next to her. Permanently fixed into an upright, locked position on the patterned couch, she looked like some rigor mortis locked cadaver rather than a survivor. It was how she felt, anyway.
  
  "Did you hear what I said?" The woman asked again. Damn, what was her name? Why'd she forgotten, anyhow? There was little to focus in on in the room, no reason to lose her attention like that. The coloured blocks that sat in a pile on the corner seemed lifeless in their lonely state, untouched and scattered beneath the chair across from her. The room itself was rather basic in colours, looking more like the inside of a fridge than any warm and comfy shrink's room. How was anyone supposed to talk about why they thought they'd be better off dead sitting in a room like this, anyway?
  
  "I... I did, yeah," Jenny replied with a wobbling gaze, slipping and sliding it all across the floor. Eye contact was hard to keep, she decided. The woman pursed her lips, brows narrowing behind her thick-rimmed glasses.
  
  Jenny flicked the edge of the bandage wrapped around her shoulder, finding herself focusing in now on the scratch of the material. The hum of the lights seemed threatening in this new silence. Slowly her gaze slid back over to the woman, who's eyes hadn't left hers.
  
  "I asked you how you are, Jenny. How are you?" The woman continued, with one eyebrow now flexed in an arc. Jenny looked over at the desk in the corner of the room, her gaze resting on a nameplate that was knocked just slightly askew. Maureen Hills.
  
  Jenny looked back over at Miss Hills, finding new life to her bones now that the question she'd been dying for had an answer. Her nail still pulled and ripped at the bandage, feeling a new itch beneath the skin. How did anyone answer a question like that? Survive being stabbed to death... Should be fine, right? Watching your best friend get stabbed to death herself? Totally fine. Being the one to survive out of the two? Well.. maybe not so fine.
  
  The words waited like some sort of boiling pot, festering under her tongue and wanting to loosen. She wished to tell the world that she was scared, all about her nightmares, and that she couldn't even look at a knife without feeling a cold sweat sing through her body. She wished to do anything but sit in this godforsaken room meant for tormented children. She wished she could find her boyfriend and apologize for the awful things she'd said in the hospital room. Jenny wished she could call Maxine at home and ask her about her day.
  
  But she could do none of this. She was a cadaver on the couch, one of the living dead. She'd never watch another scary movie again.
  
  "I'm fine."
  

 

[Lia]

Rodrigo "Rod" Martinez - The Jock



|| Graduating Class of '95. ||
|| 18 years old. ||

|| Brief History/Backstory ||
Rod was born in an impoverished part of town, the son of Mexican immigrants who could barely speak English. His father left the family when he was five and he stayed with his mother, who worked long hours as a cleaning lady for a wealthy family. He has always been interested in sports and has always been very popular. As a child, he spent most of his days hanging out with friends. Since work kept his mother away from home more often than not, he also learned skills like cooking, cleaning and taking care of himself at a young age.

His life only changed when his mother married the rich man she worked for, who owned a famous restaurant chain. Suddenly, Rod found himself living in a huge mansion with a swimming pool and all the luxuries he could have imagined. The new stepfather was cold to him, while the two stepsiblings hated him because they blamed his mother for ruining their father's first marriage, but not everything was bad about that new living arrangement. He started wearing designer clothes and made new friends, got an amazing car for his sixteenth birthday and was able to focus on his dream of pursuing a sports career. The parties he started to attend weren't bad either.

Near his high school graduation, Rod got an excellent scholarship to a good college, because of his participation in the football team, although money was not a problem. His stepfather would have paid any amount to send him away. However, his erratic behavior and his frequent involvement in fights and drinking made the college decide to reconsider whether to accept him. Therefore, his future is uncertain until the college makes this decision, especially since his stepfather intends to kick him out of the house anyway.

|| Personality ||

During childhood, Rod was a kind and understanding boy. He was always charismatic, had a good sense of humor, and was often very concerned about his friends and acquaintances. But the situation changed a bit when his mother got married and his family got rich. The problems and resentment he had to face inside his own home made him impatient and more prone to getting into fights. He also abandoned his childhood friends to start spending time with other groups of people.

When he's alone with someone else, he can usually be as friendly and empathetic as he was when he was younger. However, when he is around a group of people, he tends to become arrogant and loud, especially when his friends are around. This is his way of showing off and getting the attention of others. He has the unconscious fear that others might reject him like his family does, which causes him to have a need to be accepted that often makes him be cruel to some people to get approval from others.

Rod does not usually cry or complain, and seems to be a perfectly happy and confident person to others. The anger he usually feels, as well as the occasional mood swings, are only expressed in the way he treats others. To sum it up, he always goes out of his way to please people, normally his friends, but sometimes other people when they aren't around.

|| Anything Else ||

The desire to be accepted often puts Rod in dangerous situations. For example, he will drink, fight, do drugs and engage in all kinds of activities others are engaging, even if he knows the problems this kind of behavior will cause him later on.

|| Character's Theme ||




|| Writing sample ||


The Spanish teacher was sitting on the other side of the table, staring at Rod with a clear expression of disappointment on her face. Between the two of them, many tests and essays had been spread out on the table. She had called him after class and practically cornered him by the door, even though he had insisted he needed to go to his football practice. So he'd sat down and she had taken out all these papers that showed the low grades Rod had been getting in different subjects. F in algebra, geography and literature. D in Spanish.

"¿Qué pasa, Martinez?" She asked. Rod snorted and shrugged. The teacher shook her head and went back to speaking in English. "You speak fluent Spanish. It doesn't make sense that you got a D in my class. Nor does it make sense that you're failing every other subject. If this continues, I'm going to be forced to talk to your coach. You know you need decent grades to be part of the team."

"I'm about to graduate. Can't I have a break?" He asked, and then sighed. "It just feels so pointless sometimes. The college wants to suspend my scholarship. What am I supposed to do if that happens?"

Rod crossed his arms. It wasn't fair. He'd been caught doing drugs and maybe he should take it easy with all the fighting, yes, but he'd been doing his best at football for years. And he'd also managed to keep his grades reasonable through most of high school, though never particularly high. He was a tall, muscular young man, but he suddenly felt very small sitting in that chair. The teacher took a deep breath.

"I don't know what you're going to do if that happens, but I know what you can do now. Bring your grades up. Stay on the team. Maybe everything will work out in the end," she said. Rod didn't like the word she used. Maybe. Yes, maybe it would all work out in the end, but maybe it would not. All he wanted was to go to practice and be able to forget about this for just a few minutes, focus on the sport. He almost sighed in relief when the teacher finally dismissed him.

He hurried through the corridors to get to the locker room. The coach would certainly scold him for being late. A younger student passed Rod in the hallway clutching some books to his chest and he purposely bumped into him. All the books fell to the floor and Rod stomped over them, crushing cover and pages with his sneakers as he continued his way out of the school building without looking back. "Watch where you're going, you little shit," he teased. But he soon regretted it.

He had to toe the line. Stay on the team, bring his grades up, stop fighting. He stopped walking and turned around to make sure the student wasn't hurt. Toe the line. Stay on the team. Bring grades up. Stop fighting. He had to do all of that, and then maybe things would work out for him.

Maybe.

 

[The Cat Man]

Endless darkness breezed through the claustrophobic array of neat blazers, silky skirts and far much more outfits that the waking boy could feel all around his torso, he can even recognize some of them from feeling the texture and recalling his memory, tugging at many of these to beg for something... or perhaps just because it felt nice to touch as he looked up to the hands that rocked the cradle. Even just being here, Aleks felt the warming embrace of his parents, he didn't feel itchy or sneezy, he could even just sleep here on his favorite red pajamas with his trusty friend Dr. Uck, and when he wakes up, he'd throw himself to his parents who would take a good scare from it, but they'd playfully laugh as he hugged them, looking up with a toothy grin.

Thump.​

The sound of Aleks' own surprisingly loud heartbeats spooked him into proper conscience, looking around sheepishly as his mind wandered off into rationality. Why was he here on his parents' closet? As nice as it feels, it's not like this is somewhere Aleks walks around in frequently, so his mind wandered as he sat up from his fetal position, itching his eyes with his hands to shake off the drowsiness.

Did his parents ask him to get something?
...No, they left to get some late groceries.

Did that mean Aleks was alone on his house?
...No, they went at night because they were waiting for-

Thump.​

My brother.
Ezekiel, his other half, maybe a little too petty sometimes, but they're inseparable, after all, they're heroes going on adventures all around the world! Setting up traps to catch a burglar or scaring off an evil priestess, they're a duo!
Just as how Aleks feels loved by his parents, it's the same for his brother, but it's a little different. It's like... It's like they're Power Rangers, in a way, maybe Aleks is a little more inexperienced but in the end, they're in the same position. He feels it when they used to run around the overgrown grass fields back when they were younger, that feeling of the wind running across his cheeks as Ezekiel pulled him, just fooling around... It felt unforgettable...
...used to...

Thump.​

...So why is Aleks here again?
His brother must've asked him to, but no matter what, he can't remember.
In fact, he can't remember anything properly from this day.
It's a little spooky... but it's ok!
I just have to get out there and find out!

Thump.​

The room's darkness felt like nothing but a breeze, he's on his house, nothing can happen in his house! Aleks is loved here, so it's always safe, there's no monsters here!

Thump.​

Aleks wondered why his face was so wet as he skipped down the hallway, noticing the moving shadow on the humming echo of the light under his brother's bedroom doorframe.

Thump.​

The first thing Aleks noticed was that his heartbeat wasn't loud, it was just being accompanied.
The second thing he noticed was something red.
His favorite color! That's the secret of his favorite pajamas!
It must be nice if it's red!
...But what is it? Aleks needed to squint a little closer...

​

there's also something black there
it's red too
itsreditssoreditsjustreditshimhesredalloverhesnothingbutredredredredredredwhyisheredplasemakehimnotredidontlikeitwhenheslikeredthisisabadprankzekepleasestoppleasewakeupanddontberedanymorepleasepleasepleaseimsorryimsorryforleavingtheclosetitsmyfaultishouldnthaveleftimsorrypleasedontberedtheblackthingiscOMINGAFTERMEICANTMOVEPLEASEHELPMEHELPIMSORRYIDONTWANTTOBEREDPLEAS

i spy something gold and red

THUM-

"AAAAAAAAAARRg-..."

Aleksander hurriedly looked around as his right hand instinctively raised upwards, a cold sweat running around his back as nothing but silence responded to his fearful screams, his hyperventilation filled the thrownabout bedroom with nothing more than a deep pity as the shadows mocked this act of comedic tragedy, his nerves calming down as Aleks stared down into his grown hands, now wet with tears, and long deprived of that nurturing warmth or that exciting tug he still remembers. Aleks figured his dad must've left for the pub again if he didn't storm in by now, the visits get more frequent near the anniversary, he shook his head as he buried it in his hands, leaning back into the bedframe as he slowly revealed his gaze into his bedroom's door, or rather, staring directly at what would've been a clear view of his dead brother's bedroom if both doors were open.

One isn't open due to paranoia.
One isn't open because it's not being used anymore.

Aleks held a vague expression as his emotions went through turbulence, unable to remain still as they nonsensically floated throughout his mind, giving him a headache and a sigh.

"...One of those nights." Aleks spoke to himself as he reached for his nightstand drawer, scavenging for the right pills, not even looking at the clock as Aleks' hands carefully but uncaringly sorted through the medicin-THUMP.

His petrified gaze shot straight at the source of the noise... A fallen stack of books.
A sarcastic laughter followed soon after the realization as Aleks retrieved what he was looking for.

"...Still waiting for you to pick me up, Zeke." Words uttered to someone that will never listen as Aleks went to his escape, leaving his emotions behind for something that makes him feel ok again.

---

oh to get involved in the exchange
of human emotions



​

Aleksander Herrington​

The Broken Prodigy​

Class of '95 - 18​

"Boo, I'm a ghost."

The Herringtons were once, as they call it, suburban town royalty. His father was a well-respected and loved local highschool teacher, Stanley Herrington made math class likeable to thousands of bored and impulsive students, his work was admired by parent and teacher alike. His mother's legendary cooking made the life of many parties across the street, many stomachs were filled by Dalia Herrington's chicken pie. Their sons were bright kids, though a little rebellious with pranks and jokes from school to home, everyone had many expectations from their high grades, Ezekiel's acting was captivating and emotional as shown by his theater trophy while Aleksander seemed to be following his father's footsteps. Although some hated them for more specific reasons, they really were a nice family.

Then 1985 happened.
Many rumors are spoken of that night in the house, the only one who knows for certain what happened are the siblings, the police and the killer. The only certainty was that Ezekiel was found bludgeoned to death by his own trophy while their parents went out for late groceries, some say you can still find part of his brain on the bedroom floor, some say Aleks saw everything happen hiding on the closet. The looks of admiration changed to pity as the Herringtons grieved for their dead son, the mother couldn't handle being in the town any longer and left as soon as the massacre passed, continuing to financially help the two but refusing to ever come back. The father returned to the school a few months after, while many still consider him a great teacher, his smile never quite returned, and rumors are that some see him in certain nights down at the bar.

Aleks definitely got the short end of the stick, constant interrogation by the police when he witnessed nothing over their parents' closet but his brother's agonizing pain via his screams and the bloody aftermath of the scene on his bedroom as part of Ezekiel's head was battered down, the trauma essentially making him close down for many years, refusing to ever talk again. And in those many years, many visits to doctors were made, and in those visits, many drugs were administered. His father wanted nothing but to help his last remaining family, and didn't realize the more open Aleks got, the more addicted he was.

And so, Aleks' high school years were spent in a desperate attempt to pretend everything was fine, ignoring the whispers and gossips of his health as he tried to just float by it, uncertain of everything beyond as Aleks just lived because he was too scared to die. Not many chose to approach Aleks, but he always tried to be nice and welcoming, even trying to mimic his brother's sarcastic quips, to truly convince himself that everything is fine.

And Aleks sometimes likes to say that now, he's just as a good actor as his brother.

"...Just trying to make things work."

Aleksander has turned into only but a hollowed husk of his former self, a solitary person that doesn't like to get too involved with anyone as he tries to look forward in the best way he can. His solemnity is not out of paranoia or guilt, but just that it hurts too much to care for something nowadays, if he starts to care, then he'll blame himself even more for becoming like this, so he remains in stagnancy as the world moves faster than he ever could. Aleks' friendly demeanor does still remain in him, even if it's a lot more meek and passive, he's still a nice person to those who approach, he can even be a little snarky at times if he's in a good mood, though Aleks likes to distance himself quickly, he's not one to forget friendships. His addiction is very present on his life, Aleks probably doesn't fully realize that he's addicted to the pills but knows that he relies on them in dark times, he is actively trying to get off them, but he can't handle the withdrawal symptoms, so he relapses and tries again constantly. As graduation night rings closer, Aleks' idea of future is looming closer than ever, he is uncertain of what he'll do at that point and he's terrified of it, still lost in the shadows of that night, his mind looks desperately for ways to escape the loneliness and the anxiety that he has placed upon himself.

"...Sorry, didn't mean to hear that..."

As for his home life, Aleks' father hardly looks at him anymore, both guilt and disappointment running through his mind as his son withers away, incapable of facing the truth as his happy family ended a long time ago, running away to drinks when his mind runs too far from comfort. Aleks' effective parental abandonment made him much more independent, having to learn to take care of the house on his own and such, another way to pretend that everything is fine. His brother's closed room is a constant reminder of the tragedy he witnessed even if Aleks hardly remembers what he actually saw that night anymore because the trauma, the drugs and his fertile imagination, most of his memories before that have begun to turn vague as well.

All that Aleks remembers for sure is that he saw something on that bedroom that fateful Friday night when he left his parents' closet to check a noise, something that was red.
And of course, the sheer trauma of seeing something like that when you're just a kid weighed on his shoulders forever.

Aleks' school life is a little more bearable for him, everyone knows what happened to what was once a perfect family, maybe with some more truth or some more lies, but all that bothers him in there are the gossiping about his past and his loneliness, and he just has no care left for his societal position anymore. Surprisingly enough, Aleks still remains with great grades, perhaps he works more like a robot now or the assignments give Aleks something more of a challenge, some even say his father is pulling strings as well, but that's out of his realm of information.

As Aleks' highschool days rear it's finale, he only hopes that he can find a light to live by again, out of Newby or not, he doesn't know, he just wants to live again.

And who knows, maybe graduation night can give him something to die for.​

 

[idalie]

• — 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚜.
• — 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊.
• — 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.
• — 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎.
• — 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎.

• 
  
  Name. Colt B. Callaway.
  Nickname(s). CC, Cal
  Age. 29
  Role. Washed-up Jock.
  Theme.
  
  
• 
  
  Colt Callaway was a talker, the relentless social butterfly who couldn’t help but strike up conversation with just about anyone, owed it to an inborn natural charisma. The only son of a single parent, he was a compassionate kid with a big heart, left to raise himself during his mother's evening shifts and hitch lifts to Football practice. A hard worker with a solid loyalty, he’d always been down to Earth, understood consequences better than most and failure’s high costs. Yet as misfortune finds unlucky bedfellows, Colt would be forever changed after that night in ‘85.
  
  He got angry. He got mean. Survivor’s guilt, of having caught Dunne face to face and unable to keep a grip - he’d only been eighteen, barely a man and still he believed if only he could’ve stopped it sooner, he could’ve protected his classmates, the girl he loved, the beginning of a long future for them all. Callaway fell prone to undiagnosed disorders, undeserved and often suffocating fame. Alcoholism, substance abuse, petty theft, and hotwiring cars, his behaviours appeared some vendetta of self-destruction. Arrested and tried on various charges, worsening after the loss of his mother.
  
  While paranoid, Callaway still retains a portion of his sanity, assaulted under regular impulsive hedonism to attempt burying the repressed trauma further - he’s a pessimistic bastard with wry wit and no will to make anything good out of himself. Yet you’ll find he's a willing shoulder to cry on, a friendly face in the quiet of a summer afternoon, sorta guy to offer you a beer and sit back to watch the world go by. A good example of what could happen if you didn’t apply yourself - the kind of life where you’re just sitting around, waiting to die.
  
  But who doesn’t want to go out with a bang?
• 
  
  Newby County, born and raised, Colt’s tale of fractured family and relative poverty proved familiar to any disadvantaged youth. An abusive, substance-abusing drunk for a father and angel of a mother, he recalled much of his childhood to be noisy. Breaking glass and thudding fists, dark sunglasses over bruised eyes, his mother never complained once. Though the day his father lay a hand on Colt for talking up about it, was the day his mother knew they needed to leave. Moving from domestic violence shelters into low-income housing, flats with black mould and damp mattresses, it took years before they had a place to call their own.
  
  Momma was a waitress, worked around the clock to support them and while she was busy, Callaway raised himself on reheated dinners and sitting in the apartment complex’s laundry rooms. There’d always be some old fella down there to palm you dimes or quarters with a wry wink, tellin’ you to fetch yourself something nice. Colt had a hard childhood, but it was never a bad one.
  
  Scuffles and scrapes are the types of things expected of young boys trying to fit in, and while he was a cheerful personality of great confidence and charisma, Colt was known for getting into trouble. Though he’d never shied away from the repercussions, didn’t think it was right to hide from consequence.
  
  Sports became his first great love, always running, playing Little Leagues baseball, soccer, hell, anything he could throw himself into physically. With a real talent for it, attending high school was a big step into what he could achieve as an athlete. Try-outs for the Newby Spartans opened that door of possibilities, coaches who told him he could make something of himself, he could attend college if he trained hard. Not having to resort to labour or retail, but an honest to god degree certificate.
  
  Callaway was just some brat with a heart of tarnished gold, there wasn’t a person back then who could say they didn’t like the kid - sure he was uppity, a little hot-headed here and there, but chatty and pleasant to his classmates. Colt and Pedro Dias met in their Sophomore year, fast-friends and tight-knit, if not for their differing love of soccer and football. Dias had always been brighter than him, had a gravity you could respect. Thick as thieves, in truth, they were harmless.
  
  Then there was Jenny. The girl from the nice house with the nice family in the nice part of town. They’d been friends for years and by the time he was sixteen, their first kiss marked something more. Hell, he was an average-looking John from Newby County and she was a blonde-haired stunner with real presence. He’d work part-time over at the local mechanics, pick her up from practice and they’d go tearing down every goddamn country path set across the way - listening to cassettes and chain-smoking cheap cigarettes.
  
  Jenny’s parents would never have agreed to it, all that sneaking around a quintessential romance of two teenagers stuck in love. They were good together. They were something.
  
  By graduation, Colt had his football scholarship - had his plans to leave Newby and never go back, send money for his mother and work hard to get her a retirement on his dime. Him and Jenny, he’d always assumed they’d stay together - especially once they’d told their friends about the relationship. He’d write and call, visit her when he could from his chosen college and once they were both qualified, Colt believed they’d get whatever happy ending was waiting.
  
  That night was supposed to be the happiest of their lives.
  
  But he and Jenny had a fight, Colt cooling his temper to find Dias - having not seen him since they’d parted while the party wound down. Uncovering Pedro and Patricia’s bodies, Colt was too late to stop Dunne. The night a blur of blood, but Maxine’s mangled cries and Jenny’s assumed death was enough for Callaway to throw himself into chasing his classmate.
  
  Wrestling Dunne onto the pavement, Callaway had him face to face - hands around the killer’s neck. He caught the sharp end of the knife, nicking his face and arm, said he’d cave Dunne’s head in. Until Dunne got the advantage and slipped away, followed by the bruised and beaten Colt before being apprehended by police. They called him a hero for that.
  
  No funds for therapy, medical bills for his superficial lacerations, a girlfriend in a hospital bed who cleaved his heart in two - Callaway changed overnight. After the massacre, he withdrew. Guilt, depression, paranoia, and no way of making it stop. That promising young man was kicked out of college for not showing up, sent packing back home to work manual labour, seeing the same faces who had all expected more. Initially, that pedestal was recognition for a good thing. Though over the months, the years, it was a curse; Colt Callaway? What wasted potential. As if everyone had a right to tell him what they thought.
  
  Age twenty-two, Colt’s mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They didn’t have the money to pay for it. So she let herself die like a good martyr, hiding it right up until the pain tore her apart. Her prescription painkillers were something always in excess, and throughout the years, he devolved into the same man they’d run away from.
  
  He buried his mother three days after his twenty-third birthday.
  
  A functioning alcoholic and regular opioid addict, Colt could hide it until he got fired over regular tardiness - returning to petty crime and handyman work. A social outcast with unpaid tabs on everything, Callaway’s trailer is known only for the survivor’s role in the ‘85 massacre, and its paranoid resident sleeping with a loaded gun.
• 
  
  Height. 6’1”
  Weight. 187 lbs
  Hair Colour. Brown
  Eye Colour. Blue
  
  Something of a boyish charmer in his heyday, Colt’s always been known for those Buster Keaton eyes and thick, expressive brows. An unconventional man of sloping jaw and high cheekbones, his features border on slender though not sharp, centred by a thin-bridged nose which has always been a little on the big side. Untamed hair and sleepless, haggard features, Callaway now sports a thick on-brand tache and sculpted sideburns.
  
  A broad chest, smattered by dark hair and tapering in at the waist, Colt never lost the muscle. Retaining much of his strength weightlifting and occasionally coaching, Cal’s love of sports didn’t die with the rest of him. Appearing straight out of a Magnum P.I. screening, his fondness for Hawaiian shirts, dark sunglasses and white vests is rampant in the bachelor’s wardrobe - it’d be incomplete without a cigarette hanging off his lip.
  
  Perfumed by tobacco, whiskey and undertones of three-day-old coffee, his prime is all spent up. Sunkissed skin losing its glow years back, the scarring under his left eye remains as a permanent memoir. Never handsome, but always with charm to spare.
• 
  
  An eerie quiet fell over the small box-room, curtains drawn to birdsong and sunlight gently prying beneath as warm rays filtered over the boy's face. He lay on his side, deathly still, all ache and bandage - empty-eyed and dull. Hours had been spent in that stagnant interrogation room, released into a crowd of cameras and clamouring questions. Youth never believed death would come for them, that it was in some way indifferent and respectful of their short lives - when you were eighteen, you could live forever.
  
  “Colt?”
  
  Shifting slightly without answer, his mother’s silhouette lingered by the door, hair pushed back over her shoulder and cardigan hugged tight against a painfully thin frame, “You gotta eat, can’t keep lyin’ there like that sweetheart. Come out an’ sit with me.”
  “They ain’t even cold in the ground yet.” He testily replied, voice nothing but a taut knot of hoarse grief.
  “Colt you ain’t helpin’ no one like this.” She broke the threshold, warily edging closer to clasp a hand over his shoulder for a squeeze, earning his frigid wrench from the touch.
  
  “Please would you just … do anythin’, do anythin’ but lie there with that - that look on your face,” His mother finally broke, trying to glimpse his face.
  “Don’t you see? Everyone else got a future after this. Everyone else got a future but Dias is dead, an’ Jenny’s gone. An’ all these … all these people keep talkin’. Thankin’ me. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t save no one. But Dunne got away with it, ain’t that funny? Died quicker than he killed Maxine. Couldn’t say that to her parents though, could I?”
  
  Silence again occupied the space between them, drawn in a concerned breath. “Colt-”
  “So I’m sorry, I really am,” Callaway spat, “‘Cause it ain’t somethin’ you or anyone else can fix.”

 

[Geun Sae]

Anyone interested in learning more about Newby County and the Massacre of 85' can learn more here:

Realistic or Modern - Lore and Locations

NEWBY HIGH GRAD RESPONSIBLE FOR GRAD NIGHT KILLINGS The Newby County Sheriff's Department confirmed on Monday morning that Newby High School Graduate Micheal Dunne, 18, was responsible for the killings that took place Friday night. Officials state that Dunne killed seven of his classmates in a...

www.rpnation.com

I'll have more info coming in soon!

 

[temporarybliss]

‘That Edgy Chick’

||NAME||
Nicole 'Nic' Dune

||AGE||
15

||APPEARANCE||


||BRIEF HISTORY/BACKSTORY||

Nicole Dune is the bad girl, otherwise known as the edgy chick that practically everyone goes to for a party, a smoke, or even a quick fuck. As a child she was radiant and sweet, even though her mother was a teen when she had her her grandparents always provided for them as her Dad was practically a deadbeat, ignoring her mother at school and acting like Nicole didn't even exist. It was hell for her mother, however it never affected Nic because her Mom refused to let him hurt their daughter.... Instead, he did something much worse.

Unbeknownst to her until she was twelve, Nicole's father was none other than the Newby Killer. He was responsible for the massacre back in 1985 and it was kept a secret by her family until parents at her middle school found out and demanded she be moved elsewhere, then her mother had no choice but to tell her. Her mother feels immensely guilty for what happened back then and even more guilty for her daughter having to deal with the backlash now, so, on occasion, she’ll drink too much. Not that her mother is a bad mom or an alcoholic, but when you fucked a murderer and lived to tell the tale with a child of all things, a little drinking is to be expected.

Given that Nic is a few years younger than the seniors, it’s a bit of a shock that she hangs out with them, but when a kid can get you drugs and alcohol why not make them part of your group? She’s always been with those older than her, since she was a freshman. Now as a sophomore, most of her friends are graduating and while she tells them they’re lame for going to college, deep down she wants to escape Denby, and the evil shadow of her father, just as badly as they do.

||PERSONALITY||

Considering Nicole hangs out with older classmates, she’s mature for her age, at least she likes to think so. She’s known for being the dropout character, but of course it’s not like she’s any less of a stoner either. Nic is relatively cold and sarcastic, and you can see that when she interacts with her friends and even those she doesn’t know. She thinks of herself as above those her age, and even some older than herself. The people below her are just too annoying for their own good. Perhaps she’s a narcissist, then again look at who her dad is? Although she puts on a good face, Nic does feel a lot of guilt for what her Dad did, but she still hates hearing people talk about him and in relation, her. She's been known to get into fights, especially when being teased about anything having to do with 1985. She's a hotheaded sixteen year old with eyes on her at all times because of a man she never even met, and she hates him for it.


||ANYTHING ELSE||

Nic makes a lot of Daddy Issues jokes ever since finding out who her father was. It drives her mom crazy but she thinks it’s hysterical. Also, she’s not the most confident person in the world, so she overcompensates for the traits she thinks she lacks in, like dressing older than a usual fifteen year old would. Another thing is that Nic will use her sexual promiscuity to get what she wants. She’s threatened to expose cheating boyfriends and tell on a teacher if they didn’t pay her or raise her grade or do whatever else she wanted.

||NIC’S THEME||
'Welcome to Paradise' Green Day

||WRITING SAMPLE||
​

It had been hours since Nic arrived at the hospital. The last time she saw a nurse, she was informed that her Mom couldn’t have visitors yet. She was already a disheveled mess after everything that happened that night, but that wasn't what was important right now. Right now, she was focused on someone else. Her mother almost died, and she watched as it happened. As much as she hated to admit it, she was scared. Nicole didn't have many people, and if her Mom died she wasn't sure what she'd do with herself.

Stop thinking like that.

She had to get her mind off of the what-ifs. Her friends were safe, and for now, her mom was safe. The girl stood, not exactly knowing where she was going, but she was getting restless. Those words continued to run through her head, they could've been the last thing she ever said to her. Before she could get any further on that train of thought though, she watched a nurse come from the wing her mother was in.

"Can I see her?" Nic blurted, "Cathy Harold, I mean."

It was getting dark outside, and she knew that visiting hours had to be almost over, but.... She had to see her, at least just to make sure she was okay with her own eyes.

The nurse began to shake her head, parting her lips to speak before Nic beat her to it, "Please." She begged, trying to stand her ground. "I'm just really worried about him, y'know?"

By looking at Nicole you wouldn't be able to tell how worried she really was unless you looked into her eyes which had been glassed over since she arrived.

The nurse looked down at the girl, crossing her arms before shaking her head again, "Come on then."

Nic was led down the nearly silent hallway, her arms crossed across her chest nervously as the nurse stopped and entered one of the rooms. As her eyes came to rest on the visibly injured Cathy, the nurse gave her a push before cracking the door. The blonde walked in, not exactly sure what to say. She really didn't think she'd get to see her tonight.The silence was becoming almost deafening, so she blurted out the first words that came to mind.

"Hey."

 

[Walliver]

Finished!

ROSA

1985

original

FC: Nadia Hilker

Esther

coded by xayah.

Scroll

(writing sample/survivor details)

Rosalia never wanted to attend graduation night, or the graduation ceremony for that matter. It was a waste of time, she should have been sleeping instead of partying or participating in some pointless ceremony where they gave her a diploma she had already earned. Besides, big crowds made her anxious. Being the resident "basket case" of the group, it wasn't unexpected for her to feel that way, and her friends usually just went without her. But this time her friends were relentless and only let up when she begrudgingly agreed to go to graduation night with them.

She had never regretted a single decision more in her life.

Rosalia pressed the palm of her hand against her bleeding side, panting as she ran from the person she may have once considered her best friend: Michael Dunne. She had seen something sinister flash in his eyes, just before he buried the knife in her side. She was still in shock from the attack, from the sheer impossibility of it all. But it couldn't be anything else but true, she had seen it with her own two eyes. Michael Dunne, one of the kindest people she had ever known, was a cold-blooded killer. Rosalia could hear the terror throughout the block, cries of agony and the last screams of death.

Her floral dress was stained with blood, darkening as she kept running. As she saw the familiar lawn flamingos of her parents' house, the pain hit. Burning, ripping through her as she stumbled through the doorway. She laid a bloodied hand on the phone, dialing 9-1-1. "There's a killer on the loose-" she gasped. "Michael Dunne- Michael Dunne is the killer!"

"Survive this."

Scroll

Rosalia lost both of her best friends the night of the massacre. First, Patricia Tomlinson, who had sat next to her in every class they had together, just to make sure she was comfortable and happy. And she lost Michael Dunne, who seemed to be the only one who understood her, and the one that nearly killed her.

She has one scar from her encounter with Dunne, a knife wound deep in her left side. It still bothers her from time to time, if she stretches too much or exercises too hard.

Her 80s Theme:

• 00
• 111
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• 444444

• main menu
• BASICS

  Rosalia Esther

  Rosa or Lia

  28 years old

  5'9"

  1985 Survivor

  College professor
• PERSONALITY

  Before the 1985 Massacre, Rosalia was shy, self-conscious, and afraid to stand out at all. She had a small group of friends, but it was mostly Patricia and Michael that she stuck around with. After the killings, she sort of just...let go. She styled her hair, wore different clothing, and her personality was on the completely opposite end of the spectrum. She was kind, approachable, and more of an extrovert than she'd ever been in her life. The truth was, she had just buried the darkness she felt, wrapped it in a false personality and distracted herself in getting her psychology degree.
  
  She still feels numb and destructive from time to time, having once shattered her living room window in a fit of rage and remembering. She tends to avoid her fellow survivors, afraid that seeing them again will open old wounds and turn her back into the scared little girl she used to be....
  
  
• BIOGRAPHY

  Before the massacre, Rosalia was a nobody. But after? After the massacre she was a celebrity. It seemed like everyone in town wanted to meet her, wanted to get to know her. But she really only ever talked to the reporters about what happened.
  
  "Most of the night was a blur. But I remember Michael vividly- his suit was pristine, he was so proud of it. He was walking me to the party and he just...he just snapped, I guess. He took out the knife, stabbed me right in the gut, and he only got a few words out before I started running. He told me that I wasn't the first, and I wouldn't be the last. So I pulled the knife out, threw it to the ground, and I ran. I had never run that fast before...I didn't even recognize the man I was running from. It was like...this whole personality he had built for himself, it was all a lie. He was just getting close to me to- to- no more questions, please."
  
  After the massacre, Rosalia left town, though she kept in touch with her friend, Joseph Willbey. She had a scholarship to attend one of the best psychology programs in the country, which she gladly accepted as an excuse to leave town. She buried herself in work, eventually graduating from the institute with a PhD in psychology, and then accepted a job teaching that same subject at the institute. But now, she's returned to Newby County, for the 10th anniversary of the most horrific night of her life.
  
  

HME

ONE

TWO

THREE

< 3

Kids these days...

© PASTA​

 

[Geun Sae]

Just a note since somebody asked, if your character survived the original 85' massacre, just leave the details of their encounter with Dunne and I'll write it into the lore tab

 

[Knight boi]

“The Freakshow.”


> taxidermist <

> Class of 85’ Survivor <


> NAME <
Joseph Willbey

> Age <
29

> History/Backstory <

Joseph was always called the freak show in high school only being popular for being weird , often being brutally bullied for being a ‘freak’ ,often being into nerdy stuff and not being that into sports. Though that was not the only thing that caused the bullying, it was also appeared that his mom slept with multiple men who had wives and often hated for it. Though on the lighter side he was also friends with Michael Dune and Rosa Esther.

When the massacre happend he had a confrontation with Dune, they had a simple talk, he asked why he was doing this and if he could help him stop in anyway, which after the death of a couple, he knew that he had lost his close friend, feeling like he should’ve done more to prevent this from even happening.

Though Joseph is often sweet to his mom who’s was a single parent and a caring woman, often showing appreciation and always taking care of her, being a caring man as his mom was before him.

Though after the killings came to a stop, Joseph had only gained high suspicion of his encounter with Dune and coming out of the massacre with little to none injuries, though after the heat and fame of it came to a stop, he put his word out there that gained multiple enemies amongst his back, calling out all of the bullies for being one of the main reasons so many people died that day.

Though once the story wasn’t the hottest topic in the whole damn nation , he lived with his mother for a year not wanting to live alone, feeling like Micheal really wasn’t dead and could pop under his bed and kill him right then and there. Though he did keep in touch with one person, and that would be one of his freinds that he only had besides Micheal. Rosa Esther. She and him communicated quite frequently, and their friendship only grew from there often calling one another just to make sure they were really okay.
> Personality <

Though on the outside, he appears to be a nerdy and awkward man, often causing both him and other people to be uncomfortable at times when he’s interacting with people, often just being awkward as fuck and nervous especially around woman in general.

Though in the inside, he’s actually quite dark and corrupt, often seeming like an alien who watches videos on how to be a human, talking like the people from the old days in particlary cases, he could also seem as brutally hones not able to read the room right at times and being a joy killer for others, he truly is a freak-show some might say.

> Theme <



> Writing Sample <

Joseph was walking on the sidewalk after he had just finished a slasher movie in the theaters, he was thinking about a single scene , it was dark, the victim taped to a chair and their arms and legs tied together. The tears of the girl violently flowing through her face as her fate was permanently sealed. She would die. He recalled the blood that splattered against the wall and the masked killer who used a buzz saw to violate the teenage girl.

As he continued to walk, putting his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets to protect his fingers from the cold breeze that started arise, he then turned to an angle as he then quickly approached his house that was allocated in the entrance of the woods, as he opened his garage, it was covers in multiple corpses of skinned deer and meat buckets. As he then started to pull out the tools, as he watched the deer corpses hang on the meat hooks, the garage was freezing as it’s main job was to preserve the meats from being damaged. He then walked into the house as he put on layers of clothing to prevent to much blood and to prevent the cold from taking a toll. Once he returned he let out a sigh.

“Time to get to work.”

As soon as he said that he quickly pulled out a knife as he stabbed into the meat, starting to grab the soft skin of the while tail buck as he continued to slice, eventually pulling the skins completely off. He signed as he put the skin in the red bucket before pulling a jigsaw, and sawing off the legs and arms, as he put them in the red tub again. He slightly shamed his black leather gloves as blood splattered into the floor, sighing from slight exhaustion. As he examined the corpse.

“Beautiful…..”

He said as he sighed sitting in a chair before Turing his head to look at the deer skulls that he himself earned in his own hunting trips , alongside other different skulls of animal, some wolves, boars and even a bear for Christ sakes! He was a skilled hunter for sure.

​

 

[Geun Sae]

Added some information about Newby County for those curious!

Realistic or Modern - OOC Grad Night

DEATHS: - All players must post at least once every three days. Failure to do so will result in your character being on the chopping block. - If at any time you lose interest or cannot commit to the Roleplay, please DM so that we can give your character closure as not to slow the experience for...

www.rpnation.com

And here's the OOC for anyone who has any questions

 

[Geun Sae]

Also! Anyone who's writing a character who survived the original massacre, feel free to DM me if you would like. I may use quotes or additional info to write up profiles or news reports about the 85' killings

 

[BloodThunder27]

The Disgraced Prodigal Athlete|| Name ||
Justina Kiyoko Ishimoto

|| Age ||
18

|| Appearance ||

|| Brief History/Backstory ||
Justina was born into a reasonably well off family in the vibrant city of Los Angeles, California. While her family could have easily lived it large, her parents wanted a normal life, away from the bustling city life. When she was about two-years-old, the Ishimoto Family moved to Newby, Illinois, a small, quiet town where she and her older sister can grow up more peacefully. For the most part, that was what they got, a peaceful and quiet life aside from the occasional parties and teen mischief, but nothing really out of the ordinary. That is until 1985 rolled around. Although she was eight-years-old at the time, Justina's life saw some bad changes following the notorious Massacre of '85. Her Sister became more and more distant following that and the sister-sister relationship became strained over time. Coming to terms with it a few years later, Justina began building her own life, after her Sister left town to 'get away for a while'.

In 1991, Justina entered High School herself, where she quickly made a name for herself in the Girl's Basketball Team. While Basketball was her primary school sport, Justina was an all-around sports enthusiast, including the more extreme ones. Sadly, everything crashed for her in her Senior Year after a pregnancy test came back positive. As the pregnancy progressed, she dropped out of P.E and all eyes were on her as soon as word got out that she was expecting triplets! Now, in the final day of her pregnancy, Justina hopes to skim through grad night. As she is due to give birth literally the day after grad night, Justina intends to take time off school so that she can focus on childcare while trying to figure out how to balance being a Mom of Three and going to school. Having lost her Basketball Scholarship due to the fact that she got pregnant, Justina plans to go to Community College.

|| Personality ||​

Justina is a Carefree, Easygoing and a Thrill-seeker. Since life is really short, gotta live a little, right? As an Athlete though, Justina is also very hyperactive and loves to talk about Sports in general, it can be as simple as Ball Sports, like American Football, Basketball or Volleyball, something relaxing like Bowling, or as crazy as Snowboarding or Motocross! She is happy to talk about it all! However, she has calmed down quite a bit since getting pregnant, as she wants to make sure that she will set a good example for her children and will be a good mother. From Extreme Thrill-seeking Athlete...to maybe a Super-Mom? Big jump, yes, but can she find the balance between them? Only time will tell.

|| Anything Else ||
-She is Thirty-Six weeks Pregnant with Triplets (Scheduled to be induced on the day after graduation night)

-Babies were conceived naturally (With Triplets, its every 1 in 10,000 pregnancies)
-She will start crying if a sharp object gets too close to her belly
-Expecting Two Boys and One Girl
-Favorite Maternity Wear are Floral Maxi Dresses and Cardigans
|| Your Character's Theme ||
​

---

|| Name ||
Nanami Kimiko Ishimoto

|| Age ||
28

|| Appearance||

|| Brief History/Backstory ||
Nanami spent the first ten years of her life in the vibrant city of Los Angeles before her family moved to Newby, Illinois for a quiet and peaceful life in sharp contrast of the vibrant life that Los Angeles had to offer. Unlike her younger sister, who was into sports, Nanami was more of the Academic type, instead focusing on her studies and didn't really give extracurriculars much of a second look. She would go on to graduate in 1985 as Newby High's Valedictorian, but her graduation night would unfortunately go down in infamy following a brutal massacre.

Since then, Nanami became much more aloof and distant, often keeping to herself, though she claimed it was to focus on school, having gone to College in her hometown of Los Angeles and attending the University of California and graduated in 1989 with a Bachelor's Degree in Theater Studies. Although she didn't let others know, Nanami started going to therapy during the second half of her College tenure, haunted by the massacre.

After graduating, Nanami began traveling, enabled by the wealth of her family and, by the start of her Sister's Senior Year, had gotten pregnant with twins, not knowing that it was the result of a one-night stand during her trip in Europe. With no real way to track down the Father of the children she carried, Nanami has resolved to raise her children in this town. With her Sister being pregnant as well and with Triplets no less, the Ishimoto Sisters have made the promise to raise their children together side by side.

|| Did your character receive any injuries or scars during the original massacre? Did they lose any friends or family? ||
While Nanami received no physical scars or injuries, she was devastated by the deaths of Wanda Jeffries and Stacy Mills in particular. She was lucky to have not lost any family that day, but the loss of good friends hurt just as much. Her Nightmare did not end there; she witnessed Dunne stabbing Patricia Tomlinson and some of the other woman's blood splattered onto her face. After Dunne was no longer present, Patricia died in Nanami's arms, who struggled to comfort her in her final moments...

|| Personality ||
Nanami is known to be an Honest and Polite Woman, but was also Assertive and true to her beliefs. Just a regular woman living a regular life, or at least she thought so. Unfortunately, she took a turn for the worst, becoming both Aloof and Abrasive following the '85 Massacre as witnesses the brutal demises of her classmates, people whom she had spent much of her time with for four years, brutally murdered by another classmate who snapped, likely after years of being bullied. Such a bloody event had a bad effect on the once calm and focused young woman...

|| Anything Else ||
-Like her younger Sister, Nanami is also pregnant, but with Twins and is thirty-nine weeks along, three weeks ahead of her baby sister
-While most twins are born around thirty-six weeks, Nanami's babies are being stubborn or so she believes. Since her pregnancy is not as high of a risk, Nanami is just playing the waiting game, whereas her sister cannot

-Twins were conceived naturally (1 in every 250)
-Shares her Sister's liking for Floral Maternity Maxi Dresses
-Expecting One Boy And One Girl
|| Your Character's Theme ||
​

 

[Geun Sae]

Micheal "Billy" Brown - The Party Guy
|| 18 ||

|| Micheal “Billy” Brown was the youngest son of Michelle and Rick Brown, a Chicago real estate investment duo famous for their countless properties around the windy city. The Brown family is undoubtedly the picture of new money. Flashy cars, big houses, and fancy clothes. Since Billy was a young boy he was instilled with the values typical of an uber-wealthy yuppie couple from the midwest. As the youngest child, the Browns saw Billy as an opportunity to make right the wrongs from their previous children. Realizing they’d yet to raise a red-blooded American athlete, the couple decided that Brown’s future was in athletics. He was entered into youth football divisions as soon as he could hold a football.

Despite his aptitude for athletics, Billy was unapologetically bad in school. In fact, it’s a miracle he even graduated in the first place. Most people agree that it wasn’t without a few expensive favors that Billy gets to walk across the stage with a diploma. Even more confusing, Billy is proud to tell anyone who’ll listen his plans to attend Florida State University with a walk-on position as the school’s second-string quarterback.

Throughout high school, Billy was known for two things, football, and parties. Living with yuppie parents who were rarely ever home was a massive win for Billy. Beer-fueled ragers at the Brown house were a staple of Friday nights for Newby High students since Billy was a sophomore.||

|| Loud mouth, small brain, big muscles. What else do you need? Billy's gotten through high school and life in general with the help of his charismatic personality. Billy's philosophy on life is simple; have a good time, and worry about the consequences later. Billy is entirely impulsive, rarely thinking about the damage or consequences of his actions in the long term. Despite his brute strength and force on the field, Billy is known for having the temper of a golden retriever. When his teammate Mickey Mckinley was injured in the playoff game Billy organized a party in his honor and even managed to get his parents to pay off Mckinley's medical bills from his trip to the hospital.

Billy looks forward to becoming an adult. Despite his plans to go to Florida for football and schooling, he has no intention of living the city life his parents or older siblings live. Billy's only goal in life is to return to Newby, have a wife and kids, and coach football for the same school that he spent his best years at. ||

 

[BELIAL.]

​

Chel Lucas

• Basic Info
• Personality
• Biography

• 
  FULL NAME: Michelle Andrea Lucas
  
  NICKNAMES: Chel, M
  
  AGE: 18
  
  HEIGHT: 5'4"
  
  WEIGHT: Around 135 or so lbs, but on the softer side
  
  HAIR COLOUR: Brown-Black
  
  EYE COLOUR: Brown
  
  DESCRIPTION: Chel, despite seeming high nearly all of the time, takes some pride in her physical appearance. Rather than smelling like marijuana all the time-- knowing better than to get the attention of teachers and narcs, she plays it off as some patchouli and orange scent that she wears (usually douses her signature, well-worn military jacket in). She'd rather smell overwhelmingly like anything but weed than get caught. Her dark curls are well maintained, though on particularly bad days that usually follow a bender or two, they can seemingly frizz out into a mock halo around her head. Makeup isn't a necessity, and it never has been. She likes her freckles too much to cover them up like any other girls may.
  
  Her overall demeanor is hardly feminine at all, much to her mother's chagrin. Maybe that's why she slouches a little extra, or carries herself a little heavily, more manly in that way. Chel wears hand-me downs, usually from a box of her father's stuff that no one had wanted to get rid of, or from her older brother.
  
  She's always got a little quirk of a smile on her face, not quite as mocking as she'd like in most cases. Though her face is very emotive and sometimes too expressive, she tends to look more slack jawed and spaced out than focused, even if she is.
  
  FACECLAIM: Kiana Madeira
  
• 
  PERSONALITY: Chel's general motto is not to sweat the small stuff. This is some reflection of her home life being rather tumultuous, and rather than stress out about it and become some uptight prick one day, she's just taking the punches where they come. Life's been a real fucker, but Chel's not one to let it get her down. Bold when she wants to be, and far smarter than she may appear, the stoner prefers to laze in the background and listen instead of directly confront. Again, it's not beyond her, but it'd take quite the commotion or any particular trigger to get her up and going. Easy going and humorous, Chel likes putting smiles on peoples faces. Saying what's on her mind, sometimes in long and winding paragraphs about nothing at all, she likes to instill bemusement and amusement. Her rants can come about from nowhere, but they try to be positive. There's already enough shit and garbage in the world, there's no reason to keep the negativity festering. A place like Newby County, too, needs whatever uplifting it can get.
  
  While this outward persona is agreeable and reliable, Chel hides a side that's a little darker than she'd like anyone to know. She can be obsessive, fussing over details and going on tangents for hours to find some stupid answer about some stupid question. Her attention span is constipated at best, but fleeting otherwise. It's why she smokes so much. Her brain seems to calm in the moment, and it's a lot easier to compose herself. Still, that doesn't stop the odd delusion from popping up. Auditory, usually, but Chel has begun to chalk it up to bad weed once or twice, or a bad trip. The more drugs she takes, she figures, the less likely she is to be caught off guard by any drug combination. These spells send her into something not quite depressive, and not quite psychotic. She just kind of... shuts off. Gets far too caught up in the hallucinations, going quiet and withdrawing, snapping at others and becoming more aggressive than usual. They can last for a day or two, but not longer than three. Chel tries not to worry about this, and she's told almost no one about it... She just seems fit to see what happens.
  
  Another darker side to Chel is her fascination with death and crime: gruesome photos of crime scenes, a need for details of horrific events and an odd ability to recall the death scenes in a lot of horror movies; Chel has her odd quirks. Newby County's history, and the massacre of '85 are particularly captivating for her. She tells NO ONE this, for obvious reasons, and can get very combative if anyone were to bring it up, or would dismiss it entirely. She's got the timeline committed to memory, and it's not like she's been looking forward to the ten year anniversary or anything. Something about it really draws her in, perhaps because of the horrific event happening literally in her neighborhood. Film club and writing clubs are the best way she finds to express this energy, healthily, without freaking anyone out. It freaks her out too, sometimes.
  
  OTHER INFO: Chel's on drugs. Constantly. It would be rare to catch her on a day that she's sober. At this point it's just become her homeostasis, and doing anything different will set her off.
  
  Despite smoking so much weed she'd probably grow a whole bush in her lungs, Chel has asthma. She keeps her inhaler on her at all times, but has lost it once or twice after some particularly large tokes and forgetting everything but her first name. They aren't cheap, and she watches it like a hawk now.
  
  Chel has her father's military jacket that she wears all the time. It smells of the patchouli and orange perfume that she wears to mask the skunk of marijuana.
  
  Known better as a plug, she's not afraid to go out of her way to get any drugs or alcohol for people. She likes facilitating people having a good time. Concerts she'll always pass a homemade toke.
  
  Post high school she wants to become a horticulturist. No reason whatsoever. If that falls through, she'd be keen to get high and die before 40. Probably going out on something badass, like a motorcycle going off the edge of a cliffside.
  
  She owns a personal collection of newspaper clippings, notes and pictures from the '85 massacre in town, as well as from other murder cases that have happened in the country. Her goal is to create one giant collection. Maybe one day she'll start a radio show on the side to talk about all the horrible, gruesome crimes that captivate her.
  
  
• 
  BIOGRAPHY:
  Michelle Lucas was born in Illinois, one of her least favourite states, and she's been sure she'll die here too.
  
  Bleak, out of context, but more often spoken in jest by her, Michelle was born in Newby County to two high school sweethearts. Michael Lucas and his wife, Tori, met only about six months before Michelle's older brother was born. They had a whole shotgun wedding, Michael wanting to avoid colouring either of them unfavourably in the town, and settled in a nice little home. Their baby boy, Bobby, was the apple of their eye. He was always a sick thing, and all of their attention was diverted to him. Every penny was spent to keep Bobby healthy, though the pennies were in short supply. Michael was one of the many bodies recruited to support the agricultural sector of Newby County, a job he'd been in since the war ended, and Tori was a night nurse.
  
  By the time that Michelle was born, the seventies were coming to a close and Bobby had become a strapping young lad. Ten by the time his sister was finally in the world, he doted on her constantly. It was good too, since he was the deferred babysitter ninety percent of the time while both parents worked. Bobby and Michelle got close that way, always spending their time together. He'd cart her around on his bike, weaving in and out of neighborhoods and even buying her some ice cream during the summer, paid for by his newspaper delivery and lawn mowing proficiency. They were two peas in a pod, and hardly seen apart.
  
  Their father was a Vietnam veteran, though he was none too proud of what he'd done. Remorseful of war in general, Michael Lucas tried to instill some sort of pacifism in his kids. War never changed, sure, but people were capable of it. He wanted the best for them, and it was made clear by how hard he and Tori worked to provide for their kids.
  
  Quietly, when Michelle was 6 and Bobby 16, their father passed away. He'd been suffering quietly, and clearly saw no way out. A dead-end job, though he cared for his family, and an ever pressing sense of grief and guilt from the lives taken in the war. The family kept hush on the issue, a private funeral for only the closest in attendance. Michelle held Bobby and her mom tightly, not wanting to lose either.
  
  Michelle grew up missing her dad more than she ought to, anyone ever figured. Bobby seemed to work past it, though she knew he was suffering too from it. He'd nearly dropped out from school from the grief of it, piled with having to take a side job to help provide with their mother, the stress seemed to cling to him. Michelle, by proxy, suffered in her own way by watching the stresses of life crash down on her brother and mother. She withdrew, like any kid would. Not quite reclusive, she turned to watching movies on the VCR until the tapes were hot to the touch. She loved films. They were an escape, and for a young girl like her often left alone, it was the babysitter no one had to pay for. She learned to cook for herself early, to make little dinners for their mother when she'd come home early in the morning, and making breakfast to rouse her brother when he needed to take her to school.
  
  She grew up fast. But she didn't let it ruin her.
  
  Two years later at Bobby's grad, he got sick. Overworked, exhausted, he was in bed with some form of the flu. Tori had even stayed home, taking a sick day, to care for him-- he was that bad. Michelle could only sit and hope the best for it all. Bobby was devastated to miss his grad night, but he was in no state to do anything, or go anywhere. It seemed fate spared him that day. The killings that ripped through their community that weekend gripped the family. Bobby was shaken by the brush with death, and even more grateful that he hadn't told his date to go either. She'd stayed home, taking the excuse to work a later shift at the cinema.
  
  It was enough to bring the family closer, this time, rather than apart. They used the grief to come together with the community, to provide where needed. Michelle, young and impressionable, did her best to help. Life progressed... somewhat normally after that. Bobby had lost some friends that night, and it effected him greater. He stayed around to work and help provide, saving up his own money for college, until only a few years ago.
  
  Michelle started using drugs when she turned 12. Lured by some of the 'deviants' that lurked by the edge of count, she fell in quickly. They liked her energy, and she turned out to be a lifesaver. She was resourceful, and had a knack for rolling joints. Michelle proved to be good at sneaking in and out of stores as well, pockets full of snacks and stupid things. She started playing with authority at that time too, getting a rush out of it. Falling behind in school came next, with Michelle too occupied with doing drugs and staying up late to pay attention to class. It got ahead of her, and before she knew it she'd been sitting in the counselor's office with her mother, talking about her poor behaviour.
  
  If her mother's disappointment wasn't enough, it was Bobby's that really mattered to her. Michelle seemed to withdraw further, mirroring when their father had died, and continued to turn to drugs and fun as she called it. Around fifteen she started really being obsessed with obscene and gruesome things. She'd always had an inkling for darker things, drawing crude drawings of death and suicide, when she was younger but it hadn't culminated to much. Growing up she just pushed it to the back of her mind, but now old enough, she's started to make a hobby of it. Scary movies are her life. Living good is her life.
  
  Bobby left two years ago, wife in tow with savings in a box for Michelle once she graduated. He lectured her, berating her for being so stupid and slacking on purpose when their mom needed them.
  
  She managed to smarten up a little afterward. Smartening up on making sure she didn't get caught. Working as hard as she could on the side... It's been a struggle, but with Grad approaching, Michelle's finally seeing the bright side to things.
  
  The only downside? She's gonna be stuck in Newby County, caring for her mom, for the rest of her life. It's enough to make a girl go crazy.
  
  THEME SONG: Friday I'm In Love by The Cure.
  

 

[Geun Sae]

For those not following the OOC thread - I encourage you to consider messaging/chatting with other players to discuss your character’s dynamics and relationships prior to the first in character posts.
I’m hoping to start in character by Sunday night or Monday morning, however if you feel that your character won’t be finished by then just shoot me a DM and I’ll let it slide
Everyone who’s received a cookie so far is accepted.

 

[Walliver]

Finished!

CAM

The

art kid

FC: Katelyn Nacon

YATES

coded by xayah.

Scroll

(writing sample)


“Cameron Yates?”

“Here...” she grumbled, eyes still glued to her drawing. It was only pencil and line art, but it was coming together well. A body, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. A face, mouth slack and eyes still wide with terror. Pools and puddles on the ground around them, soon to be colored a rich burgundy. Cameron smiled, tucking the drawing back into her folder.

“Miss Yates, if you can’t pay attention in class, you can always be moved somewhere with a slower curriculum.” the teacher looked down her vulture-like nose, staring over her glasses. Cameron rolled her eyes and took out her science notes. She hated the teacher with every fiber of her being. Supposedly before the ‘85 massacre, Mrs. Elm had been a sweet lady who let her students turn in homework late. Although, those were definitely only rumors. Cameron knew that there wasn’t a kind bone in the woman’s body, not even one drop of kindness.

Cameron finished the drawing later that day. A woman with a long, hooked nose, splayed out in a pool of blood. Her bones were all shattered, a knife in her sternum. Signed in red marker on the bottom right corner of the macabre drawing: “The Death of Miss Vulture”. Cameron smiled wider, placing the drawing in the sleeve of a binder filled with equally grotesque drawings.

She was an interesting girl, that Cameron Yates.

"Stay vigilant."

Scroll

Cam barely remembers the massacre, she only remembers her mother crying and her father running out of the house in the middle of the night. But she’s interested in what happened, why Dunne did it. She doesn’t collect the newspapers, but she researches. She’s compiled weeks and months of research into serial killers in a binder, also filled with drawings she’d rather not have her parents find out.

Her 90s Theme:

• 00
• 111
• 2222
• 444444

• main menu
• BASICS

  Cameron Yates

  Cam, that art kid

  18 years old

  5'7"

  1995 Grad

  The art kid
• PERSONALITY

  
  Well, as her parents put it, Cam is an “interesting” girl.
  
  At school, she puts on a display of indifference, head buried in her notebook or her sketchbook. She pretends not to care about most people, only occasionally talking to people she thinks might understand her. Of course, no one ever really does.
  
  There’s a darkness inside her. A craving for something new, something scary. She consumes all the horror media she can, obsessed with the idea of something terrifying and unknown. She’s rather fond of the works of Lovecraft and Blackwood, the idea of infinity and things lurking in the shadows. But she doesn’t share this with anyone. They’d just think she was weird anyway....
  
  
• BIOGRAPHY

  
  Cameron Yates was born to two hard working, normal parents. Her mother, a nurse, and her father, a cop. Both of them instilled in her a strong sense of respect for her elders and a good sense of what was appropriate and what wasn’t. Or, at least they thought so.
  
  Cameron was only 8 years old when the massacre happened. She woke up to the sound of screams all around the block, and her father slamming the door behind him. She sat by the window, numbly staring out at the chaos. It was then that her fascination with all things terrifying and unnatural began. She borrowed horror books from her maternal grandfather, went by the theater to see if any new horror movies were showing- or even old ones. She became obsessed with serial killers, researching whatever she could.
  
  By graduation year, she had compiled a catalog of Lovecraftian creatures, several research papers on serial killers, and drawings that would make her mother faint if she ever saw them. Now, she just wants to graduate and move out. She’ll be going to college for her criminology degree, and maybe some writing on the side.
  
  

HME

ONE

TWO

THREE

< 3

Here to listen!

© PASTA​

 

[Knight boi]

Messiah Judas

The dreamer.​

 

[idalie]

• — 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚜.
• — 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊.
• — 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.
• — 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎.

• 
  
  Name. Heather L. Kitts
  Nickname(s). Kitty, Kit
  Age. 18
  Role. The Cheerleader
  Theme.
  
  
• 
  
  Emotionally withdrawn and often icy to strangers, Heather is all but notably apathetic. While she makes a good facade of her outgoing nature, bubbly was something her mother never passed on. An inherent, strange stoicism permeates all interactions, lacking compassion where none was given but offering people a full, honest, and occasionally brutal opinion. In Kitty’s mind, if people come to her with a problem, the problem ought to be fixed and she’ll do her damnedest to try - even if she lacks the gentle touch to do it. Nevertheless, every truth is spoken in conviction - and if she likes you, it’ll be declared forthright.
  
  Cutthroat to anyone threatening her friends, fiercely loyal, Kitts was never raised to sit back and watch people get hurt. While her absent-mindedness and penchant for daydreaming underestimate her intelligence, grades speak for themselves and now the role of Valedictorian. Not the suggestable stereotype of an intellectual, but a neurotic nihilist with a pretty face and love of frills.
  
  Over the years with the pressure increasing over her future, Kitty is calm under stress and quick on her feet. Aware of herself and surroundings, athleticism and gymnastics prove a healthy, mindful and scarily efficient young woman. Having a great interest in the occult and tarot especially, one may discover that Heather is massively superstitious beneath all logic and reason, surrounding herself with good luck charms and little rituals.
• 
  
  Heather Kitts was born the prodigal daughter of a prodigal woman. A mother who had done it all: Captain of the cheerleader squad, long-legged pageant queen, trophy-wife and cutthroat domestic. As a child, Kitty’s life was all but planned for her since the start. Enrolled in ballet, privately tutored after daycare and kindergarten, lavished with attention and suffocating expectation. She was the champion gymnast, dancer - though her mother liked to prod at her sides and rearrange diets, or lament the muddy shade of her irises, run blonde hair between her fingers to plait it and compare it to her honey-hues. Kitty wasn’t sunkissed, Kitty wasn’t tall, Kitty wasn’t elegant.
  
  While Heather excelled tremendously in class, placed on a pedestal of good grades and excellent performances with her middle-class roots and soft, measured doses of suburbia, the confidence elevated her to the top of Newby High. Neurotic anxieties tend to express themselves one way or another, however, and by sophomore year Kitty developed into a chronic nail-biter. Regularly utilising her own daydreams as a heavy crutch of escapism, Heather grew strangely isolated in the middle of bustling life. Where everything passed her by as if she were watching shadows on the walls of Plato’s cave. Her mother pressured for a degree in law, Kitty preferred the stories in her head.
  
  Sneaking out late nights to drink, thieving her mother’s cigarettes, Heather enjoys the parties, the nightlife. Attempting to fulfil the void of where she supposes she ought to reside. Like a plant without sunlight that was never allowed to grow. Instead, Kitty is detached. Sweet talker with a mean streak and cool, cold stare, her weekends and evenings are spent working as a cinema usher - watching films from over people's heads and eyeing all those pretty leading ladies and handsome men. Such heart-wrenching love of movies lead her to join both drama club and film club, unexpectedly, squeezed between cheerleader practice and study.
  
  Achieving Valedictorian, preparing a speech for graduation, Heather knows that life was meant for more. She has plans to take her high school education and vanish, hitching a greyhound coach headed straight out of Illinois. Anywhere is better than home. Better than college. She thinks she’ll be an actress, or at most, begin to find her own way.
• 
  
  Height. 5’2”
  Weight. 129 lbs
  Hair Colour. Blonde
  Eye Colour. Brown
  
  A cherubic, pale face set by high forehead and startling eyes. Heather is of a soft, drowned appearance - melancholic, downturned lips occupy her resting expression, features full with pre-raphaelite charm and water-lily hue. Gently-rounded cheekbones and healthy figure would be enough to forgive her dour charm, short albeit well-built for her stature with a heavy focus of athletics and gymnastics for the cheerleading squad.
  
  Though her appearance often assumes high-maintenance, negotiating a colour scheme of bright blue eyeshadow and pink lip, Heather’s hands have since worn themselves rough by training. Nails brittle with chewing and split on equipment, it comes as a habit to fold them under each other, behind purses and into pockets. Bracelets and bands tie heavy around her wrists, kitschy and fidgeted with when her attention wanders - letting her pick away at something which isn’t skin.
  
  Pretty, perfumed, and put together, Heather has never shied from her love of flowy, floral or feminine. Rather, there’s something about a girl with a sharp tongue and dreamy, pastel coordinated cardigans. Heather can always be trusted to carry chewing gum, cigarettes and rose-themed stationary.

 

[Geun Sae]

Sheriff Duke Mckenzie ​

 

[themagnoliaofutah]

- NPC: The Historian -

Name: Michael "Doc" Rooks, PhD.
Age: 42
Maggie's father, Doc is a nervous man, secretive and even more reclusive than his daughter. Brilliant as he is, he's only coming out of his silence in the direst of circumstances. He knows just about every bit of history Newby has to offer. Though a gentle man, his daughter and wife mean the world to him, and if worst comes to worst, he'll do whatever it takes.