H O M E [IC]

Jinx

A Stupid Hopeless Romantic ♡
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Romance, Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Horror.
H O M E

  • It is the year 2030, for those who still keep track of the passing days.

    Most have completely forgotten how the world used to be, if they had even been alive when the world made sense. Neighbor turned against neighbor as the basic instinct of kill or be killed began to set in. Supplies were hoarded and fought over, dwindling till every store contained only empty shelves and those unlucky enough to cross the wrong person while looking for food. Once the initial chaos of the apocalypse had ended, survivors began to band together to create places where they could watch out for one another.

    As territories were established, some communities began to trade supplies. Others began to take supplies. Tensions rise, bandit encampments begin to pop up, and fights over territories begin as some began to realize that humans may be a bigger threat than the zombies. Between rivaled communities at war, Abductors grabbing those suspected of being immune to the zombification disease, and the dead growing in numbers, survival has never been more difficult.

    In the small community of Graceland, around 100 survivors have made their home. There is an easy peace with the local communities and Eden, with whom they often trade with. When a member of the community is taken by an Abductor, the race begins to bring him home before they reach the labs in Nevada. They’ll have to survive both the dead and the living if they hope to make it back alive.

  • GM - Jinx Jinx
    CoGM - Applo Applo
    Coder - Lillian Gray Lillian Gray

    Can I be immune? : For the time being only one immune player is being allowed. Due to the expressed interest, this will be dealt with on a case by case basis and decided by the GM.

    How many characters are being accepted? : For now, we are limiting the selections to 6 characters.

    Can I have multiple characters? : Yes! You can have a maximum of two characters. We would like to first make sure that initially we accept one character per person, however.

    How do I know I've been accepted? : We will approve all CSs that are submitted. That means it is important for you to remember it is not first come first serve. If you are worried you will not have time to finish, please let us know!

  • Rules and Requirements
    • Adept writing skill
    • One post per week, with multiple paragraphs
    • Respect the GMs
    • Respect other players
    • Do not control other players' characters
    • Please be involved, and contribute to ideas and posts
    • Of course, please follow Iwaku's basic rules and requirements

    • Almira "Alley" Renton
      Immune | 28 | Scrounger
      Name:

      Almira Renton

      Nickname:

      Alley

      Race:

      Black

      Age:

      28

      Home Territory:

      “Graceland. Sure, I came here only six years ago, but where I came before that doesn't matter.”

      Profession:

      Scrounger

      Description:

      An ebony haired, olive-skinned woman with moderate height and lean build. Wiry muscles lie hidden beneath baggy, green wool commando sweaters and a sweeping spring dress that is thread-bare thin. Almira claims that its weak enough to tear quite easily and can be used as impromptu bandages. Beneath that, is a tough pair of cargo pants. While Almira only makes the effort to cut her hair once a year, she keeps it tied up and tight in a small bun. The effect of which makes her look rather plain. Black eyes, a strong jaw are the few features that make her face stick out while the constant presence of her hiking backpack marks her presence across the Eden compound.

      However, beneath her sweater, her body tells a different tale. Old breaks that haphazardly healed left their marks across her body. Not to mention the distinct scarring of bite marks on her left shoulder, right side of her rib cage, and upon her right forearm.

      Personality:

      Almira is deceptively cheerful. She cracks jokes, laughs openly, and seems to be just a lass trying to make the best of the apocalypse. Certainly, this is true, yet lying beneath these surface emotions is the incredible isolation that she feels from everyone. The knowledge that, no matter how widespread and how terrible the infection is and becomes, she will survive. That, after the las corpse has risen, Almira will still be alive. So, she doesn’t let others in, unable to shake the feeling that it will all be temporary. That everyone will, someday, die around her. In direct contrasting harmony is Almira’s belief that the disease will, one day, fail completely. After all, she stands as living proof that there are those immune in the world. Some will always survive, somehow, and humanity will learn to carry on. This “apocalypse” is not their end. It’s a belief Almira clings to, calling upon her Christian faith and reserves of determination to make it so. So she seeks to help people, putting to use her gift of immunity to enter into dangerous and infected wrecks of human civilization and find survivors, scrap, and other useful supplies for the rebuilding of civilization. Even still, she wonders if that’s the best use of her abilities.

      Bio:

      On January 30, twenty-eight years ago, Almira “Alley” Renton was born into this world. A second generation of Egyptian migrants, Almira inherited her mother’s looks in full force and minimal of her father’s. Denver, Colorado’s Winter was windy and frozen that year. And gave her taste of the suffering she’d undergo while at home. Naturally, as a baby, she couldn’t remember the fights, the missed feedings, and near misses of being shaken.

      But with age came memory. And within memory lay tales of punches and belts, broken bones and locked closets. So, as soon as she was able, Almira found her way outside. Repeatedly running away from home and taking shelter with the homeless. Sleeping with them in the alleys and under the highways of the city. Fortune sided with her in the community she took refuge with wasn’t one that forced drugs upon her. Soon, a cyclic process came into effect. Almira would run away. Her parents would call the police. After a some hours, or days, they’d find her. She’d be brought home. A series of abuse would commence. Then the girl would run away again. Her time with the homeless wouldn’t exactly be called healthy, but it was at least caring. She began to learn skills that served her well in the coming apocalypse. Fire making, meals in foil, the ability to sleep anywhere and on most anything, how to make simple shelters.

      It had to be one of the greater ironies as to how little her life changed when the apocalypse came to her household. Almira was in her room in the family’s apartment. Waiting for night to fall so she could crawl out the window and down the side of the brick building to rejoin her second family. A typical evening in the cycle. When her mother came in. Almira stood and turned to face her. The thirteen-year-old’s face was blank, waiting for the shouting, sobbing, or whatever her mother would do to start. It didn’t. Instead, the woman staggered over, Almira assumed she was drunk, and clamped her jaws down upon her left shoulder. Teeth dug into and through the cheap blouse and into her shoulder. Strong as vice her mother bore permanent scars and damaged her shoulder's ability to function forever. However, one step behind her mother, was her father who hammered a cast iron pot into the woman’s head. He himself was already half turned and going deranged. He gave Almira one order: run. It was the most fatherly thing he had ever done for her. An action that Almira still doesn’t understand to this day. She did run, screaming and weeping in agony, out the room, out the front door, down the stairs and into the deteriorating state of the city. Through the mad looting, the girl found her way to her homeless friends.

      There, upon seeing her injury and as the infection was not as understood as it was, they poured looted alcohol across her shoulder as a few of them pinned the writhing child down and bandaged it up. Like many of her childhood injuries, it never healed properly. The homeless squad rode out the initial wave of infection as they had survived for ages, by simply being invisible and out of the way. Certainly, there was the need for barricades and hidden locations to hide from the hordes, but by-the-by, the largest change to Almira’s life was the fact that the police no longer brought her home. For five years her life was this way, living upon scavenged scraps, until, finally, Denver became barren enough that the group was forced to leave.

      However, success was not to be theirs. In the exit of the city, a horde came staggering on their heels that drove them to DIA, where another horde intercepted them. The homeless group that had been her family bit them down to a man. While some, including Almira, escaped, all had sustained bites. Almira’s upon her chest. Within a few days, all but her had turned, and she fled continually East with the scavenged food from the corpses of her family. Aimlessly, the 18-year-old wandered, wondering why the horrid disease could not claim her body.

      It was in the plains that the wondering band under one Old-Man Todd found her. Todd was three steps past weird, but four steps ahead in common sense and old faith wisdom. And he didn’t give up on the deadened teen. Every step of the way, he pushed her to live. To survive in this new reality. Forcing her to learn how to make a camp, scrounge off the wilderness, sling a stone, and set snares. Always with what she once found to be an infernal positivity about it all. “Not to worry,” he’d always say in the face of her frustrations, “the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through.”

      At these times, he’d pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to her with a toothy grin. Almira would eventually have no words for this, namely because his calm, strong belief denied all argument. And slowly, very slowly, she came round. His stead fast determination and the continued proofs of life in both herself and other, changed her tune and, on her 20th birthday, she was given a hatchet and Todd’s own necklace. In turn, she told Todd about her immunity. It was a blessing her called it, and she finally began to believe him.

      Of course, as all things, it didn’t last. A horde swept upon Todd’s group in the night and plowed into them. Almira was bit upon the arm just before she drove her hatchet into its skull. Eventually, she and a scatting of others were able to pull free, including Todd. But he was bitten and no immunity would manifest itself in him. He gave Almira the necklace after forcing her to promise she would never allow herself to sink so low again, before leaving to die, out in the Midwest as the rest of the survivors succumbed to the illness.

      Despite her promise, the young woman almost fell into deep depression again. She went further East, following growing rumor and story that there were some friendly settlements along the east coast regions. Along the way, while cutting through Indianapolis, IN, she came across a small family in hiding. Stunned that the woman had survived on her own, she told a tall-tale about a raider attack breaking up the group she was with. The family had fled their group after it began to twist towards such tendencies and were going to the settlement of Graceland. Taking pity upon them, Almira helped lead them out of the dangerous city and further East. Sleeping in quickly fortified allies and up in trees. The young daughter of the couple took to calling her “Alley Cat,” without a single ounce of offense for her like of these ruined spaces and a seemingly soft nature.

      Often, the parents would struggle with despair, not used to being out without the support of a large group of individuals. In the face of such despair, she’d often make light jokes or say, “Not to worry the good Lord has a plan. Horror defies none of His power and good Saint Christopher will see some of us make it through.” At these times, he’d pull out the necklace with Saint Christopher on it and show it to them with a grin. And, to her own amazement, they made it. Entering into the Graceland community when Almira was 22. And, due in part to the child’s insistence, Almira stayed and began to carve out a living for herself. Utilizing her gift of immunity to go on solo expeditions into infested territory to find useful materials to bring back home. Being in a community restored much of the woman’s pepper. She took to easy laughter in the face of the continued disease, a quick smile, and simple jokes. However, being the sole survivor twice over has taken its toll and she can’t help but wonder when the next tragedy will ruin this home she’s built and Almira will be forced to wander across the states again, looking for the next place to call home.

      Pack:

      Almira’s pack is a veteran scavenger’s pack. Meaning if it weren’t ready for most anything, it would be considered a failure. Belted to her waist is a sharp hatchet that rests on one side while on the other holds a simple contraption of cloth, a sling. In her pack, the woman stores rations for three of eating, and those are her last resort for food. Preferring to devour the surrounding wildlife in case she has to hole up somewhere for awhile while waiting for a horde or raiders to pass. Furthermore, she keeps a basic Boy Scout book of survival for its knots and list of simple, edible wildlife. Within the various pouches, she also stores a hand-crank flashlight, whetstone, matches, heavy leather working gloves, buck knife, flint, bandages, tin foil, water resistant-winter coat, road maps of most everywhere east of the Rockies, 100ish ft of twine, and a portable water filtration kit, and a solid fifty feet of paracord. Dotting around the outside of the pack are a set of pitons on a chain of caribeaners, a few of which clip a mummy bag to the outside straps.

      Prized above it all is a small silver necklace with the worn image of Saint Christopher of travelers that she carries.

      Skills:

      • Advanced Wilderness Survival: “Who wants to set up the lean-to for those without tents and who wants to join me in looking for edible bugs, roots, and berries!”
      • Jury Rigger: “Tie this here. Prop the board like this. Load all that and hey presto! A brick rain trap!”
      • Excellent Listener.

      Strengths:

      • Long years of wandering, abuse, and scrounging has toughened Almira’s body with the gift of endurance.
      • ”I’ve got two eyes for something.”: Living on the streets and scavenging taught Almira to keep a sharp eye for useful material, good sleeping places, and perceiving others in the area, not to mention changes in her companions.
      • Slinger: “No matter what falls to ruin, there will always be another rock."

      Weaknesses:

      • Stubborn: “After I’ve set my mind, I dare you to break it.”
      • Risktaker: “Hey, I bet I can find, or create, a safe way through that infected-infested town than just walking around it.”
      • Damaged Left Shoulder: “Yah, some crazed idiot brought a spiked club down on it one day and it just never healed right. Not to worry, it never slows me down." Which certainly is a lie.

      Romanceable:

      “I’ve got issues, like everyone. But I don’t feel like discussing them naked.” That's a negative on love.

      Art:
      Sadly, I couldn't find who did the lovely piece.

    • Dr. Benjamin Crane
      Sniper | 46 | Medic
      “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.”
      - Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

      Name:

      Dr. Benjamin Augustus Crane, MD

      Nicknames:

      Ben, Benji, Doc, 'Hey You'

      Race:

      Non-Immune Human

      Age:

      46; DOB August 28th

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Doctor

      Description:

      Benjamin stands at an uneven six foot, or perhaps a near five foot eleven, it's hard to tell with the shoddy prosthetic leg he's kept cobbled together over the last fifteen years. He lost his left leg as a child in a car accident and without any surviving companies creating new parts to keep it in balance, the inch of leeway would have to do. As a result he walks with a limp, and on the days the rain is a bit too much, he can be seen using his rifle as a cane. It's hard for most people to look past the prosthetic to notice his tired facial features. Benjamin has peppered black hair and a short beard which he lazily trims when permitted the luxury. A long scar cuts across his right eye, which has caused him to lose a good portion of his vision. His eyes are a steely blue and there is little life left in the two dark orbs.

      Usually, the good doctor can be seen in the same rugged pair of charcoal cargo pants tucked into a pair of shin high cargo boots-- at least on the one side. It's easy to see which leg is missing a bit of meat on the bone, but he still dons both shoes every morning. Benjamin has long since lost his precious white medical coat, not as if he'd wear it anyhow, the only item he has kept over the years is his stethoscope. It hangs around his neck like a badge of honor and a clear indication of his practice.

      Personality:

      The good doctor appears outwardly genuine, with compassion and care his first priorities when treating patients within the Graceland compound he's come to call home. He has few worldly possessions, not that anyone else has much to claim for themselves either, and most of what he finds he gives to others to put to good use. Benjamin already has everything he needs and puts his focus into keeping his community healthy and thriving. This is the face that the residents of Graceland are accustomed to, the smiling doctor who greets each day with a subtle smile and a wave before going about his business with a quiet sort of concentration.

      Inwardly, Benjamin is rather reclusive and prefers to be left alone to his self destructive thoughts. He turns to booze for comfort and is struggling to keep the façade of a happy life up as his chronic pains grow worse each day, his leg getting more and more tired the longer he goes without a proper fitting prosthetic. The only people who know about the more depressive side of Benjamin are those he would call his closest friends, though the list isn't very long.

      If he had to be honest, putting on a brave face and curing the world one scrape at a time suited him just fine, even if he did miss home. At least there was a purpose in that.

      Bio:

      Before the shit show of a virus spread across the country, Ben spent most of his young adult life studying and preparing himself for a life of fatherhood and residency. Like all problems in life, he approached them in the same manner. Through the arduous memorization and study of books and reference material, Ben set forth to excel in every challenge presented to him without any room for failure. He was determined to clear a path for his happy little family.

      He met Joanna in his first year of college. She was a student in her second year, studying business without a passion for her studies. It was an instant attraction. Within a few more years, Joanna had graduated and began a decent job as a secretary for a small printing company in the DC area. Barely a month later, Joanna found out she was pregnant. That winter she gave birth to twins, Hannah and Grace. All the while she always encouraged Benjamin to continue to his dreams of becoming a doctor. Despite the difficulties the two had shared with the both of them attending school, Joanna being pregnant, and the overwhelming amount of debt looming over their heads, they had so much joy within their little family. After the girls were born, at the young age of 21, Benjamin proposed. It was a whirlwind time in Benjamin's life but he never regretted choosing Joanna and his girls.

      Finally, at the age of 25 he got the notification that he had been accepted at Inova Fairfax Hospital in Annandale, Virginia for a residency program. Now that he'd completed both his bachelor's and four long years of medical school, he was ready to tackle the next phase of his education. He was over the moon. They celebrated by finally tying the knot, and Joanna and Benjamin officially married that afternoon at the courthouse. Everything was perfect. Joanna was doing well in her position, Benjamin had a residency at a highly respected hospital, and their two girls were due to start school in the fall. He felt like he was on top of the world and all the pieces were falling exactly into the right places. Once his residency was up, Benjamin was offered a position as a surgeon and was officially a part of the hospital staff, working towards specializing in cardiology.

      How many times could he say it was perfect? Not enough.

      And then, one day, his perfect world began to crumble apart. It started with an unknown disease. He saw it in patients. A strange illness they couldn't treat as one by one, patients had to be quarantined and staff sent home. Schools shut down due to the spread of some unknown virus. At first, Benjamin couldn't believe it. Zombies? The apocalypse? It wasn't real. This was the kind of stuff straight out of a horror flick, not a real disease. Yet he saw it day by day in the patients at the hospital. Much to his dread, he finally saw it in his own wife. It started as a cold and quickly turned into something much worse. From his wife, to his daughters, and from there, Benjamin knew that everything he had worked so hard to build, this perfect little world he treasured, had finally been broken.

      He travelled between compounds for a time, offering his services as a doctor to those who needed it, before settling in Graceland permanently. Five years after the chaotic affair of the beginning of the end of the world, Benjamin met someone. A boy. That kid changed his life for the better.

      Pack:

      Inside of Benjamin's pack are primarily stockpiles of bandages, ointments, and a mix of medications and whatever other supplies he can get his hands on. He even had the fortune of finding two Epi-pens on an expedition. He hoards medical supplies at his own personal expense and doesn't carry much else beyond a canteen and a few spare rifle bullets. He has a dull knife, half a roll of duct tape, and some gum he's pretty sure is expired. Benjamin has a pistol, but the ammo comes and goes as easily as the liquor he sometimes carries.

      His most prized possession is tucked away against the back of his pack. There's something there, a flat object wrapped and tied securely inside of a red plaid kitchen towel. It stays there.

      Skills:

      • Medical knowledge; licensed surgeon in the state of Maryland
      • Hunting knowledge; as a child, hunted with his grandfather for sport
      • Steady hands; practice through hunting and medicine has given Benjamin steady hands for healing and hunting

      Strengths:

      • Level headed; thinks rationally instead of emotionally
      • Soothing; a calming presence to anyone acting anxious
      • Loyal; once an ally, always an ally

      Weaknesses:

      • Impaired vision; right eye scar
      • Impaired mobility; limp in left leg
      • Alcoholic; in a depressive mood, his addictive tendencies to liquor can get the better of him

      Romanceable:

      Absolutely, I guess?

      Art:
      Credit to UNKNOWN

    • Cerys Victoria Owens
      Soldier | Thirty-Two | Welsh
      Name:

      Cerys Victoria Owens

      Nickname:

      Tor, The Dragon of Graceland

      Race:

      Caucasian (Welsh)

      Age:

      Thirty-Two

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Sentinel

      Description:

      Cerys is no easy to miss waif of a being. Clocking in at five foot and nine inches tall, her frame is bulked out by the sort of well defined muscles that are only achieved through buckets of sweat and decorated with a slew of piercings and long, swirling, lilac tattoos that travel up from her wrists on onto her back. This striking look is completed by the shock of dark red hair, most of which is tied back in long, thick braids while the rest has been shaved almost to the scalp.

      When it comes to clothes, Cerys values practicality and freedom of movement over other considerations like protection from the elements; there isn’t much in the way of bad weather that can phase this girl from Brecon anyway. When traveling Cerys prefers a small pack over something large and cumbersome and makes up for the lack of space with various pouches strapped to her belt. The only slight concession to personal style this welsh transplant makes comes in the form of dog tag necklace; only one of the tags remains but either side of it hang two gold rings.​

      Personality:

      In years gone by, Cerys was known, possibly even renowned for her breathtaking anger. People who crossed her would at the very least receive both barrels of a vicious bilingual assault. Others lost limbs. Since she returned from her long stay in Eden however Cerys is significantly more measured in temperament; Whether the anger the used to drive her has been extinguished or just buried it is impossible to tell but she is more like a stern school mistress than a fire breathing dragon. Taciturn would perhaps be the best word to describe her now. She’ll never use twenty words to say something if ten will do and she very much doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve. That is not to say that Cerys is shy. She will give her opinion on something just as readily if she hasn’t been asked as if she has. Either way it will be delivered in a blunt and to the point fashion. She will open up more to those she has shared plenty of history with, but even then she still gives off a guarded vibe, as if she doesn't want to get too close to people.​

      Bio:

      Cerys was seventeen when the world collapsed. On holiday in the United States celebrating passing basic training to join the Royal Marines, she wasn’t able to get out of the country before the borders were closed. Stuck in a world where society was disintegrating more and more every day she did what everyone else did. She joined the biggest group of survivors she could find and tried her best to stick with them.

      The group Cerys had joined, like so many others at the time, was semi-nomadic, wondering till they found somewhere to settle and staying there until a lack of supplies, the dead or other survivors forced them to move on. This pattern repeated itself over and over for the next three years.. Over time, human stupidity, ego, greed and wroth whittled down the number of survivors till perhaps only one in five of the original group members remained. The zombies and disease played a part too.

      As the number of survivors dwindled, Cerys slowly became an increasingly important figure. At first her youthfulness and foreign accent meant that she wasn’t taken seriously when she said she had military experience. As the ranks began to thin however, the leaders of Cery’s group became more willing to accept the foreign girl's claims. Her gun, was literally prized from a dead man’s hands and she was promoted into their position.

      Those first three years for many were the worst part of the end of the world. For Cerys, they were largely the best. The pressure cooker atmosphere of the apocalypse made romances burned hotter as everyone looked for someone to share the horror and pain with and the lost welsh girl found Heather. The thirty year old New Mexico native was a balm to a painful world and Cerys fell head over heels for the woman. For two and a half years, the pair were all but inseparable, guiding each other through the nightmare of a zombie apocalypse. And then the bandit raid happened. The feeling of Heather’s blood seeping through her hands still haunts Cery’s dreams. The ever pervasive feeling that she failed to protect the person she loved still haunts her days.

      By the time Graceland was formed, Cerys wasn’t ready to settle down. There were too many feelings she wanted to runaway from. At the same time however, the thought of not knowing anyone who had known Heather was too much to bear. Instead she spent the next seven years guarding the settlement’s trading expeditions. There was a sort of peace in traveling. She took particular pleasure in dealing with any bandits that tried to rob the settlements good. Disturbing and reckless pleasure. Eventually though this recklessness caught up with her and she ended up with a bullet in her right thigh and a knife in her back before she lost consciousness. Cerys survived due to the fact the bandit attack took place less than an hours frantic horse ride from Eden and blind dumb luck.

      It was a year before Cerys was strong enough to even think about making the journey back Graceland. It was another eight months before the leadership of Eden where satisfied that she had paid back enough to community that had saved her to let her go. When she finally returned to Graceland, people noticed something was different about Cerys. That anger at the world and desire not to be still to long seemed to have gone. She still wasn’t easy to get along with and seemed somewhat distant, but now she seemed to have a desire to be in Graceland, to keep it safe.

      Pack:

      Traveling light is the name of the game and apart from the bare essentials of a couple of days worth of water, some food, a small first aid kit and a change of underwear and perhaps a warm top, not much else goes into Cery’s pack or pouches. There is an old plastic sheet big enough to form a small shelter, a spool of navigation line, as much spare ammunition as she has at any one time and carefully folded, a very old and much repaired Welsh flag. In addition to this she also keeps a baseball bat with a circular saw blade embedded and bolted into the end strapped to her pack, a metal, spring powered realistic looking BB gun and knife on her belt and almost most importantly of all a repeating rifle slung across her shoulder. Cery’s most truly treasured possession however is the necklace on which hang two gold rings and a single, battered military dog tag.​

      Skills:

      • Military Survival training.
      • Battlefield first aid trained.
      • A remarkably better than average shot with most guns.

      Strengths:

      • Natural navigator.
      • In near prime physical condition.
      • Has traveled many of the major trade routes multiple times.

      Weaknesses:

      • Suffers from hayfever.
      • Reduced hearing and tinnitus in her right ear.
      • Her right legs both pains and slows her down.

      Romanceable:

      Theoretically.

      Art:
      Credit to Karla Ortiz


    • Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne
      "...but please, call me Candy"
      Name:

      Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne

      Nickname:

      Candy | Lia | Del

      Race:

      French-American

      Age:

      40

      Home Territory:

      Eden

      Profession:

      Entertainer/Hunter

      Description:

      Candy stands at roughly 170 cm (5'7") and weighs 125 lbs (57 kg). She has wavy black hair that she likes to keep at mid back length that often gets disheveled or messy looking, which sometimes gives the impression that she can't be bothered to comb her hair. Her eyes, a mixture of chocolate and amber, doesn't reflect so much light that makes her eyes look deeper if not hypnotizing. She has dark skin marked with imperfections: small scars littered her body while her face has a few acne scars.

      Personality:

      The entirety of Candy's character is hard to distinguish. When entertaining, she's considered as a femme fatale: capable of convincingly portraying friendly and flirtatious, yet deadly and fierce. She can also be timid, vulnerable, and scared. For the most part, she is a level-headed and strong-willed woman. She tries to maintain a controlled, almost emotionless persona to keep whatever she is thinking a secret unless she is around people she trusts.

      Bio:

      Candy's childhood wasn't easy. Her mother was a hooker while she grew up not knowing who her father was.

      She grew up at the crime-ridden streets half of her life, trying to survive. Her mother made sure Candy rakes in the big bucks for their family by selling her for a night to the rich people to do favors at the ripe age of fourteen.

      Life was hard for the poor girl though thanks to her mother and her work, she met people from all walks of life. She learned how to social climb; use her charm to get what she wants. This went on for a couple of years until when she met Joshua, a young man who owns a bar and became a regular client. He was the one who taught her how to live her life. He even taught her to read and write. Long story short, they fell in love and decided to be together. Her mother was fine with it after being paid a large sum of money.

      Since then Candy had a comfortable life. She stopped selling her body and began singing at the bar Joshua owns. Everything was perfect. She got her happily ever after! That is until the zombie apocalypse happened.

      She was twenty five and twelve weeks pregnant when all hell broke loose.

      They were driving down to Georgia to visit Joshua's family when a man popped out in the middle of the road. Naturally, Joshua swerved the car to avoid him only to crash against another car. Candy couldn't clearly remember what happened after that although when she woke up, learned that Joshua was missing and she had a miscarriage.

      Candy joined and wandered with the people who helped her in hopes to find Joshua. For years she searched, refusing to believe that he's dead or turned. She promised herself that either he was dead or a zombie, she needed to see it through her own eyes. The group she was with the thought she went crazy when in truth, she just can't bear the thought of losing someone again. But years of looking for him took a toll on her. She grew tired and weary.

      Thus, she decided to settle down at Eden for a few years, reach to her connections and ask for help. Every time she heard the news that Joshua was alive and he was seen somewhere, Candy would travel and search for him. It was a vicious cycle of disappointment but Candy never gave up. She strongly believes that Joshua was alive; and that he wasn't turned yet.

      Years passed and her search came into fruition. She followed a lead that Joshua was seen near Wrecks. It took her weeks scouring the woods but it was worth it. She finally saw him, surrounded by zombies and trying to fend off himself. Although tired and exhausted from tracking him down, Candy helped out and did whatever she could to save him.

      She soon found herself in some makeshift camp with Joshua sitting right beside her. There are other people there as well although that wasn't her concern since at that time, her main focus was her long lost lover. She thought it would be a reunion. A day full of love. Oh how she thought wrong! Joshua drugged her and quickly shot her expectations down by telling her that they couldn't continue their relationship. At least, for now.

      While she was in and out of her consciousness because of the drug, Candy could hear snippets of words. Something about a kid and a bounty. She also heard the words "forced" and "owed".

      Candy didn't know how long she was out but when the drug wore off, she realized the makeshift camp was gone and she was back in Eden. Residents told her that they found her right outside the gates.

      Feeling lost and betrayed, Candy vowed to find Joshua no matter what. She then made her way to Graceland just in time to hear the news that someone abducted a child! Although she refused to believe that Joshua would do such heinous crime, the whispers she heard from the residents of Graceland are enough.

      Now she's on the search for him and the child. She vowed that this would be her last trip of finding him for she wanted to clear things out between them once and for all.

      Pack:

      Candy's bag only contains necessary items: a set of clothes, a blanket, food, and water that can last her for two days, a hunting knife, catgut, fire starter kit, and a medkit. Her most prized possession is not in the pack but on her neck. Its a .68 carat square-cut pink diamond pendant that was given to her as a birthday gift by her beloved. She changed its silver chain to catgut and made it longer so the pendant can be tucked between her bosom.

      Skills:

      • Network. Candy knows quite a handful of people that used to be her clients and can simply ask in favors from them. That is if they're not dead yet.
      • Wilderness survival. Candy has advance knowledge of how to survive in the wilderness. She can hunt animals and forage for tubers or berries.
      • Hand to hand combat. Candy has enough knowledge to protect herself in short-range combat.
      • Excellent Tracker.Years of trying to find her lover, Candy developed her skills in tracking. She can track a person or an animal based on its trail. Thus, if the trail has been there for hours or days, she'll start having difficulty.

      Strengths:

      • Candy can easily get along with people. That means she's charismatic and charming enough to manipulate. She can even get them to spill their dirty little secrets.
      • She is rational even when under pressure. She doesn't show her true emotions so easily and she sees that as an advantage.
      • Although she lost her baby, Candy's motherly instinct hasn't left her. She can easily comfort kids and can take care of them as if they were her own.

      Weaknesses:

      • Candy can fend for herself but that doesn't mean she's strong. She lacks the muscle power to lift half a sack of potatoes.
      • She struggles to be honest with herself and others. This may lead to mistrust and miscommunication.
      • Candy gets easily impatient. For her, time is precious and it shouldn't be wasted over trivial things.
      • Topics of loss, death of a child, or her lover triggers her emotions.

      Romanceable:

      Possibly once she finished chasing her boyfriend

      Art:
      Credit to Aleksei Vinogradov

    • Dennis Haufman
      Sigh. "I'll fix it."
      Name:

      Dennis Haufman

      Nickname:

      Go on, if you're feeling creative, give it a shot. He'll accept most nicknames.

      Age:

      35

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Mechanic

      Description:

      Scruffy and tired would be the best two words to describe Dennis’ appearance. His full height is 6’2”, though a slouch keeps him from reaching such most of the time. Dark brown hair that lays fairly shaggy, as well as an unkempt beard. Dennis stopped putting effort into his appearance long ago. His hands are fairly weathered, covered in small little scars, but beneath the mess is a pair of somewhat striking grey green eyes, often hidden by locks of hair. He most often wears anything that he finds in comfortable and good condition. The only constant item he keeps on his person is a tool belt. He wears it very often, but if not, it is stored safely in his bag.

      Personality:

      Many can say they’ve developed a hardened shell to survive the apocalypse, but Dennis likes to claim he had it long before. Gruff and sluggish, Dennis feigns a lot of disinterest when meeting new people. He can often be viewed as somewhat rude or uninvolved, but actually, it’s usually the opposite. Dennis is observant, though quietly so. He tends to stick to the back and save his energy for the dire moments and pressing situations, then whipping out his knowledge in an unexpected moment. He’s not very sensitive to people’s feelings, but he often has their best intentions at heart, even if it may not come across like it. When he's in the mood, he can also be quite a bit of a jokester and can sometimes find joy in pushing people's buttons, a rare glimpse of the childishness that lingered from before the apocalypse.

      At the root of it all, cliche-y enough, Dennis is a softie. He cares about those he bonds with and is found making the most rash decisions when another person’s safety is in question. A lot of his actions are weighed down with a deep regret for the people he couldn’t save or find, and the will to survive is slowly beginning to dim after fifteen years struggling alone. Dennis is very much a pessimist, but a small, squashed part of him is waiting for a reason to shed that title.

      Bio:

      Born and raised in Annapolis, Maryland to two middle class office worker parents, Dennis had a rather boring start. He struggled to pay attention to school, and found quite quickly that his interests lay in places outside the academic realm. His first years of schooling made him feel somewhat inadequate, but once he realized it wasn’t his priority, life got a lot easier. His parents were clueless, and if anything, a little intimidated by the blunt attitude Dennis carried early on, but they loved him nonetheless. This affinity for the more brutish and hands-on hobbies didn’t quite come from them, but his grandfather on his mother’s side.

      Dennis adored his grandfather, who was a veteran in the Korean war. A tough, hardened, clever old man who knew just about every survival skill there was to know, and Dennis was there to soak up knowledge like a sponge. He also had a love of cars and boxing, two interests Dennis took to immediately. He begged his parents to sign him up, and after getting quite into it, they discovered it did help to get out some aggression and improved his mood in school. Not exactly his grades, but he was no longer picking petty fights. Most of his childhood was spent at his grandfather’s house, watching wrestling matches together, or poking his nose into whatever work his grandad was doing on his old truck.

      His teenhood had a lot of the same with a few more risky activities mixed in; some girls, some parties, some illegal substances… every stupid thing a teen could get their hands on, Dennis probably tried. He’s not the proudest of it. He did have a girlfriend for the later part of highschool, but she moved away before senior years’ end. He and his grandfather also fixed up an old motorcycle together, Dennis’ eighteenth birthday gift. Dennis cherished it more than anything else.

      But he passed a few weeks before Dennis graduated highschool. Though he didn’t get to see his grandson graduate, he’d left his mark on the young man, and Dennis quickly became a certified mechanic and started work in Baltimore. Life was good for two years; he had roommates, decent pay, independence.

      Dennis was twenty years old when the end of the world came around and stole away the sense of normalcy he had grown so used too. Despite the chaos that engulfed the world rather quickly, but Dennis was no idiot. He didn’t have a nuclear fallout shelter or a stack of supplies, but he had skills and his wits. He vacated Baltimore quickly, with nothing but his motorcycle and his most essential and treasured items.

      He went back to Annapolis first, to his parents' home. It was ransacked. There was blood, but no bodies. The mailbox was untouched, and in it Dennis discovered a letter addressed to him.

      It was from his highschool girlfriend, who had moved away. She had a son. His son, who was nearly two years old then. She had wanted him to come, regretting having never told him that she was pregnant. Maybe if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, he’d be a loving father in a happy family. His parents would be alive and his problems would be the damn motor on a client’s car that just wouldn’t work. But of course, things don’t work like that. They never do.

      Dennis spent the most part of the last fifteen years on his own. He searched long and hard for his parents, for his son and his mother, but he never found them. Their apartment was empty; there was no sign of where they’d gone.

      Anyone who Dennis traveled with, he never stayed long. He avoided interactions if possible, and kept mobile most of the time. Fairly early on he ditched his motorcycle, even though it pained him greatly, though he still kept the keys.

      Eventually he joined a wandering group heading from St. Michael’s. Losing sense of purpose, Dennis stayed in this group longer than any other, all the way until it met its bitter end due to a horde of zombies. Only he and one other woman survived, Momo. Now he’s found himself somewhat attached to her, and reluctantly agreed to pause in Graceland for a little while. Two months have passed as Dennis and Momo attempted to gather their bearings and find a new plan, and now Dennis finds himself roped into a rescue mission courtesy of the kindness of his traveling companion.

      Pack:

      Prized Possessions: Of personal value - A hand-written letter with a photo inside, yellowed with age. The keys to his motorcycle, which he left behind.
      Of utility - A toolbelt and a set of tools given to him by his father. The tool belt itself is what Dennis values more in terms of personal attachment, but some (not all) of the tools within it were also part of the original gift. It includes:
      • A medium sized hammer, his favored zombie skull-crushing tool (always at arm’s length)
      • A set of screwdrivers
      • A set of wrenches
      • Pliers
      • Heavy duty mechanical gloves
      • Wire terminal crimper
      • Torque wrench
        Other tools not in his toolbelt but that he does carry in his pack include:
      • Wrecking bar
      • Jumper cables
      • Electrical tape
      • Scavenged ratchets and sockets (not exactly a complete set)

        Non tool related items:
      • A roll of bandaging
      • Water canteen
      • Small package of matches
      • Swiss army knife (His grandfather’s)
      • Change of clothing
      • Blanket

      Skills:

      • Experience with machinery, specifically automobiles, which has transformed into a fairly seasoned ability to jerry rig certain items and things together to help him out.
      • Fighting. Dennis had a deep love for boxing as a kid and has used these valued skills throughout the apocalypse. He is an excellent hand to hand combatant.
      • Agile. Even though Dennis is a fairly hefty guy, he's surprisingly quick and has a high amount of finesse that can often come as a shock to someone on his tail, especially those pesky zombies. He has kept physically fit throughout his lifetime.

      Strengths:

      • Quick Thinking (while keeping cool, most of the time)
      • Clever. Dennis is able to solve problems creatively and make use of his skill set.
      • Observant. He's always on high alert and taking mental notes of surroundings and people.

      Weaknesses:

      • Enjoys pushing buttons, and lacks sensitivity with people at times in pursuit of a larger goal.
      • Stubborn as hell. He's hard headed and must be thoroughly persuaded on certain matters.
      • Dyslexia - it was a large factor in his struggles in school but he was never formally diagnosed. Therefore, he isn’t the most academically skilled and generally tries to avoid reading or anything similar.

      Romanceable:

      Indeed, if you’re willing to brave the thick layer of stubborn. (Bi but female leaning)

      Art:
      Fc: Michiel Huisman

    • "Lettum' burn."
      Name:
      Kent 'Arson' Murphy
      Arson was the name given to him by his group in Beggars End.

      Race:
      Irish-American
      Age:
      Thirty Nine
      Home Territory:
      Beggars End
      Profession:
      Ex-Bandit ~ Scavenger
      Description:
      Sitting atop his 5-foot/10 inches self is a generally messy head of ginger hair with a beard to match. A slightly crooked nose from falling down after a night of drinking is one of two abnormalities on his face. The other being a small scar just above his right eye. His eyes are a blue-green mix that tend to always be tired and scornful. The only hint of happiness manages to shine through when he gets his rough, burnt hands on a bottle of liquor. His body is strong and slightly defined, though lack of a proper diet does leave him more on the skinnier side than he'd like. His arms are covered in burn marks; some old and some new. On his left shoulder is a bullet scar.
      All of this is normally covered by his modified fire-suit. Though it has seen better days, he tries to keep it in good condition by patching up any holes or replacing pieces whenever he finds something in decent condition while scavenging. When he finds a safe place to relax, he tends to wear a pair of denim jeans and a tank top or a hoodie in cooler weather. Despite the season, he also tends to wear a beanie.

      "Why fire? Maybe it reminds me of a simpler time, where I put out fires instead of started'em. Or maybe it just kills shit and keeps me warm."

      Personality:
      Brash and stand-offish is the best way to describe Kent. While he isn't necessarily charismatic, he doesn't have a problem talking to those he doesn't know. It's hard for him to actually like people, but if you can prove capable you can get on his good side quickly. He sees value in people who are strong and can hold their own in a fight. The worst kind of people in his mind are those that need to be "babysat". He doesn't talk much about his time in Beggars End, and can get rude if pressed on the matter.
      Once you manage to gain his trust he is loyal and enjoy joking around. He is looking for a place to call home where he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open, and though he may deny it, friends to live along side with. Those that share a drink with him might find his personality is completely reversed once drunk and is a kind man who likes to listen to stories, sing songs and reminisce about simpler times.


      Bio:
      Pre-Apocalypse

      A firefighter for the Lancaster Fire Department, Kent was set to marry Samantha Gelt the summer of 2015. When the virus broke out and chaos erupted around the world, fire came with it. In a particularly nasty riot in Los Angeles, the Lancaster FD was called in to help control a fire that had broke out in the city due to a car crashing into a gas tanker truck on the edge of the city. Turned out, the man driving the car had been infected with the virus. When they arrived on the scene, several people had already been bitten.
      Months later and life as Kent knew it was a distant dream. He'd been at a government aid center in the city when a riot began. The riot ended when soldiers turned their guns on the looters, and in the cross fire Samantha was among those dead.
      Most people left the city after that, giving up on the government and sticking it out by themselves.

      Postapocalypse
      Kent was among the few who stayed. Something in him snapped seeing his fiance killed by other survivors rather than the dead. Joining up with an anti-government group, he stuck with them for the coming years. They stole from other survivors and rival bandit groups to survive. They killed when they needed to, which turned out to be often enough in Beggars End. It wasn't until they needlessly killed a surrendering family of four that brought Kent back to his senses. Gathering his things and heading out the following night. At first he went north to St. Michael, but he was recognized as a bandit and was denied entry.
      He's been on the move ever since, traveling East. He caught rides with traders, stolen a horse from a small farming community but lost it a week later too a group of lurkers but eventually he made it to the Atlantic Ocean. He still isn't sure where he's going or what he's looking for, but when he stumbled upon the community of Graceland he decided to stick around.
      He hasn't been around long, but decided to make himself useful when he heard about a child being abducted. Maybe it'd be a way to atone for his past.


      Pack:
      He keeps all his things in a tan travel bag, though his ax and flame thrower tend to sit on his shoulders via straps. His Glock 22 pistol is kept in its holster on his waist.
      Clothing: He keeps two spare shirts, one being a tanktop. Two pairs of jeans, socks and boxers. He regularly trades for fresh clothing every so often, or manages to scavenge some.
      Tools: A can opener for food, a box of matches to conserve fuel, crowbar, folding knife, sharpening stone, canteen for water, burn ointment, bandages and water purification tablets.
      Miscellaneous: A half-drank bottle of rum and two rags. One spare gas tank for his flame thrower and two spare magazines for his pistol, though one is empty.

      Prized Possession: Almost always worn on his person is a bracelet that reads "K + S" and a heart. It was a gift he gave Samantha before things went to hell.

      Skills:
      Bandit Connections: Even though they're out East, he does have several connections from his years as a troublemaker.
      Fire-Starting: Be it molotov or a match, he has plenty of ways to start fires. Alternately, he can also has knowledge to putting them out.
      Fractured Humanity: He has done messed up things in the past and would do it again if needed. This can be useful when convincing someone is out of the question and it helps with the hesitation before killing another person.

      Strengths:
      Fighting: Particularity close range, as he is strong and has quick reflexes.
      Building and Woodworking: A natural at building, be it defenses like a fence or something smaller like a makeshift weapon.
      Woodcutting: Be it for campfires or building, he can cut a tree down.

      Weaknesses:
      Shooting: The opposite of a crack shot, he isn't too good with a gun. Luckily with a flame thrower you don't have to aim.
      Diplomacy: He tends to speak his mind despite the situation. This doesn't tend to be the best for talking with other groups or making friends.
      Afraid of Spiders: He always has been. It's probably the eyes.


      Romanceable:
      Sure! (Hetrosexual)


      Art:
      Face Claim: Aaron Griffin-Here
      Fire-Suit: Daniel Comerci-Here

    • Maricela O. Lee
      Certified Bitch | Baseball Bat Enthusiast
      Name:

      Maricela O. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mari

      Race:

      African American

      Age:

      31

      Home Territory:

      Eden

      Profession:

      Trade Supervisor

      Description:

      Mari had always been tall for her age. When she was younger, her limbs were lanky and got in the way of even walking. As the years stretched on, she grew into her body and now stands at just under six feet tall. Dark grey eyes peer out from her dark brow, keen and watchful. Her springy curls fall just to her shoulder, often tied back with a bandanna or tamed underneath of her favorite baseball cap. A single white scar cuts across her collarbone, the only visible mark that the apocalypse has left on her. It's often hidden behind her thick overcoats or leather jackets, a precaution she always takes if she's going outside of the town limits.

      Personality:

      Mari has been told on numerous occasions that she has a resting bitch face, making her seem unapproachable and distant. Which is accurate. She much prefers the company of Graceland's horses and a few quiet individuals to any large gatherings of people. Whenever Graceland has a dance or celebration, she tends to be standing awkwardly on the outskirts. One part due to the fact that she doesn't like socialization and mainly due to the fact that she can't dance to save her life. While distant, she is anything but quiet. She has her opinions and isn't afraid to voice them without sugarcoating her words. The only thing that can break her hardened, described by some as bitchy, exterior, is unwarranted affection. She doesn't typically do 'feelings' and keeps her flings private and short.

      Bio:

      Mari had the perfect life. Well, at age ten, she thought that it was perfect. She had a younger brother to play video games with and a baby brother to coo over. When she wasn't at the shabby little school that the city of Savannah Georgia couldn't bother to give proper funding, she was playing her Gameboy while her mother tended to the garden. While it was old and out-of-date, it was the best that they could afford and she loved leaning over it for hours on end. They didn't have an abundance of wealthy, but they had enough to put food on the table and a roof over their head. It didn't matter that it was a shabby roof, especially when they'd decorate it with small arts and crafts. When her father would come home from a long day at work, they'd spend hours playing a makeshift game of baseball in the backyard with bags of sand as their bases and a glove that she and her brother shared. She still has memories of long evenings when they'd sit on the porch and watch the sun set, the buzz of the radio in the background and the smell of her mother's cooking in the air. It was perfect.

      Until it wasn't.

      It was hurricane season and the report had told them to evacuate multiple times. Their father, while a kind-hearted man, was set in his ways. He believed that the storm would miss their town and everything would be fine. They didn't have the funds to travel anyway, so the best option was to wait it out. Unfortunately, he was wrong. The storm hit the coast at full force and their whole town was submerged within hours. The storm tore the house apart, flooding the single-level home and forcing them onto the roof. The night was a blur, a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. She only remembered clutching her baby brother, Mihn, to her chest as the waves splashed onto their roof. By some miracle, rescue services came during a lull in the storm and got Mari and her brothers off of the roof. However, as rescue services went back for their parents, they only found a collapsed roof.

      The siblings were put in the foster system, any other family unwilling or unable to take them in.

      Mari was used to taking care of her brothers, even before they were place in an orphanage. As the oldest in the bunch, she learned quickly how to toughen up even as she tried to process the passing of her parents. She did her best to be there for her brothers when they needed to talk about it, but never fully processed the incident herself. The foster home that they were eventually sent to was overcrowded, under-furnished, and under-funded. The two foster parents did their best to provide for the children, but there was only so much that they could do. Once Mari, Mika, and Mihn entered the system, they were soon lost in the wave of paperwork with no hope of being adopted together. She still found time to play her Gameboy, often finding herself reluctantly sharing it when she brought it out.

      She supposed it was a blessing in disguise that nobody wanted to adopt them, as they refused to be separated. When the apocalypse started, Mari didn't have parents to lose, adopted or otherwise. All she had were a six-year-old and a fourteen-year-old brother to take care of.

      Their foster mother, Eliza, managed to get them and two other children out of the city and into the countryside after her husband was lost to a horde of zombies. They settled with a small group that would eventually form Eden. It took nearly two years before the community was finally formed. Two years of scrounging for food, learning how to kill zombies, and trying to make sure that Mihn had a relatively normal childhood. Thankfully, Eliza was around to make sure that he was properly fed and taken care of while Mari and Mika went out with a small group of survivors to try and find whatever supplies that they could. One particular expedition was cut short by bandits that tried to kill them and take their things. Losing two members and gaining a thin white scar across her collarbone, this became Mari's first lesson in the shifted moralities of the world.

      As most things for the Lee family, the semblance peace and stability didn't last. While Eden formed on the outskirts of her old home town and began to trade across the nation, tensions began to rise between the growing farming community and Charcity. Eliza and Mihn had been working in one of the fields when the electric fence was sabotaged, allowing a group of zombies to break through and attack them. Mari arrived just in time to pry a zombie off of Mihn while Eliza was lost in the pack of undead. To her horror, his shoulder was bloody from a deep bite.

      She snuck him back to their tiny barracks and kept the bite covered and sewed it up to the best of her ability. She and Mika agreed to keep it a secret until he actually turned, as neither of them could bring themselves to actually kill their little brother. But to their confusion, he never turned. The thirteen year old boy didn't understand why Mari was so serious as she told him that nobody could ever know. There were horror stories of those rare survivors who were immune being carted off to a lab, and she did her best to instill that fear in him.

      Afraid that the community would discover it and sell him out for supplies, she and her brothers packed up their things and left.

      Eventually they settled in Graceland where Mari found herself creating unwanted bonds with a few of the community members. Mika and Mihn were more than happy to make new friends, but Mari found her own circle limited to a handful of people. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, it was mainly because she was a bitch. At times, she still found herself taking out her Gameboy that had long since broken and thinking about how the world used to be. She often questioned if the world was actually better before the apocalypse, as she found herself smiling much more in Graceland as she ever did at the orphanage or the foster home.

      But Graceland seemed okay to have her bitchy nature as she made sure traders got to and from other communities safely. For eight years, she was content. But as previously stated, nothing stayed like that for long.
      Now Mihn is missing and it's her mission to bring him home.

      Pack:

      Mari typically keeps only the essentials in her bag. This includes a few packages of dried meat and fruits, a full canteen of water, matches, a small sewing kit, two knives, a change of underclothes, and a revolver that only has three bullets. If it's a longer journey, she'll stuff a thin blanket in as well. The only non-essential item that she carries is her Gameboy which has become a token of good luck for her.

      Strapped to the outside of her bag is her weapon of choice, which is a wooden baseball bat with two shivs jammed into the top. She's gone through about three of these since she figured out that she liked to fight with it, but typically is able to get her hands on another one or ask someone whose good at woodworking to make her another one.

      Skills:

      • Close-Ranged Combat
      • Horse Handling
      • Sewing

      Strengths:

      • Leadership
      • Physical Strength
      • Analytical Thinking

      Weaknesses:

      • Diplomacy
      • Ranged Combat
      • Teamwork

      Romanceable:

      Yes [Homosexual]

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST


    • Mona Jablonski
      "I refuse to waste words on you."
      Name:

      Mona Illian Jablonski

      Nickname:

      Momo

      Race:

      Polish/German Descent | Caucasian American

      Age:

      28

      Home Territory:

      St. Michaels

      Profession:

      Farmer

      Description:

      Momo stands at a height of 6'0" and sports a lanky build. Whatever muscle she's managed to gather while roaming the country, it's still not much to begin with. Her complexion was once ghostly pale, but now holds a healthier, sun-withered tan with blotches of dirt that she can't wash off--no matter how hard she tries. And yes, she tries everyday. Finally, Momo's blond mane is cut short and choppy, which she allows to lay on her head in any direction it pleases, and her eyes are a striking shade of blue.

      Personality:

      Socializing is far from Momo's strong suit. Meeting new people stirs a rare anxiety in her gut, so she does her best to avoid doing so altogether. This includes refusing to utter a word to a stranger and pinning them down with a calculative, piercing stare. Nothing malicious, but quite invasive. However, she is far more vocal around those she is familiar with and can easily chat off her poor victims' ears about the wonders of flora and her favorite literary philosophers. In the rare case of anyone being able to get under her skin, Momo tries to meditate (roughly 5-10 minutes) and reel her emotions in. Composure is key, after all.


      Bio:

      Before catastrophe seized the country, Momo lived a sheltered and highly pampered life. The Joblanskis were a prestigious and well-revered name, especially so in the academic world. Her father often toured the nation to present lectures, feeding young minds his ground-shaking concepts on historical literature and philosophy, while her mother remained in California as a Botany professor. Momo's studies were strictly monitored the moment she was born, thus leading to plenty of private tutors and a heavy focus on Botany, thanks to her mother's... nudging. Influence. Interference. The words were always interchangeable. Whenever Momo wasn't shoving her face into a book about plants, it was in another about literature and philosophy, of her own will. She'd grown a love for the subject just as passionate as her father's.

      Then came the epidemic.

      She was thirteen years old when it all began. And she was thirteen years old when her father stopped answering their calls. To this day, Momo is unsure of his fate but has long since accepted the reality that he's either dead or turned. She was left to look after her mother and they were lucky enough to have been family friends with a professor at St. Michaels, who leaked information to them about the possibility of a safe haven in the making. It was there that Momo found a niche for herself and developed her skills further as a resident farmer. When she wasn't contributing there, she was also assisting her mother with monitoring the campus greenhouses, hiding away in the library (that she fought tooth and nail to preserve), and participating in trades with farms located outside of community borders. Of course, she never ventured out alone.

      Her life took an unfortunate turn (as if a zombie apocalypse wasn't unfortunate enough) when one trip in particular lead her group to being ambushed by bandits. All members except for her managed to fend for themselves and she found herself taken by force, her fate unknown. She didn't know if they planned to kill her, trade her in as a hostage, or something else entirely. She didn't manage to escape until days under their watch, having slipped Wolf's Bane (Aconite) into their meals. Fleeing back home, she was then delivered even worse news: Her mother had left St. Michaels alone in search of her and they haven't heard from her since.

      Refusing to lose anyone else, Momo packed everything she could and also left St. Michael's. In her travels and desperate search, she eventually joined a wandering group of survivors. Hopping from place to place. Hope after hope. Disappointment after disappointment. After crossing over from west coast to east coast of the country, her group was wiped out by a horde of ravenous Newborns. Only Momo and one man named Dennis survived the ordeal. They decided to band together and traveled further before making a home in Graceland, no matter how fickle that status may be at the moment. A reprieve from the trauma was in order for Momo and she refused to go elsewhere until then. As of now, she and Dennis have been in Graceland for a little under two months, trying to figure out their next move.


      Pack:

      In Momo's bag is a set of tools responsible for plant gathering and crop production, such as pruners, empty pill bottles to contain seeds, ziplock bags for holding specified vegetation/flora, sturdy work gloves, and so on and so forth. There is also a bowl and small strainer available. These tools lean heavily towards the instance of finding edible, medicinal, or potentially harmful plants. The specified plants that she prioritizes and currently have in possession will be listed below:

      - Tule Mint (Mentha arvensis): For upset stomach, indigestion, and chewing (somewhat like candy)
      - California Wild Roses (Rosa californica): Another source of food and easy to gather in the California area
      - California Sagebrush (Artemisia californica): Crushed leaves in a container, mainly used as a repellent against insects
      - Yarrow (Achillea millefolium): Highly useful for medicinal purposes, used to soothe boils/sores, contains anti-inflammatory compounds, speeds up blood clotting, and can be applied to wounds
      - Yerba Santa (Eriodictyon californicum): Another medicinal herb, though this strain of Yerba focuses on relieving sore throats, sore limbs, colds, asthma, rheumatism, etc

      As far as sentimental items go, Momo has one thing and one thing only--a limited edition golden pages copy of Moby Dick. The margins are filled with little notes scribbled in pen and each one holds a memory dear to her.


      Skills:

      • Advanced Memory: Some would consider it a blessing, others a curse. Momo deems the skill as both. Her memory is nearly perfect, which definitely appealed to her fascination and love for academics. Thus, it's unlikely for her to become lost while out foraging, unless the path had changed somehow and even then, it would have to be by drastic measures.
      • Medicine (Herbal): Momo utilizes her in depth knowledge of Botany and basic medical aid to heal others of their ailments, though they can only go so far. Her specialty lies in the realm of digestive discomfort, fever, sores, and epidermal injuries. Significant injuries such as bullet wounds and missing chunks of flesh are beyond her.
      • Farming: Of course, she gathers far more than just flowers. If it can be grown by Mother Earth, then Momo more than likely knows where, when, and how to find it. She's also very adept at determining which crops are safe to consume, considering the possibility of zombie virus infection. Her preferred methodology is using a combination of water finding paste (she could thank Dennis for that one) and HP testing strips. It's the most reliable system she has at the moment, but is definitely in the process of improving it.

      Strengths:

      • Intelligent: Momo was provided elite education from private tutors since the moment she could walk. Of course, her hobbies tend to veer her closer to the studies of literature and philosophy, but that never stopped her mind from greedily speeding through every book she could lay her hands on.
      • Level Headed: This skill was one that Momo had to adopt over time. Through years of sheer will power, scheduled seclusion, and frequent meditation, she's managed to put a cap on her temper and anxiety. Most of the time, the calculative composure works well for her.
      • Observant: Momo is always watching her surroundings. No matter what. It could very well be a product of paranoia or the fact that her brain refuses to take a break. Likely a mixture of both. Either way, Momo does well to spot things that others miss, whether it be an item or a completely convoluted idea that could pose as the solution to their problem.

      Weaknesses:

      • Physically Weak: Momo is quite tall, but all her growth spurt succeeding in doing was spreading out what little muscle she has. All those years spent farming and wandering across the country with her group didn't do her body much justice, and it shows through whenever she tries to throw a punch. It's a pathetic sight to behold.
      • Judgmental: Understanding others is a challenge for Momo. She can maintain civil conversation, but when someone attempts to formulate a deeper relationship with her, her lack of experience with other people rears its ugly head. She hates not knowing and because of this, she has a tendency to clam up and assume too quickly. Combing assumptions with distrust just leads to unfair judgement on her part.
      • Reserved / Antisocial: Branching off from her previous weakness, Momo's inadequate social skills are apparent. No--palpable. In order to avoid any awkwardness, she deviates from talking, which can prove to be detrimental in a team setting.

      Romanceable:

      Yes | Demisexual, heavy female leaning

      Face Claim:
      Elizabeth Debicki

    • Ren
      Caretaker | 16
      Name:

      Ren

      Nickname:

      Kid, Son

      Race:

      Asian-American

      Age:

      16

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Hired Hand

      Description:


      Saddled with a mediocre height of 5 ft 8 in, the young man does not strike anyone as an immediate physical threat. Much like his avian namesake, Ren is thin and delicately formed, a few pounds shy of a healthy weight. There is a softness to his overall appearance that belies a sharp mind. His eyes, almond in shape, black in color, are rimmed with lashes, brilliantly filled with life as they look out upon the world. In more ways than one, he has his mother's face, misleadingly feminine save for a squared jaw. He is more pretty than handsome, and it irks him. There was a time when he used to wear his hair long, but in a recent period of self-awareness, Ren has gone to clipping his hair to just below the ears.

      There is no shortage to the clothes Ren can wear. It is a novelty to have clothes that actually fit; in the meantime, Ren has done well with whatever clothes he manages to squirrel away. A needle and thread have done wonders for many a worn pair of jeans or shirt, and he is not bothered in the least if they hang off his small frame like rags on a scarecrow. Shoes are the only thing the teen is particular about. They must fit.

      Personality:


      There is an intrinsic friendliness to Ren’s overall person that makes him quite likeable by others. Aside from his youthful optimism, he draws on his own troubled beginnings to treat community members with kindness and empathy, notably compassionate for one so young. It is easy for him to become invested in other’s lives; though he would not personally consider himself nosy, he does try his best to help out, even if his efforts are ultimately rebuffed by the recipient. Curiosity spurs most of his actions; he is inquisitive, to a degree that has gotten him into trouble once or twice. He is drawn to knowledge of the old world like a moth to the flame. A few times his wings have become singed, and he’s retreated, only to return some time later, ever incorrigible.

      His age reflects poorly on him in other aspects. Though not as gullible as a younger child, Ren struggles to discern truth from fiction and as such often takes things said at face value. While he does not appear to be, he is sensitive in more ways than he would like to the thoughts and opinions of others. As he grapples to find a sense of identity, his mood can be volatile at times, an unfortunate after effect of his own self-reckoning. It does not help that Ren continues to internalize this ongoing battle. This is one battle he believes he must face alone.

      Bio:


      For Ren, there are no memories of a world before the undead. He was only one year old when society collapsed, and his mother, barely 20, was determined to fight tooth and nail to keep them alive. Even if it meant isolating them from other survivors. His early childhood was a large muddling of constant travel, cold meals, and a pervading silence as he was often urged to remain quiet for reasons unknown to his young mind. He did not see much of the decaying landscape. Much of the brutality surrounding him escaped his view, as his mother tried her hardest to preserve his innocence. To this day, he can not fully remember her face. He can only picture her smile: fleeting, wan, something that came and went in the few moments they shared as a family.

      Their life alone was not meant to last. It ultimately came to an end when, while exploring an abandoned farmhouse, a Newborn zombie set upon his mother. As it just so happened, there were two bullets left in his mother’s gun. The first bullet was used to dispatch the Newborn as it drove its teeth into her arm. A minute and a half passed, his mother locked in rigid contemplation. The second bullet then followed, blowing out the back of his mother’s head. The blood and bits splattered distinctly against the wall, like a colorized Rorschach test. Ren was only six years old.

      He does not remember much of what happened next. Ten or so days later he recalls sifting through trash on the road for food when a man emerged from the gloom, a warm disposition about him. The man saved him from certain death; Ren would later come to know him as Benjamin Crane, a kind doctor who took the boy with him back to Graceland. From then on, the two were inseparable, Ren laying claim to one who quickly became a beloved father figure to him. Where the good doctor went, Ren went. In time, the boy flourished under the man’s care, the traumas of his past ebbing away as he embraced his new life. Opportunities to better himself came as he began to branch out to other members of the community. Many of the older members taught him rudimentary skills in various practices. As such, he was able to keep busy, splitting his time between assisting the doctor and performing random odd-jobs throughout town.

      Life was as peaceful as it could possibly be...up until the tragic abduction of Minh Lee. Now Ren is on a mission to help find him, and he will do whatever it takes to bring his friend back home.

      Pack:


      By survivalist standards, Ren is a hoarder. His black hiking backpack is large, and he makes full use of it on his travels, cramming it to the point of bursting with knick knacks and useless oddities he'd like to bring home to Graceland. At present, after emptying most of his junk at home, most of the space is filled with bare necessities. That is not to say that a few frivolous items have not stuck their way in. His supply list is as follows:
      • Two collapsible water canteens
      • 1 Liter Portable water filter
      • Slingshot
      • Pouch with 12 smooth pebbles
      • Rain poncho
      • Space blanket
      • Hand-powered flashlight
      • Small, red tent for two
      • 3 needles and 6 ft of thread
      • A half bottle of gorilla glue
      • Swiss army knife
      • Small compass with cracked screen
      • Over-sized red scarf
      • One set of spare clothes
      • Five days rations of food
      • Two sticks of beef jerky
      Useless items that he keeps solely for selfish reasons are: a rubber bouncy ball, a small sketchbook and pencil, a small palm-sized mirror, a set of playing cards, and a water damaged copy of YA novel The Hunger Games. In the front pocket of his pack rests an intricately designed flower hair clip, the red bloom of the metal petals having turned a faint brown. He never wears it.

      Skills:

      • Scout - Ren is the ideal person to send ahead to scope out an area. His triple threat qualities - small, quick, and silent - allow him to move about virtually unseen through abandoned homes and unexplored territories.
      • Sharpshooter - He learned how to shoot at the age of 12 and is keen to practice whenever the opportunity arises. His more obnoxious mode of target practice is with his trusty slingshot. Unfortunately, the boy is prone to take aim at whatever comes his way, including more than a few hats off unsuspecting passerby.
      • Caretaker - A nurturing soul, much like his guardian, Ren is built to take care of other's needs. He can manage to cook most anything, as well as bandage and clean wounds, take vital signs, and tend to the physical state of ailing ones.

      Strengths:

      • Whippersnapper - Youth is on his side. He has a young, sturdy body with all the energy, stamina, and endurance that comes along with it. He also has a sharp mind and does not easily forget things.
      • Runner - The teen is incredibly fast, quick and nimble in a way most zombies - or people, for that matter - can't keep up with, lest they tire themselves out.
      • Malleable - Ren is adaptive. He is both eager to learn and make needed adjustments along the way. He picks up skills more quickly than some of his older contemporaries.

      Weaknesses:

      • Mother Nature - He is currently in the throes of puberty, and it is not doing wonders for his emotions. That, combined with his continued repression of childhood memories, leaves him particularly sensitive.
      • Young, Dumb & Broke - Relatively sheltered and young, Ren does not have the insight and sound judgement of others around him. His naivete puts him in a vulnerable position.
      • Paci-fist - No hand to hand combat skills whatsoever. He is utterly useless in a brawl.

      Romanceable:

      Wait right there, I'm calling the police.

      Art:
      Credit to enilehtnorevol
    • Name: Set Lichtenfeld

      Nickname: "Lichti"

      Race: American

      Age: 48

      Home Territory: Mal O 'Ica, with close ties to Graceland

      Profession: Travelling Merchant, Scholar

      Description:
      Cutting an imposing figure at 6'5", Set often finds himself compared to a lanky scarecrow due to his height and wiry frame. Wearing his hair long, he holds to the traditions of his upbringing and maintains his *payot* sideburns in the long, twisted Yemeni form. In-keeping with Hasidic practices he maintains a long beard, only occasionally trimming it to keep it from being a magnet for clutching undead hands.

      His adherence to tradition continues on to his sense of dress. Set still maintains his battered old rikel overcoat and sticks to Hasidic dress whenever he can (though he is willing to concede to practicality when the occasion demands). As such, his dress standards are modest and simple even by the standards of the apocalypse, though he is given to wearing a waterproof military jacket over his rikel to help ward off the weather. At all points he can be seen wearing the traditional wide-brimmed black hat that was once a common sight amongst his community and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.

      Personality:
      Soft-spoken and possessing the air of an academic, Set nonetheless has a dry, down-to-earth sense of humour that makes him well-liked amongst the merchants of Mall O 'Ica and the community of Graceland. His relaxed attitude and propensity to acts of kindness does not mean that he is an easy target: Set is a shrewd businessman and careful negotiator who knows how to get his own way in a deal. His contemporaries have deemed him a clever, if slightly eccentric, merchant and are usually happy to do business with him.

      A quietly devout man, Set prays regularly and does his best to find beauty and joy even in the wake of civilisation's end. He holds to the tenets of Hasidic doctrine where he can, though he's willing to make workarounds where necessary given the circumstances he finds himself in. His faith is often taken as another sign of his eccentricity by fellow merchants, but most are happy to tolerate it (at least he doesn't proselytise like some of the cults that have sprung up in the last 15 years). He considers the act of putting down the undead to be part of the traditions of the Chevra Kadisha, Jewish societies that prepared the dead for burial and watched over them until their funerals. When he can, he will consecrate and burn the bodies of the dead he finds. Small acts of kindness and respect, especially to those no longer able to thank him, bring him closer to the aspects of God within the world. Once again this is seen as an eccentricity, but at least its good for hygiene and disease control.

      A keen researcher even before the apocalypse hit, Set has not allowed the end of the world to stunt his curiosity. He is, in his own words, "a businessman by training and a scholar by vocation". He works to collect books and other pre-collapse artifacts, regardless of origin, aiming to preserve human knowledge where he can. Though he trades with St Michaels on occasion, he also keeps plenty of books within his own collection.

      Bio:
      "You're wanting my life story? Feh, you must be really running out of entertainment. Your funeral if you die of boredom.

      "I was born into a niche within a niche, you might say, the subset of an already small subsection of the world's population. A particularly enthusiastic dynasty of a group of people who could trace their origins back to the tribes of Canaan. You know the ones I mean, with the funny hats and the strange hair and more black clothes than those goth kinderlach you used to see loitering about the place. Brooklyn was my home, and what a city it was. A melting pot, so much so that even my community wasn't all that curious compared to our fellow residents. Mine was a good upbringing, quiet and pious but loving all the same. I had plenty of friends, even outside my brothers and sisters: the son of the local butcher is a well-connected boy.

      "I was the middle child, not expected to inherit the family business but still expected to make some of himself. A scion of the Boyan dynasty cannot merely sit with his thumb up his tuches all his days, after all. So it was that I found myself at Hebrew University, half a world away from the Brooklyn neighbourhoods I had grown up in, studying history and the classics. So it was that I first began to dabble in ancient texts and esoteric works, learning to love the smell of old books and parchment: the scent of knowledge itself. So it was that I met a beautiful young mathematics student by the name of Shoshanna, who would later make the horrible mistake of agreeing to marry me and move back to New York City once we had both graduated.

      "My mother always asked me what a man could really do with degrees in history and literature. She should have known that I was my father's son, at the end of the day, for I did what my people have been doing since time immemorial: I went into business for myself. Specialist book selling, focusing on rare academic and occult texts. My primary source of income was Kabbalic works, but I had a roaring trade from other aspects of the occult. You wouldn't believe what people used to pay for a first edition copy of that dreck Le Vay was churning out in the 60s. Shoshanna and I made a home together. A family. For a time, life was good.

      "And as it was for many people, the end of civilisation had to go and ruin it.

      "We'll skip over the immediate aftermath, if you don't mind. Some memories it does not do to dwell upon. Suffice it to say, Shoshanna is no longer with me. Nor are my eldest sons and my youngest daughter. Their loss damn near finished what the undead started, but I had my remaining children to care for. There was little time for grief, in those days. I utilised what I knew best to ensure that we had a place to sleep, food to eat, comrades to watch over us as we slept. I harnessed my skills to do the same for others where and when I could, build friendships and connections. Before I knew it, I was a businessman again. 'Lichti & Sons', they jokingly began calling us. Wasn't long before the name stuck. At the former Mall of America, where my family and I eventually came to reside, I found myself at the centre of a burgeoning community of traders and merchants. We carved a place for ourselves there that remains to this day, one of the oldest merchant enterprises still operating. My younger children handle acquisitions, trading for new imports and handling stock at the Mall O 'Ica, as it came to be known.

      "My eldest son and I handle distribution.

      "Over the last decade I have become a veteran of the post-collapse landscapes, a seasoned traveller of the lands once known as America. Which is a fancy way of saying I shlep up and down the country on horseback, avoiding bandits and walking corpses. Met plenty of good people along the way, from Eden to those isolationists out in St Michaels. Even managed to talk my way into Charcity one time, though I can't say I recommend the experience. But if there's one place I always find myself drawn to, its the people out here in Graceland. This is the first place that I can truly say reminds me of home, of Brooklyn, of a community formed by choice rather than necessity. I stop in whenever I can, for as long as I can.

      "And yes, I hear things on the road. It's the nature of a trader. I have heard the stories of people who are immune to the virus that destroyed our country. I've heard the rumours of them disappearing, too.

      "Which is to say, I've heard about young Mihn vanishing recently. Why else do you think I'm here? I can't have some schmucks going around kidnapping my customers. It's bad for business."

      Pack:
      Set carries a well-used but rugged backpack that he managed to acquire from a former soldier many years back, and which has served him well ever since. Durable and airtight, as well as containing numerous different compartments and pockets to hold his gear, it's easily the most important piece of equipment that he travels with. It commonly contains the following:
      - Multi-tool
      - Water filtration system, w/ collection bladder
      - Paracord, 100 ft
      - Small tent
      - Sleeping bag
      - Mini shovel
      - Knife
      - Crowbar
      - Hatchet
      - Duct tape
      - Compass
      - Small mirror
      - Flashlight, w/ spare batteries
      - Headlamp
      - Matches
      - Spare bolts (limited)
      - Cold weather gloves
      - Waterproof jacket
      - Spare clothes, one set
      - Goggles
      - Spare glasses
      - Hand warmers
      - Chem lights
      - First-aid kit
      - Rations, one week's worth
      - Three large water bottles

      Set's primary choice of armament is his crossbow, a nasty jury-rigged number that looks like something out of a pre-collapse movie but which can cope with life on the road well. As a fallback he also wields a spear that he had crafted by a weapons trader at Mall O 'Ica, which works well from horseback and as a means of keeping the dead at a distance whilst he's dispatching them. In addition, Set carries two items that he would be truly heartbroken to lose. The first is his battered, worn copy of the Torah, which he carries with him wherever he travels. The second is his journal, which he uses as a repository of knowledge, travel routes and contacts all throughout the post-collapse world.

      Skills:
      • Travelling Merchant: A life on the road, roaming from place to place, has allowed Set to gain a greater understanding of the brave new world than most who live in it. He has learned the best routes to take, which regions to evade, and how to find supplies when needed. He's been able to pick up essential survival skills, and over the years he's learned how to ride a horse like the best of them. A veteran negotiator, he can drive a hard bargain and ensure that he gets what he needs for his goods. When it comes to roaming the apocalypse, few know how to do it better.
      • Veteran of the Apocalypse: No-one makes it this far without knowing how to defend themselves. The wastes of America are home to all manner of threats, be it bandits and other rogue survivors or be it the undead. Though he's no soldier, Set has nonetheless learned how to hold his own when it comes to self-defence. His primary means of defence is his crossbow, and years of experience have honed his eye with it, but he also possesses a crude but durable spear that is good at dispatching the walking dead from a respectable distance.

      Strengths:
      • Wandering Scholar: Set is an intellectual at heart, a man at his happiest when he's solving a problem or delving into a difficult subject. Years of study and practical experience have honed him into a highly knowledgeable and adaptable thinker. He can communicate in several different languages, hold forth on academic matters, and come up with crafty solutions to problems as and when its required.
      • Hardened Survivor: You don't survive 15 years of the apocalypse without being something of a survivalist. Set can take a beating, weather a storm and keep himself alive when others have fallen. He may be getting older, but a life of travel and expedition has turned him into a wiry, lean figure who can take what life might throw at him.

      Weaknesses:
      • Getting Old: At nearly 50, Set is far from the spritely young man he once was. Though physically capable and able to hold his own when required, he doesn't have the stamina of a younger man. In a physical confrontation, he will quickly be out-matched.
      • Wears Glasses: "Honestly, you have no idea how much of a pain in the tuches it is to find the right prescription when the last ophthalmologist in the country started eating people two decades ago."

      Romanceable: "You don't look like my wife."

      Art: Javier Charro

    • Abigail Ashwood
      62 | Cook
      Name:

      Abigail Ashwood

      Nickname:

      Abby

      Age:

      62

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Cook

      Personality:

      Abby in a no-nonsense person. Food is a very important part of the community of Graceland, so she runs the kitchen with an iron fist. Unless you’re a cute little kid who can do magnificent puppy-dog eyes, you’ll be leaving the kitchen without anything extra. She’s passionate about what she does and isn’t afraid to talk back to whoever, superior or not, dares question her methodology.

      Bio:

      Abby owned a small Bed and Breakfast with her husband after working at a commercial restaurant for fifteen years. She and Edgar were content to serve travelers with warm smiles and open arms until one of the guests sunk his teeth into Edgar one day. The apocalypse began with Abby sitting at her husband’s side in the local hospital, watching as he slowly grew worse before finally passing away. When he didn’t stay dead, it became obvious that something in the world was wrong. Luckily she was back at the Bed and Breakfast when she got the call that he had come back to life, a call that was cut short by the screams of doctors.

      Armed with a rolling pin and her loyal golden retriever, Gus, she fought her way downtown to the hospital to find it overrun with zombies. Unable to find Edgar in the horde, she goes off on her own for a few weeks before meeting up with a few people that had stayed at her Bed and Breakfast before the apocalypse began. They wandered for a few years, watching each other’s back and staying away from populated areas, until their van broke down near the eventual formation of Graceland.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Barbara Moody
      57 | Nurse
      Name:

      Barbara Moody

      Nickname:

      Mama Moody

      Age:

      57

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Nurse; Oversees Health and Education

      Personality:

      Sweet as pie and mother to many, Barbara Moody doesn’t have an ounce of upset in her bones even if she tried to shake them up herself. Although she has no children of her own, the residents have taken to calling her Mama Moody for her motherly care over all those within the walls, from young to old. She is generous to a fault, and is always giving what meager rations and supplies she has.

      Bio:

      Barbara Moody was born Barbara Gonzales in Mexico. Her family immigrated to the United States when she was very young, and she only remembers the struggle of living paycheck to paycheck in their cramped apartment with her three siblings. She was the first to graduate high school, and the only one of the four children to go on to pursue a college education. Barbara wanted to be a guidance counselor for struggling students, to teach Spanish, to help those in need. Barbara wanted to do everything! She didn’t know where to start. But, she did know one thing. The first thing she did was work towards purchasing a home for herself and her parents to live in. Eventually she met a nice man, and they were married. They became foster parents to over a dozen different children.

      Once the virus began to spread, Barbara was separated from her family in the ensuing panic. She has been unable to make contact with them, or even confirm they are alive. For now, she can only pray that they are safe. She finds peace in knowing the is providing for her new family.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Gracie Scofield
      24 | Teacher
      Name:

      Gracie Scofield

      Nickname:

      Ace

      Age:

      24

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Teacher

      Personality:

      Gracie is a curious mind with a great passion for learning. It doesn’t matter if the subject is from before the apocalypse or from after, she is excited and willing to devote hours upon hours of study. Soon, only studying the material wasn’t enough. She was eager to teach whatever young minds managed to make it through the apocalypse and begins each day with the same reserved enthusiasm that she has had since her first day of teaching. While she sometimes finds herself becoming discouraged at the state of the world, she does her best to instill hope in those she comes across.

      Bio:

      Gracie was a young child when the zombies came, old enough to remember all the horrors of the apocalypse clearly but too young to really understand what was going on. It has taken her years to get over what she saw in those three years that the Graceland survivors wandered the wastes. Since Graceland was settled she has rarely left the safety of its confines, preferring to stay deep within its labyrinth of corridors reading whatever she could get her hands on or taking care of the younger children.

      Her move into the role of teacher was an organic one, at some point her parents realized that she was effectively performing the role already and suggested it be formalized. Although she never finished her own education, Gracie’s enthusiasm for learning lead her to teach herself large amounts of what she had missed out on from books, the same books she now uses to teach the next generation of survivors.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Joyce Scofield
      48 | Founder
      Name:

      Joyce Scofield

      Nickname:

      Joy

      Age:

      48

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Founder; Head of Graceland

      Personality:

      Joy is the definition of tough love. Her hard exterior is necessary when it comes to running a community, especially in the apocalypse. She cares not for what people call her behind her back, as she’d rather be a hardass than be running a corrupt community. Despite her tough nature, she is compassionate and loving of all under her care and would go to great lengths to protect them. Her intelligence and sharp wit made her a viable candidate for leader once the time came for one to be chosen.

      Bio:

      Before the apocalypse, Joyce was something of a soccer mom. With long days to fill she discovered the joy of video games, logging thousands of hours doing what most people considered a waste of time. As it turned out they were wrong. When the apocalypse happened, Joyce started to see more and more situations that seemed familiar somehow. It took her a few months to realize she had seen them in video games. Slowly she started to suggest solutions to problems the group faced based on her extensive virtual experience. When they worked people started to see the woman as a font of wisdom and her rise through the non existent ranks began. After a year she was no longer Robbie's wife, he was her husband.

      As it turned out, leadership was a mantle Joyce had been born to wear and with her husband at her side she soon took over leadership of their group of survivors by general consent. It was Joyce first floated the idea of claiming the fort and despite fearful opposition, got enough people on her side to launch a successful assault against the undead horde occupying it. Since then she has remained the official head of Graceland, although she recognizes the desire for personal agency and often lets the community make decisions on issues through town hall style meeting.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Michael A. Lee
      29 | Farmer
      Name:

      Michael A. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mika

      Age:

      29

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Farmer; Oversees Food and Rations

      Personality:

      While Mika has the same sense of responsibility to Mihn as his older sister Mari has, he is much more laid-back. His high-stress job of farming drives him to find relaxation in the company of whoever would listen to his charming words and promise of breakfast rations.While Mari became the guardian of their family, he took it upon himself to become a positive influence on their younger brother. Somehow he maintained a sunny disposition through the entirety of the apocalypse, keeping a young Mihn entertained while also prying a smile out of Mari every now and again. No matter what the situation, Mika seems to have a joke or song to life the spirits of his friends.

      Bio:

      Tragedy after tragedy seemed to befall Mika and his siblings, but he kept a smile on his face through it all. After their parents died, it became difficult to keep that smile for a long time until he realized that his attitude directly affected Mihn. So from that moment on, while Mari tried to be strong for them, he would be happy for them. This cycle continued even after the apocalypse began. Mari would go out to scavenge for supplies with their group while he would sometimes stay back with Mihn and their caretaker Eliza. He learned how to farm once Eden was formed, as they were all required to work to earn their place, and found that it was both stressful and relaxing. On one hand, there was a lot of pressure to produce good yields while on the other, he found peace in the fields with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.

      After Mihn was bit and they discovered that he was immune, keeping that secret became his top priority. Whatever excuse was needed for explaining Mihn’s scar, Mika would smoothly generate with a charming smile. Moving to Graceland alleviated that stress considerably, but Mika always remained on guard. He found friendships and a few too many romances in Graceland, bringing his knowledge of farming from Eden to contribute. For years, he was content to live his life out in Graceland...that is, until Mihn was taken.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Mihn J. Lee
      21 | Trader
      Name:

      Mihn J. Lee

      Nickname:

      Mini

      Age:

      21

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Trader

      Personality:

      Mihn took after his brother Mika and became an unabashedly social being. While still young, he would eagerly follow after anyone who would tolerate his millions of questions about different jobs and duties in Eden. Curious and wide-eyed about the world outside of the fences of Eden, Mihn often found himself riding along with traders to nearby communities. This gave him the opportunity to meet new people and talk their ear off about anything from the weather to the history of their community. His chatty nature didn’t dissolve after he was bitten, and, in fact, he found himself creating stronger bonds than ever. The fact that they had moved to Graceland had certainly helped. Friendly, helpful, and always looking to learn something new, Mihn is ready to handle whatever life throws his way.

      Bio:

      Mihn doesn’t remember much before the apocalypse. He certainly doesn’t remember his parents, as he was just a baby when they died. What he does remember is Mari beating up a boy who had stolen his lunch and Mika telling him a ridiculous story about a rabbit and a fox to distract him that night in their too-small room. His older siblings were always there for him, making sure that he was fed, healthy, and entertained, even if they had to give up their own food and time. After the apocalypse, their concern only grew. He was often left with their caretaker Eliza while Mari went out to find supplies and Mika began to take up agriculture. This allowed him to shadow a handful of different professions, even as a young boy.

      After Eliza died, Mihn became more withdrawn. It was the first time that someone very close to him had died. Mari and Mika had been able to move on quickly, as they’d experienced this kind of loss before, but Mihn was stuck with feelings of guilt and melancholy. It had helped when they left Eden and he was able to make more meaningful relationships, and soon enough, he was once again talking off the ears of whoever would listen. Life was good. He could travel with the traders and help negotiate prices while also spending time with old and new family.
      It was perfect until he didn’t make it home.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Morgan Holt
      43 | Trader
      Name:

      Morgan Holt

      Nickname:

      Miss Holt

      Age:

      43

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Oversees Trading

      Personality:

      She’s curt, she’s tired, and she doesn’t have time to chit chat. Morgan has spent far too long trying to survive to care whether or not you’re getting a good deal, because honey, everyone is trying to get a good deal. It’s her ass she cares about, and that’s the final word. So it’s a good thing she’s the Graceland trader. Morgan isn’t one for idle banter and is very matter of fact. If you want to get to know anything about her, you’re better off buying something from her first.

      Bio:

      Morgan had grown up a bit of a social recluse, but she had a way with numbers unlike many of her peers. She enjoyed the theories behind the math and excelled in her courses. However, she had no aspirations for anything bigger. She disliked most topics in engineering and didn’t really have a knack for the lifestyle of a statistician. So when she couldn’t find work there, she opted to get a teaching license and return to the very same school she attended as a teen and teach AP studies to the less than eager minds of the next generation.

      The cliques didn’t change, and the drama never left. Soon, she found herself remembering why she hated high school so much in the first place. Her attitude shifted and she became short and curt, known as being one of ‘those’ teachers for her difficult tests and harsh grading system. Her love of math remained.

      When the virus broke out she finally snapped. She took on a no nonsense attitude and pointed both middle fingers to the principal as she stormed her way out of the school. No order in the unknown, and no rules when the only thing standing between you and the next day is your own capabilities. Morgan was present during the original fight for Fort Lee. Some describe her as a terror, a fighter like no other. All that pent up aggression finally was let free. She now operates the channels which move in and around the area or even on longer excursions to other well known outposts.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • Robert Scofield
      49 | Founder
      Name:

      Robert Scofield

      Nickname:

      Robbie

      Age:

      49

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Founder; Oversees Combat

      Personality:

      Robert is a man who always has a plan in any given situation. He’s quick on his feet and is indescribably loyal towards his wife and those he trusts. The occupation of sheriff never left his soul, as he still holds himself to a standard of morals and ethics that were taught to him at the academy and expects those who work under him to comply by the same rules. While he can be strict with those running security, he can sometimes be found in the classroom with his daughter Grace more or less distracting the kids instead of helping teach them.

      Bio:

      Robert was a small county Sheriff when the zombies first appeared. Despite his best efforts, his small department fell apart before the end of the second day. Robbie had always been loyal to the badge but he was smart enough to know a lost cause when he saw it and that staying would only lead to doom for him and his family. Stocking up on supplies he loaded his family into his jeep and set off for what he had heard was a safe area. When they ran out of fuel they walked, slowly falling in with other survivors.

      The rumored safe zone proved to be anything but and the band of survivors were forced to keep walking. As a man with law enforcement experience and his easy, approachable attitude, Robbie more or less fell into a position of influence; people clinging to a dream of the old world still saw a sheriff as a figure worthy of respect.

      His wife’s near meteoric rise to power may have caused problems in their marriage if it hadn’t actually made Robbie quite pleased to see the woman he loved finding a new role for themselves. He was her most loyal adviser and closest confidant. When she proposed the taking of Fort Lee he supported her to the point of leading a scouting expedition into the infested base and heading up the assault to clear it.

      In the years since, Robbie has almost fallen into the role he used to have. As the head of security he is responsible both for keeping the dead at bay and the living in line for the good of the community.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST

    • SCOOTER
      GOOD BOY | 4 | CORGI
      Name:

      SCOOTER

      Nickname:

      SCOOTS, SCOOTY, BOY

      Race:

      CORGI

      Age:

      4

      Home Territory:

      HOME IS WHERE THE MASTER IS

      Profession:

      I GUARD THE BACKPACK

      Description:

      I LIKE TO WEAR A GREEN BANDANA MY MASTER GAVE ME. IT SMELLS LIKE MEDICINE.

      Personality:

      A GOOD BOY

      Bio:

      ONE DAY I HAD SIBLINGS. THERE WERE GROWLY PEOPLE. MY MAMA BIT THEM. I GOT SCARED AND HID UNDER A CAR. THEN MY MASTER FOUND US. NOW WE ARE SAFE.

      Pack:

      WHAT IS A PACK?

      Skills:

      • DIGGING
      • ALERTING
      • FETCHING

      Strengths:

      • COMFORTING
      • FINDING
      • MAKING FRIENDS

      Weaknesses:

      • MY LEGS ARE SHORT
      • I LOVE TOO MUCH
      • I AM SMALL

      Romanceable:

      I AM A DOG BUT YOU MAY LOVE ME

      Art:
      Credit to Anneke van Waard

    • Zachariah Mulligan
      32 | Expeditions
      Name:

      Zachariah Mulligan

      Nickname:

      Second Shot, Mulligan

      Age:

      32

      Home Territory:

      Graceland

      Profession:

      Oversees Expeditions

      Personality:

      My country tis of thee, Zachariah has more pride in his left knee than most people do in their entire bodies. His only goal is to reclaim the country that the virus took from him, which is a tall enough order for a lifetime. He is loud but not obnoxious or idiotic. Zachariah is still intelligent, though his more boisterous mannerisms tend to get in the way of his subtle smarts. The man would do anything for his fellow soldier, and prides himself on being a part of the well running community known as Graceland.

      Bio:

      Born and raised in the outer limits of Washington D.C. to two career politicians, Zachariah was born with the natural urge to rebel against the man. However, being so close to the central pride of his country only brought out the patriot in him, and soon the young teen was engaging in debates at school and becoming more engaged in his parent’s work. A shame he really only began to show interest when the world was starting to end.

      Zachariah was a junior in high school, his mind more focused on midterms and college than survival and zombies. He had his heart set on studying politics and his parents had put a divide on where he should go to college after he graduated. The virus solved all his problems, and brought out a kind of comraderie with his fellow neighbors. Frustrated by the events, the young teen rallied his neighborhood in an all out effort to escape their populated D.C. neighborhood as soon as possible. It was a decent plan, and many survived. Call it dumb luck, or some sort of political speech gone rogue, Zachariah wasn’t able to pull off any sort of motivational spirit again once he saw the real world, not for many years.

      He volunteered to lead the first expeditions at Graceland and has been leading them ever since. It’s brought out some of his fighting spirit, and he’s learned to become quite an effective leader.

      Art:
      Credit to ARTIST
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Jinx

A Stupid Hopeless Romantic ♡
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Romance, Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Horror.
H O M E


Chapter 1: Country Roads


  • Mari wished that she was on guard duty. Sitting in the drizzling rain on a makeshift barricade seemed much better than awkwardly watching groups of people dance. But someone had apparently decided that she needed a break, which meant a night off from guarding the fort or accompanying a supply cart that was on its way back from Eden. Somewhere, a generator hummed merrily below the sound of a violin and guitar. A warbling voice sang along, a song that she vaguely recognized the lyrics of but couldn’t recall for the life of her. In her hand, she held a cup of fruit punch. It was a rare commodity, saved for special occasions. While it was nothing compared to the sugary health risk that Hawaiin Punch once was, Abigail had put a lot of effort into making what she could. Of course, her adding a good amount of vodka to her cup certainly changed the taste.

    But, she couldn’t help the warmth in her chest as she watched children tug each other onto the dance floor as they attempted to mimic their parent’s movements. It was a nice moment. Mika had asked some girl to dance, which made her roll her eyes. Unfortunately this meant that she’d end up sleeping somewhere else for the night, as was their unspoken code of siblinghood. Whoever found a hookup first got full reign of the barracks that they shared, and seeing as Mihn was often out negotiating trades, it was an endless competition between the two older siblings.

    Spotting a familiar face, Mari was quick to cut through the crowd and away from the small group that was forming near her. When people were near, small talk was sure to follow. If there was anything that she couldn’t stand, it was small talk. Instead, she edged around the floor clustered with people. What had once been a museum hall had been turned into a recreation center where they hosted whatever event was planned to keep everyone’s spirits up. The floor had been cleared, the old displays pushed against the walls and strung with tiny lights. Someone had been bold enough to string some from the ceiling, the twinkling bulbs falling in small curves every few feet.

    “When does it become acceptable to bail on a party?” Mari drawled as she stepped up beside Cerys, her arms crossed as she watched Mika do an off-beat tango with one of the younger women who often worked in the fields with him. “Because my flask is almost empty and I don’t want to discuss the weather with anyone while sober.”

    “I’m only here for the punch, once that’s gone so am I.” For a few moments the Welsh woman’s green eyes met Mari’s grey one and the hint of a smirk raced across their face before she returned to looking out over the ad-hoc dance floor. “Why do any of the girls still go for your brother? Is he that good looking? Surely she must know that tonight she is just the latest of your brother houseguests.”

    “House guests.” Mari snorted with a roll of her eyes, shaking her head as she stared forward. Their bunker that they called home felt more like a bed and breakfast in the mornings that he brought a girl there. Mari would come back from wherever she ended up sleeping and he’d be serving his portion of rations and coffee to his most recent conquest and chatting with them about the upcoming day, as though he wouldn’t be seeked out a new girl at the next dance. Mari glanced at the red-head’s cup and held up her own silver flask, giving it a small inviting shake. “If I share, can I get a place to stay tonight?”

    “I’m not that easy Mari.” Despite what had been said, Cerys smiled slightly as she extended the arm with her cup in towards the proffered flask, shuffling at little closer at the same time. “You’ll have to tell me how you find keep finding this stuff too.”

    “It isn’t that hard. People are grateful when I make sure bandits don’t steal their shit.” Mari poured her a fairly generous amount of homemade vodka into her friend’s cup, unable to help the lazy grin on her lips. There weren’t many people that she genuinely enjoyed spending time with, but Cerys was a kindred spirit. Neither were interested in ‘emotional connections’ and preferred to keep keep their feelings at a safe distance. She was quiet for a moment, contemplative as she looked at Cerys. “I’d never describe you as easy.”

    “Yeah, cos then you’d have to sleep in the tank wouldn’t you. That or beg the doc for a spot on his sofa.” In one fluid motion, Cerys upended the plastic cup over her mouth and drained its contents before half reaching out to Mari. “It doesn’t look like your brother’s gonna get a good slap anytime soon and if you’ve got that flask, well then, there's not much here for me to stay for. Let’s go somewhere… quieter. You can explain to me how you persuade people to give you stuff. All I ever got for guarding caravans was a bullet in the backside.”

    Mari’s lips quirked into a grin at the offer, and though it was fairly tempting to disappear from the party, she knew that Mihn would be getting back at any point. He’d been gone for the past two weeks, not his longest journey, but still long enough to where she noticed his absence. It was odd that although she found his energetic and outgoing personality overbearing at times, the moment he was gone, she couldn’t help but miss it. And of course, there was a constant worry in the back of her mind that something would happen while he was out trading.

    It futile to worry, for the most part, as she knew the dark secret that the siblings shared. Mihn’s immunity was both a blessing and a curse. She didn’t have to fear that he would be turned during his travels, but unfortunately had to face the fear of him being discovered. She’d taken great lengths to make sure that it stayed quiet, even going as far as hoarding the expired makeup that the scavenging team sometimes came across. While it didn’t completely cover the crescent-shaped scar on his arm, which was normally concealed by a thick jacket anyway, it made it a little less noticeable.

    “Once I make sure that Mihn’s back and settled, we can…inspect the watchtower. I’m sure that whoever is up there tonight wouldn’t mind being relieved of their duties.” Mari stared forward at the dancers with a small shake of her head and a smirk on her lips. “After all, there’s an entire party happening down here.”
  • Instructions: It's a party have fun and let your characters let their hair down. This will be your first post, and should be an introduction to your character before we move forward! We would like to see everyone contribute at least once before we get too far, so please be mindful of this for the first round of posting. Otherwise - there is no posting order.


    Nearly everyone's characters are full time residents of Graceland so you should know most people by name or at least most of the important people. Give us a poke if you needs help with lore or have any questions.

 

Lillian Gray

Craft Master
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Advanced, Adaptable
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
Genre You DON'T Like
Edgelord
Dr. Benjamin Crane
"Doctor! Oh, Doctor Crane, there you are."

Oh boy. Another one.

Benjamin had only just sat down in one of the haphazardly placed fold out chairs littered around the room when one of the nurses had convinced him that getting up and dancing would be good for his leg. At first he was able to deny them, until Miss Moody came around. While he knew they weren't necessarily wrong he didn't like to put much weight on it when he didn't have to. But Miss Moody wasn't arguing medical facts. She picked up Benjamin by his belt and had him in the middle of the makeshift dance floor before he knew what was happening. The uneven inch in height made him feel lopsided and dizzy as they moved, spinning in circles to the uneven tune to some old song playing through the speakers. How many times had they played this CD and he still didn't know the name of it? And he smiled, graciously entertaining his partner until two songs had passed and the growing pain in his joints were too much to bear.

"Yes, ah, hello Miss Odelia. Can I-" Benjamin smiled politely and offered his hand from where he sat, but the panicked woman cut him off.

"My son!" She shrieked at the doctor. "Something is wrong with him, he's not well."

Odelia was a tall woman with curly brown hair. She was incredibly rash and often worried over minute details. She worked in the gardens during the summer months, and she was good at that. Keeping weeds away was almost considered an art form when it came time to keep the crops maintained, so long as Miss Odelia was watching them. She held her son in front of her by his shoulders. He had been born just a year after the madness all started. Conrad was his name. The lad was a clever boy, but he was always getting into trouble.

He did look a bit...off. Conrad's eyes were red, and he appeared to be having a difficult time standing on his own two feet from Benjamin's initial glance. And he reeked of-

"Doctor, are you even paying attention?" Odelia shoved the boy a bit closer. Woof, the overwhelming stench of alcohol hit him before the kid did. He stumbled onto Benjamin and kicked his prosthetic a bit too hard. He hissed in pain, trying not to let the woman know just how irritated he really was through the false smile he followed up with.

"Yes, Miss Odelia. He does look a bit ill. Has he eaten anything today? Water?" Benjamin probed at the boy's stomach, and he looked like he was about to wretch. The doctor already knew what the problem was, but mother dearest seemed blissfully unaware. How she couldn't smell the alcohol on his breath was another mystery entirely.

"No! Just a bit of bread for breakfast, we've been waiting for tonight." She explained, exasperated. "I tried to get him to eat, but all he's been drinking is that punch. He's had at least a dozen cups of it." Odelia shook her head and signed. She had a cup of it in her hand, and she gave it to Benjamin for examination, as if she expected him to put it under a microscope on the spot. "I brought you a sample. Oh, God, why me. Is it the flu? West Nile? Pneumonia? Can you please just tell me. Did someone try to poison my baby?"

Benjamin pursed his lips and nodded. Of course, he wanted to tell her what was wrong but each time he opened his mouth she cut him off. That was a fairly typical conversation between them. So he had learned to wait until she had her fair share of questions and worries before saying anything important. He slowly stood, bearing all of his weight on an unloaded rifle for support until he felt comfortable speaking. Again, Odelia tried to hand Benjamin the cup and this time he accepted it with his free hand. He swirled it around a few times before sniffing it. Vodka maybe. He couldn't be sure, but there was a lot of it. So much for a medical exam.

"Miss Odelia, I believe your son is drunk." Benjamin smiled, and as if on cue, Conrad vomited on the floor between the two adult's shoes. Benjamin's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and inwardly he cursed the boy, but externally he was calm as ever, the good doctor everyone expected him to be.

"He's fourteen!" Odelia scoffed. "He would never-" She glanced over to the punch bowl just across the room and then back to her son. "This was that Elias boy's fault wasn't it?"

"Ah, mah, cmmon, issalri-" And Conrad again emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, this time splattering Odelia's shoes in the process.

"I would take him home, get him plenty of fluids for now." Benjamin advised the mother. "Let him rest, and I'll come and check on him in an hour or so, alright?" After all, it could have been serious. They still didn't know just how much the kid had to drink. Alcohol poisoning was a legitimate concern in the back of his mind.

"Oh I'll let him rest alright, right in the ground." Odelia grumbled. Benjamin made sure he knew which room she still lived in before she dragged the boy off by his ear. A part of him felt sorry for the kid, but only a small part. It was the sensible part that knew in the morning he was going to have one wicked hangover.

Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief once the pair had left him alone and he slowly sat himself back down in the chair he had claimed for himself. He set his rifle across his lap and stretched out his legs. Well, one leg and one tired stump. He stared at the red plastic cup and swirled the contents one more time, watching the fruity pink beverage splash around the inside. To be a kid again, getting in trouble for spiking some punch. When he was certain no one was looking, he downed the whole cup and set it aside.

Honestly? It wasn't even that good. Still, he smiled, giving his legs another long stretch for good measure before settling into his chair.
 
Last edited:

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)



Mona "Momo" Jablonski
Interactions: Puke and Subsequent Disgust (Plus Almira Verran Verran )
Location: Vomit Crime Scene ==> Restroom




Gods, what appeal could one possibly find in barbaric gatherings such as this?

Of course, Momo harbored enough excuses and convoluted scenarios that could've prevented her from frequenting this event; she had managed to jam her toe on a cinder block, pricked her thumb with the thorn of a flower with agitating properties, misjudged a recent batch of crops and consumed corn that was a tad lame for the season and subsequently fell with a stomach bug--anything. Anything! Momo lived enough in the confines of her mind to comfortably conjure up a lie, so why in the world was she here?

...She knew why. Christ. Despite the dull headache gnawing at her temples, there was a secondhand bliss to be enjoyed, to be soaked from those around her as she watched on silently. Parties and trading pleasantries would never come to Momo like second nature. Not a day in her preciously short life. But it never stopped her from learning through observation. Ah, yes. Some poor man was being dragged to the dance floor, spinning about and about in circles until she feared his head would pop off like a prop doll... Oh, wait. That was the doctor.

Poor man.

Now, did she have the courage to venture over and rescue him from his tribulations? No, of course not. Far too much of a risk--

Oh... O-oh dear. Someone just vomited. A child just emptied the contents of his stomach all over the tiles. Momo's own tummy lurched at the sight, her senses betraying her as a phantom of the scent wafted across her nostrils. No... No, no. None of that. She was a composed and unshakable adult woman living in an age of rotting carcasses hell-bent on gorging her flesh. if she could handle that (somewhat), then she could overcome this.

And just do something.

Biting back a sigh, her gaze shot skywards for a moment to utter under her breath. "Herman Melville, grant me your strength, wisdom, and impeccable devotion... though most of it was devoted to hiding your homosexual relations with Nathaniel Hawthorne." It was alright--she could understand Melville's decisions. Momo approached the mess on feather feet, refusing to utter a word, let alone look in Benjamin's direction. She focused on snagging as napkins as were available from a table nearby, but it was fruitless in comparison to the Chunky Acidic Sea.

Oh... Oh, God. Why that mental image, Momo? Why?

Shaking off the thought vehemently, she sighed and decided to locate the nearest restroom. A moment of reprieve was in desperate need and it could be in possession of extra paper towels. Without fail and most certainly without grace, she bumped shoulders with many along the way. Most didn't pay her any mind, while a scant few shot her startled looks from their peripherals. Despite how quickly they brushed her off, she couldn't fend off the anxious chills that shot up her spine. This was fine. Everything was fine. No one was minding her nor the faint scene of child puke emitting from her.

She prayed she could wash it off. If Dennis smelled this, he wouldn't let her hear the end of it. Asshole.

Privacy. Privacy, privacy, privacy...

Finally, she cleared the journey and literally burst into the restroom like a victim of the most violent case of diarrhea known to man. Yes, it was that urgent. Momo had crossed many boundaries just from showing up tonight; scooping up puke was just icing on the cake. Enough water splashed her face to trigger a flood warning, but she refused to let up until some of that refreshing coolness migrated into her beehive for a brain. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale for eight... Hold for five... Let go for eight. The process repeated over and over, her head lowered and the onset of tranquility coming back to her. "Okay... Alright. I feel satisfactory," she muttered under her breath.

She adopted her perfect and regal posture once more, expression as unreadable as ever.

As if she wasn't losing her shit over vomit a mere minute ago.

Pathetic. That was highly unlady-like. She would pay mind to behavior properly from hence forth; no exception. Momo's gaze lowered to her fidgeting fingers, the motion so relentless and steady that her skin pulsed pink. The words fled from her like instinct, one of many calming techniques, but most certainly her favorite. "...He pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me around the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be." She nearly smirked in amusement. "Herman Melville, Moby Dick. Chapter ten."

A part of her toyed with the idea of staying in the restroom until the party died... but that was foolish. She would have to face the mouth of the dragon eventually.

Just not yet.



 

Verran

Illogical
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fine doing both, depends on the character
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi.
Genre You DON'T Like
Heavy Smut,


Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, Content.
Mobley Eats Mobley Eats

Another day, another party. The thought danced across Almira’s mind before being drowned out in the surrounding buzz of the music, people chatting, dancing, or stumbling as if it were a dance. Strongest of the sounds was that of the children. Happy cheering as they wove their way between the legs of the adults. One caught her eye and turned her cheery smile fond. Eleven years old now, though she was five when the woman met the girl, her growing maturity had yet to mar the youth of childhood. Almira enjoyed parties as best she could, but seeing the joy in others gave cause to truly love them. Especially in the children. As ever, it would be they that would inherit the world, whatever it was left of it. And parties, such as these, helped them have at least some sort of cherished memory to enjoy as responsibilities exceeded play.

Unconsciously, she massaged her left shoulder.

Which, she supposed, begged the question as to why she wasn’t actively in the middle of it all. Dancing and drinking her heart out and sweeping some soul off their feet in a dance that would end up with at least end with her stepping on three people’s toes. Her partner and unfortunate bystanders. At least she had one excuse, a lack of a red solo cup. Numerous times Almira had stated that her and alcohol didn’t mix. Ever. Unless she was injured. Then self-administered tonic suited her just fine. But other than that, the intoxicating substance was best observed and not taken and whoever had the bright idea of instilling the substance into the punch deserved the namesake of the drink applied to their face.

I mean, there are kids present! They should be getting cavities, not learning how to become abusive alcoholics! Suddenly drained, Almira yanked upon her train of thought. It didn’t serve her to dwell upon it and a breath later she calmed her indignation. Hopefully, the parents would catch on quick enough as to what was happening and ensure that their kids didn’t get too much into their system. A sudden soft wretch followed by the pitter-patter splat of poorly digested food elicited a dry chuckle from her that, when mixed with her fixed fond smile, came across as humored. Clearly, someone had failed to see the warning signs.

She sighed and began to focus, flitting her eyes from face to face. Dancing couples, small children, scattering of people happily watching. The brooders were, of course, off at the edges and giving the faintest of farces that they wanted to be at the party. Then Almira’s eyes found it. Unsurprisingly, the good doctor was on the scene. Likely not be choice but out of parental panic. And there was one who flitted away from the scene turning half as green as the vomiting boy himself. Blond hair danced, or rather, pushed her way out of the crowd of the party. Almira drummed around in her head, seeking for the name and passing through several incorrect variations before arriving at the proper one of Mona.

Almira wasn’t surprised that it took her awhile to grasp it. After all, Mona was new to the settlement and names had been slow to stick in Almira's memory. Been that way for years. Still, the young woman couldn’t well abandon someone with such obvious distress upon their face. The Old Man would’ve been proud of her. So, Almira hitched her backpack a bit higher and strode off. It was easy enough to maneuver through the cracks and crevices provided by the shifting crowd. Far easier than squeezing between broken towers of concrete. It wasn’t hard to guess Mona’s destination. The restroom was an obvious landmark given that the simplest form of disposal remained a hole in the ground.

She trailed the woman at a leisurely distance, humming idly to the dimming sound of the party. The well-worn path dusted beneath her feet and, just for a moment, she was able to pretend that she was on the road again. Away from settlements and new responsibilities to small children. Which she enjoyed more, she had no idea. Arriving a good dozen steps after Mona, the young woman waited a few breaths before rapping gently upon the thin latrine walls.

“Hello? Mona, right? It’s Almira. Doubt you know me, but I just wanted to check that you’re feeling well. Anything I can do?”

 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
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Mona "Momo" Jablonski
Interactions: Almira Verran Verran
Location: Restroom




Peace was achieved. It took the complete internal dismantlement of her thought process and abdominal well-being, along with reciting one of her favorite lines from classic literature, but the woes were worth it. Composure was no longer a fickle little fairy dancing outside her reach, but a tenant of herself once more.

Now, here's to hoping it remained.

Drying her hands, Momo was just about to flush (she never used the latrine, but she decided to do so for appearances sake and prevent suspicion... Yes. Indeed. Excessively paranoid. She was aware of this.) but gave pause when a knock reached her ears. The voice was muffled, so she failed to catch words from the other side. Christ. It seemed that fate had a heinously exact sense of timing. Is this what you consider a test, God? Suppose I count myself lucky for being an academic... The internal salt was high today. Swallowing it back in exchange for a staid mask, she unlocked the door.

Gave pause.

Breathed in.

...Then cautiously cracked it open, just a minor gap, and peered through.

Ah, it's the... rather chatty one. What was her name again? Gods, her brain floundered pathetically, angrily, but blanks continued to crawl through her noggin like a taunt... No. More lies. Of course she remembered her name; Momo rarely forgot anything. However, anxiety tended to strive in her misery and gorged itself regularly on her intellectual capabilities. What was the sum of two plus two? That constellation in the sky--was it the big dipper or little one? Those blasted herbivores on the food chain... primary or secondary consumers? All trivial. All elementary. And yet, the moment her nerves quaked in dissonance with her bored persona, a lame ferret could best her in a round of Jeopardy.

Oh dear--she ran off on a tangent again, didn't she? Socializing. The trials of socializing.

Scanning Almira up and down--once, twice more--then nodded. "I'm minimal," she muttered. Alright, what to say next? As far as Momo was concerned, she wasn't in dire need of anything... well... "Aside from avoiding this event as if my life's sustainability depended on it." A dry chuckle escaped her--oh... Oh. Wait. Did she just voice her thoughts? In front of a stranger?

Okay. Yes. Momo felt queasy all over again, this time thoroughly disgusted with her growing list of fuck ups tonight. The onset of heat kindled up her face as she diverted her gaze from Almira's, clearing her throat all the while. She chose instead to fret with her bangs, completely unnecessary but a distraction she welcomed with open arms. "I mean... N-no. I am not in need anything." An awkward pause. "...Goodbye?" Was that considered rude? She hoped not--she had indeed fulfilled all of Almira's questions and saw no reason for the woman to hang around much longer. God, she could hear Dennis laughing at her blunders already.

 

TheQueensGuard

Edgepeasant
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Kent Arson Murphy
Party Time
Graceland

Kent was all for celebrations. He preferred to celebrate by drinking and maybe playing cards with some friends. He wasn't much for full blown parties. The loud music, lights and warm bodies might bring unwanted attention in a zombie infested world. Still, half way through a cracked cup of rum, it occurred to him that there was a chance he could be getting drunk using someone else's liquor.

Forty minutes later he was throwing darts at the edge of the party, sipping spiked fruit punch from a cracked cup and humming along to the song and tapping his foot to the beat. After convincing some kid to pour him some vodka or he'd tell the boys mother.

"One more game!"
Kent said, cursing under his breath as he realized he lost yet again. He already forgot the name of the man who brought out the darts for the occasion. "Another? I've already beaten twice Kent." The Irishman dug through his pockets and set out three loose matches, a cigarette and a pain pill on a table. "We'll spice it up this time! You win and get this." He motioned his hand over the various goods he placed out. "If I win I get to keep the dart board and darts."

The man he was betting against chuckled and shrugged. "Suit yourself." Proud to have secured another game, Kent didn't quite yet realize he'd need a miracle to win.
~~~

Minutes later Kent sat slumped in a chair rubbing his eyes. "I'd say good game but it wasn't much of one." The man joked and Kent looked up towards the dart board. Only one of the three darts he threw made it on the board, while the other two stuck out of the side of the wall. "Tell you what, I'll trade you the board and darts for that flame thrower of yours. Maybe you get some practice in and we can bet again next party." Standing up and finishing his cup Kent let out a burp. "Fuck off." He said before stumbling away to experience the rest of the party.
 
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CloudyBlueDay

consistently inconsistent
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Dennis Haufman
Interactions: Lillian Gray Lillian Gray

This wasn’t the worst party Dennis had been too.

It was kind of nice to see so many people gathered and happy. Trying to be lively. There
was music and there was dancing and very importantly - there was alcohol. Holding a cup in hand, enjoying the feeling of numbness that was slowly settling into his bones, Dennis surveyed the dance floor from the edge of the crowd, an uncommon smile playing on his lips. A hint of one, at least. Graceland was pleasant. People were nosy and there were lots of people, at least, a lot to him, but it was… strangely peaceful. There was something harmonious here, about the way every task was laid out and roles were filled, and there was a little bit of… purpose.
There was also a very real possibility that it was just the fruit punch talking.

Nonetheless, Dennis was enjoying himself a little bit, for the first time in a long time. He barely had an ounce of musicality in his body, but he still tapped his finger against his thigh (somewhat) in rhythm. Momo was detached from him, which was actually quite rare, and gave him time to enjoy the party scene without her looking for the nearest escape. He was an extrovert once upon a time, and though the apocalypse had led him to be quite the shell of the social person he’d once been, he couldn’t help but look at the red solo cup in his hands and be reminded of the good old days.

Endless laughter. Booming music. Drinks and games and a horde of teens desperate to forget today and black out tomorrow. Those were the good old days because people had the opportunity to do stupid shit and not wake up the next morning fearing the consequences, because they were young and stupid and thought they had the rest of their lives to figure it out.

Ccrrack.

Dennis’ spiral of reminiscence ended when he realized he had crushed the red cup in his hand. Precious liquid spilled out, and a string of curses followed. He hadn’t lost all of it, and it wasn’t like there was a big mess… but… jesus. He’d really been out of it. It was those fucking cups. Red solo cups should have gone extinct by now! Fuck. No. They were plastic. A damn cup was gonna outlive him. His hand was already getting sticky, and there was a stain down the front of his only actually decently clean shirt. Great. Great!

Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, Dennis huffed over towards the punch bowl. He needed a new drink to shut his brain up. God. There was a damn party going on and he was still stuck in his own head thinking about fifteen years ago. Get over it, Dennis! The whole damn problem was with these people and their sob stories that they never got over and he was just as bad as all of them, with his idiotic teenaged party life and the stupid red solo--

While ranting about being in his head Dennis got lost in his head once more and did not look very clearly in front of him to see the good doctor’s chair directly in his path. Luckily peripheral vision exists, but it wasn’t enough to make his skidding to a halt any less disastrous as the cup went flying. Right into Benjamin’s lap.

Dennis blinked.

“Hah...” He let out a low whistle. “Would ya...” Cough. “Fancy a drink?”
 

DANAsaur

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Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne




Two weeks had passed since Cordelia arrived in Graceland though she was still adjusting. Most of the people are so kind and friendly that she couldn't help herself to think that they're under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Based on the experiences from the other camps or communities she visited, it usually takes longer for the people to warm up to strangers. Thus it was a strange but pleasant change. Though that doesn't mean she lowered her guard! In fact, it only made her feel cautious even more.

She was known around Graceland as the entertainer. She was often seen singing to others or telling stories to children. She doesn't like to talk much though she would always be there to eavesdrop to some gossip going around town. It was a tiring persona yet proven to be useful.

Hence the reason why Cordelia was currently at the party. Dressed in a black dress that she only wears on special occasions, the female entertainer looked around to enjoy the atmosphere. Music and laughter filled her ears as people danced and smiled. It was such a beautiful sight! Children ran around the dance floor without a care in the world, a few drunkards singing merrily to themselves. It almost feels like I'm back to the good old days. When everything was normal.

A small smile graced her red painted lips though she tried to hide it behind her cup of alcohol. It just felt wrong for her to smile at a time like this. Especially when zombies roam outside these walls and my boyfriend is out there doing God knows what.

A small tap on her shoulder snapped her out of her reverie. Blinking owlishly, she realized that it was only Clara, an acquaintance, informing her that it was time for her to go on stage.

Cordelia took a deep breath before finishing her drink. How long has it been since I performed in front of an actual audience? She was certain it had been too long since she couldn't remember it. Nevertheless, she was confident enough that she can definitely wow the crowd tonight.

"Alright, everyone!" Clara excitedly beamed at the crowd. "The next song will be sung by none other than Candy!!! Give her a warm round of applause!"

Cordelia walked into the spotlight with a perfectly crafted smile. She ignored the loud beating of her heart as she stopped in front of the microphone, her clammy hands holding it tight. She could feel the stares on her but decided to ignore it until she saw right at the back some sort of scuffle that's about to ensue. She couldn't see it clearly since its a bit far though she was certain that a fight will happen. Well, then. It seems I better get on with it.

Giving the band a quick look, a lively tune started playing. Cordelia didn't waste any time to move her feet side to side and snap her fingers, already in the mood to give everyone a show.


I don't Want to Miss a Thing - PostModernJukebox

After hitting the last note, Cordelia quickly bowed. Finally, she was done with her performance. Oh, how she hoped everyone liked it.
 
Last edited:

Childish Grumpino

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In the middle of the apocalypse, civilisation having collapsed under the weight of the reanimated dead, the people of Graceland still find the time to hold parties.

It’s the little things like this that made Set fall in love with them in the first place.

They’re hardly the largest community he’s encountered in his travels, nor do they have much to write home about when it comes to trading opportunities (though their produce and preservatives are certainly impressive). Yet something brings him back, every year without fail. Something about this little community lingers in his thoughts, and he finds himself idly daydreaming sometimes about uprooting from the Mall and setting up a more permanent residence here. Precisely what it is that makes him feel this way, he cannot fully tell.

But he would put good money on the fact that it has something to do with them still finding time to hold parties, amongst other things.

“Just what in the hell do you have in these things, anyways?” Robert Scofield is asking him between panting breaths, as the two of them haul the last of Set’s saddlebags into the security storage rooms. In the time before the apocalypse they were cells of some kind, but now their bars act as an excellent security barrier and the Scofields always ensure there’s a few guards posted for good measure. Set has to pause to think for a moment, mentally running through his current stock, but quickly finds himself chuckling.
“Truth be told, it’s mostly books,” he says with a grin.
“What you planning on doing, using them as projectiles against the dead?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, chaver.” He pauses for effect. “I intend to open the world’s first post-apocalyptic library, of course.”

The two men’s laughter rattles the steel bars of the storage room, and it’s only just beginning to die down as Robert swings the main door shut and begins to set the locks and chains in place again. Nearby, the noise from the party continues to swell. Laughter mingling with singing mingling with footsteps and conversations between friends, all blending together into a medley that brings a smile to Set’s face. “You know,” he remarks, “in some of the places I pass through? If anyone tried to organise this sort of thing the schmuks in charge would probably try to hang them. ‘Bringing the dead down on us’, they’d be grumbling about. But you, old friend?” Set grins at the other man. “You can’t wait to be done shlepping these bags into the cells so you can get back to the festivities.”
“Or I’m just already fed up of your company,” Robert points out, grinning himself.
“Then you made a terrible mistake inviting me to stay in your home, didn’t you?”

Chuckling their way back into the thick of the celebrations, Robert drifts off to fetch them something to drink and Set finds himself watching the makeshift stage just as someone by the name of ‘Candy’ is introduced. Intrigued, he leans against the wall and watches. The song brings a frown to his face at first, but it slowly morphs into a smile as something twigs in his mind. It’s been a long time since he last heard this tune, and certainly not in this style, but the familiarity is there all the same. Harkening back to the time before, the sort of music his eldest daughter would have blasting out of headphones when she felt like annoying her poor old father.

Candy brings the song to a close, and Set is the first to join in on the applause. Yet another reason why he loves this strange little community, he finds himself thinking.

They still remember to sing.
 

Kuno

Ugh. As if
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School life

R
E
N


“Fucking Conrad. I knew I shouldn’t have told him”

“Well how much vodka did you add in there?”

“Dude, shut up. Don’t worry about it.”

"...Alright."

Ren was too buzzed to argue. Three cups of punch in, and he was content to remain slouched against the wall, nodding his head along to Will's words. It’d been the red-head’s idea to spike the punch, though it’d taken Ren to secure the booze. From Doc’s personal stash, too - the man would kill him if he knew. If only he’d known that the older boy was going to dump the whole bottle in like a dumbass. I mean, honestly… Didn’t he know that everyone was going to be there?

He only knew Conrad was puking his guts out because of Will. In truth, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything besides his drink. He’d just been...waiting. Across the room stood a young woman lost in thought: Paige O’Hara was her name, a newcomer who’d only moved to Graceland some months back with her mom. It was the second time she’d come to one of their parties, and he couldn’t believe his luck. Ren meant to dance with her; no, he was determined to dance with her, before some snot-nosed punk like Will asked first. He’d lost the nerve to ask last time. With alcohol thick in his blood, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

When a slow song began to play, Ren seized the opportunity. Grabbing a cup of punch, he threaded his way through the crowd towards the girl. She did not seem at all surprised when he tapped her on the shoulder. In fact, she never looked surprised by anything; “resting bitch face” was what Will called it. Ren thought it just made her look more studious. Then again, he was hard-pressed to find anything wrong with the girl. Not even as she scrutinized him from behind those nice pink glasses of hers. He balked.

Do it. Do it now, you coward.

“Hey.”

She smiled thinly. “Hey yourself.”

The lights danced in Paige’s eyes. For a moment, Ren faltered, before proffering the spiked punch to her, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Wanna dance?”

“Oh. Um.” Her eyes darted from him to the side. “I don’t - I mean, I’m not really, like, a dancer or whatever.”

Still, she accepted the drink from Ren's hands. He brightened.

“It’s ok. I’m not either. You just kinda move with the music, you know? Here.”

Vodka truly was liquid courage. Propelled by manufactured confidence, he took her hand, and when she didn’t resist, placed his free hand at the base of her back. Paige was a tall girl, taller even than him; he found himself glancing up as he steered them towards the center of the dance floor. He guided her slowly, one move at a time. A step to the left. A step to the right. They swayed gently, like branches in the wind. Paige peered anxiously at him, biting her lip.

"I look stupid," She muttered. Ren shook his head emphatically, half in part because of the punch.

“Nah, you’re fine. There’s no way you look worse than me.”

He could feel her eyes on him, but his focus was caught by another couple that nearly bumped into them. The man winked as their eyes met, and inwardly Ren groaned. Great. By the time he glanced back, she was peering into the red cup in her hand. She sniffed it, nose wrinkling up at the sharp scent.

"What is this? Smells like alcohol."

"It is. We spiked the punch."

Paige went to take a sip before tilting her head back, as if to down the whole thing in one go. Ren’s eyes widened.

“Wait-”

Too late; She coughed, spluttering the drink out her mouth - and unfortunately, her nose. Ren cracked up then; he couldn’t resist, not even as her hand flew up to cover her mouth in embarrassment.

"You ok?"

"Oh my God--"

"Don't -" It was hard to talk through his laughter. "Don't drink it so fast."

His amusement was infectious. To his surprise, Paige began laughing as well, and they continued on, two blissful teenagers merging into the crowd as they danced to the beat of the music.
 
Last edited:

Verran

Illogical
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Heavy Smut,


Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, Content.
Mobley Eats Mobley Eats

Almira blinked once. She blinked again. Then twice more before letting out a slight giggle. It was regretted, but couldn't be helped. Mona was peeking out of door with the slightest sliver possible. Looking as if she expected a horde of the undead or raiders to be milling about and not one woman with a backpack.

Recoving quickly, Almira said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, but with how little I see, you certainly are 'minimal' indeed." Immediately, the giggles erupted again as delight in the raw stupidity of the pun washed over her and, again, she steadied herself with several calming breathes. Raising a hand as to beg patience from the blonde. "Sorry, sorry. C'mon Alley, keep it together."

Straightening, the dark-haired woman back-peddled and began again, "anyway, I can certainly understand avoiding these parties. They can be quite overwhelming when they want to be. Usually they die out in several hours or so. Depends on how much alcohol is there. Quite literally some times. But, regardless of how much alcohol there is, people tend to drink a lot of punch. Which means, if you're following me here, the lots of people will be coming here. Now, I know a couple good places where no one really goes. Ever. I can show you one, if you like, but you'll need to open the door just a bit wider to get out. However, if you really want me to, I'll leave you alone."

As she talked, Almira's voice grew soft. Her smile remained one of gentle merriment. As if there was nothing she would rather be doing than having a small chat with Mona.

 

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire
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As the dying notes of the newcomers upbeat and brassy song faded into the sound of gentle applause, Cerys opened her eyes, half a smile frozen on her face. She hadn’t moved an inch, save for an ever so gentle rhythmic swaying. For a couple of minutes though she had been able to feel sand between her toes as Heather’s arms held her while they danced around a bonfire to the music and the sound of crashing waves. The feeling of warm love that had filled her fantasy quickly turned to soul rendering pain and loneliness and Cerys had to use the back of the hand that held her cup to wipe the beginnings of tears from her eyes.

Heather would have loved this. One of the New Mexican’s greatest fears had always been that people would become cold and hard in the face of so much horror; right here and now though, the world was filled with people just being people. Teenagers awkwardly hitting on each other, drunks playing games, losing, then playing some more, drinks being spilled and memories being made and forgotten; Heather would have reveled in it all. Cerys just wretchedly felt out of place as she clutched at her necklace with her free hand. She needed to be somewhere else right now. Somewhere she could think clearly for a bit.

“Hold this cup would you Mari, I… need some air.” As she passed the cup over to her friend Cerys could tell Mari was still thinking about her brother. The woman was good at hiding her worries, but Cerys knew her well enough to know what was going on in her friend's mind; just as Mari probably knew where Cerys’ thoughts were and where she was likely headed. It was probably why whatever it was they did worked; they both knew they were playing second fiddle to someone else and that was fine. All the same there was something to be said to waking up in a bed with someone else to hold, even if it was purely on a physical level it was nice to have a warm body to hold and be held by. Reaching into a pocket, Cerys palmed the stubby key that fitted the door of her quarters before leaning towards Mari and slipping it and her hand into the woman’s back pocket.

“He’ll be ok. You taught him how to survive out there and he’s more sensible than both of us put together.” Taking advantage of the location of her hand, Cerys gently squeezed Mari’s ass before leaning in close enough to whisper. “If they aren't back till late just let yourself in. I’ve still got that tin of pineapples to share with you as well as a few other things I got from that last trader. We can always inspect the watchtower another time.”

Taking her leave, Cerys skirted around the edge of the dance floor, waved briefly at Set as she passed the old trader and out the main doors of the exhibit hall. Once outside she quickly ducked into the first doorway and gripped at neck necklace with both hands.

“I promise I’m going back in a bit. I just need some time with you alright. Not too long, just enough to clear my head is all.” The muttered words were apparently directed at a dark wooden door. It appeared unmoved. “I’ll do what I said Heather, I will. I swear on the land of my fathers I will. Just not yet ok?”

For a few moments only the muted sound of the party was audible in the corridor before a light metallic jangling and a snorting sound filled the space. Stepping out of the doorway, she had retreated into, Cerys made to set off for the nearest door that led outside only to receive an urgent message from her bladder that forced her to go the opposite direction. The toilet in this part of the fort was a single stall affair that had been designed as a restroom for a small team of caretakers or something similar, not a party full of people. Cerys rolled her eyes in frustration when she saw someone else waiting outside the shut door already, apparently chatting amicably with the person inside.

“Oi! Hurry up and take it somewhere else will you. I’m busting for a wazz I am.”​

 
Last edited:

Lillian Gray

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Edgelord
Collab between CloudyBlueDay CloudyBlueDay and Lillian Gray Lillian Gray

Benjamin was a second away from resting his eyes, foot propped out in front of him when a solitary figure approached from his side. Gracelessly, a crumpled red plastic cup landed in his lap and spilled its contents over his cargo pants. Delightful. He sighed and uselessly began to wipe the fruit punch away from between his legs until his palm was sticky with sugar. There wasn’t much there but of course it had to land on his zipper of all places. Sighing, he turned and was disappointed to see Dennis cracking a joke about his predicament.

“Under different circumstances, I might,” Benjamin began to stand, once again leaning heavily on his rifle for support. He smiled just as politely as he always did to the particular stranger, tight lipped with two dull blue eyes that begged for an escape from his present company. Not that the one could see very well, a long scar ran over his right eye in a jagged line from forehead to cheek. With a huff, he added, “Next time though, how about on you. Hm, Dennis?”

Ha ha. Of course he had to be leaning on the rifle. Of all things. Taking a small step back, though still smiling and hiding any hint of worry he was feeling, Dennis rolled his eyes slightly and gestured to his own punch stained clothing. “Oh, well, I mean, already did. So I was figuring… you might feel a bit left out.” He flashed a very plastic polite smile. “My bad.”

“Oh, I just thought you had one too many and missed your target.” Benjamin took two fingers and gestured to Dennis’ face.

He chuckled, leaning a bit more on his good leg. Damn, it was hurting today. He bit his lip, keeping himself from wincing in front of the other man. Dennis didn’t need to know, more like Benjamin didn’t want him to know, he was feeling particularly vulnerable sitting in a room full of people with a sore limb. Scooter, his ever faithful companion chose that moment to come sauntering up to his feet. The corgi retrieved the red plastic cup and offered it to Benjamin with an eager tip tap of his front two paws, back and forth, until the doctor leaned down to accept the gift.

“Alright, I’m done joking about your appearance now. Dennis. Really, do you know who spiked the punch? I get the feeling that I'm about to have a room full of drunk kids tonight, and their parents are going to be pissed.” Benjamin sighed. He was being sincere. “Last chance to take the punch before I do.”

Gaze traveling down a moment, Dennis watched the good doctor shift his weight. He responded to his quip with a short chuckle, nothing too playful. He hadn’t had to ask to know about Benjamin’s lack of a certain limb, as things like that seemed to simply float around Graceland, if it wasn’t glaringly obvious enough. That and the dog. Wow. He was shocked anything that cute had lasted this long. He stared at the dog a moment, before bringing his gaze back up.

“If I knew, I’d be over there with the fool drinking this vodka straight.” Dennis said with another curt laugh. “Aw, you really want to rip away their first experience of true teenage rebellion? Leave it out for a few more minutes, I say. It’s kind of entertaining.”

Benjamin snorted in agreement, about the part where it was entertaining. There were no more laws, but that didn’t mean the more responsible adults shouldn’t have been keeping better tabs on their kids. They didn’t need to be raising a generation of drunks. But who were they to keep them from enjoying the little moments of rebellion? It was a part of growing up. Benjamin had his fair share of moments as a teenager, and there was no doubt Dennis had his own personal stories. Not that they were about to have some heart to heart in the middle of a homecoming-style party in the abandoned fort of a military rec hall. Didn’t scream sentiment or warmth.

Scooter barked at his feet, dragging him from his thoughts. He whined, eyes trained on the plastic cup in Benjamin’s hand. It wasn’t exactly a toy, but, well-- Benjamin tossed it a small ways and the nimble dog bounced off to fetch it a second time.

“I’ve got a patient to check on in about fifty minutes. I’ll leave it out for thirty.” Benjamin glanced sideways between the contaminated punch and Dennis. “I’d better not see it after that.”

The doctor extended an arm.

“Deal?”

Raising an eyebrow at the outstretched hand before him, Dennis was a bit surprised. He’d expected more of a reaction to spilling a drink all over this man, and then offering they have a blatant hand in letting the kids get drunk and basically using it as entertainment. Especially coming from the sole doctor in the place, and one with a corgi pit-pattering eagerly at his feet. But one night to witness some childish foolishness sounded fun, quite honestly.

Snorting, Dennis held his hand up but pulled back at the last second, not shaking Benjamin’s quite yet. “Who made you king of the punch bowl, eh?”

“Whoever put a bunch of vodka in it did.” Benjamin smirked, hand still outstretched. “Normally, I’d be all for it, but I think they went a little heavy on the pour.”

“Uhuh… still failing to see how their heroic deed made you king, but… I’ll let it slide.” Dennis said, smirking right back and finally shaking Benjamin’s hand, good and firm. “So, you wanna bet on which sucker will puke it up next? I already see we’ve got one fallen soldier.” He pointed to the ground close by where dear Conrad had lost the contents of his stomach.

Benjamin rolled his eyes. He wanted to make a comment about the vomiting, the alcohol poisoning, something about being a responsible adult but he felt like it might go over his head. More or less, the more parents like Odelia existed, the more patients he’d have, so it was better for his night if he just cut the fun before any more kids figured out what was going on with the punch.

“Sure, why not.” Benjamin chuckled. He scanned the horizon, looking for one of Conrad’s buddies. It didn’t take long to find one. “My money’s on Will, the red head over there with my boy. Ren. They’re Conrad’s friends.” Now that that was done with, the doctor exhaled and sat back down in his chair.

Benjamin couldn’t help but notice Ren had his own cup, and it looked plenty full. Great. As the two teens sipped on their drinks, it suddenly dawned on him where that alcohol could have come from.

“Small red head. A good choice. Genetically lightweights. I’m not a scientist but I know damn well it’s true.” Dennis offered jokingly, following Benjamin’s gaze to settle on the kid he had pointed out. And… his boy. Ren. Dennis’ lips pursed, and he scooted around the doctor to pour himself a new drink. He needed it.

“Uh… money’s on Mr. Flamethrower. Big red head..” Dennis said, somewhat offhandedly, barely taking a moment to pick his target before looking back to the horde of teens. Clearing his throat slightly and taking a swig, Dennis spoke again. “Uh… how old’s he? Your boy?”

Benjamin watched, a little too cautiously, as Ren crossed the floor to talk to one of the newcomers. A tall girl with a round pair of glasses. He couldn’t hear a thing they were saying, but she smiled. Whatever he said had worked. Way to go, kid. Benjamin couldn’t help but feel a swell of fatherly pride and he was able to relax some, but if Ren caught him he knew he’d be in a world of trouble. Even with half the world dead, and another portion undead, it still wasn't cool to hang out with your parents. He barely caught the unsettling tone in Dennis’ voice as he asked about Ren.

“Hm? Oh, well. He’s sixteen if we’re right.” Benjamin shrugged. To an outsider though, that wasn’t as normal an answer as it could have been, so he elaborated for Dennis’ sake. “I found him when he was six, digging through the trash. Just outside the city limits.” Benjamin pointed to no direction in particular. He decided to keep out the part about how he’d found Ren’s mother. “Good kid. Real good kid.” Benjamin exhaled, grinning as he wound a hand through his hair.

At least, most of the time. When the doctor wasn’t suspicious of him looting his liquor reserves.

“Kent though, I don’t know, he holds his liquor pretty well.” Benjamin was back to the topic at hand for a moment. He leaned forward, tapping the butt of his rifle against the concrete floor and resting his chin on the barrel. “You’ve only got thirty minutes, I still think I've got better odds on the kid.”

A small twitchy smile grew on Dennis’ lips as they watched Ren shoot his shot with the young girl in bright glasses. It… it reminded him so much of himself. It was stupid to project a shallow memory onto that kid, but Dennis swore he looked so much like… no. He took another long swig, just as Ben began to explain how he’d found the boy. Keyword… found.

His eyes went wide and in his shock Dennis choked on the sip of punch he’d just downed, burying his face in the crook of his arm and coughing up a storm, too caught off guard by his sudden coughing fit to reply.

“Maybe I should have bet on you. Careful.” Benjamin, yet again, pulled himself up out of his chair with his arm poised to slap the other man’s back if he needed it. “Y’alright?”

In between coughs Dennis waved a hand dismissively, nodding until he could catch his breath. “I-I’m alright. I’m alright. Sorry. Don’t… don’t know what came over me.” Dennis wheezed, finally taking a deep inhale and settling back down. Jesus christ. “My bet’s still… still on Kent. Dude stumbled away burping. Telltale sign.” Dennis sighed, pinching his nose and collapsing in a chair beside Benjamin. “... He… Ren. He seems like a good kid. You… you raised him?”

Slowly seating himself for the last time, Benjamin eyed Dennis warily. Just in case. It was a habit he’d never be able to kick, watching other people, whether or not they cared to be cared for. He didn’t even notice the pain in his leg any more now that he had something to focus on.

“Yeah. I did.” Benjamin affirmed. “I had two girls before all this, so, I thought ’how hard could it be’. And you know what, it was a lot easier.” He had to laugh. There was enough hurt, deep in his eyes, but only for a split second before it was gone, hidden behind a genuine smile. “Ren used to just cling to me, all day. Didn’t matter what I was doing. Couldn’t get him to say a damn word, and now, well--”

He gestured to the scene across the room with minute subtlety. Ren and Paige were swaying from side to side. It was honestly sweet. Benjamin was reminded of his high school prom, when all the boys and girls didn’t know how to dance either, it looked something like what those two were doing. Swaying. Only they looked like they were more comfortable because they didn’t have to wear a rented tux. That and the liquid confidence didn’t hurt.

“--he’s branching out a little I’d say.”

Dennis watched the scene quietly, eyes shining with glassy reminiscence. “...I’m sorry. About your girls.” He murmured softly, keeping one hand tight on the cup and the other in his pocket, trying to make sure he didn’t crumple it all over himself again. He took a few more steady swigs. “Reminds me of… you know. When I was young. Always chasing the girls and stupid parties and dances.” Reminds me of me. And her. He looks so much like her. So, so much.But… he couldn’t just… he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say what he was thinking, he could only wonder what that little boy had suffered because he wasn’t there, and how scared he must have been when Benjamin found him, and how pure and innocent he had to have been to just cling to the good doctor’s leg all day, and now he was all grown up and dancing with girls and Dennis wished he had been there to see that evolution and feel like he had any part of it.

“... Definitely. Growin’ up.” Dennis said, taking another sip.

"You don't have to apologize… I think we've all lost someone close to us." Benjamin frowned. "My girls." He gestured to Ren. "His parents." Benjamin shrugged and sighed. I just hope they'd be as proud as I am.

This was getting a bit more personal than he expected. The doctor shifted in the fold out chair so he was ever so slightly turned away from Dennis. He’d clearly made Dennis uncomfortable and he didn’t want to press him any further than he already had, whatever it was that was getting under his skin. Still, he couldn’t help but think about it anyways. There must have been someone Dennis was thinking about.

Bringing his hand up over his mouth, Dennis sat still, though clearly somewhat uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks on him or that he could possibly be ignoring the biggest flashing “YOU’RE RIGHT” sign he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. Peeling his eyes away from the teenage lovers, Dennis looked to Benjamin. Almost as if reading his mind, Dennis offered gently, “I’m sure they’re… grateful that… you gave him the life he’s got. He seems… happy. And, you know… innocent, too. That’s real lucky.”

“Kid looks about as innocent as a lamb - ha! Look at him. He’s about to-”

The unmistakable sound of vomit hitting the floor pulled Benjamin’s attention away from Ren and Paige. Kent, the man with the flamethrower, was keeled over emptying the contents of his stomach behind one of the old plaques that had been left behind inside the fort. Too heavy to move, and not much of a bother, it was doing an excellent job at sending droplets of puke and bile just about every which way.

That was Benjamin’s cue it was time to go.

“I’d better go see if he’s alright.” Benjamin declared. “It was nice talking to you, Dennis. And if you can--” He jabbed his thumb at the punch bowl. “--take that somewhere else.”

He called for the corgi, and they hobbled off. If not for the slight dip in Benjamin’s step, it would have been nigh impossible to tell half of it was missing beneath his cargo pants.

A small smirk grew on Dennis’ lips as the faint sound of retching reached their ears. On any other day, without a bet being made, it wouldn’t have been so fun to hear. And, at any other moment, his grin probably would have been much wider. Just… not right now.

Dennis gave a small nod of understanding, and a small wave. “Uh, yeah, nice talking to you too. And don’t worry. It’ll be gone before you get back.” He promised, watching the man head off with the dog following his every moment.

He knew where that punch was going. Straight to his own room and into his own damn flask. Because, God, he was gonna fucking need it tonight.
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
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Mona "Momo" Jablonski
Interactions: Almira Verran Verran
Location: Restroom




Laughing.

Almira was laughing and if Momo had at least a fraction of understanding about their current interaction, she would've uncovered the jest by now. But no. She failed to spot a single joke, a single punch line delivered by either of them. Well, she supposed she couldn't speak for the woman, but she had confidence in her own words. Nothing she'd said or done warranted humor...

Unless she did? Christ. Fine. This was fine. She'd rather not dwell on a mystery never to be solved.

Above all else, she maintained patience and waited for Almira to say her peace, staring pointedly at her raised hand. Wait... Oh dear. Now she was... talking to herself? Wasn't it considered a symbol of mental instability to verbalize one-side conversations? Well, then again, she was likely looking to far into it. Focus, Momo. Focus!

...Oh. That was right. She talked to herself plenty of times. Goodness; what right did she have to harbor such hypocrisy? Absolutely none.

"Several hours..." she echoed, concern bubbling in her gut. She couldn't fathom locking herself up for such a long stretch of time, especially not in a latrine. The most Almira spoke, the more Momo realized... she was right. She very well couldn't stay forever. Her brow couldn't help but furrow at the offer. Although she doubt this woman to be potentially hostile or dangerous, the thought of waltzing off with her to somewhere more secluded twisted her nerves. To go or not to go... Hesitantly, Momo parted her lips to reply--

“Oi! Hurry up and take it somewhere else will you. I’m busting for a wazz I am.”

A second voice. Another person. No. No, no, no--she refused. "I... Yes. Apologies," she rushed out lowly, forcing herself to skitter out of the restroom and present it to the woman (Cerys, wasn't it?) with an awkward flourish of the hands. Alright, if she failed to come to a decision before, it was definitely solidified now. Casting Cerys one last awkward glance, she offered a curtsy, then stopped herself partway out of annoyance with her social inadequacy. "Good luck with your wazzing."

...Christ's sake. Did she really just say that?

Well, too late to mourn, she supposed.

Posture stiff and erect, she focused all of her attention back onto Almira and nodded. Once. Formal. Eyes growing cold once more with distance. "So be it. Lead the way." A pause of contemplation, her lips pursing. "And Momo is fine." Being referred to as Mona simply left an unsavory taste on the back of her tongue. She'd done her best to introduce herself as Momo once she and Dennis reached Graceland, but she supposed information was bound to travel in a tight-knit community. At least it was a fact in itself and not some heinous lie or ridiculous tale about her. As they said, in a sea of voices, lies swam like sharks. Truths barely stayed above water.

 

Jinx

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H O M E


Chapter 1: Country Roads



  • The party was going as Mari expected. It seemed that there was always some element of mischief whenever Graceland put on an event, and tonight was no exception. At least there was an explanation as to why the punch seemed to be hitting harder than usual when she’d only added a little bit of her own alcohol. Luckily for her own reputation, she had years of experience of holding her liquor. There was a warm buzz in her veins, but nothing more. Perhaps if she had a drink more, she’d have the courage to follow after Cerys. Some days were easier than others when she convinced herself that they were just two individuals who got along and fucked every now and again. Those rebellious thoughts often came when she was five drinks into shitty booze, and she was only at four.

    “Pineapple.” Mari snorted to herself, shaking her head as she turned from watching Cerys disappear. She wasn’t sure what Cerys had pulled to get canned pineapple of all things, but it was certainly added incentive to get Mari to her room.

    Her head whipped around at the sound of someone vomiting, sighing deeply at the sight of Kent who seemed to be more affected by the alcohol in the punch than most people in the room. Huh, she should have figured that fire and alcohol wouldn’t mix well.

    “Hey, I have dibs on the room tonight.”

    Mika appeared at her elbow with a cup in hand, flashing a grin at the girl that he’d been dancing with who was now standing idly by the punch bowl. Mari huffed and rolled her eyes, driving her elbow into his side. He bent over, one arm covering his abdomen, as a choked grunt left his lips.

    “I figured.” Mari couldn’t help but smirk, still staring forward. Now that her company was gone, it was time to people watch until Mihn got back. Mika scowled at her and rubbed where she had jabbed him, scanning the crowd alongside her. “We’ve had this system long enough for me to figure it out.”

    Eight years. How had it been eight years since they’d come here? Her lips curled into a ghost of a smile. They’d lost people along the way, but somehow the three orphans had ended up right where they needed to be. Before the apocalypse, they’d just been three kids who didn’t belong and who had lost far too much for their age. Now, everyone had lost someone and they all were just trying to rebuild. Graceland had provided the closest thing to peace that she’d ever felt. Even though she could be unapproachable and sarcastic, she’d found people who didn’t seem to mind.

    “We’d better put aside some punch for Mihn.” Mika commented, glancing at where Ren dance with one of the teenagers that Graceland housed. The two siblings were quiet for a moment, a mutual feeling of worry passing between them. While Mihn was a grown adult at this point, that constant feeling of worry would always sit in the pit of their stomachs while he was away. “He’ll be fine, Mari. He always is.”

    Mari stared at the floor with tight lips before she relaxed and sighed.

    “You’re right. I just-”

    The doors to the main hall of the fort slammed open, partially due to the force of which they had been pushed and partially due to the blustering wind that now howled through the hall. The trio that entered was caked in mud, looking as though they had fought the elements themselves to get back. Alarms began to ring in the back of Mari’s mind when she saw that Mihn was not one of those.

    Showers, he must have gone to the showers.

    This almost reassured her until Morgan Holt met her gaze and began to cut through the crowd. Mari could hear her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, but didn’t let her worry show as the red-haired woman came to a stop in front of her with an accusation in her eyes.

    “Why didn’t you tell us that he was immune?” Morgan’s voice was low and wrathful, but seemed louder than a bullet being fired at that moment. Mari didn’t reply for a few seconds, instead choosing to meet her eyes levelly and raise her chin.

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie only seemed to add fuel to the flames as Morgan gave her a once-over. The two women typically got along just fine, as they both respected the other’s wish for peace and quiet, but the tension between them could be cut like a knife.

    “Mihn. He’s immune, isn’t he?” Morgan looked between Mari and Mika, keeping her voice steady and hard. “Abductors came out of nowhere about a mile outside the gates. They shot Cray and grabbed Mihn when we took cover. If we weren’t near such a wooded area, they probably would have killed us.”

    Mari’s face remained impassive despite the fact that her heart dropped into her stomach. She’d accounted for this day, despite she hoped that it would never happen.

    “How do you know that it was Abductors? It could have been bandits or-” Mari began to say until Mika cut her off.

    “You just let them take Mihn?” Mika demanded, stepping forward. Mari gripped his wrist tightly, eyes asking for silence.

    “Bandits aren’t organized like they were. And they sure as hell don’t use military-grade weapons.” Morgan responded, tone cold. Mari considered these words for a moment before she turned to look at Joyce and Robert, both of whom finally managed to make it to where the crowd circled them.

    “Joyce.” Mari released Mika’s wrist and stepped forward, not bothering to brush away the springy curls that brushed against her cheek as she nodded to the doors. “They couldn’t have gotten far. I’ll go after-”

    “No, Mari.” Joyce frowned and looked around the room as Robert began to usher some of the younger members of the community out of the room. “You can’t go alone.”

    “We’re not going out there and dying for a lost cause.” One of the mud-covered men snapped. Samuel. Mari’s hands curled into fists as she resisted the urge to break his nose.

    “Good thing I didn’t fucking as you to come.” Mari sent a dark look his way before Joyce spoke again.

    “The day that we stop trying to save one another is the day that we lose our humanity,” she gave the two of them a repremending look, “and if we lose our humanity, what is the point of all of this? Of Graceland? Of living?”

    “Mihn is one of our own.” Robert’s deep baritone voice added as he returned to Joyce’s side. “We don’t abandon our own.”

    Mari looked between the two of them and tried not to appear too dubious.

    “I don’t care if people come with us or not, but Mika and I are going to get our brother back.” Mari stated, shaking her head and looking at her brother who looked two shades paler than usual.

    “They won’t get far tonight and neither will you. You won’t be any use to Mihn if you both get lost in the storm.” Robert looked out at the wind and rain that still blew outside. “Take the rest of the night to get your things together, make a plan...and rest.”

    All of them knew that rest wasn’t an option, but the suggestion seemed more out of courtesy than anything else.

    “Fine.” Mari’s eyes scanned the room, finding that many people had trouble meeting her gaze as she did so. “We leave at dawn. Don't bother to come if you're going to slow us down.”
  • Alright, folks! The plot begins! The bean has been taken, I repeat, the bean has been taken!

 

Kuno

Ugh. As if
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R
E
N


Ren was waiting for the moment when Paige would get tired of him.

The dance was over with. The two teens had somehow found themselves tucked into seats in the corner, where the relative obscurity gave them a good chance to relax out of view from everyone else. He should have known everyone was going to watch their dance; he’d even thought he saw Doc looking their way, but at second glance, the good doctor was off attending to another drunk partygoer. Over Paige’s shoulder, Ren had winced as Kent emptied his bowels out behind an old plaque. He hadn’t been able to help but feel responsible. Speaking of responsible…

He glanced at the replenished punch in his hands. It...was probably a good idea that he stop soon. Ren was beginning to see stars, and not just the ones that hung above them. His eyes flicked from the punch in his hands to the punch in Paige’s hands then back. He blinked as his vision began to blur.

It was his fourth cup. He didn’t bother finishing it.

“...and that’s why everyone calls her Tina. It’s so much better than Doris. I hate Doris.” Paige was saying as he tuned back into the conversation. The girl was talking more than she’d ever had in the past three months her and her mom had been living there. Ren was amazed at how much she had to say. He was amazed that the conversation had even gotten so far.

It was only a matter of time before he said something stupid. He could feel it. When the conversation lulled, he took another sip of punch, remembered abruptly that he was done drinking, and placed it on the ground.

“So...You liking Graceland so far?”

“Yeah, it’s cool,” She replied, and Ren nodded with a smile. Barely an arms-length apart, he could see her eyes crinkle up behind her glasses. “We didn’t have too many kids back in our old camp. It’s nicer here.”

“Yeah? Well...I’m really glad you’re here with us. I like having you here.”

“Oh, um. Same.”

There was a strange expression on her face, as if she was suddenly embarrassed to be around him. Ren saw a flush of pink on her cheeks. He rewound everything that he’d just said to her.

Before the teen could over-analyze the conversation further, the doors to the hall burst open. Ren spun around to face the arrival of the three-man party. After a moment, he recognized them as the returning expedition team. His face brightened, then fell as he did not spot his friend among them. That was strange; Minh had gone along with them, hadn’t he?

So where was Minh?

Ren was out of his seat before he knew it. Drawing towards the edge of the crowd, he strained to listen to the ensuing confrontation.

Immune? Minh was immune? The jarring revelation was immediately followed by the news that the young man had been taken by Abductors. Ren felt a chill go down his spine, and he froze as Morgan went into detail about what had happened. They seemed to think it would be impossible to get the boy back; but Ren knew better. So did Mari and Robert, apparently, the boy’s heart warming at the assertion that they did not abandon their own. His hands curled into fists at his side. It wouldn’t be right to let Mika and Mari go after their brother by themselves. Not if they were a real community. Besides...

What would Minh do if it was the other way around?

When Mari stated her plans for the following day, no one seemed to want to say anything. But he did. Somehow he was able to push and wriggle his way to the middle of the circle, coming at last face-to-face with Mari, Mika, and the three returning expeditioners.

“I’ll be there.” His voice, confident and a bit too loud, caught the attention of the other adults standing around. He tried not to squirm under their scrutiny.

“I’m coming with. I can help you find Minh...I won’t slow you down, I promise.” His face was earnest, and he met Mari’s eyes. “Please. Minh’s my friend.”

Let me help you.
 

Lillian Gray

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Dr. Benjamin Crane

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“That’s the way, nice and easy.”

Benjamin hadn’t made more than the one remark to Kent before the doors to the rec center were slammed open and the expedition stormed the room. He saw Morgan in Mari’s face and two others, not the three that left. When his eyes scanned the growing crowd, he didn’t see Mihn among them. Everyone else began to murmur and Mari tried to play coy. Meanwhile, Benjamin hardly reacted to the news itself.

He turned his full attention to the crowd and murmured a brief apology to Kent before taking two steps towards the commotion.

Benjamin immediately stiffened.

From the outside ring he could see a familiar black head of hair pushing his way further inside. What did Ren think he was doing? Benjamin hurried closer to everyone and followed, pushing through the mob with as much force as he dared. Out of my way! Shit. Ren. Don’t! Rifle slung over his back, and only one good leg to stand on, Benjamin wasn’t getting anywhere. Not nearly as quickly as he wanted. He had to talk to the kid before he did something reckless.

He just needed to-

“I’ll be there.” A brief pause. “I’m coming with. I can help you find Mihn...I won’t slow you down, I promise.”

Benjamin pushed his way to the front and staggered into view. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, but was simultaneously proud. Or maybe he wanted to throw up? Seeing Ren in the middle of the circle among the expedition team brought about a lot of complicated emotions and all he could do was stare. Where had his kid gone? When did he get to decide the inside of the walls weren’t good enough any more?

Fuck.

And now everyone was staring back at him.

“Ren, can we talk about this?” Benjamin asked. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Please don’t do this.

Ren squinted. There was a fine glaze over his eyes that told of one drink too many, though the boy’s focus sharpened as his brain sluggishly processed the doctor’s questions. He cut his eyes at Benjamin.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” He said in a low voice, his tone accusatory. “What’s to talk about? Mihn’s my friend and I want to help.”

His voice rose in pitch. "Well what? Think I can’t help them?”

Benjamin swallowed hard. There were too many eyes on them and he didn’t want to be having this conversation with half the camp watching them. Ren was only sixteen! He hadn’t chosen a profession, he didn’t know how dangerous it was to be out on an expedition. Gods above, and a mission with Abductors? The very thought made Benjamin’s skin crawl.

“I know, and I care for Mihn, too.” Benjamin said calmly. He took a step closer to Ren and lowered his voice, though everyone could still hear. He extended an arm towards Ren until his fingers just brushed over his arm. “I really just think we should talk about some things first.”

“Like what?”

The good doctor’s face was beginning to blur at the edges. Ren stared hard at Benjamin’s hand on his arm but, despite his own growing annoyance, made no move to shake it off. The doctor was just being difficult for no reason. Whatever common sense the boy had left was quickly diminishing, and he glanced back up at Benjamin, his jaw set in a hard line.

“Like what?” He repeated obstinately. Mercifully, his voice had lowered significantly in volume.

“This isn’t the place, Ren.” Benjamin answered. Eyes, too many goddamn eyes.

He could see the redness in his eyes now, and though the scent was in his own damn throat, could smell it on Ren, too. Benjamin’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer, his grip on Ren’s arm tightened.

“Ren, are you drunk?”

“What? No! God.”

He attempted to wriggle his arm free of Benjamin’s grasp, but he may as well have been trying to escape from iron shackles. A small voice in the back of his head realized that he was making a scene, and he started, glancing around their small audience as if he’d forgotten they were all there. Mari was watching. And Mika. And Morgan. And-

Oh no. What if they didn’t let him go because of this?

All remaining concentration went into making his lanky form as upright as possible, as if the lights above weren’t doubling and bobbing around in his peripheral vision. He swallowed, trying to smooth over his features as he met the doctor’s eyes.

“Ok, Doc. Fine. Let’s talk.

Benjamin guided Ren back to the edges of the crowd and they parted ways for him. Maybe it was the tension building, but they didn’t seem to want to get involved in the argument between the doctor and his adopted son. At the last second he turned back to Maricela and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought of what to say.

Of course he had to go. How could he not now that he knew Ren was planning on volunteering for the expedition himself? Mama Moody could take care of everyone just fine in the meantime.

Mari’s lips pressed together, the only sign of contemplation on her face as she watched Benjamin nudge Ren away from the proceedings. On one hand, Ren was just a kid. Did she really want to put someone who reminded her so much of Mihn at risk? No. But who was she to deny him when she was no older than him when she took her first life on a scavenger mission gone sideways.

“Let the kid come, Doc.” Mari’s voice was blunt, one shoulder shrugging as she looked away to see if anyone else dared to step forward. So far her rescue team consisted of herself, her brother, and a teenager. At this point, she was willing to accept any sort of assistance. “He’s old enough.”

“I know he’s old enough Mari.” Benjamin sighed. That wasn’t the point. Ren was drunk, he wasn’t thinking properly. There was too much liquid courage in his veins and when he sobered up all he’d be able to do was backpedal. Better to get him out now than later before he couldn’t change his decision.

Benjamin needed to know this was what he really wanted to do.

“But these aren’t forsaken in the dirt or common bandits, these are abductors. There’s a lot of ways this could go wrong.”

“If the world wasn’t a constant shit-show where everyone was out to kill one another, perhaps I’d agree that he should stay behind.” Mari finally looked back at Benjamin, putting a hand on her hip. “But unfortunately, that is the way the world is. You can’t protect the kid forever.”

Mari paused for a moment before she turned away.

“Talk to him. If he wants to go, we’ll take him. If he has second thoughts by the morning, no hard feelings. But it needs to be his choice.”

“I will, Mari.” Benjamin said quietly. “I’ll see you at dawn then. You’ll need a medic.”

Mari was glad that she was facing away from Benjamin, as a look of pure surprise passed through her face. She supposed that she shouldn’t be...as shocked as she was. She’d trusted him with the knowledge of Mihn’s immunity, so she supposed they had some sort of positive relationship.

“Until dawn, Doc.”

Benjamin walked Ren in total silence through the doors that only moments ago Morgan and her two men had come through. The atmosphere had been dissolved into one of shock and panic as people took in the new information. Joyce and Robert did their best, from what little he could hear, to calm down the residents of Graceland from the news. So much for a night of celebration.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Dennis remembered to take the punch bowl away.

They came up to the old barracks building and entered. There was no one around, everyone was still at the party. Most of the lights were either broken, dim, or just plain didn’t work. But, it was still light enough for Benjamin to find his way to their room. Fourth door on the left were the scrawled names Dr. Benjamin Crane, Ren on a piece of paper that had been unceremoniously affixed to the center of the door.

“Come on…” Benjamin murmured to no one in particular as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was ready for the day to be over with.

Being a man with a useful skill set had somehow deemed him worthy of having a slightly larger room. Not that anyone minded, it just meant Benjamin could be bothered during the middle of the night to treat anyone who happened to wander by his door. Upon entering the room, a person would notice it was split into two parts. One part clearly medical, the rest was hidden behind a large set of military green curtains. A large desk faced away from the door flat against the back wall and was stacked high with papers and different tools. There was a small medical table that had been drug from down the hall and into the room, and a bunk bed flat behind it for anyone who needed to be watched overnight. This was Benjamin’s home office of sorts, and he was grateful it was used less often in recent days than was necessary. Mari and Cerys made more use of the bunk beds than anyone else.

Behind the curtain was Benjamin and Ren’s personal space. There were two creaky cots and an old couch with half a dozen stains of different size, shape and color. But it was a luxury nonetheless to sit on something other than metal springs. Each of the sides of the curtained room had a wardrobe where the men could store their clothes and personal items, but beyond that, there was little else to fill the space.

Benjamin pulled back the curtain and set his rifle on his own bed.

“Come here, Ren.”

Ren hovered in the doorway. He was starting to feel a lot more than just irritation and the spiked punch. Guilt, for one; Doc's earlier admission that he come along as well did not settle well in the boy's heart. Inebriated though he was, his conscience had not gone anywhere. The temporary resentment he had felt earlier jockeyed with sharp pangs of regret as he shuffled towards the good doctor slowly, a sullen expression on his face.

"You...you don't have to make yourself come because of me." He remained standing, shoving his hands deep in his threadbare pockets. He avoided eye contact. "They need you here more. And besides, your leg…"

He drifted off into silence. He wasn't quite sure where he was going with that thought.

Benjamin stepped into the space between them and wrapped his arms around Ren’s shoulders. He gave his back a few, quick taps of his fingers before settling near his shoulder. Although Ren had certainly grown in the last few years, he was still a lanky kid, and the doctor was a full head taller and easily swallowed his frame in the solemn embrace. It was easy to tell himself that Ren was still a child.

But, he knew that wasn’t true. Ren was capable and independent. Benjamin just didn’t want to admit it out loud. Not in front of all those people.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, kid.” Benjamin exhaled shakily. “And I would’ve gone even if you hadn’t gone up there, eyes bright with courage… ah Ren.”

The doctor pulled away but kept one hand on Ren’s shoulder, chuckling when he thought how easy it was for Ren to make that decision all on his own. Mihn was his friend. Of course he’d do whatever it took to see him home, because Mihn was just as bullheaded enough to do the same.

“Don’t worry about my leg. I’ll manage that.” Benjamin gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “But you, Ren… it’s hard for me to say I’m ok with you going along with this. You’re my son, and I want to keep you as far from danger as I can. That’s what I have to do as your father. But- I-”

Benjamin sat down on his bed and crossed his arms over his knees.

“What do you want to do? Do you want to go?”

"Yeah." Emotionally and physically warmed by the doctor's affection, the lanky teen finally met the man's eyes. He understood. Maybe not as completely as he would have otherwise, but the sentiment was enough to shake him out of his funk.

"Yeah, I do," He repeated, drawing closer still. "Thanks for, uh, looking out for me."

He made a move to sit next to Benjamin on the bed. It was there that Ren felt a sudden and violent roiling of his stomach, like someone was kneading his guts from the outside. He stiffened.

Please not now.

Benjamin calmly rose to his feet when he saw Ren’s distressed reaction to moving forward. Right, he was probably drunk. Or at least intoxicated. Really intoxicated. The doctor couldn’t say for certain if Ren had ever had so much alcohol in such a short time before, but some small part of him liked to assume he hadn’t and this was honest to god the first time Ren had consumed a drop of vodka in his sixteen years. They’d talk about it. Later. Don’t make assumptions, treat the symptoms, and go from there. He helped Ren down onto his bed and encouraged him to lay flat on his back while he retrieved a metal bucket and a canteen half filled with water from the entrance of the room. It clattered noisily when he placed it at Ren’s bedside.

He took his place back on the bed and felt the boy’s forehead with the back of his hand, not expecting anything to be abnormal, but doing so out of his own need to go through every motion. Benjamin’s fingers methodically moved to his wrist, counting in time as his eyes stared past Ren and listened to his pulse. Nothing he was concerned about, but it was a bit high.

“You know, if you wanted the good stuff, I would have shared.” Benjamin smirked and let Ren’s wrist fall. “That wasn’t even good vodka, and you’re going to be feeling it in the morning. Here, drink.”

"Aha, yeah." Dammit, Will. Ren neither denied nor confirmed the implications of his father's statement, though a cold sweat beaded at his back. Doc was going to kill him.

Benjamin offered him the canteen, and he accepted gratefully.

“There is something I want to talk to you about though, Ren.” His expression fell. Benjamin’s voice became uncharacteristically uncertain and quiet. “Been meaning to tell you really, just never found the right time. And now, well, might be the only time.”

Ren paused, the canteen stopping just at his lips. He frowned. His eyes scanned over the older man's face intently; he could always tell when something was bothering the doctor, and concern - and a bit of fear - tinged his features. He lowered the canteen.

"Alright. Um…" He hesitated, then added, "You ok? Look, I won't touch your stash again, I promise. It was just a stupid dare."

And I'll try not to puke all over you, too, he thought grimly as his stomach tossed and turned over itself. He took a tentative sip of water.

“It’s not the stash, don’t worry about it, kid.”

Working up the courage, Benjamin crossed the small room and placed his hands on the broken handles of his wardrobe. He pulled the doors open and was met with the same sight as every morning. A few cotton shirts were hung up, a white lab coat he’d managed to find in the abandoned hospital, and a thick winter coat. An oversized pair of jeans sat beneath a pair of work boots, and beneath all that were several blankets atop a metal chest. Every soldier was assigned a chest like this when they joined the military, which sat at the end of their bed. Benjamin had taken it upon himself to shimmy the box inside his wardrobe and hide it under as much of his personal effects as he could. One by one, he began to unpack the contents of his wardrobe until it was in a neat pile to the side. Bracing himself once again he opened the chest and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for. Benjamin exhaled once and brought up a cord from his neck, a flash of something silver was visible before he tucked it back beneath his shirt again.

He procured a worn looking pack and set it delicately on the bed. With shaking hands, he unzipped the smallest pocket on the very front and pulled out a torn photo, handing it to Ren.

“I want to talk to you about the day I found you.” Benjamin finally explained. “I want to talk about your mom.”
 

Verran

Illogical
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fine doing both, depends on the character
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi.
Genre You DON'T Like
Heavy Smut,


Almira "Alley" Renton
Status: Healthy, Content -> Concerned.
Mobley Eats Mobley Eats Applo Applo

"Well, Cerys," Almira swung in an exaggerated turn. Planting one foot forward, she leaned upon the extended leg and gave a cock-eyed grin and a wink, "if ya needed to wazz out your wizz, ya coulda jus' wee'd your time away with twiddling thumbs. But! Seeing as you asked so polite and all, we'll just do a sharp wrap..."

Momo's sudden declaration sent the young woman wheeling back to face her. Almira straightened both her back and face into a posture of remarkable joy as she clasped her hands together saying, "Momo then. Well, if you'll step right this way. There's a lovely spot in the foresty boarder of our little camp that I can well assure only a handful have laid eyes upon and probably only I and a kid or two know the true secret about the place, you see it's...."

Again she paused. But this time, it wasn't due to a meandering Cerys or another party-free colonist that cut her off. Though, she noted that it seemed a night for sudden shifts and split second changes. No, the cadence of the night was different. But what? Almira cocked her head, smile fading into a thoughtful line. The natural sounds she had come to known in her years both in Graceland and in the wild were still the same. Then she found it. The party, it was no longer joyful. The thin din of music had been cut as the thread of fate and so too had the party softened. Something had happened, but what? Rapidly, the Egyptian-American ruled out death. No wailing. That left news. An approaching horde or a bandit raid closing or even a kidnapping.

But deal with what's in front of your face first, Alley, she thought. Then said, "apologies. I can't show it to you outright tonight. Something seems to have happened. But I can tell you where though. Enter the forest by way of the nearest Red Oak. Head due east fifty paces then due North thirty-three paces. There you'll find a sudden cluster of Elms. Climbing one, you'll discover that many of their strong branches intertwined close enough to lay between, on, or climb around. Strung up a hammock a few weeks back too. It's the best. Now, if you'll excuse me, there seems to be some issue at the party. Toodles Momo! Good seeing you Cerys."

With that, Almira smartly turned and began to stride back to the mass of the colonists. It was her traditional scrapping stride. Long, sweeping steps that managed to keep her light on her feet. Head kept on a swivel, Almira glided back amongst the crowd who began to increase in worried tone. Barely, she caught glimpse Ben and Ren leaving. Quickly, she noticed a stiffly standing Mari and Mika. Lastly, the missing Mihn obviated itself as Morgan and company stayed standing. The crowd filled in the rest of the details.

As she could, Almira began to detach herself from the party again, seeking to exit the area. She needed to think. She needed to think about this. Even though she already knew the answer. It was obvious, of course, the course of action to take. But Almira wanted to pretend that she could think about it. After all, Alley couldn't say no to a kid in need.

 

DANAsaur

The Dinosaur Whisperer
Roleplay Invitations
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Posting Speed
Speed of Light, Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
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Genders You Prefer Playing
Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I can play as a passive or an aggressive. Whatever you want, I'm fine with it.
Favorite Genres
fantasy, modern, magical, romance, libertine
Genre You DON'T Like
It's not that I totally hate Scifi, it's just that I'm not good at it.

Cordelia Armethea Nelus de Yourne




Candy stood up to look at the crowd after her performance. Just as she hoped, they were clapping. The atmosphere shifted into one of euphoria, the cold night air occasionally punctuated by whoops and hollers. A small smile escaped her lips as she heard people requesting for yet another song. She would have said yes though she needed to mingle. After all, this is a party! There's no use if she hogs all of the attention, right?

Candy politely declined their requests and walked off the stage in search of a drink. She did find one a couple of minutes later along with an impressive sight: Dr. Benji and Dennis were having a bet. She would have joined them but decided against it. It would be weird since I'm new around here. Besides, its fun to just eavesdrop and hear their opinion. She listened closely to their words, giving a giggle or two when appropriate. If she had participated, her money would be on Ren. A young kid like him was inevitable to get drunk and vomit his guts out.

She continued listening until the good doctor mentioned his past. Two girls. she thought to herself while her heart ached. I couldn't imagine the pain he went through. Heck, I only lost one and it was hellish enough. What more for two daughters you've raised and loved?

Before Candy could get even more sentimental, the sound of retching distracted her. Lo and behold, it was Kent who couldn't manage his alcohol. "Damn." He murmured to herself, quickly covering her emotions with a wry smile. "I did not expect that from the arsonist. Well then, I guess its time for me to introduce myself to the-"

Suddenly, the front doors slammed open.

Just from the few little words, she heard from one of the mud-covered men, Candy knew what was happening. Her goddamn boyfriend stole a kid! She cannot believe her lover would stoop down so low. That fucking bastard!

Boiling anger coursed through her veins as she willed herself to calm down. She wanted to scream! To break glass! To toss a chair or table! But she knew she can't. Not when there are people around.

Candy thought she could have prevented this from happening. She thought that the kid they were planning to abduct was in Graceland. Oh, how stupid she was!

Ren walked forward and declared he'll join the search party. Motherfu- Candy couldn't help but glare at Benjamin for being so slow. Why the hell did he not stop his kid?! Sure, he tried but he failed miserably. A loud sigh escaped Candy's lips. There's no way they'll let Ren into the search party right?

WRONG.

Right then and there, Candy wanted to pull her hair out.

Calm down. Calm down. She told herself, taking deep breaths in a lame attempt to relax. There's nothing else I can do about who they wanted to bring to their little search party. What I need to focus on right now is how I would fix this problem.

Candy knew that nothing good would come if the people of Graceland discovers that she had knowledge about this kidnapping event. It would also not do her any good if she stayed and waited.

Taking a deep breath and gaining her composure, Candy approached Mari. "I'd join as well. I can help you track down the abductors."