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Realistic or Modern ; 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗦

OOC
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Lore
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Other
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pomme

bonk


THOSE WHO
CARRIED ON



CHARACTER SHEETS DUE SEPTEMBER 15
NAME:
NICKNAME/ALIAS:
AGE: (Ideally 18-40: if you plan on your character having seen life before the Funeral, keep in mind it began around 20 years ago.)
GENDER:
SEXUALITY:
DOB:

HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
BUILD:
NATIONALITY:
HAIR:
EYES:
BLOOD TYPE:
FACECLAIM:

VIRTUES (+3):
VICES (+5):
LIKES (+5):
DISLIKES (+5):
INVENTORY: (While characters can have weapons, they likely wouldn't have any guns or powerful weapons. Functioning modern tech like phones are almost extinct.)
PROFICIENCIES (+3): (What are they good at?)
DEFICIENCIES (+3): (What are they bad at?)
FEARS:

BACKSTORY: (Preferably 3-4 paragraphs. If you have any questions about what will work for the setting vs. what won't, shoot me a message!)
NOTABLE RELATIONSHIPS: (Keep in mind that it's extremely unlikely for any of the characters to have a consist cast of family or friends. PC relationships can be worked out after the cast is chosen.)
ROLES

THE APPARITION
The apparition is nothing more than a ghost to any who may have come across her. Of course, in these days, nobody is particularly present, but there’s something special about her. Maybe it’s the way her hand always seems to be hovering above a weapon, or the way she seems to never make eye contact. Either way, she’ll be gone before anyone can find out.

THE FIREFLY
Caution now is just as necessary as a strong will, but the Firefly was never one for such trivial things. He was playful from the start, finding solace in meaningless encounters with others like him. Some might say it’s a miracle he’s survived this long, but the only thing stronger than his passion are the ghosts of his past.

THE HERMIT
For the hermit, chance is poisonous. For years, she’s watched from 100 yards away, hidden behind a thick pane of glass and untouchable. But as survivors have run thinner and thinner, her ivory tower turned hellish and she was forced to leave, searching for others with nothing but a steady sense of intuition and hearty serving of grit.

THE TORN
Although the torn may not have fallen to the illness, what he’s done to avoid it is comparable. His secrets stick to him like the bloodstains on his clothes, and it seems inevitable that his footsteps are followed by bloodshed. What he lacks in sanctity he covers threefold in weaponry, but an arsenal may not be enough to save him.

THE RAVEN
She’s a dangerous mix of wine and charm, and it seems like she won’t stop for anything. Get too close to her, and she’ll bite — but not for the reason one would think. This girl is no dumb blonde, but she’s not exactly a femme fatale either. She may be the only one with clean hands, and it seems she’s not quite ready to dirty them.

THE GOLDEN
He’s in the middle of his golden years, if that can be said for anyone during the Funeral. Anyone that met him would think he’s never been touched by tragedy, but, as with anyone who seems anything more than ‘fine’, the Golden Boy is only as golden as his vices.

THE JUDGE
The Judge is no stranger to groups, and she most certainly knows her place in one. She never fails to snap to the position of authority, almost painfully so. Regardless, that doesn't mean her ideas are the best, and her idea of justice is crueler than most.



 
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Romi

Rosa-

linde



B A S I C S

NAME: Romi Rosalinde
NICKNAME/ALIAS: Went by Rosie for a time, though she hasn't heard it since leaving Rubyland.
AGE: 27
GENDER: Cisgender Female
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
DOB: November 12th
THEME: TRRST - IC3PEAK



A P P E A R A N C E

HEIGHT: 5'7
WEIGHT: 115 lbs
BUILD: Lanky, with long legs and arms. Years of likely malnutrition made her spindly and gaunt, her cheeks beginning to hollow and knuckles bony.
NATIONALITY: Brazilian, though she's come to accept she'll likely never leave Philadelphia.
HAIR: Deep espresso, falling just past her shoulders in heavy, messy waves. Perfect to run restless fingers through, and somewhat clean from occasional soap, it usually hangs plainly or is pinned up in a ponytail with a stretch of dirty string.
EYES: Seafoam green with dark rings, almost always lingering comfortably on the ground.
BLOOD TYPE: O+
FACECLAIM: Mariana Beltrame








P E R S O N A

Romi is a plain pebble fashioned into a gem, a mirror that doesn't reflect reality quite right. Peer hard enough and one might notice the lack of sincerity in her gaze — if they can bring their eyes off her flashing smiles and forget her honeyed words. Paranoia and apathy fuel her like a heartbeat, each aspect of her personality one built by the cruel world that keeps her. Everything human was paralyzed in her long ago, replaced with the hollow charm she injects to mask all the ways in which the world let her down.

VIRTUES: Confident, intuitive, charismatic, sly

VICES: Cowardly, killjoy, painfully independent, apathetic, sadistic

LIKES: Not having to wear her torn coat, the familiar sound of creaking floorboards, unbroken glass, a wall behind her back, corners, music boxes, being able to wash her hair when she finds a sliver of soap.

DISLIKES: The way the summer heat amplifies itself off The Hill's wreckage, foggy windows, the stretches of time when nobody would walk by her building, the occasional flash of a memory from before, conversations longer than 30 seconds, having nothing but her thoughts.

INVENTORY:
Everything Romi owns is tucked into a beaten knapsack with splitting strings, the white logo emblazoned on the back barely visible.
• A rough shiv functioned out of a can's top
• A small, cracked phone that won't turn on
• Sets of cables fashioned into a rough rope
• Three sewing needles and ratty string
• Silver, almost-used Duct Tape
• Two half-bars of soap covered in dust and grime, wrapped in dirty cloths
• A flowery pink dress, torn at the waist and covered in old bloodstains turned brown
• 3 packs of disposable silverware
• A set of dirty pages torn out from a science textbook
• Miniature umbrella, the same logo from her knapsack slightly more visible
• A sweater torn at the seams to function as a blanket
• Three rolls of bandages, all stained from multiple uses

PROFICIENCIES:
Stealth: Especially in The Hills, Romi is one to know her way around each stretch of dark alleyway and narrow nook. She functions much more comfortably in the shadows, and her quick footfalls are near always silent.
Nimble Fingers: Give Romi a tool and she'll figure out how to use it in a matter of minutes. Her fingers play machinery like harps, her muscles quick to lock down any patterns or repetitions needed.
Distraction: When faced with panic, Romi's first choice is never to engage with someone head on. Whether it be planned or an adrenaline fueled Hail Mary, Romi is quick to distract and even quicker to escape.
Scavenging: Romi has a particularly keen eye for hidden stashes and buildings that haven't been completely raided. From The Hills to the outskirts of the city, she's always had a penchant for knowing where and where not to go.

DEFICIENCIES:
Close-Range Combat: Between her years mostly alone and time in Rubyland, where manipulation stands king, Romi never had half the experience in true combat other survivors would have. It's essentially her last choice, no matter the situation, and when she does engage in combat, it's unlikely she'll emerge any form of victorious.
Hunting: As with combat, hunting is something Romi holds little experience in. Her stealth does little to help when she's hopeless in terms of killing, making her dependent on sources of packaged food like old wreckage and unraided stashes.
Connections: With the exception of her parents, Romi's life consisted of stoic solitude up until a few years ago. The bare, minimal interactions she had with others were completely meaningless, an mutual benefit just barely masked as a conversation. The idea of sincerity is one that disappeared with her parents, leaving her struggling to even imagine what a real, consistent relationship would look like.

FEARS: Romi's life is a tale of missed opportunities, things fallen between the seams of chaos and peace. Throughout the years, she's compressed life into a static block of black and white. Her only objective, only goal is avoiding death — and if anything, that's what scares Romi.
Otherwise, running into her old Rubyland contacts or being forced to return.

B I O

Dying is an art, just like everything else.

Romi Rosalinde, child born into glass castles and invisible gold. Newborn yet richer than most would ever dream to be. Oh, what a lovely dream.

When she was seven, the shrills screams of an alarm clock went off, and Romi woke up. Her glass castle, her invisible gold, everything set aside for her cast far away and replaced with dark nights and ashes clinging to her frilly summer dress. How, exactly, does one encapsulate the loss of everything in the space between moments? Perhaps she was lucky. She had parents, a corporation all in her name when the blooming chaos fell away like a morning tide. The starvation, hurting — no, that was just waiting. Yet soon, screams felt the same in her ears as the buzzing of cicadas or croaking of frogs.

But there was a haven, a small sliver of peace and solitude resting on the top floor of one of the only standing skyscrapers in The Hills. Artemisia Technology, the ghost that once was supposed to be Romi's legacy. She had learned, grown into the grit she needed. The starvation was a reality, as was the hurting, and when Romi's parents one day vanished and never returned, it resounded in her only as an empty growl of the stomach. But Artemisia was heaven. The top floor, sealed off behind keypads and locks, was a stockpile of cables and files belonging to souls long gone, but most importantly dried food. The remnants of what could've been her own stung with each breath, but the feeling of water and food in her stomach was ecstasy.

Time, in its fickle secrecy, was molasses as Romi spent her days staring down at passerby's, the luxurious sensation of fullness quickly turning stale in her gut. Weeks were defined by hushed traipses down to the streets, "Missing" flyers drawn in dried-out pens crunching under her heels wherever she went. Each interaction she had was panacea, yet gutting in its emptiness, each glimpse into a passing life only reflecting a warped version of her own.

It seemed everything in Romi's life was finite: her luck, the time she would steal away next to her parents on cold nights, and finally her food. Artemisia was once her legacy, then her salvation, and after it all, nothing but an echoing memory, an imagination of what things could've once been. As she stumbled out onto the streets, her eyes bleedingly hollow, Romi knew that her existence, in all its unguaranteed glory, was an exchange of dignity for another day.

She would have to be fine with that.

For the next years, she was a ghost, a flicker of a shadow, a hand reaching into a pocket before both it and whatever was in there vanished. The only thoughts she had time to entertain were those of pure survival, and the shining woe of Rubyland was the only thing that could provide for her. She quickly learned to discard herself, disassembling and compartmentalizing until the blood on her hands felt comforting in its warmth. She'd sentenced others to death with a single grab, taking everything and anything for her own to have another day of a monochromatic life. Even fleeing from those she once depended on within Rubyland's invisible walls gave her no solace, flickers of gaunt faces and the feeling of blood under her fingernails chasing her like a hellhound.

Romi Rosalinde lives a slow death, nothing more, nothing less.

NOTABLE RELATIONSHIPS:
Elizabeth Rosalinde | Mother | Deceased
Nathaniel Rosalinde | Father | Deceased
Blaise | Alive • Blaise was the first person to get close to Romi when she first arrived on the Rubyland scene. She served as a sort of handler, offering Romi bounties on certain things and giving her better treatment in exchange for personal favors. A manipulative bastard with the eyes of a vulture.
Jericho | Alive • Romi met Jericho shortly after she met Blaise. He was always an enigma, but as more time passed and the trust between Romi and Blaise grew, she came to learn that Jericho served as a sort of assistant. Even more manipulative, just subtler and more quiet. Taller than anyone should be, in Romi's opinion.




 
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About

NAME: Silas Adrian Vail.

NICKNAME/ALIAS: Once went by ‘Shy Guy Si' - a pet name from people long dead.

AGE: 31.

GENDER: Cisgender male.

SEXUALITY: Bisexual. Somewhere low on the asexual spectrum.

DOB: January 31st (an Aquarius).

THEME SONGS: Back Pack by Andrew Jackson Jihad, Zains, Cam4, Wah Wah and Sirens by Crywank.




Physical

HEIGHT: 6’1”.

WEIGHT: About 165 pounds.

BUILD: Slim and trim from rationing food and going days without meals, but not excessively muscular, either. Has a hard body, but you could see his ribs if he stretched.

NATIONALITY: American. Vaguely some kind of Anglo (as if it even matters these days).

HAIR: A mid toned brown, with warmer, coppery undertones. It's only somewhat straight, with just the slightest hint of a wave, and is usually somewhat unkempt. He doesn't keep totally clean-shaven, often sporting some degree of stubble.

EYES: Pale blue. Worn out and tired, often rimmed by dark circles.

BLOOD TYPE: AB.

FACECLAIM: Robert Pattinson.








Persona & inventory

At this point, there isn't much room for warmth. Even if he's aware that he's but a shell of his former lighter, less serious, happier self, and it bothers him, it isn't important enough to make an attempt to change it; his interactions with other survivors are so limited now that it hardly matters. Silas's only goal has become to make it through the day with as few disturbances as possible.

VIRTUES: Independent, creative, excellent problem-solver, observant. He's got a sharp intellect and sharper eyes.

VICES: Somewhat enigmatic, aloof, excessively paranoid, withdrawn. He doesn't want people to get close.

LIKES: Beaches and the ocean, birdwatching, calm, quiet evenings by a campfire, the occasional cigar, fresh produce, a hot, home-cooked meal.

DISLIKES: Any and all strangers, hard liquor, being drunk, last-minute plans, darkness and nighttime, his insomnia, nostalgia, thinking of the past, himself and his mind.

INVENTORY:
Basics: reusable cutlery, a collapsable tent, an extra coat, a flashlight, and several cans of food in a worn hiking backpack.​
An ancient passport, weathered and worn soft over time. A relic of a time long gone. The boy in the photo looks frightened.​
A compass. The glass is cracked, but it seems to do the job fine regardless.​
Several maps of the area. Each one is annotated with different colored pens signifying different things.​
A crossbow and quiver of arrows. Even if they are reusable, most of them desperately need to be replaced.​
A deck of cards held together by a rubber band. (He’s a Solitaire expert at this point.)​
Plain black cloth face mask. Even after all this time, it’s held up miraculously well. He takes excellent care of it.​
A silver revolver with four rounds left. For emergencies (or threats) only.​
A crowbar, kinked in some places, rusting in others.​

PROFICIENCIES:
Hunting.
Swearing off allegiance to all other people resulted in him becoming self-sufficient, and he's become quite good at hunting wild game as the years have gone on. Silas first learned how to set traps, snares, and fishing nets, but the crossbow was a lucky find that meant he could graduate to larger animals. It's also allowed him to always have something someone else wants in a trade.​

Tracking.
This skill was naturally born out of hunting, but he's found it to be widely-applicable: finding out if larger, more dangerous animals or other people are nearby (and haven't given their location away by setting a campfire), for example. It's a meticulous skill few people have and even fewer have mastered.​

Navigation.
Due to all the time he's spent hunting outdoors, Silas has come to know the area surrounding this city like the back of his hand. He's grown proficient at reading maps and can easily interpret most that he comes across well enough to find his way even in unfamiliar places.​

DEFICIENCIES:
Mental illness.
Silas has psychosis—perhaps due to a family history, perhaps a direct result of the countless traumatic events he bore witness to as a child. (More likely the latter.)​
Most of the time, his symptoms are quite low-level: auditory hallucinations are infrequent enough for him to easily distinguish them as separate from reality. However, he can become much more symptomatic during, after, or in anticipation of exceptionally stressful or triggering situations; natural anxiety or paranoia one might have begin to feed into a delusion, which then quickly turns into a vicious cycle that can sometimes develop into a full-blown psychotic episode.​
Even if it isn’t always completely debilitating, it does impact his day-to-day thoughts and actions to some extent.​

Verbal communication.
The way Silas's mind works makes perfect sense to him—and him only. A psychologist might call his thought process disordered at times. It often moves faster than he can articulate aloud, which to others, sounds like he’s rapidly switching topics and explaining his thoughts poorly. It's obviously frustrating for the people he's trying to speak to, but even more so for Silas.​

Independence.
Although being self-sufficient and self-reliant in these times is no doubt an asset, Silas would sooner starve, bleed, or be at the mercy of his own mind before seeking out help in any way, like a cornered animal. Even if he's been right in the past to be extremely distrustful of others, his view of other people still remains incredibly and unyieldingly pessimistic.​

FEARS: Never recovering from a psychotic episode, contracting the illness, the unlikely chance of crossing paths with someone he's wronged in the past.




history & relationships

Contains excessive mentions of violence, death, and mental illness.

This world is already a scary enough place.


There's very little about what things used to be like that Silas can remember now; he was only eleven years old when the Funeral arrived, in all its horrifying suddenness and sweeping finality. He can't recall any of those few, shining, innocent years he had with his family. What he can recall with total clarity, even decades later, is total annihilation of everything stable in his life.

Watching helplessly, paralyzed with fear, knowing certain death awaited if he tried to intervene, as his father beat his mother to death on the very airstrip that was supposed to be their family's salvation. Coming back to the carnage of a murder-suicide that claimed his uncle and younger sister and desperately trying to piece it together, all while avoiding contagion. Running for his life from a new father figure, the head of a kind, sympathetic family turned destructive after an encounter with a contagious stranger.

The mind is a powerful entity, isn't it?

What this all taught him is that he was the only person he could rely on. Silas became fiercely independent by the time he turned twenty—not out of some natural predisposition, but out of sheer terror. It wasn't a matter of if this new survivor would turn on him, or fall ill; it was a matter of when. Once the realization hit him, every figure on the horizon became an enemy, and his only goal became putting as much distance between himself and whoever that may be as possible.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when the hallucinations and delusions started even if he wanted to. But at some point, natural suspicion or paranoia turned into literal delusions, and never quite went back again. Silas can't go anywhere, even alone, without glancing over his shoulder every so often, because there just may be someone following him. Unfamiliar voices echoing off abandoned building walls haunt him, keeping him awake at night, too scared to rest for long, because what if they are actually real? Is finding out if they are real worth the risk?

It gets a lot scarier when your mind is an adversary.

People terrify him. When his mental state deteriorates enough, everything terrifies him, to some degree. The dead weight of a gun in his hands gives him a kind of power, and some feeling of safety and security as a result, that he's found nothing else can provide. And even if Silas knows he isn't going to pull that trigger right now, he knows he can, and he's done it before.


RELATIONSHIPS
The Vails originally hailed from the greater Silicon Valley area in Northern California. Successful businesspeople in the web technology industry, they enjoyed a relatively relaxed, upper-middle class life until the Funeral.

Jakob Vail — father, deceased
Felix Vail — uncle, deceased
Juliet Vail — mother, deceased
Harper Vail — younger sister, deceased


Silas encountered the Campbells as a young teenager shortly after he was orphaned a couple of years after the Funeral. A deeply religious family from the Salt Lake City area, they graciously took him in like a son when they heard his story.

Mark Campbell — father figure, fate unknown
Sarah Campbell — mother figure, deceased
Ruth Campbell — older sister figure, deceased
Andrew Campbell — older brother figure, fate unknown
Stephen Campbell — younger brother figure, deceased
Reeling from the aftermath of his time with the Campbells, he has since traveled alone.



the
torn



coded by weldherwings.

 
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EVE GUERRERO.
  • 01
    name
    Evelín Guerrero.
    nickname
    Known as Eve.
    age
    Twenty-six years old.
    gender
    Cis female.
    sexuality
    Bisexual.
    Date of Birth
    October 30th, 2013.
    role
    The Judge.
    ❝ People like us, we play with a heavy balloon. We keep it up to keep the devil at bay, but it always falls way too soon. ❞
    — appearance.

    At first glance, Eve could be considered "not much to look at." Standing at 5'6", barely 130 pounds, she's got a thin, lithe build. All thin, ropy muscles and long limbs, someone who could've ran track in high school in another life. Eve has never been able to put on much weight, what with the lack of proper nutritional food almost her entire life, and that can be seen in her clothes hanger collarbone, bony elbows, and knobbly knees.

    Eve is Latina, as her father was Colombian and her mother was Mexican. However, she was born in America. Her hair is dark brown, with some natural toffee highlights from many days spent in the sun. She usually never lets it grow past her shoulders, and it's usually tied back into a severe ponytail. Her eyes are dark brown, even in the light, and often accompanied by thumbprint under eye bags.

    Eve's blood type is O negative, making her a universal donor.

    Her face claim is Lindsey Morgan.
01
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code by @Nano
 
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glazed
eyes
INFO CENTER
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empty
hearts
GUIDELINES
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MISCELLANEOUS
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© pasta


Place holder
 
code by nano


Bevis
Hooper
the firefly
basics
Name
Bevis Hooper
Age
18
Gender
Cisgender Male
Sexuality
Homosexual
DOB
December 14th
Appearance
Height
5'6
Weight
121 lbs.
Build
Short and thin, as if he never quite hit puberty. However, living his entire life doing nothing but trying to survive has ensure that what little meat he does have on his bones is toned and somewhat muscular.
Nationality
Born and "raised" in America, but unsure of his heritage.
Hair
A mess of dark brown waves atop his head. Usually kept short, unevenly cut with whatever sharp objects are on hand.
Eyes
Golden brown, hidden behind a pair of round glasses.
Blood Type
O+
Face Claim
Louis Hynes
Persona
If there was a single word to describe Bevis, it would be 'brave' -- or perhaps he just has a death wish. Bevis is a rather hedonistic young man, sensually self-indulgent and engaged in the pursuit of pleasure. If nothing else, this makes him an interesting person to have a conversation with. Any interaction with Bevis more than a quick chat in passing, though, is sure to gray the hairs on anyone's head.

Virtues
Energetic, Imaginative, Adaptable, & Charismatic
Vices
Undisciplined, Lewd, Deceitful, Conceited, & Rebellious
Likes
Pigeons, his beat-up combat boots, gymnastics, knives, chocolate, the idea of Halloween, and bodies of water that he can completely submerge himself in.
Dislikes
Spiders, unnatural light, when his clothes are ripped and must be repaired or replaced, sleeping outside, talking about his family, and wearing hats.
Inventory
Bevis keeps everything he owns in a mustard yellow crossbody satchel.
- A broken wooden pool stick.
- An oral thermometer that probably isn't accurate.
- A carton of spoiled milk.
- Three pieces of butterscotch hard candy.
- An old flip phone with a cracked screen that does not work.
- A single chocolate chip cookie.
- A stopwatch that also does not work.
- A photo of his mother and uncles.
- A small bottle of hand lotion.
- A bar of soap.
- A handful of faded colorful rainbow rubberbands.
- A large pocket knife.
Proficiencies
Stealth: Bevis is surprisingly stealthy when he wants to be. Which, to be fair, isn't all that often.
Trickery: Bevis would have been a fantastic actor. He's trained himself in the art of deception and often uses it to get his way.
Memory: Bevis hardly forgets anything. Whether it be a name, a face, a place, etc. -- once he learns it, it is forever embedded in his mind.
Gymnastics: Over the course of his life, Bevis has trained his body to do amazing things. You'd be surprised how useful backflips can be in a world like this.
Deficiencies
Marksmanship: Bevis has used a ranged weapon maybe twice in his eighteen years of life. Neither times went very well, and he decided he much preferred knives.
Hand-To-Hand Combat: While Bevis will (and has) stab someone if needed, his hands aren't much use when it comes to combat. His lack of strength just doesn't provide enough force behind his hits.
Organization: Do not put this young man in charge of anything. It will be a clusterf*ck of jumbled ideas and plans. And good luck finding anything in that overstuffed satchel of his.
Fears
If you ask Bevis what he's afraid of, he'll tell you that he's not afraid of anything. That is a lie. Bevis does not like wide open spaces, where an attack or ambush can come from any angle.
He's also terrified of spiders.
Bio
In case anyone was wondering if people were still bumping uglies after The Funeral, the answer is yes.

Bevis Hooper's mother was assaulted when she was sixteen. She gave birth nine months later, approximately two years after the world had seemingly ended. She died in childbirth.

She had been traveling with her older brother, Grier, who was twenty-three at the time. Grier had admittedly thought about leaving the newborn to die, but couldn't bring himself to do it. After losing his older brother to suicide when The Funeral started, and now his baby sister -- that infant was the only family he had left. Luckily, expired baby formula was one of the few things that hadn't been completely wiped from the shelves of old supermarkets. Grier did his best to keep the infant alive, naming him Bevis after his sister's favorite cartoon. As Bevis grew older and learned how to talk, he was taught to refer to his uncle only as 'Butthead.' He had no idea why his uncle wanted to be called such a dumb name, but he rolled with it anyway.

Grier used Bevis to his advantage. Luring in other survivors was a pretty easy task when you had a crying kid as bait. Once they were close enough, Grier would seemingly appear out of nowhere and rob the people at gunpoint. Was it evil? Possibly, but it was survival. Grier and Bevis got almost all of their supplies by using this method.

As Bevis got older and learned how to defend himself, they were able to go after even larger groups of people. Bevis got his glasses at age ten after holding a knife to a man's throat. He didn't realize how terrible his sight was until he put them on.

Of course, though, their schemes didn't always work. When Bevis was twelve, a man they jumped fought back particularly hard. Bevis managed to get away.

Grier wasn't so lucky.

For the past six years, Bevis has been on his own. He continues to rob people after tricking them, though he only goes after individuals and has had to adapt his story a bit. A crying teenager isn't nearly as luring as a crying child, but a innocent-looking young man selling his body certainly is. He'd never let it go that far, though.

And he's far from innocent.

Notable Relationships
Mother: Jude Hooper | Deceased
Father: Unknown
Uncle: Leith Hooper | Deceased
Uncle: Grier "Butthead" Hooper | Deceased
-->
 
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Visage
HEIGHT: Roy stands at a looming six feet, two inches tall when standing straight. However, he carries himself at a slouch. Hunkered in and staring out as if on the prowl, always aware of the other man's gain if he were to topple over.

WEIGHT: He weights in at 180 lbs.

BUILD: His long arms and tall physique might suggest he's a little too lanky for his own good, but he's deceivingly strong. Toned muscle and a practiced grace, he'd fit the part of an athlete.

NATIONALITY: Though he has roots in France, Roy's never known anything outside of the states.

HAIR: Chestnut brown and wavy, he sweeps it all back with a hand, combing through the tangles and grime as if they were simply adornments to a very weathered and hardy look. He mostly keeps his face clean shaven, loathing the feeling of a stubble whenever he can't come by a razor.

EYES: He's soft, hazel-hued eyes that glisten brightly.

BLOOD TYPE: O+

FACECLAIM: Looks like Adrien Sahores.

full name
Roy Boucher

NICKNAME
King of the Hill

AGE
28

Gender
Cis Male

Sexuality
Bisexual

Birthday
Dec. 30
THE GOLDEN
scroll
Extra

Theme:
Oblivion by Young the Giant
Can't Sleep by K. Flay


Personality
VIRTUES:
Suave. Roy is exceedingly confident in himself, polite when he needs to be, and charismatic in group settings. He's a sort of charm that stays with people, and he dons a welcoming smile when there's something he needs from them. Though it's a bit deceptive, he is approachable, and he's keen to help others if there's something they can offer.

Curious. It's going to be the end of him, he swears. He's got an innate curiosity about the world, and it keeps him going when times get tough. He's constantly asking questions, learning the way of the road so that it might be a bit smoother down aways.

Upbeat. He's every bit of the optimist. He keeps things light when they need to be and is very dismissive of the sad facts of life. They're not his main focus. He's genuinely just out to have a good time, not a long time.

VICES:
Spontaneous. Dangerously so. He flies high and takes risks he doesn't need to. His actions never have a clear plan. He puts himself and others in danger and he does it without a care in the world.

Apathetic. Roy has a hard time connecting to people, feeling some sort of way that's acceptable. He's grown up during a time of trial and its changed him in ways that one might not appreciate.

Dependence. Despite this detachment, he does rely on others for some sort of human interaction. He loves company when he can get it, he just also grows bored of it very easily. That doesn't keep him around all the time, but he does bounce back when he finds someone worth his while. He's not good on his own and that's very apparent through his recklessness when he is.

Cruel. Roy's not a power hungry maniac. He's not intentionally mean to others just for the fun of it. However, when faced with a situation that is none too kind to the parties involved, he doesn't hesitate to make the hard decisions. If you do him wrong, his anger consumes him, and he'll pay you back for whatever it was ten fold. He can be brutal with his punishments, uncaring about his choices, and hellishly spiteful when put in a tough spot. It's safe to say that you wouldn't want to be on his shit list.

Vain. As the self-proclaimed King of the Hill, he's a lot of ego in his abilities. He thinks highly of himself and isn't afraid to brag when the timing's right. It's all in good fun and more so a joke than anything, but there's no mistaking that he regards himself better over others. In a life where he's had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of good he's got, one can't blame him.

LIKES: A good fire to sit by, something interesting to discuss, stew & a nice broth, an untouched package of cigarettes and/or gum, a safe place to sleep at night where the weather won't reach him, fresh fruit, calm nights.

DISLIKES: Rain, staying one place for too long, a doom and gloom mentality, drinking exuberant amounts of alcohol, others recklessness.

INVENTORY: He keeps an assortment of basic survival gear in a worn backpack, a large hunting knife on his belt, and a blunt weapon in his hands when traveling. The content of his bag is as follows:
  • Pad of notebook paper to tinder fires with
  • A couple lighters
  • Twine
  • Thread and needle
  • Assorted first aid items (very limited and mostly expired)
  • Metal cup to boil water in
  • A couple well used water bottles
  • Multi-tool
  • Small tarp to stay dry
  • Can opener
  • Assorted wash rags and torn cloth

PROFICIENCIES:
Resourceful. He can find a practical use for just about anything and is exceptionally good at scavenging for things that might prove to be useful.

Endurance. He's long practiced how to run far in short amounts of time. He can also keep at difficult tasks without breaking to catch his breath.

Hand-to-Hand. Roy is no stranger to hard beatings and can deliver one just as harsh. He fights dirty and doesn't let up till he's got the upper hand or can no longer stand.

DEFICIENCIES:
Attention to detail. It's constantly shifting when he gets bored. He puts himself in to dangerous situations simply by not paying close enough attention.

Being cautious. I've said it before and I'll say it again: this boy is reckless. He's heedless to telling signs of danger, even when he knows of it.

Fleeting loyalties. Strangers come and go in his life. He seldom makes close enough connections to feel any which way about them leaving. If they become too much of a risk for even him or bore him too much, he's no qualms about ditching them.

FEARS: Roy fears the past. He's terrified of remembering who he was before all of this, who his parents were or where he lived. He's gotten into so much of a habit of forgetting those kinds of details that it's a bit of a miracle he even remembers his name sometimes.
Biography
Roy wasn't long for the world as it was. He's flawed in such a way that's suitable to what's left of society. Able to shed his skin and be his best self, he lives a dream where everything is ideal. Never mind the loss of life in most brutal fashion or the still looming sickness, everything is as it has always been... Cruel. Unforgiving. The only difference you might find is its honesty. Much like himself, the new world doesn't have to pretend anymore.

He's lived this truth for so long now that it's hard to imagine that there was anything different, that there was a beginning to this long road of discovery. The only lie Roy dares entertain is that this is all it's ever been. He forgets his life, his parents, whatever semblance of order he'd once found familiar. It's fuzzy bits of memory he's all too happy to lose, because whatever shape he's made himself into to survive this world now, it'd never fit into that fantasy that came before.

He's made his stay in The Hills, that ruthless mess of crumbling stone a treasure trove and constant source of entertainment. As much as people fear being around each other, as much as they dread what the sickness brings, The Hills have become mad with the sheer imitation of it. People killing people for toothpicks and broken bottles, sometimes only the possibility that there might be something there to further yourself with.

When Roy steps back and sees himself, he sees an olympian, some half-god creature that's only ever known bloodshed and violence. Driven mad, put in a corner, and taught that the only way out was through.

He sits atop the mounds of garbage like a king, waiting for the next big dog to knock him down so that he might scramble for the top again. Grit his bloodied teeth and hack his way through till nothing stands but himself, that shinning and golden boy. It'd all sound rather symptomatic if it wasn't for his fierce smile and endless charm, that telling gleam in his eyes that says this is all done by choice.

No. Whatever the world was before, he wants no part of it.
© pasta
 
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THE APPARITION










Name
Emery Hallows Mok

Nickname
Phantom, often called this due to her consistent disappearing; there one second, gone the next.

Age
32 years old

D.O.B.
November 9th, 2008

Gender
Female, Cisgender

Sexuality
Pansexual

Nationality
American

Ethnicity
Korean
identification.







Height
5'8" (172 cm), usually stands with a straight back and at full height.

Weight
162lbs (75kg), just enough to literally throw her weight if needed.

Build
Ecto-Mesomorph, slight muscular definition and quite slender. Some bones stick out more than they
Build
should, food isn't a constant anymore.

Eyes
Dark Brown, in the right lighting will look a bit amber, but piercing in the dark.

Hair
Short and fluffy, obsidian black. She never lets it grow any further than her ears, cutting it herself with
Hair
scissors. Usually lets it air dry and brushes through it with her fingers. Slicks it back with any sticky
Hair
substance when it gets on the long side.

Skin
Pale Ivory, easily sunburnt, somewhat translucent with visible veins.

Physical Markings
Prominent diagonal scar on her back, from under the right shoulder blade to the lower left.

Face Claim
Lee Joo-Young
physical.







Person
Oakley, Adopted Child (Assumed to be Deceased)

Person
Mister Lenny, Father Figure (Deceased)

Person
TBA

Inventory
Most things were either scavenged, made, or stolen. Items are stored in a Backpack and Body
Inventory
Holsters. Tries to keep it light so she isn't slowed down.
First Aid Supplies: 2 Gauze Rolls, old box of Plasters, Healing Salve
Provisions: 2 Metal Canteens (25oz), 3 Cans of Food
Clothing: 2 Shirts, A blue Sweater, dirty grey Bomber Jacket, Extra Pants, grimy Bandanna
Misc: Rusted Scissors, Zippo Lighter, Thin Rope, Dried Herbs, Tattered Notebook, a few Pens, purple Dragon Plush, pocket sized Plant Book, Sleeping Bag
Weapons: 2 Daggers, a Butterfly Knife, and 4 Small Throwing Knives

relationships & inventory.







Dominant Hand
Left

Blood Type
A Negative. Can donate to A+, A-, AB+ and AB-; can receive from A- and O-.

Languages
English, some Korean

Virtues
Emery is analytical in nature, assessing people, surroundings, and situations as soon as they come. Quietly gathering information with observant stares. If someone were to weave their way into her circle of trust, they’d find she’s loyal in every sense of the word. She stands by those she trusts, never leaks anything without permission, and does favors without anything in return. Known to be energetic; hardly tired from activities, always down to do something, and usually fiddling with something. She likes to think that ‘anything is an adventure if you let it be’ and enjoys trying new things, one could say she’s adventurous.​

Vices
As the years droned on, she found keeping others at arm's length was safest. This stems into her being standoffish. Definitely not the friendliest person to meet and acts in an uncaring, reserved, manner. Emery is not one to hold back how she feels about certain things, often being blunt with her words. With that being said, she’s also a very secretive person. If she finds out information, or knows something others don’t, her lips will most likely stay sealed; possibly even in dire situations. While she doesn’t talk much, she’s fairly sarcastic with gestures or noises, which some find annoying and she finds humorous. Being cautious is a good thing, but Emery is overly alert, always aware and watching, always ready to strike. She's a little tense.​

Likes
Storms, Starry Nights, Fruit, the sounds of Insects at Night, Warm Food

Dislikes
Impudence, Wet Shoes, Consuming Thoughts, Cold Weather, the Noise of Styrofoam

Proficiencies
Reconnaissance: Due to her analytical and alert nature, surveying areas is a specialty of Emery’s. Figuring out general layouts of buildings, how safe things are or aren’t, and if there’s any potential threats are all things she can do.​
Blades: Emery knows her way around blades, how to wield and utilize them. She’s scarily accurate and more balanced with blades than any other weapon.​
Agility: She’s able to move quickly and quietly, she’s light on her feet. Knows how to dodge attacks or lying objects, of course not always, but enough to reduce injuries.​
Plant Identification: She’s knowledged enough in plants to know what’s edible, poisonous, dangerous, and helpful. Comes in handy when supplies run out.​

Deficiencies
Navigation: If a map and compass were to be handed to her, the group would be lost. She’s the type to get to one place and then realize she was holding the map wrongly. She prefers to use the sun or nature indications like moss.​
Handling Intense Situations: If a violent or loud interaction happened between people, she’d try to back away and leave the view of anyone involved. She can’t deal with the unpredictability of people disagreeing so she tries her best not to get involved.​
Verbal Communication: Words and her never got along, especially expressing emotions or explaining things.​
Long Ranged Fighting: She knows how to strike with a throwing knife, but the closer the target, the better. She has more control with close range weapons and fighting. A bow and arrow type weapon would increase the possibility of her end.​

Fears
Symptoms of being Infected, Heights above 30ft

medical & psychology.







TW: CHILD LOSS, DEATH, BLOOD MENTION
Chaos will always ensue.

Emery found out at the young age of 12, as The Funeral claimed her parent’s last breaths, as communities were set aflame, as the world crumbled.

Such a time felt like centuries ago, and although she may not remember much from her childhood, she will never forget The Funeral. The streets of Chicago were crowded as usual, horns were honking, there was distant yelling, nothing out of the ordinary, but something felt off. The air had an odd bite to it, the screams were gaining in volume, and there was a horde of frantic people barreling towards them. Her father grasped her hand and tugged her, his pace gaining speed. She didn’t understand what was happening, even as she saw the hysteria. Blood was flowing across the sidewalks, the agony could be heard from all over the city.

She said nothing, she couldn’t find a word to utter as they rushed home. The apartment building was no better than the streets, the sound and evidence of violence was overwhelming. There was nothing they could do for her mother, when they arrived she was on the floor, no longer breathing. Seemingly out of nowhere as the two of them stared at the scene, a blur rushed at her father and whacked the back of his head with a bat. The person, if you could call it that, didn’t stop there and continued to smash in her father’s head. Emery was frozen and air had escaped her lungs, she couldn’t move. After that all she remembers is their neighbor ━ Mister Lenny ━ snatching her up and running.

Everything had changed in under a day.

Time, now more than ever, is irrelevant.

With a tally, another year started. Emery’s notebook tracked every day, month, and year since The Funeral. The years had come and gone, many experiences along with them. It was just Mister Lenny and her, ever since the city. By now Mister Lenny had become like a father to her and they looked after each other. They were cautious, adapted to being ghosts in a hellscape. No one saw them, and if they did, it was only for a second. They learned early on they could only trust each other, Emery was always quick to hover above a weapon when coming in contact with others.

One day, on the way back from a supply run, Emery found a wandering child on the highway, a purple dragon clutched in his hands. Dried tears covered his chubby little cheeks and a glance into his wide-eyes was the moment Emery knew she couldn’t leave the kid. Despite the thought of why anyone would bring a child into this world, she hefted him into her arms and started trailing through the path she took. On the walk back she found out his mom was nowhere to be found and that he was 4 years old.

At 19 she became a guardian, at 24 she was a childless mother.

A giant wound covered her back, acquired from a run-in with a hostile group. It was hard to keep clean and protected with the size of it, she passed out with a fever a few days after. When she awoke, she was in an empty shed, posed like resting in a coffin. No one was in sight as she became aware of her surroundings. It was painful to move, her back scabbed over and bandaged. The amount of time she was unconscious was unknown, but her stuff was ransacked and scattered around the shed like someone was in a hurry to leave. She felt unsettled, but slowly gathering her left behind items and she made her way outside, looking for tracks. She knew she needed to find Oakley and Lenny.

She caught faint tracks, more than a few days old, and followed them as best she could before stumbling upon Oakley’s most prized possession. She sank to her knees, the purple dragon sitting in front of her. She hoped so dearly that Oakley was still alive, but as she stared at the matted blood on the plush, that hope started to dwindle. He took that dragon everywhere with him, even at 9 years old. She tentatively reached for the plush, thoughts wrapped around her mind. For many days her chest was heavy while she grieved, only able to assume her son was no longer. There were times that she wanted to give up, just let sleep consume her and all the time she had left, but every time she caught sight of that purple dragon, the embers in her were stoked. She had to keep going, Oakley would want that.

So once again, she was merely an apparition passing along wind currents.

Currents that led her to Philadelphia, currently at age 32.
background.





tracking: phantom


location:
unknown




codebytriples
 
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home
visage
biography
other










  • Morocco (feat. 6LACK)
    Alina Baraz
    [It Was Divine • 2020]





    There was a gentle breeze followed by the chime of bells and dancing chains, and hidden behind the song of calamity was a woman with forlorn eyes and a flirtatious smile.

    Name • Serani Som
    « Nickname • Known as Ronnie amongst close friends; Raven to strangers and those who struggle with saying her name. (The origin of Serani stems from the combination of Sera and Ronnie – a combination of her maternal grandmother's names.)

    Date of Birth • October 18th; zodiac is libra; born somewhere in Thailand.
    « Age • She has lived a generous 31 years.

    Gender • Cisfemale; she identifies with she and her.
    « Sexual and Romantic Orientation • Pansexual and Biromantic

    Blood-type • O+ bloodtype.
    « Face Claim • Zoë Kravitz
    « Role • The Raven







    Virtues
    Openminded « some may consider this a vice because it's the primary reason why she has spontaneous tendencies which could put herself or others at risk. It's what identifies her as an adventurous person.
    Introspective « she's so emotionally invested in herself, but not in a way where she's perceived as selfish. Sera is highly aware of the type of person that she is and can easily admit where she has done wrong; she can take criticism fairly well.
    Reliable « if you need a task done then she can do exactly that, but she's not going to bend over backwards for someone just because they told her to do something.
    Vices
    Straightforward
    Adventurous « she hardly ever backs down from an exciting challenge; she's a thrill seeker.
    Trustworthy « she's a person you can trust to get the job done, but not the type you should indulge your secrets to. If the right person comes along she'll sell you out in a heart beat, and thus is the reason she keeps her relationships strictly professional.
    Selfish « everything is almost always a give-or-take relationship with her – professionally that is.
    Petty « piss her off well enough and she will get back at you tenfold. She can't hold a grudge long enough to care to harm anyone, but once she's at this point of pettiness, she's not so charming.
    Likes
    • Dogs, fruit, birds, cooking, wood carving, thunderstorms​
    Dislikes
    • Deer (to eat), romance, vengeance, seafood, smoking​


serani som



coded by weldherwings.
 
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h e l e n a •
f16dfd80356bd2979c7fd3ce474cb373.jpg
THE APPARITION

I won't let you be disappointed, I will show you my fighting spirit
name: Helena Ivashkov
nickname/alias: lena, koshenia (kitty )
age: 24
gender: female
sexuality: pansexual
dob: october 26
zodiac: scorpio

height: 5'10
weight: 144 lbs
build: long and slender, her built can be considered as slim but with all the running, hauling, fighting and climbing, she developed a slightly toned body.
nationality: ukrainian - irish
hair: long and brunette that's always in a messy bun or in a long braid
eye: dazzling green eyes with a hint of hazel
blood type: O-
face claim: Antonina Vasylchenko

virtues:
Headstrong – with all the crap that happened, Helena grew up to be strong willed and dedicated. She does things with a clear head and patience knowing it will only take a single step to screw things up.
Audacious – she’s bold enough to do things as long as she’s certain of it no matter how dangerous it is. She likes to weigh on the consequences before making a move. It's her plan of staying alive.
Childish – despite of being dubious and negative about others, Helena still enjoys the little things such as potable water, a place to rest, rainy days. She can be laid back and lighthearted opposing her being ruthless.

vices:
user Helena won’t talk or stay if it doesn’t benefit her. She’s manipulative, cunning and guarded. She never let anyone close. It’s a selfish thing do but the life she had wasn’t easy and she knew there are people who would do the same thing. It’s just survival, use someone and get out, or be used by someone and die.
hypocrite Helena doesn’t see the error of her ways. She was broken that way because of what happened, but she’s willing to do the same to others just to get what she wanted. Avenging her family and killing the monsters that wronged them was the one thing that could set her free.
vicious she knows what she wants and she’s too driven and obsessed to care about other things. She left people who doesn’t have any value to her. If violence and cruelty is the solution, she's willing to do things without losing any sleep.

likes:
◂ her small cactus pot
◂ rainy days and open air
◂ good haul or atleast some useful haul during supply run

dislikes:
◂ being always on the run
◂ things she can't control
◂ rats
inventory: some of her items were acquired via trading, hunting and stealing.
◂ knapsack
◂ 16 inches flat screw driver (weapon and tool)
◂ broken carabiners (3pcs)
◂ cord (5 ft)
◂ dusty bottled water (3 pcs)
◂ folding knife (item she traded for an ancient car battery)
◂ gauze (1 pc)
◂ grimy black parka jacket
◂ hand sickle (weapon)
◂ jeans (1 pair)
◂ a sewn rabbit fur that she uses as scarf
◂ small whetstone
◂ small pot with cactus
◂ small broken compact mirror
◂ socks (2 pairs - not matching)
◂ tin can (1 pc)
◂ trash bag (1 pc)
◂ tshirt (2 pcs)
◂ tube of antibiotic ointment (expired)
◂ undergarments (2 pairs)

proficiency:
◂ gardening - not really advisable to her lifestlye as a nomad but Helena has a greenthumb.
◂ hunting and tracking - she's quick and light on her feet that if small animals are abundant, a meal is a sure thing.
◂ hand to hand combat - being able to defend herself is a must, it was a trial and error situation. At first, she always ending up bloodied and bruised but in time, Helena learned to stay on her ground and fight but running is her first option in all things.

deficiency:
◂ fixing things or anything that is closely related to machines
◂ she doesn't know how to swim
◂ helena is dyslexic, she relies on markings and landmarks.

fears: to end up helpless and dying just like what happened to her mom.

backstory: Helena is a lovechild of an unrequited love. Her mother, Tatiana Ivashkov, was raised by a prudent family in Rivne, Ukraine while her father, Matthias Reed, was an Irish tourist. Tatiana was on her way to become the prima ballerina when she got smitten with the Irishman. He promised her the world and Tatiana left hers to be with him. In the end, it was a false promise. He left her, and she was left with a baby on the way along with a golden locket that he gave her when he initially professed his fake love. Instead of going back in shame, with her broken English, Tatiana went to US and started a new life.

◂ When the first wave started, Helena was just 3 years old. They were living in a small town when the chaos broke out, she couldn’t remember much, aside from the hysteria of the people around her. The cries and screams of the people running away from something. Her mother comforting her as she tried to shield her only daughter from the harsh reality that was happening. They followed the crowd at first in the hopes of finding security, the military was ushering them to safety but when some of them started exhibiting the same behaviors as the infected, the military started firing at the civilians. Infected and normal alike were both shot on the spot. It was probably to contain the situation or the military got infected as well. They were about to be part of the casualty when someone pulled them to safety and told them to run. They went straight to the woods and their plan was to hide in less populated area to wait it out. With what happened with the military, they believed that there’s no chance rescue will come for them at that moment. Along with her mother and the guy who saved them, who introduced himself as Adam, an old couple (Martha and Mike) and three young men whom they happen to stumble upon, the group ran and ran deep into the woods. Their eyes were filled with horror and shock as they rested, catching their breaths while pondering what happened and what will happen next.

◂ In the first couple of days, they moved from place to place before settling in an abandoned farmhouse. It was big enough for them and base on ransacked cabinets, and photos missing from the wall, it seemed like the people residing in the area left in a hurry. After a couple of weeks, the group had a routine and they settled in. They did what they can in order to protect their home. It was going well, considering how fucked up the world is. Apart from few strayed infected beings, for years they were left undisturbed. There she was taught on how to hunt small animals, to track things and even gardening. They knew the supplies wouldn’t last so they tapped Mother Earth and decided they had to do what they can. Everyone had an assignment and tasks were delegated to make their little family work.

◂ Helena was 9 when her mother was killed. She was out with one of their own, checking for mushrooms in the nearby creek by the farmhouse when they were attacked. On normal occasion, they can handle a stray but they were caught of guard. Next thing she knew, her companion was screaming at her to run. Panic almost consumed her but Helena ran, screaming for Adam to help her when she was grabbed from behind, her mouth was covered by large calloused hand. It was Adam. He signaled her to keep quiet and pointed at the black smoke in the sky in the direction of their farmhouse. Then a group of men came, guffawing and laughing loudly. Adam pulled Helena towards the bushes to hide, his hand was on her wrist, holding her tight and preventing her to run and do something stupid. It wasn’t an issue. When Helena saw the men passed them by, she noticed that one of the men holding a baseball bat has got blood in them. Fresh blood by the looks of it. She initially thought that they killed and hunted down an infected but the one who was carrying the bat mentioned something about a Slavic woman crying while twirling a golden locket in his hand, Helena’s whole body turned into stone. She wanted to cry but she knew even the slightest whimper could get them killed. He was a malicious looking man and the long pink scar on his neck made him scarier in the eyes of a 9 year old.

◂ They waited until the moon was above them when the two sauntered back to the house. They didn’t need the light, some parts of the farmhouse were still burning, its embers flying through the air. Adam then explained that he was on a supply run, checking to see if there’s something left in the town and when he came back those men were already tossing some gasoline around the house. One of the guys lit up a torch and set it on fire. They weren’t infected. They weren’t attacking each other. They don’t have the disease that made them horrible, they are just pure evil. Adam was too worried about the men circling back that he insisted on moving out. Helena thrashed and scream but Adam just picked her up like a sack of rice and carried her in the dark. No matter how much she cried, he was adamant to put a distance between the house. He was too worried about the nefarious group they encountered.

◂ Winter next year, Adam passed. They made a wrong call going back to the city but they had no choice. Their supplies were dwindling and they needed meds for Adam’s leg. He was wounded during a supply run; it was small cut but then it got infected. They encountered a stray and Adam managed to kill it but then he caught the violent virus in return. It was Helena who planted a meat cleaver on his face and end his suffering. She didn’t know how she managed to do it, probably with luck and sheer will. She could see the madness ebbing from his expression as he landed on the ground with thud, the metal blade still buried in his face. Up to the present day, she was still plague by the image of his dying and bloody figure.

◂ After his death, Helena thought that she’s going to die next. She knew it will only be a matter of time before she turns crazy and vicious but it didn’t come. Instead she woke up in some dark cupboard, the bloody meat cleaver was still on her tiny hands. She was weak and starving but her mind is clear as day. Helena wanted to survive. She doesn’t want to die and just give up. She owed it to her mother. To Adam.

Helena managed to apply the things she learned during hunting. She was quiet as a ghost as she runs around, sneaking in and out of the houses. Being small, she prided herself about being quick. Thanks to her mother’s ballerina days, she knew how to become light on her feet when landing. Helena then found an apartment where she holed up in. It has only one door and a small window but it was enough for her to get through if something happens. It was months before she met others and knowing that she’ll be left alone in the future, she didn’t make any ties. She used people for supplies and news and it was every man for themselves. For a young girl, it was a cruel thought, but then it is a cruel world after all.

◂ Helena learned that what happened to her family was not unusual. Homes and hideouts were being torched while people are being hunted down for sport by some lunatics who believed that they were sent out by a god to purge the earth of its wickedness. She knew it was just a lame excuse to justify their craziness. The group has its followers, not a legion but enough for the people to be scared straight that apart from the infected, they were the other things that go bump in the night.

Helena had the chance to meet them again, not face to face of course, but during one of her supply run the group targeted a building near the place where she was scouting. From the balcony of an apartment, she watched how the group cheered as the building go up in flames. The family hiding in it was taken on the streets, the group was surrounding them. She saw their head was bashed in one by one. And it was the same scarred man who did the job. The same man who wielded the bat and killed her family. Her mom. Her body froze but her mind is all over the place. She then knew what she wanted apart from surviving. She wanted revenge. She wanted to make him suffer, to make him feel what she felt. All she needed was plan.

◂It became a personal vendetta. Helena practiced blending in the shadows, making sure that she’s not seen by anyone. She made sure that her aim was always right and true. That she’s quick on her feet and all the remorse gone from her heart if she wanted his head. Helena learned the new system of bartering. Small trinkets for some but sometimes it can be worth a meal and medicine. Helena became a supply runner. She's got multiple clients in Rubyland, they were the people who wants something but doesn't want to risk going out. She made sure that she’s updated with the news of what’s happening but still flying under the radar. She was just waiting for the opportune moment, and after executing her promise, she can go mad for all she cares.

notable relationships:
mom - deceased
adam - deceased
5 other companions - deceased


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home
visage
history
other










  • still feel.
    half•alive
    [now, not yet]





    name:
    nina irene castro

    nickname/alias:
    none

    age:
    23

    gender:
    cis female

    sexuality:
    pansexual

    dob:
    05.19






    height:
    5'4''

    weight:
    110 lbs

    build:
    all lean muscle and a prominent bone structure. she's running a bit skinnier these days, but she makes do with what she has. years of nomadic survival has rendered her body strong and hardened.

    nationality:
    spanish → american

    hair:
    deep brown with warmer highlights, and curls for days. her hair is her most noticeable feature, wildly sticking out at all angles in a neat kinky texture.

    eyes:
    rich copper-colored and almond-shaped. penetratingly intense and expressive.

    blood type:
    a+

    faceclaim:
    mina el hammani

nina castro



coded by weldherwings.
 
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