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Sorry I haven't been posting lately! Here's my charrie:
Name: Ellie
Age: 18
Mutation, curse or skill: She grew a third arm! (No, just kidding) Ellie's body didn't change, but she sort of just glows with that radioactive green glow, and is dangerous to anyone who touches her. (Is this ok? I couldn't think of anything else)
Appearance: Long, blonde hair, green eyes, really tan
Usually wears: A long t shirt and frayed denim shorts. Sometimes a bandanna in her hair
Supplies: A duffel bag with extra clothes, food, and water, a photo of her family, a blanket and an iPhone.
Personality: sort of like a rugged mountain girl, isn't afraid to get dirty, she is also kind is mean
Backstory: idk
misty says kfob. Kabob? Yum!
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Alright! That's all the characters! I'll start soon.
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Annnnddd I'm changing Nettie's name to Danie. Sorry, I'm just so reminded of the first zombie apocolapyse rp I joined ^^
And Danie used to be a depressed, selfish, and intelligent nerd. But that was a long time ago. And she doesn't remember her past, but gets glimpses of it once in a while, (Sometimes in her hallucinations).
REMEMBER: This rp starts RIGHT before the zombie apocaplyse happens!
(Also in the near future, which means there are better technology, science, clothing, etc. But now the middle class has combined with the poor class, and wealthy have became more wealthy. Many items we use today are cheap, while other items cost a fortune.)
(One last note: These are all made-up cities. Future, remember?)
Danie~
I lean against the computer shop, smoking a cigarette and stuffing my other hand into my pocket. I nod to a few strangers walking by, but none of them nod back. Growing frustrated, I flick the cigarette out of my fingers, and walk along the sidewalk.
It's the same old stuff. The same old stores, the same old streets, and same old people. Sighing between my teeth, I walk into the nearest department store.
I hear the twinkling of a bell welcoming me. I ignore it, and continue looking for something to eat. Grabbing a poptart box, I inch my hands into my bag and pull out a 5 dollar bill. I walk toward the counter, pay for the sweets, and continue on my way.
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~Aleen~
Unicating every syllable carefully, I say, "Search code XF3. File Search, Folder 'Music', 'Favorites List'."
The File Storage Player beeps. Staring at the small square screen I hold my breath. This thing is old, so old it's really a miracle it's still working… if you could call this working.
The file beeps again, calling up a screen with a bunch of videos on it. There are newish things, like Silver Utopia, and older videos, like Bea Miller. And even one really ancient album by a guy called Micheal Jackson.
I swipe to the left and poke one of my favorites from Silver Utopia. It's taking a while to load, but Silver Utopia is always worth the wait.
It takes longer than usual, but I don't mind when the beat comes thrumming out. My head flopping up and down in time to the music, I lean back against the little loveseat tucked where the bottom bunk of my bunk bed should be.
My brother walks in, his shirt smeared with gray oil grease.
"Good news, Aleen," He says, grinning. "I found a real good bit of tech. I bought it off a guy who didn't even know what it was. Just needs a bit of fixing up and I can make a real profit off it."
"What is it?" I ask, tapping the corner of screen to turn down the volume.
He pulls a silver device out of his pocket. The shell's cracked and it's slightly bent but I can still tell it's the solar energy adaptor for something. The plug is of medium size, meaning it could provide energy from anything from a FSP like mine to a webbook. A bit small for a car but it might be able to recharge a half-full one.
"What a find!" I say, highfiving Nik.
He highfives back, still grinning. "By the way, Dad says you have to go get ready for your blade training or whatever it's called."
"Aww," I say. "I just got the FSP playing my favorite song!"
"Be glad you do have that training. It's a necessity in the city and if I had it I would work hard for it," Nik.
"Stop being such a parent," I tease, turning off the FSP and rummaging around on the shelves next to my bunk bed. I grab my messenger bag and tuck in the protective gear I wear while sparring.
He laughs, hurrying off back to the workroom to continue fixing up something or other with dad or whatever he does in there.
~Corlena~
I wake up from my eight hours of beauty sleep feeling fabalous. I slip my bare feet into my pink bunny slippers and pad over to my bathroom. I fiddle with the shower head, testing the temprature as I do so with one outstretched toe. The water heats to the perfect temprature and I step into the warm shower. The water flowing through my hair, I grab some soap and lather up. I'm sure to wash my hair with conditioner and plenty of shampoo. I take a little while just letting the perfectly warm water flow over me, then get out and pat myself down with my thick, fluffy towel. I pull on a bathrobe and sit down on the little couch in my room, combing my hair until it's perfectly straight. I turn on my hair dryer and dry my hair, then start the curling iron heating. As I wait for it to heat up completely I try to decide what to wear today. Letting out expermental warbles I try to break into my voice for the day, I decide on a sweet heart red shirt and a tight leather skirt, as well as black stillitos.
I curl my hair, then go through my morning routine of applying my costume made perfume, washing out my mouth, brushing my teeth, arranging my curls, and then sitting down in front of my vanity to apply my makeup.
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Poppy~
I walk down the street, same as usual. I arrive to work, which is at the department store. Such an under rated job for me. They could have at least given me a promotion. I sit at the counter, as usual. One girl grabs a poptart. This day could not be any more boring.
I leave my shift, clocking out, and walk outside. The snow is falling slowly, the wind gently blowing. I pull my scarf tighter against the chill. My sister's job is just a block away, so I decide to go visit her. Children pass me as I walk down the sidewalk. I finally arrive at Franses's work. It's just a little hot dog stand, nothing really grand. And there she is, slumped over the counter, coat hood covering her face. I walk over to the counter.
Franses~
I'm awoken to my body getting violently shaken, while Poppy's voice is saying, "Franses! Wake up you lazy bones." The shaking stops, and I wait a while for my focal to go back to normal. I start to make out the figure of Poppy, her hands on her hips, staring sternly at me.
"You shouldn't be napping at work! You're going to get fired! I wish you would take your job more seriously!"
"Relax. If they didn't want me to nap, they would have fired me long ago. And they probably wouldn't have given me "nap"kin duty."
"Argh!!"
"Admit it, you're smiling," I say with a grin.
"I am, and I hate it."
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Hmmm… I'm terrible at intros… we'll see….
Iris~
My parents call it a mutation. I call it a curse.
Having a wild eye makes a normal day horrible. Most people don't see thirteen-year-olds walking around with real, medical eyepatches, but with dress-up ones, if any. And, as it does in schools, the word always spreads until people are begging me to see my eye. The one time I did, they screamed and I swear they went as far down from me as they could, on the other side of the building.
I don't get what's so wrong with it. With today's technology, there are cyborgs. Hey, maybe there are zombies, who knows? I heard rumors about an experiment, but you hear a lot of rumors in my school. Including that I'm decended from Mad-Eye Moody, which I am not.
But people call me a freak. It makes me a loner when I don't really want to be. Having loyal friends is good if the school falls down. Or something. In a worse-case scenario, it's always good to have people ready to save you. For example, sharks more commonly attack lone swimmers than ones in a group.
I haven't gone to the beach in about five years.
And then there are the teachers, who are pinned in the worst position of all: they think I'm a freak as much as the students do, but unlike the students, they can't tease me for it. It's pretty much an unspoken law. No, instead they're acting like I have some sort of illness, asking me if I feel okay, and telling me that if my eye ever acts up, I shouldn't hesitate to let them know.
My eye is always "acting up."
It's an "act-up" eye.
If my eye didn't act up, I would probably have lots of friends. I would get good grades (which I already do, so-so) and the teachers would like me. I would be pretty and I probably wouldn't be afraid of every worst-case scenario. And one of my eyes wouldn't be blinded by an eyepatch 24/7.
It's a curse.
Not something as simple as a mutation.
Because doctors never understand the mental side of things.
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l came up with a new character……
Name: Ren
Age: 21
Mutation, curse or skill: Endurance. Can endure pain and starvation somewhat better than most people can.
Appearance: Long, straight, thin, dark brown hair, one hazel eye and one blue eye, short, copper skin (of Native American descent.)
Usually wears: Loose, outdoorsy sort of clothes.
Supplies if any: Camera, backpack, and a blanket.
Personality: Serious, cold, has a odd sense of humor, focused and sharp. Somewhat of a coward. Snarky. A pessimist, and rude.
Backstory: She’s a traveler. That’s all she will tell anyone.
~Ren
l shoulder my way to the front of the plane, passed the other panicked passengers, open the door to the cockpit and enter.
“l said, this is only a small malfunction and we’ll have everything under control in a few minutes,” snaps the copilot, twisting around in his seat to face me. “And beside, you’re not allowed in here. Please leave.”
l can hear the tension in his voice, and l already have plenty of evidence that he’s lying. “If it’s just a small malfunction,” l sneer. “Then why are we very dangerously losing altitude and the left engine smoking?”
The pilot sighs. “Lady,” he says “l can’t switch from autopilot to manual. The controls have shorted out because of the left engine burning out and adding more weight.” He gestures frustrated at the panel of controls before him.
The pilot is young, probably quite inexperienced, as well as the copilot, because if they even had a whit of sense they would understand that this plane is going to crash. Very fast and very hard. The autopilot has locked and the controls shorted out. l, for one, would like to get out of here in one piece. l drop my backpack onto the floor and shove the pilot out of his seat, who is too shocked to protest.
Right. l’m getting out of here alive. And so is everyone else. Let’s land this plane.
l look out of the window for a second. We are closing onto the ground. l don’t have enough time to reboot the control system and put the plane into landing cycle. We’re going to crash. Hard.
Benedict-
Golden motes of dust drift lazily in a sunbeam, cutting through thee dust on the window, hitting the worn wooden floor.
They said they were sorry, Benedict thinks sullenly, staring at the dirty window of the building. But whether they meant it or not, they were wrong. What reason were they sorry for? He’s dead and that’s the jist of it. Why are you sorry? You had nothing to do with it. You never even knew him.
It didn’t matter that it had been a few years, Benedict still remembered. The day when his friend had died. They say that sorrow changes people, but Benedict had remained the same. On the outside, at least.
He snaps up, ashamed of letting himself fall into that pit of self-pity and sorrow. All he feels is anger now, a dull, burning anger, like ember waiting to burst into flame. Anger at himself, for being so weak, anger at his lot in life.
Bebenitic growls to himself and turns in his chair to the table beside him. Half-completed machines are scattered on a the low counter-like table before him. Engines, air compressors, all manner of things. He likes machines. They weren’t like people. who were so confusing and complicated and hard to understand. He had once tried to understand people. But not anymore. No one had ever understood him and he wasn’t going to make an effort to feel empathy for them.
He gently touches the rusted tools, thinking.
There’s nothing left for him in this dusty little town, nothing worth to him. He could move on now, start a new chapter of his life. But he doesn't. He’s run so hard and for so long, it’s almost as if he has forgotten what it is like to slow down. He was so afraid. He remembers that fear, as he remembers everything so very clearly. He can’t forget for even a second what it is that he is running from.
Fear greatly changes people.
He stands up from the rickety old chair and strides across the room, grabbing a backpack and coat before opening the old door, a rusty bell tinkling faintly as it swings closed.
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How does Ren even know how to DO that? Did she take a year in some school for pilots or something?? …. I think that's unrealistic for her to just KNOW that.
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Actually, Critic, landing a plane is pretty easy. I watched a video about it and I– an 11-year-old– could probably land a plane in an emergency. And with YouTube tutorials and such, it should be pretty easy to learn.
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No, it isn't. People can fly planes. Also, as of right now l would not like to tell anything about Ren's backstory and how she learned that, so be content with knowing that she did learn that in a realistic manner.
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YES. Joining.
Name: Fahrenheit (it WAS Dee, before… well, you'll find out.)
Age: 12
Mutation/Skill: He expertly wields a flamethrower he found on eBay, while utterly wrecking the area around him with a supply of bootleg C4. Due to constant exposure to noxious fuels, his body now runs on toxins and chemicals. Completely flameproof.
Appearance: Short, with a wild mess of red hair and pale, damaged skin.
Usually wears: A black suit with a red tie, scorched and corroded. Sunglasses modified to protect from extreme heat.
Supplies: A flamethrower, bought on eBay. A bright red backpack, filled with C4 and his few belongings. Sharpened rake. Canister of acid.
Personality: Dangerous and unpredictable. Will do anything for money. Sarcastic and smart during his few "stable moments". Completely remorseless, but really just wants a family again. Somewhere under the psychosis, obsessions, and insanity, there's still a twelve-year-old boy. Obsessed with fire and killing zombies.
Background: Dee was a normal twelve-year-old until the outbreak started. Zombies broke into his home and transformed his parents. He had to kill them with his bare hands. Some say something snapped inside him that day. All that's certain is that the child who came out of that house wasn't the one who went in.
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Am I too late to join? Disregard post if I am.
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Could I have Dee be introduced a little after the apocalypse starts? Y'know, after he becomes Fahrenheit?