Outnumbered Rules & Sign-ups

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Interest Check | Lore & OOC | IC | Rules & Sign-ups​

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CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

Come with me, they said. We will fix all the problems. A new beginning will emerge. See, children, this is why we don't accept invitations from strangers because they'll probably take advantage of you. Now, by some unholy means, you're there… in hell they call 'Maxicom.'

Of course, how could you not have been fooled? Maxicom had approached you only a few days after you were given your name from Tartarus for whatever crime you had committed. They sounded encouraging. They promised you to help you escape… they promised to help you get a new number, a new identity, a new start at life away from your shaming name. Maybe you tried other options, but people began to shun you, Tartarus guards began to hunt you, and you began to starve and freeze. Hunger will make you do crazy things; you accept Maxicom's offer.

They take you in to a beautiful facility. They feed you, they clothe you. They treat you will. Hungry, you greedily swallow down their bait and then, after you've eaten, they arrest you. They take you to a prison. You are surrounded by small cells, all crammed full with other named people. You're scared, maybe. Or maybe you're tired. Maybe you're ready to give up.

Down the halls, you can hear the pained screaming of inmates. Inmates are led from their cells to the big white door at the end of the hall. They don't return from the door.

You look at the other people around you in various cells… you can either escape together, or die together.

Welcome to Maxicom, the loud speaker booms overhead periodically, every fifteen minutes, Tartarus' leading research lab for human health and development.​

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CHARACTER CREATION​

You will be playing a newly named individual. Your crime may range from something simple, like stealing, to something major, like murder. Or, perhaps, you were falsely accused and did nothing wrong at all. After several days of scrambling to survive on the streets, avoiding Tartarus soldiers hunting you and numbered civilians shunning you (or reporting you to Tartarus), you are suddenly approached by a mysterious entity called Maxicom.

Though they might not have approached you directly, they posted bulletins around known named hide-out spots: in sewers, in back alleys, in 'safe houses.' They sent out digital communications on the ISOnet (Infrared Spectrum Interchange - a wireless, universal broadcasting system). Other named individuals talked about them. Promising named individuals an opportunity to start over and rehabilitate into society, it's hard to resist. Perhaps you resisted for a while. Perhaps you ventured to the destined meeting location right away. Either way, you ended up at Maxicom.

There, you were arrested. Now, you're in a cramped, disgusting holding cell surrounded by other afraid named individuals. Whatever sort of testing is going on at the facility you can only hear, but not see. The only thing you do know is that you're better off not knowing what is going on behind that closed door. You escape, or you die, but you know you can't do it alone.​

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RULES​

• It should go without saying that all Iwaku site rules apply. This is not a Red or Blue star roleplay and should not have any such content, though it can definitely be mentioned. Utilize fade to black, if needed. That said, this roleplay is not for pansies. It will have dark themes. It will have blood, violence, and cuss words, mates.
• Don't be rude. This sums up every single expectation from bunnying to picking fights in the OOC to not reading all posts in the roleplay. Don't do it. Also, remember someone's character is not their person. Just because a character is rude, doesn't mean the person playing them is rude.
• Read everything, including all the roleplay content and all roleplay posts.
• This roleplay expects one post every two weeks with 3-4 minimum paragraph length. Be creative, be detailed, and explore the world. Make it your own. Third person/past tense only, please. If you are going to be out of the roleplay for a while or need a break, please let me know. That's totally fine. We'll find a way to work around it. If you want to drop, please also let me know. We will write your character out of the story-line properly. Character appearances should be done with description and/or realistic art or photographs. Please no anime. (:
• I welcome anyone to come up with unique ideas or plot twists, but they need to be run by me (Nav) first. I will almost always approve them or find a way to make them work with the overarching story-line. That said, the story-line is yours to change. Character actions will impact the outcome of the roleplay.
• To reiterate the most important rule: don't be a dick.
  
  :D

Four easy steps to applying:

Step 1: Read everything. This includes, you know, everything, especially the rules. Decide if this is a roleplay for you. If it is, proceed to Step 2.
Step 2: Fill out the following Character CS sheet using the code provided. More detailed instructions are provided within the CS itself. Please remove my comments in the []. Real images and digital paintings are preferred for reference images. Please do not use anime images, as this disrupts the realistic feel of this roleplay setting. You may post your CS as a work in progress (WIP), but please make a note of the WIP status above so I know not to review it. You are welcome to change the coding if you want, but please have all of the requested information available somewhere in your application. If you have questions, ask Nav in the OOC or in PM! :D This is NOT first come first serve.
Step 3: Wait for Nav's review. Once reviewed, Nav will PM you the status of your application.

• Acceptance - Congratulations, your character has been accepted into the roleplay and you are welcome to begin posting at any time!
• Revision - Your character is almost ready to be accepted, but a few changes must be made to your character sheet. Once you have rectified the issues, please reach out to Nav and she'll review again to make sure all is in order.
• Rejection - I'm sorry, but your character is not compatible with this roleplay. If you would like to know more specifics, please reach out to Nav in PM and she will explain the decision.

Step 4: Roleplay like a boss.

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You may edit the code to your heart's content, but please make sure it contains all the same information. MORE information is fine, but not less. Thanks! :D

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[FONT=courier][SIZE=6]CHARACTER NAME (single name, no middle/surname)[/SIZE][/FONT][CENTER][SIZE=2][Identification number (XXX-XXX-XXX - may contain letters and numbers)][/SIZE][/CENTER][/div]

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[div=float:right; display: inline-block; margin-top: -25px; padding-left: 5px;][img]https://placeholdit.imgix.net/~text?txtsize=23&txt=250%C3%97250&w=250&h=250[/img][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]age :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][age][/indent][/font][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]eye colour :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][eye colour][/indent][/font][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]hair colour :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][hair colour][/indent][/font][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]height :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][height in feet'inches"][/indent][/font][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]weight :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][weight in pounds][/indent][/font][/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]appearance :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][2 or so paragraphs giving an appearance description. In addition to physical characteristics, can include clothing, weapons, personal belongings, tone of voice, how they carry themselves, etc.][/indent][/font][/div]

[FONT=courier][SIZE=5][COLOR=#c8ec21][/COLOR]   [B]⌜[/B] PERSONALITY & EXTRAS [B]⌟[/B] [/SIZE][/FONT][div=border-top: 5px solid #8a916e;] [/div]
[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]personality :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][3-4+ paragraphs on your character's personality.][/indent][/font][/div]

[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]extras :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][Optional. Remove if you do not wish to include. May be used for history or other information you wish to be known about your character.][/indent][/font][/div][/div]
 
[FONT=courier][SIZE=5][COLOR=#c8ec21][/COLOR]   [B]⌜[/B] WRITING SAMPLE [B]⌟[/B] [/SIZE][/FONT][div=border-top: 5px solid #8a916e;] [/div]
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[div=min-width: 250px; padding: 0px; font-size: 1em;]» [font=courier]prompt :[/font] [font=calibri][indent][Write a post of whatever length you believe is suitable (keep in mind the detailed nature of the roleplay) of your character going through a life-changing moment. It can be anything. For example, how your character got their name, loss of a loved one, or a break-up... whatever moment you feel deeply impacted your character.][/indent][/font][/div][/div]

 

[Aravhorn]

Update: Fleshed out my Character a bit. For now I'll keep the new details in the "Extras" category.
Update 2: Redacted the Writing Sample a bit. Actually, scratch that. I redacted it quite a lot to make it easier to read.

CHARACTER NAME Nightingale

[ID : H1P-0LY-7U5]​

» age : 27

» eye colour : Dark Blue

» hair colour : Dark Brown

» height : 6'1"

» weight : 143 pounds

» appearance :

Overall, Nightingale bears the semblance of someone who has been through very rough times: his dark brown hair is unkempt, his bony cheeks are covered by a messy five o'clock shadow and his dark blue eyes look tired from lack of sleep. Physically, he is rather thin due to malnutrition, but don't let appearances deceive you; even after everything he's been through, he is still reasonably strong, and his legs are used to running across long distances non-stop ( this is one of the "side effects" from evading Tartarus law enforcement agents). His voice is deep and somewhat raspy, most likely due to his strong alcohol abuse in the past few months.

His choice of clothing is rather simple, consisting of a dirty gray tank top hidden underneath an equally spotty dark brown hooded longcoat, a rather old holo-watch (which serves as a reminder of his former life) standard issue black pants and faded black boots. It may not be the most luxurious thing ever, but at least it keeps him warm at night. As a memento, Nightingale bears a small chain necklace with a locket of him and her long defunct wife, a possession he treasures the most.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :
Before being Named, Nightingale was an all around a pleasant and cheerful guy, who enjoyed spending his time with his friends with a trusty bottle of beer in his hand. But now that those days are gone now, his personality shifted dramatically: He became bitter and paranoid, unable to trust anyone, and has developed a liking for snide and cynical humor.

As a result of this sense of danger and paranoia, he became a closed and reserved person, who would second guess anything and anyone who showed ever the slightest sign of kindness towards him. However, under the cold visage lies a kind-hearted and friendly person , who is ready to sacrifice it all in order to protect those he cares about the most.

As a widower, not much can be said about Nightingale's romantic life, and thus far he has shown no interest of starting one. Whether it is due to his inability to let go of the memories of his former wife or the fear of losing his loved one again, that remains to be seen.

» extras :
-Curiously, Nightingale is very good at playing the traditional guitar.
-Although he doesnt have any formal combat training to begin with, Nightingale became quite competent with pistols shortly after being Named, which is why you can usually see him carrying a very outdated model of MKR 54 Beamer, which despite its age still packs quite a punch.
-Nightingale is an outstanding freerunner, a trait he acquired during his younger years, when he and his friends loved racing throughout Mistmill for the thrill of it.
-Nightingale has an older brother named 7HU-R30-500 ("Ted" for short) who, unlike him, lives in the educated district as a system administrator, and his parents, H35-714-057 ( his mother, "Claire") and B34-C0N-S11 (his father, "Stephen"), who reside in the living wage district.
-Due to his upbringing as a law-abidding citizen, Nightingale treats his fellow Named with prejudice and mistrust.

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :

The Helicar's engine let out a soft "click" as H1P-0LY-7U5 pressed his finger upon the biometric scanner to turn it off. After letting out a small sigh, he rested on his seat for a moment before opening the door and stepping out, heading towards the security terminal standing in front of him.

"Please look into the retina scanner for authentification." the terminal's cold and uniform female voice echoed throughout the small room that was his personal parking lot. Nonchalantly, he followed the instructions, and the machine gleefuly replied with a short "bleep". "Identity confirmed. ID number: H1P-0LY-7U5. Thank you for using Tartaros Public Transport Services."

After that, H1P-0LY-7U5 walked out his garage and glanced at his car one last time, as a silvery metal gate slowly sealed it away, before continuing onwards to the elevator. As he pressed the button, his earpiece began to play a familiar tune; it was Trick (or 175-047-R4P).

"Hey, Trick, what's up?" he replied as the sweeped his fingers across the earpiece.

"Yo, man! Listen, I'm sorry for calling you so late, but could you please meet me at Winston Street? You know, the place where Bull used to live before, well... you know."

"*sigh* Can't this wait 'till tomorrow? I just got out of the car."

"Yeah I know, I know, but it's urgent!" For a moment, H1P-0LY-7U5 could've sworn that Trick sounded worried... although, on the other hand, he always was, so he didn't pay much attention to it.

"Let me guess, your dog ran away again, didn't she? " he said jokingly.

"No, it's not-! Look, just do what I said, okay? *unintelligible sounds* Shit! Listen, I've gotta go. Please don't be late, alright? I'm counting on you." And with that, the line went silent.

"Huh, now that was weird." He thought. Something wasn't right about that call. What was that noise before Trick cut off the call? And most importantly, why would he want to meet him in a street in the middle of nowhere? Filled with doubts, H1P-0LY-7U5 went back to his car, even though his judgement suggested him otherwise. Be it as it may, he couldn't leave Trick hanging, and whatever he was talking about seemed to be very important.

Winston Street was a small segment of road located in the easternmost part of Mistmill City, hidden among old residential buildings from the days long gone by. However, since history was outlawed by Tartarus by the time he was born, H1P-0LY-7U5 always assumed that they were just part of some architectonic movement founded by the engineers at the Educated District. One thing, however, was certain: despite having a working lighting system, Winston Street still managed to look harrowing at night, with the dark alleyways serving as a perfect place for someone to set up an ambush and mug someone...or worse.

Impatiently, H1P-0LY-7U5 checked the time; it was 11 pm. He's been waiting for fifteen minutes, and yet there was still no sign of Trick anywhere he looked.

"Damn it, Trick, where are you?" he cursed. Did he just pull a stupid prank on him? Was this all a big joke and he foolishly fell for it? However as it may, his doubts came to an end when a shadowy figure came shambling from one of the alleyways not far away from where was parked, and then, just as suddenly, fell to the ground with a "thud". It took a while before H1P-0LY-7U5 could realize that it was Trick.

"What the hell...? Trick!" alarmed, he quickly leaped out of his still-active car, and ran towards his colleague. As he got closer, he noticed a dark pool forming around the limp body. This time, it didn't take him long to realize that it was blood.
"What the fuck?! Trick, what happened to you?"

"There's-nngh-no time. Take...Take this." With the last of his strenght, Trick clumsily pulled out a very small square containter, roughly the size of the palm, and put it in H1P-0LY-7U5's hand. "Bring *cough* bring it to Firefly. Don't let-cough- them take it."

""Firefly"?"Them"? Who are "them"? Trick! Don't die on me, dammit!" He shouted, with his heart beating at an alarming rate. What the hell was going on?

"Ghuu...I'm...Sorry..." And then, with one last breath, Trick was no more.

"Trick, wake the fuck up, you hear me? Stay with me, dammit! Trick! Triiick!!" despite H1P-0LY-7U5 best efforts, it was useless. Trick was already dead. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck! What do I do?" H1P-0LY-7U5's head was spinning; should he call the ambulance? Or should he run, figuring that whoever killed Trick may still be lurking around?

Then, as if to answer his thoughts, a voice came from the alley: "Suspect located! Shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill!"

"What the-HOLY SHIT!!" Before he could finish, a swarm of bullets flew past him, giving him barely enough time to jump and duck behind his car. He didn't get away unscathed, however; a stray bullet managed to find its way into his right shoulder, sending a wave of pain across his body.

If H1P-0LY-7U5 was worried before, now he was in complete panic. His mind was blank, save for a single thought: he had to get out of there, and fast. Instinctively, he quickly jumped inside his still open car, whincing in pain, and pushed on the gas with his left hand, sending the car flying into the dark city skies.

"The suspect is getting away! Call the Air support squad! We must return the Device at all costs! "

The following hours for H1P-0LY-7U5 were a blur. He couldn't remember how did he manage to escape or what happened during that night...Except for one thing: the cold, robotic voice coming from his earpiece: "This is Tartarus Security Department. The terrorist "Ferret", formerly known by the identification number 175-047-R4P, who stole confidential documents from the City's Datacenter, has been detained by the law enforcement agents. Based on the latest reports, he was working with another suspect, alias Nightingale, formerly known as H1P-0LY-7U5, who has just evaded the authority officers. If you know this person or have any information about his whereabouts, please contact your nearest TSD depot immediately."

"Have a good night."​

 

[Joan]

ETHAN

9P2-534-7ZH​

» age :

31​

» eye colour :

Dark, inky blue​

» hair colour :

Light blond​

» height :

5'10"​

» weight :

154 lbs​

» appearance :

The contrast between Ethan's shaggy white-blonde hair and his dark, inky eyes can make his gaze seem extremely thoughtful and soul-piercing, when really he's just drowsy most of the time and doesn't tend to be much of a heavy thinker or an observant type. To go with his drowsiness, hetypically has a relaxed, slightly slouching posture. The combination of these can be off-putting to those who don't know him, or it can seem quite welcoming to somebody looking for a friend.

Ethan has a fairly average build that's slightly on the skinny side. He typically wears loose dull-colored t-shirts, green or blue cargo pants, and dark brown running shoes. He keeps his hands in his pants pockets unless he's actively doing something with them. He normally carries a pocketknife and a small notepad and pen with him and not much else, leaving him relatively unprepared for everything that follows being named.​

⌜ PERSONALITY &EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :

Ethan generally acts like he's half-asleep, which he usually is. He speaks softly and slowly, is often confused by what's going on around him, and likes to take naps whenever he has an opportunity. This is only during the morning, however. In the evening, he perks up a bit and becomes much more talkative and interested in his surroundings. In other words, Ethan is very much a night owl and spends most of his nights staying up late with his notebook and/or his computer.

When not affected by drowsiness, Ethan is a very curious person who enjoys investigating everything around him and asking hundreds of questions. However, he is introverted enough that only the people he knows well get peppered with questions. Which, to be honest, is probably for the best, as they're the ones who are most likely to put up with his questions and answer them. When he doesn't have a friend to ask questions of, he generally finds his own answers through carefully investigating everything in reach and doing research when possible. To him, his curiosity is an impulse that needs to be followed, and he will not stop until it is satisfied.

Through his curiosity, Ethan has become somewhat of a wealth of information. However, he rarely volunteers information unless asked or if he feels that it's absolutely necessary. He is also extremely supportive to his friends, which, when combined with a tendency to be always listening for more information and generally having good advice when asked, tends to make him the shoulder to cry on or the adviser for the people he knows well. He is extremely loyal, though only toward the people he knows well and trusts. Anybody else...well, he's not going out of his way to help them.​

» extras :

Though he doesn't have that much muscle, he is surprisingly agile and knows some basic throws.​

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :

His phone was ringing. That was all 9P2-534-7ZH was really aware of as he slowly opened his eyes and looked around blearily to see where the ringing was coming from. He was lying on the couch, which was pretty usual. His phone appeared to be within easy reach on the arm of the couch, so he sat up and picked up the phone without bothering to check who was calling.

"Yeah?" His tone revealed his exhaustion, and he heard a familiar sigh on the other end.

"Oy, sleepyhead, you busy today?"

"Yin?" He blinked a few times in surprise. The voice belonged to his sister, 468-7UV-0HS, or Yin, somebody he hadn't seen in a few years. They had never been close, so why was she calling him now? "Um, no, I'm not, why?"

"Listen, I need you to come down to that old club Dad used to take us to."

"But why-"

"I don't have time for your questions, Al! Just be there ASAP, please!" Along with the irritation he had noticed earlier, there was a note of what he could only describe as panic. The hell? he wondered to himself. Before he could say anything else, she hung up, and he was left looking at his phone in confusion.

The club? For real? She always hated that place, so what the hell is going on here? he thought to himself as he stood up and began hunting for a fresh change of clothes.

Late that night he was half-regretting his decision to pick up the phone as he and his sister crouched in the shadows by one of the walls of the educated sector. They were waiting for an opening to run up to the keycard-sealed door and get in, which wasn't easy since one of the guards always seemed to be looking in their direction.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered softly in her ear. She glanced at him, looking somewhat cross.

"Why aren't you? You're the one who always wanted to know what they were hiding in here."

"Right." He swallowed back his nervousness and glanced at the guard again. He had finally turned his back, meaning they had a clear shot. He nudged his sister, and they ran forward to the door. She shoved the keycard into the slot and they ran through into the educated sector.

"All right, there's no telling what kind of security they have here, so be careful, all right? Just stick close to me," 468-7UV-0HSwhispered in his ear, and he nodded. They made their way through the sector in the few shadows available, but before they could get more than a block or so away from the wall, alarms started going off. It seemed like the guard had spotted them after all.

"Shit!" 468-7UV-0HShissed, grabbing his arm. "Run!"

They only made it to the end of the block before a police vehicle cut them off. They spotted it before it spotted them, and 9P2-534-7ZH turned to face his sister to ask her what they were supposed to do now. He saw the pure terror on her face, and in that moment, he made a decision. He pulled himself free from her grasp and gave her a shove in the direction they had come from.

"Go!" he yelled before turning to face the police vehicle. He stayed still long enough for the police to climb out before shouting to attract their attention. The moment they were looking at him, he took off running. He could hear them chasing him, which was good. That meant they weren't chasing 468-7UV-0HS. After only a few minutes of running, 9P2-534-7ZH was cornered, handcuffed, and bundled into the back of the car. As he was driven away, all he could do was hope his sister had made it out of the sector safely.​

 

[PoetLore]

CHARACTER NAME Kyne

[Identification number 19M-23G-13S]​

» age : 25
[age]

» eye colour : Hazel, and seem to change in different light
[eye colour]

» hair colour : Brown
[hair colour]

» height : 5'6"
[height in feet'inches"]

» weight :130 lbs.
[weight in pounds]

» appearance :Kyne is very fair complected which is made noticeable by her dark hair and penchant for dark clothing. She has a scar above her left eye from an injury that occurred as she was arrested. She is athletic and toned from many years of avid recreational running and tennis playing.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :Kyne is a creative and energetic person. She paints, draws, sculpts and has been known to sing at the karaoke club in town, given the proper incentive. She is very outgoing and charming, with a multitude of friends and companions. She is clever and resourceful, and has a very active mind, though she can seem scatter-brained to some.

She generally has five projects going at once, because she hates to be idle. She is a quick learner and once she has decided to learn something, she has a dogged determination to be not only adequate in whatever the chosen task is, but to become proficient.

Stubborn is what most of her friends would confidently label her. She however, prefers to term herself as determined. She's never attempted anything that she did not eventually through hard work and perseverance achieve.

» extras Kyne has never married or even seriously dated. She values her freedom and ability to wander as she wishes.

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :
[19M-23G-13S Had a nice little flat she shared with her roommate 234-T5H-3W1 from college. They had been best friends then, and that had not ended with their graduation. They were two of a kind, both refusing to marry, both had a love for the club scene and both were able to be among those who worked. She had shown an aptitude for graphic design at a very early age, and had been recruited into college. They also shared a love for throwing conventionality to the wind and had long ago stopped using their number designations and begun referring to one another as M and T. Luckily, she enjoyed the work she'd been slotted to perform and enjoyed a happy and carefree existence within the Tartarus world. That would all come to an abrupt and shocking end however, when T came home from work late on Friday. "M???
she called out, "Where are you??" M poked her head out of the bathroom, "Just finishing my make-up...Almost ready to head to the club. What took you so long?" T ran to the bathroom and a glowing smile was plastered on her face, "M...I met the most fantastic man! Jaxon! He's ...OH my God to die for handsome. he's sweet...he's everything I've always dreamed of..." M looked at her with wide eyes, "T have you lost your mind? He's named. You will not have any kind of a life. You'll ahve to run and hide forever. Please tell me you're kidding. This is a joke right?" T shook her head, "NO M. I am not kidding. I thought you would understand. I see I was wrong." A knock sounded on teh door and T left the bathroom to go an answer the door. "Jaxon!" she cried and pulled him in as M made ehr way to the front room and gasped when she saw the man in their home. "He can't be here T, you KNOW that!" JAxon smiled a very beautiful smile at ehr, "YOu must be M," he said extending his hand, "T's told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you!" M just shook her head, "Well forget you ever heard of me, please." What happened next was still somewhat of a blur in her mind. The door to ehr home flew in and Tararus officers rushed in. Jaxon was shot by the first one to enter and both T and M were taken into custody. M hadn't even thought to run, because she had done nothing wrong. When M was questioned however, she was informed that her dearest friend in the world gave a very damning statement against her, giving the police the location of some stolen identification passes and other items hidden in her room at the house. The police retrieved the items and allowed T to go free, while casting M into the prison cells at Maxicom. She was now Kyne, a changed person. Her formerly cheerful and friendly demeanor was replaced with an icy, impenetrable facade. Her belief that the Tararus system was a good one, a fair one, was left destroyed there in that cell. She knew there was nothing for her out in the world she knew, but, she also knew that she was not going to stay here and wait to be taken through the door of death either. That life long stubborn resolve had kicked in, and she would find a way out. It was only a matter of time. ]

 

[MST3K 4ever]

CHARACTER NAME Jordan

K33-R44-M13 ​

» age :35

» eye colour : Brown

» hair colour : Sandy Blonde

» height :6' 2"

» weight : 225

» appearance :
Jordan stands out in a crowd. Not only because of his height and his dark eyes, but also his athletic build. He is not able to duck and hide easily, but he is very athletic and agile. Jordan is a firm believer in the philosophy of "the strong will survive." Jordan frequently wears black or dark colored clothing.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality : Jordan has a public aspect to his personality. One that he shares with the world very willingly. Though he is tall and intimidating to look at Jordan is actually a very charming and personable fellow. He will engage in conversations with complete strangers and think nothing of it. Jordan has the ability to be in a room full of people, but make the person he is talking to feel like that they are the only person in the room. Jordan also appreciates sharing a good joke even if its at his expense.

His intellect is above average but he isn't arrogant about it. Jordan feels that his intellect is a gift and should be used to help others. Even if it means running afoul of the law. His sense of justice is defined by what he feels is right not what the system of law has taught him. Jordan is not afraid to speak his mind even if it means stepping on toes, but if he realizes that he has hurt someone he will later apologize for it but not what he said.

Jordan has another side to him though. A side that if you see it you will rue the day you were born. As often as he uses his intellect to help others Jordan has been known to use it to carry out murders. His dark side is not one he openly embraces, but he realizes that it's there. If he doesn't like you, or feels that you need to pay for what you did, Jordan will use his charming persona to gain your trust. Once he has it he will use intellect to figure out where you are vulnerable and then strike.

» extras :
Jordan was a former commander of a soldier unit. He worked his way up from recruit to commander in a matter of years.. Jordan always believed in the system of Law. No matter what injustices he saw he firmly believed in the greater good and the good of the system.

He was the youngest person to ever be appointed a command role and though he was a commander Jordan never truly lost sight of his humanity. Those under his command respected him and it was believed that his star was on the rise to even greater heights. Then one tragic day changed everything. Jordan's wife and two children were killed in an accident when one of the ruling politicians was driving drunk. Jordan saw the evidence and read through the files. Jordan felt this man would get what they deserved, but he was connected to the Tartarus and that meant the system would allow his case to be dismissed. Jordan couldn't believe that the system he trusted and believed in failed him. Jordan vowed to fight against the system and to seek justice for his family. Jordan wouldn't trust the system ever again he was going to have justice for his family.

Since he was a soldier Jordan knew the ins and outs of the system. He studied this man for weeks, and was determined to make him pay. Jordan executed his plan and the man was killed. However, Jordan still didn't feel any peace afterwards, but instead all he felt was rage. Rage that while he got to enjoy the sweet taste of vengeance there were others who had his experience with the system and still hungered for justice. Jordan then realized that the only way to beat the system was to understand it from a criminal's point of view. Jordan turned himself in, but instead of trying to justify his actions or rage against the system Jordan said nothing except to confess over and over. At his trial he offered no defense and merely nodded most of the time. Even at his sentencing when he was given one last chance to say something before being taken away all he said with a devilish smile was, "This isn't over. One day the system will fall."

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

»
The streets were wet and the sky was loaded with stars. The night air hung thick with humidity in Mistmill. K33-R44-M13 waited in a back alley dressed in black from head to toe. He had studied this man named L33-T34-D02 for weeks. K33-R44-M13 knew what moves L33-T34-D02 would make before he even L33-T34-D02 knew it. He had freedom and power that enabled him to come and go as he wished. It was that freedom and power that enabled him to elude justice for the killing of K33-R44-M13's family. That would all change tonight. Tonight L33-T34-D02 would pay for the death of K33-R44-M13's family. Months of agonizing planning and waiting would finally come to an end in the sweet release of justice and the sound of a silenced pistol that K33-R44-M13 managed to procure on the black-market.


The back alley door flung open and L33-T34-D02 came stumbling out of a nearby bar. K33-R44-M13 took a look at his weapon and saw his prey drunk as ever. Would K33-R44-M13 follow through? Could he kill a drunk man in cold blood? Was he seeking justice or was it vengeance? Just then visions of his wife and children in the backyard playing and laughing just mere hours before filled his mind. Didn't they deserve justice? Didn't they deserve to live their lives to the fullest? K33-R44-M13 put his gun away and started to walk away. K33-R44-M13 wasn't a killer his family wouldn't want this.


Just then L33-T34-D02 called drunkenly out to him, "Hey there, can you help me out?"


K33-R44-M13 walked over and replied with a smile, "Sure of course."


L33-T34-D02 said, "Thanks friend I need to find my car. I'm a little out of it." He started to laugh at the last part and K33-R44-M13 picked him up and led him over to his car.


K33-R44-M13 asked, "So where you off to now?"


L33-T34-D02 replied, "Dunno. Right now life is a party and I'm gonna live it up! I can do what I want when I want. I'm a well respected and connected man."


Just then L33-T34-D02 looked at him and said, "Hey I know you. You...you're the guy who fixes my car aren't you? Oh hey, thanks for all those times you helped me out."


K33-R44-M13 then felt like he had just lost his family again. This monster didn't even remember what he had done to K33-R44-M13's family. They were nothing to him but to K33-R44-M13 they were everything. K33-R44-M13 spun L33-T34-D02 around against a wall along the alley and before he could protest K33-R44-M13 punched him in the mouth.


K33-R44-M13 said with a coldness he had never known, "No you son of a bitch. I am the husband of the woman and father of the children you killed in a drunk driving accident nearly six months ago."


L33-T34-D02 studied him for a second and said, "Could you be more specific? That could be any of four possibilities."


K33-R44-M13 couldn't believe it. He wasn't the only one to suffer because of this man. The system allowed him to walk away on three other occasions. He kicked him in the ribs and this time seeing him in pain felt right. It felt good and natural. With that K33-R44-M13 unleashed a fury of punches and kicks until L33-T34-D02 laid in the wet alley a bloody coughing pulp.


L33-T34-D02 finally spoke. He said coughing up blood, "It doesn't matter what you did to me tonight. I'll eventually heal up and then the party begins again, and your family will still be dead."

K33-R44-M13 stood there for a moment, and then it felt like he was watching himself pull out his gun. He said, "Wrong. The party is over for you." and fired putting a hole in L33-T34-D02's head.


K33-R44-M13 then put the gun away and walked on into the night.

​

 

[Lulunopia]

​

ICARUS

It3-4zO-996​

» age :
19

» eye colour :
Hazel

» hair colour :
Chocolate brown in the back, honey brown in the front

» height :
5' 4"

» weight :
139 lbs

» appearance :
To some Icarus can seem scrawny and wimpy, when in reality he's neither. He has slight muscles to him but, not much. Only enough to allow him to menial tasks. Though some of what people say are true. Icarus is scrawny in a sense that he has little body fat on him. Most his weight being muscle and very few pockets of fat on him. His legs are longer than his torso giving him a longer stride. With his long legs comes slender arms and a slim torso. Icarus' arms are slim and where some of his muscle is. His fingers are slender and can have a strong grip to them.

Icarus' head is slightly long with a strong square jaw, thick lips, a slender nose, and bushy eye brows. His eye's are hazel, holding a distant, saddened look to them and are slightly squinted. Though his hair is a bit different, most of his hair being a chocolate brown and his bangs being honey brown. He often just gets out of bed with how his hair looks then. Icarus' hair is shaved shortly in the back with longer hair on the top, the front of it being flicked up. When it comes to clothes Icarus tends to dress in whatever's comfortable and he likes to believe he walks with an air of confidence.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :
In all aspects Icarus is a cold and uncaring person, never giving much thought into those around him. Even before he got his name Icarus didn't do much for anyone but, himself and his family. He always seemed to keep to himself, more now than before, but he always had a secret and was never telling the truth. Icarus loved to use people for his own gain and didn't have a problem stepping on people to get where he needed, even if it meant stabbing people in the back. He would do it without remorse.

Don't get him wrong he's a nice person, if you earn his trust. Easily he can be someone to confide in or shoulder to cry on. Icarus may not be happy about it but, he'll help if you need it. This is the only side of him not many people know about. He likes to keep the real him hidden from reality so no one can hurt or betray him. It's one of the things he fears the most and wants to prevent. He's put walls around his heart and stopped caring for anyone outside those he trusts with his life.

The real Icarus is a goofball, laughing at stupid things and acting childish. He seems like a ball of warmth, completely different from his exterior and can become a kind caring person the second he see's his family but, will try and hid it behind a snarky or sarcastic comment. It's just how he acts. Hiding his emotions behind a cold stare or snarky comment. In few situations Icarus can get mad fast. One wrong move and he'll blow a fuse.

» extras :
- Icarus has a small family consisting of his twin sister IKg-3zf-22L (nicknamed Lil) and his mother Jfd-100-frs

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :
He didn't know what happened or how he ended up with a body in front of him but, he knew he needed to run. If anyone caught him here he was done for. All It3-4zO-996 could remember was walking into his house to find his father on the ground in a pool of blood. The killer was long gone by the time he got there and for It3-4zO-996 this was a nightmare. Being only 11 he didn't know what to do, so he did the first thing that came to mind. Run.

For what seemed like hours he ran, stopping for nothing and pushing people out of his way. He ran till he reached a safe house, where he took refuge for the night. It3-4zO-996 knew he would get a name. People saw him run out the house, that he was sure of. He wasn't very inconspicuous in his escape. If anything he screamed he just did something wrong. If not for the panicked look on his face or the fact that he was running from everyone. People would have to be stupid to not report him.

What was he going to do now? He had no one to turn too. His family's going to shun him for sure. It3-4zO-996 looked out the rundown house and stared at the sky. What was his life going to be like now?

⇒⇒⇒⇔⇐⇐⇐​

Years had passed and It3-4zO-996 now had a name. Icarus. Why he got that name was a mystery but, he liked it and it suited him well. These past years he's gone from safe house to safe house. Stealing food and money and coning people out of everything they own. It was one of Icarus' many talents he's picked up over the years. If anything he was a little happy he had a name now. He didn't have to listen to a long series of numbers to come out of a persons mouth for him to know there talking to him. Now people just had to say Icarus and he could respond faster.

Being 19, Icarus was finally taken more seriously than when he was 11. Sure back then people took pity on him but, now he could make deals for money or food. Heck he could make deals for transportation if he needed it. That was one of his perks from being a named for so long. Though along with a name came deep sadness. He was alone, with no one he could trust. No one to be his friend. Icarus may have seemed like he was okay but on the inside he felt dead. "That just come's with the title I guess." He mumbled absently as he gazed up at the sky.​

 

[Bears]

wip. ♡

LEVI​

X87-921-X5L​

» age :

38​

» eye colour :

Light Blue​

» hair colour :

Brown​

» height :

6'1"​

» weight :

178lb​

» appearance :

Levi is a rather handsome man nearing his middle age. With broad shoulders, a strong jawline and an icy blue gaze, Levi has the makings of a lady's man. Years of alcohol, cigarettes and general vice however have roughened him around the edges. Harsh lines have found permanent residence above his brow and around his eyes. Seemingly as permanent, a cigarette or something of the sort can also be found between his lips.

Beyond that, Levi's body is physically attractive with the majority of his muscle centered around his upper body and forearms. He dresses sharply in personally tailored suits though a bit of recent weight gain around his midsection distresses his button up shirts with every small movement. His shoes are just as expensive as his suits and he always carries a handkerchief in his back pocket as a proper man should (Levi is fully aware that the handkerchief won't make up for all his other shortcomings in that department though).

While he may not fit the exemplary ideal of a man, Levi does not let that falter the confidence which he holds himself with. He is a decently tall man standing at 6'1" so along with his aforementioned physique and a handsome smile he gained the reputation of leaving quite the impression and leaving even quicker the following morning.​

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :

Levi's tongue is laced with silver and the main reason behind his triumphs in life as well as his failures. Having always been a charismatic sort, Levi is of course quite the confident fellow. He is unafraid to speak his mind and has a knack for adjusting himself well to whatever social situation he is thrown in. He's also quite the flirt and absolutely loves repartee with men and women alike.

While he might seem rather accommodating and social on the outside, Levi's past is one shrouded by mystery and sociopathic tendencies. He is adept at appearing like he genuinely cares about the individuals currently involved in his life but he's historically been capable of cutting others off at a moment's notice. Levi does not know what it feels like to truly trust someone else and for as long as he could remember it had been him before everyone else.

It should be no surprise that Levi also has quite the promiscuous streak. After countless nights with men and women alike he's unsurprisingly just as numb to the notion of that kind of intimacy. While he might be licentious, Levi is up front to his various lovers about his emotional unavailability. He is and will never be the man that they grow old with – and he stands by that.

Being named has brought him into a situation where his tongue and charisma alone isn't enough to survive, a situation where you have to rely on others to truly survive. It's complete uncharted territory for him and while he might have gotten as far as he has through manipulating the generous, he knows deep down that it won't work forever.
​

» extras :

♡ Before being named Levi spent the majority of his adult life in Mistmill as a playboy socialite.

♡ He was involved in business and was arrested for a fraud and embezzlement scandal.​

 

[Antiheld]

Aphelion

B4u-777-X01​

» age :

23​

» eye colour :

Brown​

» hair colour :

Dark Brown​

» height :

5'9"​

» weight :

135lbs​

» appearance :

Aphelion carries himself quietly and inconspicuously. He's skinny and but in average shape and is able to be athletic if the situation requires it, though he prefers to take things slow and precise. While his looks aren't anything special, nor are they below average, Aphelion will try to keep himself hidden at all costs for obvious reasons as being recognized can be a very dangerous situation. Due to this, he wears clothing that easily keeps him hidden or unrecognizable such as hoodies or jackets. Dark colors are his personal preference and a favorite of his and it shows through his wardrobe. Though Aphelion isn't much of a fighter, he does carry a small knife that he uses for self defense in the event that he is recognized. His voice is soft and reassuring, it's usually accompanied by a light smile that escapes in even the most unfortunate situations.

Aphelion tries to carry as little things as possible with him to avoid being slowed down by gear, but he carries a light grey backpack with him at all times. The backpack contains essentials such as water bottles, nonperishable food items, an unregistered smart-phone, various cables and adapters, as well as a small laptop in order to do stay on top of news and happenings. There are no pictures of his family or friends, there are no ex-girlfriends to miss, not even an acquaintance that he can rely on. Being named destroys any connection you may have to society and being a fugitive means being on alert at all times. The bags under his eyes show he is tired but the look on his face shows that he is afraid and alone. Life has taken its toll on Aphelion and it shows through his paranoid, nervous mannerisms.​

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :

Aphelion is protective of himself at all costs, he has to be. Named ones are hunted and imprisoned for crimes that they may not have even committed and no matter how big or small the crime, you're still named and cast out or imprisoned. Because his first priority is self-preservation, Aphelion relies on night-time to get around and will run from a fight if he can. While he can fight, he would prefer to run as fighting is much too dangerous. Due to his newfound life, he has had to quickly develop and change himself in ways that many people no longer need. He has become cunning and quick witted to get out of dangerous situations, paranoid but able to recognize immediate danger, and patient in order to wait for the perfect moment.

Creativity is a waste, in Aphelion's eyes, and there is no need for it anymore when your entire life depends on staying hidden. He is a logical thinker who takes a more realistic and pragmatic stance on things, but can appreciate a romantic's views. There are occasionally times where Aphelion's actions are the complete opposite and he does something stupid for what he believes in, but he tries to keep those moments of weakness under control. He's analytical and observant which ties into his patience, as he would rather spend more time lying in wait and studying than acting or executing a plan. Because he must be able to learn act quickly in order to survive, Aphelion is also a quick learner, capable of getting the basics of something down shortly after being shown.

When Aphelion's survival is threatened, or he is relying on something, an entirely different side of him comes out. He becomes confident and assertive, even going far enough to act against his instincts in order to complete his task. Over time, he becomes restless and eager to act rather than waiting, but once the adrenaline wears off he is back to his patient self. Aphelion has tried, and failed, multiple times to tap into this side of himself but any attempts are usually met with frustration.​

» extras :

Aphelion isn't good at keeping long term friendships or relationships, as he feels that his own survival outweighs the survival of others. Furthermore, Aphelion's views often contradict each other as his opinions change and he often finds himself cleaning up his own messes.​

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :

Aphelion stood illuminated only by the moonlight, his shadow hidden by the darkness around him. A man's body lay motionless at his feet and sirens wailed in the distance. To an onlooker it would appear that Aphelion had killed somebody in cold blood, but that wasn't quite the case. This was a case of a man who had chosen the wrong friends, who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, who had chose the wrong ideals to believe in. He wasn't a violent person, especially not a killer, but it turned out that his friends were. He had always been a smart kid and a quick study, but everyone makes bad decisions, his decisions had now landed him on the path to receiving a name.

As the flashing lights grew from the distance, Aphelion's heart pounded and his body stood frozen with fear. He had just witnessed his closest friend kill somebody in cold blood and then leave Aphelion to take the fall for his crime. As the officers approached they were already asking him questions, but the heartbeat was so loud that it drowned out their voices. His wrists were numb as he was handcuffed and thrown into their vehicle, but the feeling of dread cut like a knife through his chest.

---------==<>==---------

Wrongfully accused and named Aphelion has harbored nothing but contempt for the world, even those who've done nothing wrong. He has taken to helping other named people escape to in an act of defiance, and chaos. It is all done his hopes of causing enough civil unrest to spark an uprising, little does he know that one has already begun.

The days went by quickly for Aphelion after his escape, though they were all fairly routine. Wake up, get dressed, eat, wait until nightfall, travel to the next safehouse, sleep; a routine that he had become accustomed to. Downtime was usually filled with surfing the web or following the news, he did well at keeping himself busy. Living in safehouses wasn't too bad, uncomfortable maybe, but the conditions were hardly poor.

Shaking the monologue out of his head, Aphelion peered through the narrow cracks in the boarded window onto the street below. Monologuing was only one of the ways that he'd pass the time but it was by far the most odd. His clothes were wrinkled but he didn't really care as anyone who saw him would be more worried about the fact that he was named. Under the assumption that today would be a day like any other, Aphelion packed his belongings and headed for the door. He'd almost missed the man sitting by the door, empty handed but with an offer Aphelion couldn't refuse.​

 

[Rae]

Maeva

352-XB4-CCC​

» age :
[23]

» eye colour :
[golden brown]

» hair colour :
[chocolate brown]

» height :
[5'2"]

» weight :
[125 lbs]

» appearance :
Standing at 5'2", what she lacks in height she makes up for in presence and strength. She makes herself known in any circumstance she can, subtlety not being one of her strong suits. She's pure lean muscle, able to take on someone who might be quite a bit taller than her. Her golden-brown eyes can never seem to stay put, constantly flitting about to take in as much detail as possible. She keeps her brown hair short, if she can help it. She tends to speak in rather flamboyant gestures, using her arms to enunciate her meaning. In that sense, she doesn't save face (hehe) when it comes to her emotions, having them clearly written as soon as she feels them. Especially anger, on that note.

Many of her peers have noted her to be quite beautiful, having a mixed ethnic background on both sides of the family. Although she certainly doesn't flaunt her assets, she can make use of them if she wants, and she certainly has the confident stature to do so. Her light chocolate skin can grow a bit darker in the summer months, but it tends to remain on the lighter side. She has a rather average lips and nose accented with medium cheekbones. What blemishes she has she often covers up with make-up, if she can acquire it. Her smile is genuine and rather surprising, her teeth nice and straight for all to see. One pitfall (at least, in her mind) of her height is her bust, coming out to being rather small. In fact, she appears to be rather flat-chested if does nothing to accentuate it.

When it comes to her clothes, Maeva dresses to impress. Before being Named, she would rarely be caught without something to catch the eye, whether it jewelry or something else entirely. Her style could be considered somewhat eccentric, although she always considered herself to be ahead of the times. After being named, she erred on the practical side, choosing to blend in for once in her life. Her height was a blessing then, she supposed, but it wasn't long before they captured her anyways. It was then that she also lost one of her most prized possessions: a ring given to her by her father.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :
Considered eccentric and unpredictable by her peers, Maeva has always taken life one step at a time. She never cared much for the future, focused on the here and now. Hedonistic and somewhat carefree, many would probably call her reckless and impractical if nothing else. She embraces it, however, believing herself to be "ahead of her time" in her fanciful ideas. On the surface, she appears to be hopelessly optimistic about the future and those surrounding her. She seems always willing to give the benefit of the doubt, even where others would consider it undeserved.

The reality is quite different. Quick thinking and surprisingly intelligent, Maeva has developed her eccentric facade as a defense mechanism. Although naturally charismatic and energetic, she has suppressed her argumentative side, forcing herself to be patient with others and seemingly optimistic about their intentions. This suppression led to the eccentric and impulsive behavior that has dominated her life in recent years. Although she has always been a bit impractical, this trait has heightened itself to the point of borderline alcoholism and a devil-may-care attitude about otherwise important decisions.

She finds it difficult to focus at times, especially in particularly stressful situations. Her solutions are rarely ever helpful in the practical sense, although it should be noted that the few ideas that do pan out are quite successful. Although she doesn't verbalize it, she is rather intolerant of others, especially those who are wholly focused on their own success and wellbeing. She can be rather selfish, yes, but one would find that she is unfailingly loyal to the few that she cares about. In fact, when she does decide to trust someone, she trusts them completely. If they were to break her trust, she would disappear further inside herself, manifesting her hurt in the bitter taste of whiskey.

» extras :
352-XB4-CCC ("Cece") was born the youngest daughter of 5GH-783-000 ("Zero") and FBV-R32-AG7 ("Fray"). Fray, her mother, had the strange design of wanting many children, and she certainly got her wish. With eight little youngsters to take care of, their living wage was larger than most. But, of course, it all balanced out in the end, and they lived a life of quiet contentment. Surrounded by mindless entertainment, their family was one of the many that kept their heads down and their thoughts blank of doubt about Tartarus.

From a young age, Cece displayed an aptitude for learning, baited by curiosity about the world and everything in it. For most of her education, her family and friends looked with hope towards the very real possibility that she would be one of the very few to be properly educated. It wasn't meant to be. Shortly after turning 15, Cece's father was Named Victor for the murder of a woman and her child. He came back home like the foolish man that he was, clinging to hope that his wife and children would lend him enough support to stay free. Cece watched as her mother led him to his own destruction, selling him out without remorse. She watched as he was captured, beaten, and later executed for his crimes.

Disillusioned and heartbroken, she began putting up walls to protect what was underneath. She had always been a bit of a reckless girl, but this behavior went to the extreme. She made one bad choice after another; eventually, her chance at an educated life slipped away. By that time, she hardly wanted it. She had come to distrust everything that she once knew--Tartarus, her family...everything. She turned to alcohol as her escape, drinking herself into stupors more times than she could count. By the time she was 18, she was a fledgling alcoholic. By the time she was 21, she could hardly go anywhere without a flask in her clutch.

Upon reaching legal age, she cut herself off from her family completely, going on her own and avoiding them as much as possible. She became the eccentric young woman driven to strange fashion tastes and bad financial decisions. Somehow, she still made it work. She would drink away her wounds that had never healed, and no one had gotten close enough to her to truly understand why she had thrown away her chance at the perfect life. She became known for going to clubs and bars on a nightly basis, doing whatever the hell she felt like. She woke up next to a stranger more times than she can count, with hardly a number or shorthand to put to their face.

Several days ago, however, her life went straight to hell. She still doesn't know what happened exactly, and she was far too drunk to even remember anything past taking him home with her. All she does know is that one night she was doing her usual drinking spree, and the next morning she awoke to a man almost too mutilated to be identified. Framed for the murder of 376-GR9-PV8, she managed to remain free for eight days. If it weren't for her desperation, perhaps she wouldn't have trusted the man who had approached her. But now, it's far too late.

And she can't help but wonder, deep down, if she's really innocent after all.

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :
There was nothing quite like the smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. Some would say it was foul, assaulting the senses with its promiscuity. Others, like 352-XB4-CCC, would always play the devil's advocate. Stuck with the moniker "Cece," there had hardly been a night in recent years where she wasn't found at a bar or a club, depending on her mood. Tonight, she had decided for the welcoming embrace of the dance floor, music pumping so loud it was felt more than it was heard. She moved with the grace of ease and practice, quite surprising for a woman who had already taken three shots of the bartender's mystery concoction.

As she turned on her feet, she nearly tripped over a man who had appeared out of nowhere. Anger sparked like a sudden flame, but it was gone as quickly as it came. She blinked, staring at the man who was already sweet-talking his way into her drunken mind. Cece barely heard a word that he said, and neither seemed to care. They danced next to each other then, flirting and teasing. She was already undressing him with her half-lidded eyes, and she had no doubt he was doing the same. After all, he was gorgeous. Sandy brown locks, cool grey eyes, a jawline that some people might kill for.

It didn't take long for her to lose patience, and she practically dragged him out of the club. He followed along like a puppy begging for a treat. From the second they stepped into her apartment, however, Cece couldn't remember a damn thing.

---

Her head pounded with every second, demanding her attention as she awoke from her stupor. She groaned, reaching absentmindedly for the bottle of pills she kept on her nightstand. Her eyes opened with some difficulty, the sunlight filtering through her windows almost too much to bear. It was like someone was taking a hammer to her head and a nail to her eyes, not to mention the ache in her body.
Swallowing two pills whole, Cece looked over at her companion, her brow furrowing. There was something strange about him. His back was turned to her, but he looked oddly pale. Of course, that could just be his skin tone during the day. Still, she thought he had been at least two tones darker. Reaching out, she shoved him lightly on the shoulder, recoiling with a shout at his ice cold skin. It was then that a deep metallic scent assaulted her nose, causing her to gag. It was a wonder that she hadn't noticed it before.

Panic sent her heart racing as she scrambled out of the mess of sheets. The scent was becoming even stronger as she started to hyperventilate, her eyes finally noticing the deep red soaking part of her bed. Her body started shaking violently then, as if the ground beneath her was moving. She moved slowly, carefully around to the other side. She didn't believe in God, but it was then that she prayed.

And then she screamed.

Cece backed away, tears streaming down her face. She put a hand over her mouth only to take it away as she retched all over her floor. Her knees gave out under her weight, pure terror rising. Black clouded her vision as she struggled to breathe. That was how it was for several moments before it all came to a halt. Her tears stopped, her body went numb. She got to her feet, moving with purpose as she got dressed in her simplest clothes. She packed several essentials--her pill bottle, a few whiskey bottles, her lucky flask--and left. She didn't know it, but she had gone into pure, unadulterated shock.

Red. That was all she could really remember when she tried to think about it. Skin so pale, blood so red.

Several hours later, 352-XB4-CCC was no more. Now, she was Maeva, charged with a murder she didn't commit.

Right?

 

[Banana-senpai]

K E N
(K80-1E7-87N)​

» age : 34

» eye colour : Black

» hair colour : Black

» height : 5'11" ft

» weight : 140 Ilbs

» appearance : Everything about him is neat and orderly, hoping to establish a good impression for potential clients. His mostly semi-formal clothes and shoes are clean, fresh and pressed. So is his clean cut hair. Sometimes, he'd be cleaning when someone comes in his clinic. The obsession with cleanliness makes his already soft features more delicate looking. With his tall and lithe silhouette and rather pale complexion, it's easy to tell that he's rarely out and active.

He carries himself with a practiced poise that exudes confidence. A smile and a gentle manner of speech are parts of his uniform. All meant to project that he knows what he's doing and he's good at it. He reads medical books while exercising, making sure he looks healthy.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality : If you're a new patient, you won't expect the striking cleanliness of his clinic. More than that, if you don't know enough about him from whoever your source was, you would not expect that he would personally open the door for you, smile and all. He is friendly and polite but not exactly warm even as he excuses himself for whatever he was occupied with. His genuine interest in your life would remind you of a salesman that's about to make a pitch or if you're more vigilant, like a scientist examining a lab mouse. You'd either bite the bait or stay cautious, but he'll tell you outright that he isn't licensed (not that anyone thinks he is).

He remembers in great detail. That patient who had a suspicious cut? Who wouldn't remember? But the ten or so patients who checked in to ask about the same fever-like symptoms? Yup, he can recall each one. He is his own secretary after all, and only he can figure out how he organizes all his notes. He won't let anyone touch his papers. Or any of his things. He gets annoyed when they aren't "arranged". Even if you do, just to mess with him, he'll still be smiling serenely. Nothing seems to disgust nor anger him. Lighthearted small talk is something he's good with, and he's not so bad at steering people toward a certain direction with words. He's not all that pushy in making you talk about your life, but he really listens intently.


He is not fond of explaining himself when it comes to his practice. He prefers thinking quietly and to do that, his hands must be busy. That's why his makeshift clinic is so clean, he has a lot of thinking to do. He does like talking about trivial things and can get himself derailed pretty easily. Ask him about tea and sooner or later, he'll talk about cups.

» extras :
[Loading...]

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :

Spoiler

Helping people is what doctors do. Or is it the only thing they're-no, we're supposed to do?

The self-proclaimed doctor fixes the phrase in his mind. Helping people is what doctors should prioritize.

Yet there he was, scrubbing at a wall in his office. There was a minuscule smudge of color on the wall where his last patient leaned with his bloody shoulder. The patient himself was nothing unusual in the office. Named individuals came by more times than those who aren't. No one knows him, anyway. No one who mattered.

Because helping people is what I prioritize. The doctor wiped some sweat off his brow on his clean white sleeve. Now it was dirty too. He scowled. In the past week, he has had to trash two of his most comfortable lab coats thanks to blood stains. There are some things that can never be completely clean again.

But the last patient wouldn't get wiped from his mind. He takes pride in his memory, but this time he encountered something he wished he didn't.

Denial. First stage. He sighed at his work. The wall was back to normal at last. But he didn't stop scrubbing yet.

His patient had warned him. "Someone talked, doc. I think they know you're here."

The doctor refused to acknowledge it. What he was doing wasn't wrong. Sure, he was examining people half the time but he made sure they left with their guts and limbs intact. That was a good deed.

"They don't like your business here." the patient had said.

He helped people! Why would he be in trouble? He was a doctor and he loved everything about the human body. It was almost a perfect design for an adaptable creature. And all this doctor did was to patch up humans no one else would. Was that bad?

"Please run, doc," were the patient's last words.

Can't he just show them how much he loved his work? He probably can't tell them how well he worked without dropping a few names from his most difficult cases. The doctor was confident that he could show what he was capable of. Would "they" reconsider?

When Tartarus soldiers broke into his office, his questions were all answered. And he resigned.

Not so long after that, everyone knew him. Not as a doctor, but as "Ken". Helping people is what he still prioritized. But that was the last anyone heard of him.

 

[Shavynel]

Nika

DS8-6SL-ZVI​

alt [spoili]

[/spoili]

» age :
29

» eye colour :
blue

» hair colour :
brown

» height :
5'8"

» weight :
135 lbs

» appearance :
Nika sports short brown hair. Nowadays, she just wears it down, messy, though there was a time in her life when she cared for it, made sure it was in place and out of her eyes. Her eyes are blue and she's never really been able to hide her emotions from pouring out of them.

Her dancer background is obvious in the way she stands and moves. Her posture is good, and she moves nimbly, with balance and poise. That said, she's got the control to adopt a swagger and use her body to assert an attitude, meek or strong. Her casual clothing generally consists of fitted sweatpants and hoodies, but whatever you do find her in, you can be assured that she has full range of movement while minimizing the risk of snagging on sharp corners.

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :
Nika hates being half-hearted about things. Either she's all in, or she's out the door. Those that agree with her cause call her passionate, and those that don't call her obsessive. She wears both descriptors with ease, and is unapologetic for it. When she finds something worth chasing, she's persistent and determined. Paired with her curiosity and a tendency to want to do anything over being stagnant, it's surprising she wasn't Named earlier having spent a good while chasing history and lost culture before actively participating in the disruption of societal functions.

To say she wears her heart on her sleeve is almost an understatement. It's obvious when she's happy or downright doesn't care whether you're a close friend or a complete stranger. With her openness of emotion, it's nothing short of a miracle that she's capable of keeping secrets, but she does. Somehow hoarding intellectual tidbits is an entirely different mental capacity than bottling emotions, and the first she's quite perfected. Mostly. Except when her passions get the better of her, and she's too absorbed in what she's doing to pay mind to safety.

When it comes to other people, she can be warm and cold in equal parts. The cold really comes from being hurt over and over again. It's not easy to be part of a resistance without seeing your friends fall all the time. But somehow, that still doesn't stop her from putting her heart and trust in the hands of those around her. She's tried to learn her lesson, but she finds that people are too fascinating, and even a short chat is enough to spark that sense of kinship. Everyone's got a story, and she thinks that each one is precious.

» extras :
Maybe if Zvi -- or so her family and friends called her -- had been given the opportunity to be educated, she wouldn't have turned out to be the troublemaker she was. It didn't take long after school for her to fall into the wrong sort of crowd. It started with dance, which was innocent enough, until she learned each branch of dance was tied to a history, a culture, a way of life that had been stifled. It became a goal of hers to learn them, to capture the littlest pieces of memories from all the different styles. Few had histories readily available (and of those, plenty were scant, and Zvi was inclined to distrust them). And it was a hard battle to not just track down new types, but also those that would be willing to show her, and even more difficult, those that would be willing to part with a tidbit of history. It was perhaps coincidence that she found the last two around the same time -- gumboot dance and capoiera -- both with a history of resistance and secret communication hidden within dance. These two provided the beginning of a new chapter in her life.

Curiosity always got the better of her, and one thing led to another. It wasn't that all the dancers of these styles appreciated the history, but just one was enough. One person who knew a group interested in causing havoc in Mistmill, who didn't believe this was the right society for them. They believed they could be doing better, that the system was repressing them, and that the only way to beat it was to break it. It had always been rather clear to her that the group's principles were not quite aligned with Zvi's own, but it was close enough. For her, the desire to break the system came from the knowing there was so much they didn't know, that they weren't allowed to know. That, more than anything else, sat ill with her.

With them (the group had always declined to give themselves a name, figuring it was safer that way), Zvi learned how to put together makeshift explosives, short circuit robots, and learn to see the security systems that watched them. She refused to participate in anything that didn't promote her own goals, that reeked only of destruction and not preservation or knowledge acquisition. That saved her from a few disastrous missions, but after a couple months with the churn of members high, she became a more central member, and her influence in the group realigned its goals with her own.

Except, for once, living wasn't just dangerous but hard. It was a challenge, and Zvi was stubborn enough to rise to the challenge, but to watch the people she had begun to care for fail to survive the harshness and to watch her friends get Named took a toll on her. She began to look for a way out. It came in the form of 4N8-KX6-4Y4, Aya, a woman Zvi knew she could put away that life (a life she never intended Aya to find out about) and start anew. The two of them adopted a boy, XW3-BAS-2G6, whom they called Bastian. For a while, life was good. Zvi focused on Aya and Bastian, paid for her share of entertainment, and lived the life intended for her. Zvi picked up dance again, but refused to poke her nose down the rich history of it all again for that, she knew, was a dangerous path. She was determined to be satisfied by it, because she had a life she could rationalize as good and beautiful, but she could feel herself wilting. It was a different kind of survival than she had experienced before, but in some ways, it was harder to get by day to day.

So when an invite to an exclusive dinner party showed up in memory of one of her old group, she accepted on a whim. It was there she found out that old group had dispersed, mostly torn apart, plenty dead and plenty Named. And this new group, well, they called themselves Artists. They believed that technology couldn't do it better. Just because technology could make perfect ceramic mugs and perfect glass sheets did not mean those pieces were better. And they wanted her expertise, for her to teach them how to sneak in, sneak out, and watch a robot-run factory go kaboom.

Zvi should have declined them -- there was her family to think about -- but she was bored, stagnant. She should have scaled back, started them small, especially with a bunch of rookies, but she always had grand visions. At the very least, she should have been careful about her excuses, how she spent her time, but she only knew how to give it her all. She should have noticed the warning signs her wife was giving her, but those just turned into arguments, which caused Zvi to listen less. She's almost certain that it was Aya who turned her in. It's hard to remember the details of what happened the night before when all her energy was devoted to the Artist's first act, but she can vaguely remember hearing Aya's voice saying it wasn't fair -- not to her, not for Bastian -- to put them through this. She had been out shopping when it happened, her picture and number plastered on the bulletin along with a name she had never called herself: Nika.

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :
Capoiera. It was perhaps the weirdest dance Zvi had the chance to partake in. Her hands were on the ground perhaps as often as her feet were. It was slower, had a partner without really being partnered, but there was an undeniable connection. The strangest part to her, though, was she wasn't sure if she'd characterize it as a collaboration or an opposition.

"So," RNI-VQN-J90 approached her as they each put on their street shoes. "It's been a month now, hasn't it?" He was the one who had originally told her about the class a couple weeks ago. They'd met at a dinner party, and when he had heard she wanted to learn all the types of dance there were, his study of capoiera had naturally come up.

Zvi nodded. A month, and the moves were only just starting to make sense, become movements she could perform naturally rather than mechanically. A month, and she had worked with RNI-VQN-J90 enough times to understand how he moved, spent enough time on the floor and off with him to finally ask, "So what draws you to it?"

He smiled, but there was something missing. People who loved what they did, who kept practicing their style of dance for years usually lit up when she asked questions like that. And that made her frown, unwilling to accept that he was still going to keep her at arm's distance.

"I think that's a conversation for dinner, don't you think? Are you free tonight?"

"Ah, sure?" she hazarded. It really didn't seem like a conversation for dinner, but who was she to disagree, especially since she wanted to know what he was keeping hidden, and if dinner was his price, she'd pay it.

"Good." He gave her his address and a time a couple hours later to meet. Zvi couldn't help but feel a little unsettled, not entirely like the first time she had tried capoiera -- intriguing, but with an aftertaste that she wasn't quite sure how to describe.

At 7 o'clock she showed up at his door and rang the bell. He welcomed her in. She took off her jacket. He showed her to the dining room. It was all rather standard. Even the food was standard fare. Zvi kept a watchful eye on him, and what she saw was disconcerting. She'd never seen him so closed off, so hesitant, so unwilling to move forward even though he had invited her here.

"Did you know ..." she started after they had lapsed into their fifth silence, and each time RNI-VQN-J90 would pick up the conversation with something benign and meaningless like the weather or how last week a cat had escaped, and he hadn't even known any of his neighbors had pets. That wasn't what she came for, and he knew it. Which meant it was on her to break the pattern. "... that hip hop started as a street dance? They got together in 'gangs' and would put graffiti anywhere they danced."

It did not have the effect she wanted, though. Rather than shocking him, and perhaps encouraging to share his own secret, he closed up further, putting down his utensils and withdrawing a little further. "Why would you tell me that?"

Zvi swallowed. Maybe she had misjudged. The information she spouted was hardly known despite the fact hip hop remained a popular dance. It was enough information that RNI-VQN-J90 could probably turn her in for chasing outlawed trivia facts. "No reason," she ground out, jabbing a fork in her food. "I just thought it was interesting." People kept telling her she was treading dangerous waters, that she kept pushing her luck, and she did, but the point of the matter was that she kept getting lucky. She kept finding people who believed that little bit of history behind their dance was important, ought to survive, and be shared because it was a part of what their dance was, and therefore, a part of who they were.

She shoved one more bite into her mouth before pushing away from the table. A sharp intake of breath stopped her from turning away though.

"I keep with capoiera because I want to learn how to fight."

This time, it was Zvi's turn to snap up in surprise. "Fight?" she repeated, a little uncertain.

"It's disguised as a dance."

"I can kind of see that," she offered, sitting back down a good deal slower than she had stood up. It would certainly explain the opposition she feels when they work together. Not like they're against each other, but that there's a slight competition, but playful. Or so she had thought. "I've always thought dancing with partners in capoiera was different from waltz." That got him to at least laugh, and it was only then that Zvi realized she had been holding her breath, when she finally saw the spark she'd known him to have finally return to him. "Does everyone who learns know?"

RNI-VQN-J90 shook his head, and suddenly the mirth was gone again. "But some of us do more than just capoiera," he practically whispered.

Zvi bit back her instinct, which was to throw his earlier question back in his face. Why would you tell me that? But that, for him, had been a deflection of danger, and she knew she had been about to use it the same way. Instead, she let the words hit her for what they were. It wasn't obvious and welcoming like his invitation to join capoiera, but it was, nevertheless, an invitation.

"It's more than just dance to you, isn't it?" A beat. "That's why you know that about hip hop."

He was right about that, just like he'd been right that this was a conversation for dinner and not at the edge of a dance studio where anyone could have listened in.

"Okay." Zvi dragged out the two syllables, willing there to be more time. They had enough on each other to walk away safely, but there was obviously so much she'd be leaving on the table if she got up now. "Okay," and this time, the words were more assured. "Tell me more."

 

[Nicole Birdy]

Code:

Olivia

[453-231-675]​

» age :

[19]​

» eye colour :

[glassy baby blue]​

» hair colour :

[light brown with blonde highlights]​

» height :

[5'5"​

» weight :

[117 lbs]​

» appearance :

[
Since being on the street, her hair has been a mess. To help she pulls it up into a ponytail but she would rather keep it down. Her fair skin burns easily and she doesn't get freckles.

She is fit and strong, hiding her strength beneath her grace. Her lean build makes it easy for her to climb up high and get into tight places. She generally wears jeans and a tank top, sometimes with a jacket too.]​

⌜ PERSONALITY & EXTRAS ⌟

» personality :

[
She is a people person. Ever since she was young she has been very outgoing and friendly. Anger her and she will lash out though, going to extreme measures to get revenge (when revenge is needed).

She is very just and believes that if you do something wrong, you should be punished. (This will change as her character changes). She has a moral code and is very loyal towards her friends. She also always tried to repay debts.

She feels things deeply, her emotions very strong and passionate. This tends to lead her into trouble.]​

» extras :

[
Her parents were educated and she grew up with two older brothers and a younger sister. She was happy and hoped to get an education too.

But things didn't work out, something went wrong. Her younger sister, only six years old, was kidnapped and murdered. Heartbroken, Olivia vowed to get revenge. She tracked down the man who killed her, an educated man who kept to himself. She found her sister's clothes in his closet, her hair in the drawers.

And she killed the man.

She was caught soon after. They found her covered in blood, the body almost unrecognizable. She was given the name Olivia. She narrowly escaped and lived on the streets for months until she was captured.]​

⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟

» prompt :

[
453-231-675 slipped from her window and onto the walkway below. The crisp night air stung her face and the stars winked down at her as she pulled her hood closer to her head and ducked her head, briskly walking down the dark street. It was a quiet night, not a soul in sight; perfect for sneaking off.

When she got a good distance from her home she took off running and her feet pounded against the pavement. She didn't stop until she was in front of the dark house of her sister's killer.

She held her breath and stepped forward, inching closer to the building. She spotted an open window on the second floor and smiled, realizing how easy this would be.

She glided across the wall and quickly climbed the drainpipe. She perched on the windowsill and lowered herself inside, finding herself in a child's room.

This is where the man kept the children, making them feel safe while he prepared downstairs to kill them. It had a single bed with a light green comforter, and the cream-colored walls were littered in drawings. She spotted art supplies in the dark closet. The door to the room was open, but she could see the handle was one-way, so that anyone inside this room would be locked in. She also saw the childproof locks on the window.

This is where her sister had spent her final nights.

She closed her eyes and pushed away the memory of finding her sister's severed head on her family's doorstep, suppressing the scream of anguish that struggled to rip itself from her throat and the tears that threatened to spill.

No, there would be time to scream later.

She landed on the floor with a dull thud, listening for any signs of life. The TV was on downstairs, but other than that, the house was silent.

Good. The man was probably down there, obvious to the reckoning she would bring.

She made her way over to the door when something in the closet caught her eye. She quietly pushed the closet door wider, revealing a bright yellow dress.

Her hand flew to her mouth, and, choking back a sob, she took a small step forward. Her sister's dress hung there, fresh as a daisy, among the other clothes. She pulled it closer and buried her face into it, but her sister's scent was gone, washed away by tough soap and the odor of the killer's home.

She let the dress go and made her way through the upstairs rooms, wiping her face dry. There were several doors down the hall, but one in particular caught her eye.

The door was the only one open. It had a dark handprint on the front and the stain looked like blood. She pushed the door open and found herself in the man's bedroom.

It was dark and messy, clothes and shoes strewn about. Papers covered the walls,a strange writing in a language she had never seen on each one. A few had photos of dying people, of the dead being offered to some creature. She couldn't help but wonder what was happening in those photos.

She continued to look around the room and opened a drawer. Inside was an array of tiny ponytails of hair, each one a different hue. She picked up the only deep amber one, her sister's, and pulled it close against her cheek. She closed her eyes and felt her anger grow and boil, turning into red-hot rage. This vile monster had killed her sister for no reason and had the audacity to keep a momento.

She opened her eyes and turned away as if in a daze, the lock of hair falling to the floor as she exited the room. She tiptoed down the stairs and pulled out the knife she had hidden under her coat, its metal cool against her skin.

Just as she had surmised, the man was watching TV. She could hear the crunch of popcorn, could smell the odor of musk and sweat. She crept forward, the knife held up in the air, its smooth surface glinting in the moonlight.

Then she slit his throat.

He screamed and gagged, reaching for her as he died. She stabbed him over and over, letting her anger out, each blow to his body coming faster and faster. She screamed, a wild sound no human should be able to make. She didn't stop stabbing him until he was long-dead, until he was unrecognizable. Blood soaked her clothes and hair, transforming her into a monster.

The door was kicked in and she was almost apprehended. Almost. She ducked out the door and ran out into the night, never to return home.

That night, she became Olivia.]​

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Looks like this one is done...Hail & Farewell and see you all up the road.