CHARACTERS Nougat's Nuggets (Character Storage)


That One Guy
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Storage of characters I've made because I love them and unfortunately if I just leave them saved in google docs I can't see any of the pictures (Also in their original posts the codes got messed up). Most of them were made for very specific stories lol although if I have time I might make more general versions of their sheets.

They're also all fairly old so don't roast me thank you.

Eksi Endrimm
The dreamworld is an expanse of islands. Here, the citizens of this world organize and distribute dreams, while maintaining the delicate balance between dreams and nightmares. There are three creatures who inhabit this world, being nightmares, Óneiro, and Bermimpi. Óneiro are the actors in a dream. Without work, they shall fade away. They are accompanied by Bermimpi, which is connected to their lifeforce. If they die, the Bermimpi dies. If their Bermimpi dies, the Óneiro will go insane and become a nightmare.

Tristan Koyanagi
A zombie roleplay.

Camellia Lee
A roleplay set sometime after a nuclear war, in a small community.
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That One Guy
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Invitation Status
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  1. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male

Where do you dream little one?
Tucked up, cuddled up,
under eiderdown
in trundle beds?


Eᴋsɪ Eɴᴅʀɪᴍᴍ
G ᴇ ɴ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ

S ᴘ ᴇ ɪ ᴇ s

A ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ
He’s a mess. It’s an unfortunate thing, really, that his natural expression is somewhere between complete apathy and just general tiredness. Despite being fairly tall, he never seems to be able to will himself into standing up straight, and he is often slouching. He can be more energetic if he enjoys a person’s company, but that’s usually reserved for Tazi.

The dark clothing he wears, wrinkled and just a bit too long at the ends, do nothing but emphasize the extreme dullness of his features. His skin is pale, cool-toned skin marked with various bold, sharp symbols.

He looks, almost, as though much of his colour had simply been stripped away. His hair, a pale and dull looking brown, is often pushed back and tied up, but when it isn’t, it’s a wispy mess that curls at the base of his neck. His eyes aren’t much more for colour, pale and nearly colourless---though if it were several shades darker it’d be the same colour as that of the wisteria flower. He rarely even seems entirely alert, with the way his eyes are half-closed half the time. Not to mention his tendency to just stare into space sometimes. His lashes are quite long, which only serves to hide his irises even more. Of course, this is only if you do manage to see his face. He likes to cover it.

Of course, what is an Óneiro without an oddity? Well, if you consider it, his appearance is quite odd, but the thing that really takes the cake is his tail. Far longer than he is tall, the scaly thing is lined with needle thin spikes. Not to worry though, if he hits something with his tail it hurts, so he likes to walk with it draped over his shoulder. Besides, even if he did accidentally whack you with it, it probably wouldn’t even hurt. He matches with his Bermimpi, they both have tails. It’s cute.

B ᴇ ʀ ᴍ ɪ ᴍ ᴘ ɪ
Tazi is, without a doubt, his best friend. His familiar is the one who he asks for advice (nevermind the fact that he can’t reply). Wherever he goes, Tazi will be right there.

Tazi’s looks, a bit, like a silver fox, though perhaps a bit bigger and a bit worse for wear. But, even if Tazi is missing a bit of fur and is a little frayed at the edges (Eksi thinks it’s because they’re both annoyingly nosy---Tazi is just more open about said nosiness), still a great comfort on those jobless days. They’re both absolute wrecks, really, which is great.

Though they are fairly in sync with their movements (You may sometimes find that you don’t even see Tazi sitting beside Eksi, as they both sit in that same slouched way), their personalities do differ slightly. Most of this comes down to the fact that Eksi’s mask of complete and utter apathy is quite the opposite of Tazi’s very clear show of emotions. Well, of course he’d probably gladly punch a council member in the face if he didn’t get consequences (You have to admit that they aren’t doing much), but for the most part he doesn’t seem particularly aggressive. Tazi often seems to greet people with raised haunches and a show of snarling and fangs, as though threats are something that should be handed out liberally. On the other hand, they often seem to share the same opinion of things. Tazi just makes more of a show from said opinions.

P ᴇ ʀ s ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ
One would almost think that he was not afraid of death. When he isn’t given a dream to work in, he’d shrug. “Next time,” he’d say, as though he hadn’t already those two words so often before. He’d been far too close to the threat of disappearance for comfort. He stays just barely afloat, being lucky enough to have a dream thrown his way on occasion, but not quite so lucky to actually have a steady job. Yet he hardly seems to care about his imminent death. It has less so to do with the fact that he really isn’t worried, however, and more to do with the fact that he’s extraordinarily good at not talking about what he doesn’t think is anyone else’s problem. He will, however, ask Tazi for advice when he’s alone, as though his Bermimpi can actually reply. Really though, Tazi is much better company than the other Óneiro. Nasty competitive bunch.

Or maybe that’s just him, self-projecting. Really, everything he does is such a competitive thing. He doesn’t show his worries because some part of him wants people to think he’s confident, that he’s above them somehow and will most certainly survive (he’s really not. He’s quite terrified really). If he had a chance to steal a job from someone he most certainly would. Surviving with the constant fear that he might die soon really isn’t a good lifestyle for him. He’s really a big bundle of anxiety, he just hides it with a carefully built mask of indifference and aggression. Unfortunately, he is perfectly average and not quite lucky enough to get a steady job. At least he has just enough luck that he hasn’t died just yet.

One might say he has a negative outlook on life. Frankly, whoever can have a positive outlook on it, besides those council members who really have nothing but positives in their lives, are insane. Really, a constant fear of not getting enough dreams to act in really dampens his mood. He does try to have a more positive outlook though, really.
“I haven’t died yet,” he’d say, sounding rather unenthused by that fact. You know, every day he’s alive is actually opening up his life for more chances of something spectacularly terrible to happen to him. Not that it ever has, his life really is the most mundane of all mundane lives. Of course, with the agonizingly boring cycle of his hoping for a dream every day, maybe the spectacularly bad thing that happens to him one day will be his own fault.

There are good things about him. Shocking, really. It’s hard to notice good qualities under the many layers of him that you can see. If he says he’s going to do something, you can be absolutely certain that he will. If he forgets, you can always ask. He might act annoyed but he’d always try to go through with the things he says. It’s one of those little parts of his own moral code that he doesn’t like to break unless it’s absolutely necessary.

He’s loyal to a fault, really, when it comes to friends. He doesn’t have much, mainly because the closest he usually shows to affection is putting his feet up on your lap if he’s sitting beside you and complaining about things. You’re well on your way to that level of friendship if he doesn’t constantly seem annoyed in your presence. Friendships are important, you know. He’d always try his best to help his friend, and cares about that over doing what one might consider ethical. He might even break his own moral code for them in a dire situation. If you’re his friend, well, you’re clearly worth helping, in his eyes at least. Even if you are the personified form of trash.

B ɪ ᴏ ɢ ʀ ᴀ ᴘ ʜ ʏ
His life begins, and continues, to be mundane. As is the life of an Óneiro. You work, if you don’t work you panic, and then you die. There was a time, probably long ago now, that he wondered if the act of disappearing was really such a bad idea. At least, it’d be something different than staring at a wall, as he liked to do. Then he realized that he’d rather play with Tazi than not exist.

Not that he himself had much choice in the matter. Eksi, being nothing but a common Óneiro, had little choice in the matter of his own survival. He was one of the lucky ones. Whenever he felt that, surely, he’d be gone soon, a job comes to him. He’d known plenty of people who didn’t quite so fortunate as he. For that, Eksi was grateful, though it was really stupid that he had to be grateful to be given a chance to survive for just a short bit longer.

Eksi was perfectly average, and that was the problem, really. He didn’t stand out nearly enough to be offered a steady position in a recurring dream or anything of the sort. He was not so exceptional that a few more dreams were tossed over his way than for others. He was not nearly lucky enough to be one of those council members, who just sat on their fat asses all day without a care for the world.

He couldn’t manage to appreciate the council, no matter how hard he tried. He found himself, instead, feeling rightly jealous of them. They sat around all day, never had to worry about disappearing. Comparing their lives to his own just made Eksi’s life seem pitiable.

Lately, however, things have been changing. Perhaps he isn’t quite aware of it---The dreams he ends up working with are simple little things. But he’s aware that something is changing. Some vague shadow on the horizon of an already dark world. Oh, he’s probably far more nervous than he lets on. He always is. But you know, if the council members actually need to work, then it’s almost satisfying. Always look for the positives in a negative situation.

R ᴇ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪɴ s ʜ ɪ ᴘ s
Avien Sarka - It’s not often that Eksi makes a friend. Maybe it has to do with his pessimistic outlook, or the fact that he likes to barge into people’s homes without so much as a hello and use the people he likes to be around as headrests. Whatever the case is, he’s generally alone with Tazi. However, even he has friends outside of the one creature who has little choice but to put up with him. He’d dare to say that Avien Sarka was one(not to his face though---it’d be embarrassing if Avien corrected him). Avien, the lucky shit, has lived a fair bit longer than Eksi has, which might explain his lackadaisical disposition. Beyond the fact that they happen to both be Óneiro, you would be hardpressed to find any similarities between them. Which is perfect, because if Eksi ever met someone like him, he’d probably want to punch them.

O ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʀ
He has a habit of chewing on things. Not random things (it would be odd to see him randomly grabbing someone’s tie and chewing on it). He bites his nails sometimes, or loose items of clothing, like wristbands.
He is quite a hypocrite, really. He really hates when people invade his personal space, but he’d burst into someone’s room without a thought. It doesn’t matter so much, of course, because he doesn’t care about what you do behind closed doors as long as it doesn’t directly involve him. Well, he might judge you, but he wouldn’t be bothered.
He has quite a bias against Council members, really, just because he thinks they’re quite useless. But he at least tries to give other people a chance. He’s not an incredibly friendly person to strangers, but he wouldn’t blatantly tell them to screw off.

Do you remember your dreams little one?

Nightscapes crowded with
adventure and beauty...
and your very own nasty
Filaments, scenes, images
nonsensical and real.

I had several ideas for what he would do if he were not in this world as, again, he's a fairly old character. Shall add them here.
  • In a real world setting he would probably be a mechanic.
    He owns the shop because it was a family business (not his family's though, the owner just didn't have any kids and Eksi was the only employee he had because they did not make a lot of money).
    Approximately 28 years of age, owns an absolutely humungous dog named Tazi that he adores. Personally he is a fan of motorcycles but he doesn't own one because a van is more convenient.
    Absolutely abysmal texter, nothing he writes is legible.
    Not unopposed to having a sugar daddy evidently because there was meant to be a similar arrangement in his og rp.
    He would very much like to own a house in the middle of no where with a big yard for his dog.
    A daily drinker but rather opposed to smoking.
  • In any universe where characters have actual families, he has a sister named Ella. He's older. They are both the same unnecessarily tall height and can also pick each other up.
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That One Guy
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22 years Emancipated Born March 3, 2142 Male

His father was half Japanese, but his mother was most certainly of some European region, and the entire family lived in Canada his entire life. Pretty neat set-up, eh?

When he'd gotten there, Tristan had found that there was little he could do that others could not do better. He'd considered being a marksman for a bit, but despite having hunted for much of his life, Tristan was not that confident in his shot. However, he was a quick runner, who could run long distances well, so it was decided that he might as well become a scout, who searched for non-huntable or really growable food, as well as other supplies that a person might need, and that they might not have enough of. Though he’s found that he is quite good at running around to deliver messages when the people can’t be bothered to find their chosen recipient. Man, he’s trained to run around doing menial tasks his entire life.

Before the outbreak, he’d been going to the University of Toronto. He wasn’t too sure of what he wanted to do in the future. However, many of his classes would have pointed towards political science, which might have been an interesting enough things for him, if he’d had the chance to think about it.

Standing at 5’11”, Tristan takes great pleasure in the fact that he can, occasionally, look down on others. His brother, who had great interest in researching random words in hopes of finding some use for them in the future, had a long list of words he liked to describe his older brother when he could. Lanky was one. Gawky was another. The one time that his brother called him scrawny, Tristan had put him in a headlock and refused to let go. Tristan does have a thin build, and he always seemed to have trouble building much muscle mass. But the descriptions were mainly just his younger brother being a dick. The fact of the matter is that he did have muscle. He had, after all, trained his entire life to do long distance running, which is quite a bit of physical activity for such a ‘scrawny’ person.

For the larger part of his life, Tristan had grown his hair out, the shaggy black mess often falling over his face. It was quite a wonder that he never blindly smashed into a zombie. Along with the oversized, ratty clothes he enjoyed, Tristan had a rather unkempt look, not that that really mattered when he was in the middle of an apocalypse. At Luxembourg, however, he decided that he may as well cut his hair somewhat shorter. It was kind of a bother to deal with it on windy days, anyway. His hair still falls in his eyes now, but it’s much more manageable.

However, unless he has a reason to dress nicely, he still greatly prefers his sweaters that are long enough to hide his hands, with fraying edges, and his dark baggy jeans that are losing colour all over. Looking like a formless blob is fun!

The smile on Tristan’s face is a near constant presence, even when he feels like he would much rather jump into a mob of zombies without a weapon than actually deal with life. For the most part, he smiles because he really can think of a reason to smile, however, and why not share your happiness with the expression on your face. The other part… Well, why not keep smiling while he’s at it. Apparently, smiling helps to decrease stress. If that’s true, then Tristan was the least stressed person on the planet.

Tristan is just the sort of person who’ll never dwell on things. Remembering past events? There were too many deaths, honestly, from family to friends to strangers that he’d ignored on his own search of escape. Honestly, if he looked at the past too often, he might just go insane. You’ll find instead that he’d often not mention any negative things that happened in the past, which is always helpful when you somehow manage to rile him up enough to have him fight you. Really, it’s just better that way. He is, and probably always will be, just someone who follows along with wherever the current takes him, and remembering problems which arise due to that just wouldn’t be fun at all.

That is one thing people seem to notice about him, in any case. Sometimes, Tristan can almost seem like he has no decision making skills of his own, as he’d just agree to whatever people say, and follow along as he’s told. Which isn’t true, of course. He follows everyone because it’s much easier to do so, and besides, he finds himself to be a poor decision maker. He probably get himself killed if he strayed from his preset path.

Not that he’s an idiot. He may have spent way too much time on athletics and let his grades slip when he was still in school, but hey, at least he was passing the few classes he paid attention in. Most of his thinking power goes towards figuring people out and memorizing the things they like and other information he’d probably never need. Hey, being a good friend is important, you know? You never know when you’re going to need someone’s help. He might not be so good with helping people when they’re in need, but he tries, and it’d be cool if they tried for him too, right?

Tristan was born in the busy city of Toronto, Canada. For five days a week, he’d go to school. He’d play sports with his friends (Basketball was a favourite among them, even though when he played, he’d always end up messing around, launching the ball across the court to his friend on the other end). He’d talk to people who weren’t exactly his friends, but didn’t hate him either. When he got home, he might play some video games with his younger brother, or, if the weather was nice, they might do something else. Road hockey, usually, though occasionally his brother’s friends would decide on a game of manhunt, in which case they’d chase each other around until they collapsed, lungs burning. Every day, he’d take some time to go for a run, usually coming home when the stars began to blink into existence in the sky. Every week, he’d go out with his running club. When the season came he would take some time off school go out to a forest or a lake or some other place to go hunting, which most of his family liked a lot. It was a fairly mundane existence, but a comfortable one. Tristan rarely had any problems to deal with, with an exception to the fact that his marks were average at best, as he always tended to pay more attention to the athletics side of school than the academic. He managed to make it through elementary well enough, in any case. He has no notable experiences in his childhood.

He used an athletic scholarship and OSAP to pay for university, which was alright. He had no idea what he planned to do, just taking classes that vaguely fit into his interests. Still, he paid very little attention to them, though game theory might have been one of the more interesting to him (which didn’t mean he wasn’t doing terribly). But, in the end, none of that mattered.

Before the outbreak, his family was taking a little vacation to Europe---his mother’s choice, as she was born in Scotland and found reason to reappear there again when her mother became ill, and neither Tristan nor his brother seemed particularly enthused to visit relatives they’d never met. The two very stubbornly stayed behind in the home that smelled a bit of mothballs, and as the rest of the family had left to go do whatever there was to do, the brothers were playing video games.

The rest of the family never reappeared. Tristan was there, in a strange land, with no one to help him but his twelve year old brother. He tried to keep a clear head for his sibling of course. He was lucky enough that they could find some weapons within the home. His brother got a cross peen hammer. Tristan went with a serrated kitchen knife and the rifle of his grandfather, which was well-kept despite the lack of hunting the old man did at his age.

The siblings travelled together for a while, but really, with two brothers who liked to fight often, one just barely an adult and the other not even a teen, things were bound to go wrong. Tristan was much faster than his brother was, and that was really the deciding factor.

They had been walking down a small street, that had looked deserted to them. Tristan walked in the front, his rifle hung on his back, knife in hand. It had been deadly silent. But, then he’d heard it. The shuffling of the zombie as it moved, the groans---he wasn’t sure where it was before. So he’d stopped, looked around nervously at the cars in front of him. It was no where there, however, but hidden in the hedges beside him. When he saw it, finally, some creature far too close for comfort, his first instinct, unfortunately, had not been to kill it. He’d always been far more comfortable killing things from a distance. Instead, he’d stumbled back a few steps, and then turned back to run.

He should have grabbed his brother. Should have pulled him along. Even if he’d injured him in doing so, that couldn’t possibly have been worse than expecting his brother to keep pace with him. His brother, who was much younger than him, who’d given up on the long distance running Tristan adored the moment he was given a choice, had neither the endurance nor speed to keep up with Tristan and evade the zombie Tristan had---stupidly---left to live. And Tristan had run, until he heard the pained cry of his brother. He turned, just in time to watch as the zombie tore the flesh from his shoulder.

He didn’t let his brother get eaten alive, of course. He could never do that. He’d wasted a few precious moments, fumbling for the rifle. How clumsy you get, when you’re terrified. He eventually opted instead to run back, close that short distance that had saved Tristan from being bit. He’d taken his knife, and put it through the zombie’s head as it was preoccupied with his brother. So there lay his brother, screaming and bleeding. Tristan knelt down with him. He’d taken his old jacket, and tried to use it to staunch the blood, somehow. He’d whispered---lied---to his brother, telling him that it would all be okay. But that wasn’t true. He would soon have become one of those things as well, and between clenched teeth and laboured breaths, his brother had told him so. Tristan really couldn’t bear the thought of it. He did care about his brother, after all. So, while his brother stared up at him, Tristan took the rifle, and shot him in the head. And his brother had died, quickly. Tristan could move on. He wasn’t sure that was the right decision. Maybe it would have been better for him to just run away, and let his brother live out the rest of his unnatural life as an ugly, rotting creature. Maybe he should have just run, which he was quite good at doing. But he didn’t, and it was too late to fix it. This wasn’t a game.

He ran after that. Tristan ran a lot. He ran until his lungs burned and he felt like he’d die, because if he stopped then he really would die. If he stopped, and focused on something besides his breathing, then he might think back to how he really wasn’t able to help anyone in his family at all, and he’d never be able to play video games with his brother, that always led to fake fights when one won and the other accused them of cheating, and his mother wouldn’t be yelling at them to be quiet, the sense of irony lost on her, and his father wouldn’t be sitting in the chair in the corner, clearly lost in his own world as he did work in what looked like the most uncomfortable sitting position ever. He couldn’t help them, and he found that he always turned away when he saw a person screaming for help, because he couldn’t help, because he was quite helpless and quite selfish, and maybe he should give up and die but he was too much of a coward to face his own mortality.

He was found, eventually. They offered a place for him to stay, where he’d be safe, and he’d be able to fall back into the preset path that was his life. It sounded like a good deal, so he went with them.

Unfortunately, life just seems to have it out for him. Tristan found himself pulled into the rebel’s group, which he went along with because he quite quickly realized that Leven was not as good a place as he’d been led to believe. His time in Leven was short lived, and he soon found himself on the road again, but this time with the group of those he’d met in the old safe haven. They travelled until they found Luxembourg. He has to say, he quite enjoys this place. He’d be sad if it got overrun.

Tristan has a tendency to make odd choices in weaponry. In Leven, it had been a shovel. He did soon switch that out for a much more conventional rifle, that he’d lovingly polished and took a great deal of care of. But in London, he’d ‘conveniently found’ a nice titanium crowbar, that seemed quite new. It’s really not that great of a weapon. If he hits something that’s too hard the vibrations will kill his arms. But he tried his best to fix that, and make it easier to hold, by making a good paracord wrap. It looks great, too. His rifle is usually left at home, where his room is supposed to be.

Cédric Dahl - Ahhhh, Ceddie. He's one of Tristan's roommates, and he's a pretty nice guy. It's hard to communicate with him because of the language barrier, but that's alright. Also, he has a horse! How awesome is that?
Saorise Kaufmann - Are you sure that she’s younger than he is? She’s a much better leader, capable to making decisions he never could.
Ronan Kearney - They… didn’t talk much. She and Rio were adorable like a basket of puppies.
Dallis Sterling - Cool girl, nice accent, great nicknames, though a different set of morales than him.
Rómulo Seung - He has a nice face, and Tristan derives enjoyment from seeing him get angry.
Nicolas Rio - His sarcasm is glorious, really.
Preston Wiles - He doesn’t look like someone you could trust, but he really is, in Tristan’s opinion. He disappeared. Maybe he’s dead. Oh well.

× He still goes out to run as often as possible. He wants to be in shape, you know? It’s important for him to do so.
× He cleans his rifle way too much for someone who never uses it. He used to love hunting, so he used rifles a lot. But you know, he’s in a safe place, and shooting zombies isn’t very fun anyway.
× He likes card games just because even though he always smiles when he has a good hand, no one ever seems to realize that he has a good hand. Weird how that works, eh?
× Expect him to sing music over a century old, in a voice that doesn’t quite reach all the high notes and is so loud that you might start to fear that the zombies will come for the sole purpose of making him shut up. Why? Because it makes him happy and that’s what matters.
× It is immensely difficult to make him truly angry, to the point that it’s almost stupid. You can insult him and punch him and threaten to burn everyone he loves alive, but it’s hard to actually make him yell back or try to punch you. If he thinks you deserve it, though, he do something like put dirt and worms and other insects in your bed, maybe a zombie hand if he can find one. When confronted, he’s just smile in that really blank, idiotic way he could and play dumb. Why? Well, because he is fairly certain he’d lose a real fight, and he’s never really that willing to get hurt for the sake of protecting his pride.


That One Guy
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Color code #8bb381
How crude.
Camellia Cora Lee ━━━
25 // Born November 30 // Female // Beautician

Personality ━━━
Now, you may have the wrong impression of her when you first meet her. She always tries to be polite and kind to new people. After all, she doesn’t want to come on too strong and chase them away. Besides, with how slim she is, really looking like she probably only eats a salad a day, and even her name, which she shares with a flower, she doesn’t really seem like a tough person. And really, up against her in a fistfight, she would probably lose terribly and immediately. But she does have nails and a nice set of scissors and hairspray and the like that could make do for weapons. Her overall presence itself is loud---Camellia is opinionated and pushy and has never been afraid to show that side of her. There is no trace of a demure lady in her, if you want to be her friend then you’d better expect being hit on the head with heels when she’s annoyed, and maybe a bit of cursing.

Camellia has always been quite particular about how things were, and although she was rarely angry enough to yell or anything of the like, she’d be quite obviously displeased if something didn’t go exactly her way. Whether it was about how something was set up, or a decision of any sort, a frown would always appear on her face when something didn’t go exactly as she imagined. She made plans automatically in her head, and perhaps it never quite occurs to her that she lives on a planet with many other human beings with their own plans in mind. Which isn’t to say that she was uptight---well, she wasn’t that uptight. She made plans, yes. She’d decided what she wanted to do when she was 10. That doesn’t make her uptight. She’s just… organized. And there’s nothing wrong about knowing what you want to do.

What she wanted to do was to be a beautician, exactly the job she received in this town. She always enjoyed the beautiful things in life. The morning dewdrops on a new spring leaf, or lazy afternoon sunlight drifting its way into a home, casting rainbow lights upon the walls. She liked to use that. Occasionally, she got just a bit too overboard with things and made very elaborate make-up/hair/outfit sets, that no one would actually wear out, but it was always nice to see them for a few hours. Otherwise, as she is quite serious about her job, she always makes sure that all her customers walk out the door looking beautiful and healthy and happy. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Biography ━━━
She was born as the last memory of summer had left, when the skies above were a dull gray that threatened the coming snowfall. In her family, in which there were already two children, a flu had been circling along. Her mother had been quarantined in her room as her husband dealt with the damage. The nine months has been extremely stressful, with a son that never seemed to be able to get his hands away from cords and outlets, and who seemed to believe that everything was climbable, and with a daughter who seemed to believe every wall was meant to be drawn on and that her daddy wouldn’t mind a permanent marker moustache, both of whom cried and screamed when taken away from their favourite pastimes. Still, when Camellia was a child, she was a bubbly, sweet baby when she wasn’t sleeping the day away. She didn’t cry quite as much as her siblings had, and as soon as she learned to walk, her parents tried to teach her what she couldn’t go near and what she couldn’t draw on, and even though she still got into trouble occasionally, she was never quite as bad as her siblings.

When she was a child, she took ballet lessons. These proved to be one other thing she’d enjoy, and she continued to dance as she grew. She loved the grace that came with the movements, and though it was quite hard work, she always did her best.

Yet that was never what she wanted to do. She made her decisions very quickly, and tended to stick with them. And what she wanted was to make other people pretty. She felt much more accomplished managing to do that, and people would be affected by what she did for longer. Besides, then she could make herself look pretty off the stage. Win win. So that was how she decided what she wanted to do, at the age of 12.

She was practicing how to give someone a perm when the end of the world began. One classmate of hers, whom everyone lovingly referred to as their local conspiracy theorist, had been telling them all for years that a nuclear war was bound to happen. At that time, he’d seemed even more obsessed with such happenings, constantly reading the worldwide news, finding hints of impending doom that no one else noticed. Everyone in the school thought he was just being overly paranoid. But as it turned out, he was right about much more than they thought.

He must have been one of the first civilians to see the news. Before the power had all died, even, he’d begun to drag Camellia and a few other of their friends away. “We need to leave,” he’d insisted. And when the power died, and they looked outside to see the beginnings of panic, that was when they decided to listen.

Of course someone like that boy would have a family bunker. He’d already had everything prepared, having bedding and books within, making sure everything was comfortable. And he had many of his friends’ possessions there. Over the years, he’d borrowed there things, but never seemed to remember to return it. And he’d always made such strange requests, asking Camellia for clothes(claiming he needed them for art references), or make-up, or whatever book she liked most. And since his friends did trust him, they almost always gave him what he requested. As it was, when Camellia first walked in, she found a bag with a neatly folded pile of her clothing, along with her favourite books and some make up and other things he’d borrowed from her at school.

That was where they hid during the battle. And it would have been absolutely perfect, if not for one thing---They didn’t have enough food. The boy have been the one to stock the food in the bunker, enough for many people to last for quite some time. However, he hadn’t stocked quite enough, and he realized that a short while in. If he’d guessed the length they’d have to stay there properly, then yes, they’d have enough food. Just barely, but they would have enough. But he didn’t consider afterwards. It would surely become more difficult to get food when none would grow. He should have considered it.

So for a while after that, he didn’t eat his rations, and only drank a bit of liquids. But when if came down to it, he knew that he would eventually die like that, and it would be quite the painful way to die. So he opted for a quicker way out.

Imagine the shock when they found his body. It hadn’t taken long for them to find it, of course---he’d brought a hunting rifle too, in case there had been any possibility of finding animals out there. The noise was enough to lead them to him.

Many of them wanted to leave then. And they did. Camellia had no idea what could have happened to them. There was no longer much worry about not having enough food.

Eventually, her friend’s parents told her was it would be safe to go out again. They packed a supply of food in with her possessions, gave her a coat, and wished her good luck. So Camellia set off without aim, perhaps in search of her family, whom she’d been worried about for so long. Her brother was such a klutz, and her sister so headstrong, they would have had trouble dealing with hiding for so long. And her parents, oh, they were always such wonderful and kind people. They didn’t deserve to have such a shocking thing happen in their lifetime.

However, Camellia never did find them. She instead found a village of people, working together to survive. And, you know, at that time she was beginning to lose all hope of ever seeing her family. She’d walked all the way to her old home, you know. Not a single person was on that street. So she decided to stay instead, and became their beautician. At least she got to follow her dreams.

Relationships ━━━
NAME - Harem Hunk - She dislikes the Harem Hunk. Or, well, perhaps not dislike. She interchangedly calls him Handsome or Old Man/Kiddo(dependent on how old character is), because while she agrees with the general consensus that he had a nice looking face, he’s also quite a sleazeball. If she’d ever date a guy, she’d much rather date one who didn’t chase after every girl who showed the slightest bit of interest in him. She has standards, and he falls far below them.

COLE KÜHN - Doctor - Ahhhh, Doctor Kiddo. He’s so helpless in terms of being a doctor. The most Camellia’s ever really gone to him for was a bandage, and even that she put on herself. But it’s amusing, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be if some terrible sickness came about that his books couldn’t help him with, but it was cute.

Speaking of cute, the Doctor had quite a cute face, and beautiful hair that anyone would be jealous of. Couldn’t you just imagine him as a beautiful snow fairy prince? Camellia really wants to try that. She’d do his hair and make-up, and dress him up, and them make the Big Shot take pictures of it for her. She hasn’t actually succeeded in doing that yet, but still.

KIAN BRADY - Nerdboy - Bookkeep, as she’d called him the few times she’d seen him(along with Kiddo like she calls everyone younger than her, or Cutie or Kiki… Just whatever she wants.) was her only competition in getting her job. Of course, because she’d actually gone to school for it, and was already carrying an entire set of supplies for said job thanks to her friend, Captain Conspiracy, Camellia was the one who ultimately got the job. She doesn’t think he has any animosity towards her, then again, she doesn’t talk much with him. Though she’d love to do his make-up. He looks really cute, it’d be fun!

AMELIA - Priest - Camellia isn’t the slightest bit religious. No one in her family was. However, she feels quite respectful of this woman, who is so extremely kind and a good leader. Even without the connection of religion between them, Camellia can respect someone who manages to be so outright caring to everyone, no matter how incredibly annoying some people could be. Camellia finds herself agreeing with most things that the Priest says. Though, respect is an awkward thing. She just feels rude if she calls her anything but Priest or Miss.Amelia. She can’t even bring herself to call her Kiddo, because even though the Priest is a year younger than Camellia, she has the air of being someone older.

Will keep writing. I’m lazy.

Other ━━━
She is quite loud, actually. An inside voice? No one needs it. Actually, if Kiki dislikes her, it probably would have more to do with the fact that she likes to greet him by slapping his back and saying a rather loud hello, generally with a random nickname attached to the end.

If you haven’t realized this yet, Camellia loves to give people nicknames. It’s fun and it’s sometimes amusing to see their reactions. Though, if she can’t think of one, she generally calls those younger than her Kiddo, and those older than her Old Man or Grannie.

Camellia, as mentioned before, used to do ballet. She doesn’t really do it now, because for one thing, she doesn’t actually have music, so that’s quite odd. Though you might see her humming a tune and dancing around when she feels particularly happy.

She has a few possessions she brought with her to the village. That being about five outfits(saving her a few trips to the tailor), a coat, a set of barber shears, three books, and make-up. She also has some musical scores that belonged to her friend, not that she can read them. She’d just grabbed them without a thought. Her friend had been so careful to make sure she had what she needed.

Appearance ━━━
Her hair, which is mostly an ashy black, besides the parts which frame her face, is almost always tied up into two neat buns. When let down, her hair reaches halfway down her back, but the only times you’d see that would be when she just woke up or was just about to go to sleep. It’s actually quite wavy when let down, and can get obnoxiously big in humidity, which just makes her thin frame seem even thinner. She is extremely slim. She always was, but it went almost to extremes during the time spent in the bunker, in which food was rationed to be just enough for them to live through the days. She’s been told that she looks thin enough to snap in half. It wouldn’t be as odd, if she weren’t also quite tall, at 5’11”. Not that she herself minds it. Her face, always neatly made up, tends to look quite serious, but she is easily amused, and at that point a grin will appear, which brightened up her entire expression. She had no piercings or scars to show.

Camellia tends to prefer darker clothes. Emerald green, for example, which matches her eyes. Or midnight blue. She looks better in darker colours, in her personal opinion, though it does make her pale skin look even paler than it was.