mothspit
ɖɛʍօռ ȶօ ֆօʍɛ, ǟռɢɛʟ ȶօ օȶɦɛʀֆ
Character sheets for the Lost Youth RP will be posted here and approved by me.
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Futuristic Lost Youth - Character Sheets
- Thread starter mothspit
- Start date
Character sheets for the Lost Youth RP will be posted here and approved by me.
Zazz
The Pickliest Bean
"..So you saw the ad. You need a place to stay? Alright, let's start from the beginning."
Name?: Calypso (Cali) Korvaszk
How old are you, kid?: Kid. Right. 24, kid.
What do you do for a living? (Occupation/Position): I, uh... was part of an... organization, we'll call it. But I've left. At least, I'm trying to.
Describe yourself to me.: What, are you blind?
Is working with you gonna be a pain? (Personality): Look, I just need a place, okay? I'll do whatever it takes, I just... I can't go back to them. I need to get off these stupid drugs and get my life straight. I can't keep... doing this. I can help you, just tell me what you need and I'll... I'll do it.
(Calypso is a survivor. She'll do whatever it takes to get by. Before the bombing, her life was pretty straightforward. After, though, she quickly had to learn to toughen up.
At ease, however, she is a good listener. She prefers to help with her hands rather than her words. She is a follower. Sometimes wasteful, craving the luxuries she once had, but otherwise resourceful. Helps where she can.)
What are you good at? (Skills): I... don't know, heavy lifting? I'm good with a gun, and I can cook, and... sew? Hell, I don't know what you want. I'll figure it out if I have to. (Good at scavenging, and distracting the male populace with her, er, good looks. Also good at fixing things, though not cybernetics. A little bit of gardening experience.)
Got any Augments? What do they do?: My arm. Left arm. Still got fingers, but the rest is cybernetic. Lost most of my arm in the bombing. Now it's a lot stronger. Dad's life insurance paid for part of it, but... Mom had to... pay for the rest.
What do you got on'ya? (Gear/equipment): A gun, some bullets, my... clothes? I, uh, "took" some stuff from my- that organization (Drugs, cigarettes, bullets, coin). I got some coin, and some scraps... a bit of wire. A few energy drinks. A lighter and a filtered water bottle.
Anything important I need to know? (Weaknesses/Character Flaws - At least 3): My augment gives off sparks sometimes. Probably needs repairs. People are trash, and I expect them to be, so don't be surprised if it takes times to loosen up. I can be snappy, and I can be closed off, at times. I don't care how you feel about me carrying a gun, and no you can't touch it. Pretty much no skill with cybernetics.
Any hobbies? (Likes/dislikes):
I like cigarettes, sitting on roofs, and crafting things. I dislike assholes who think they know better, men who think they are superior, especially because of their strength, and being hit on. Lavender is also pretty gross.
Anything you need help with? (Character Goals/Motivations): Rehab. I would like a safe place to call home, if that even exists.
How'd you end up here? (Bio - Minimum 3 paragraphs. I will be strict.): I... walked here?
(Calypso was a teenager when the bombing began. Her father, a tradesman, died in the initial explosion. Her mother turned to prostitution to feed herself and her daughter, and to pay for Calypso's augment. Eventually, the Sickness took hold of her mother, and Calypso was left to fend for herself. Fortunately, she was left with a little money from her mother's passing, but it soon ran out, and the teenager was left to the streets. Calypso had been used to the comfortable lifestyle her father had provided, so the drastic change was difficult, to say the least.
A few days on the streets led her to the doorsteps of a drug ring, where she was taken in. They took care of her, fed her, housed her. Of course, they introduced her to their product, and left her with no way to pay for more except working for them. She took after her mother, using her body as payment at times. Over time, she learned to close off from her emotions and just do what needed to be done. She learned to survive. Calypso, using what skills she had picked up from her father, picked up small jobs wherever she could when she wasn't high, but her "friends" always took a cut for themselves. She was useful to them as both an extra gun and a heavy lifter, beyond her other uses.
After a near overdose and too much abuse, Calypso is desperate to move on. Start a new life, get away from the drugs. Find a forever sort of family. So when she saw Reggie's ad, she jumped for it; she stole just enough to get by, but not enough to be noticed, and ran.)
Name?: Calypso (Cali) Korvaszk
How old are you, kid?: Kid. Right. 24, kid.
What do you do for a living? (Occupation/Position): I, uh... was part of an... organization, we'll call it. But I've left. At least, I'm trying to.
Describe yourself to me.: What, are you blind?
Is working with you gonna be a pain? (Personality): Look, I just need a place, okay? I'll do whatever it takes, I just... I can't go back to them. I need to get off these stupid drugs and get my life straight. I can't keep... doing this. I can help you, just tell me what you need and I'll... I'll do it.
(Calypso is a survivor. She'll do whatever it takes to get by. Before the bombing, her life was pretty straightforward. After, though, she quickly had to learn to toughen up.
At ease, however, she is a good listener. She prefers to help with her hands rather than her words. She is a follower. Sometimes wasteful, craving the luxuries she once had, but otherwise resourceful. Helps where she can.)
What are you good at? (Skills): I... don't know, heavy lifting? I'm good with a gun, and I can cook, and... sew? Hell, I don't know what you want. I'll figure it out if I have to. (Good at scavenging, and distracting the male populace with her, er, good looks. Also good at fixing things, though not cybernetics. A little bit of gardening experience.)
Got any Augments? What do they do?: My arm. Left arm. Still got fingers, but the rest is cybernetic. Lost most of my arm in the bombing. Now it's a lot stronger. Dad's life insurance paid for part of it, but... Mom had to... pay for the rest.
What do you got on'ya? (Gear/equipment): A gun, some bullets, my... clothes? I, uh, "took" some stuff from my- that organization (Drugs, cigarettes, bullets, coin). I got some coin, and some scraps... a bit of wire. A few energy drinks. A lighter and a filtered water bottle.
Anything important I need to know? (Weaknesses/Character Flaws - At least 3): My augment gives off sparks sometimes. Probably needs repairs. People are trash, and I expect them to be, so don't be surprised if it takes times to loosen up. I can be snappy, and I can be closed off, at times. I don't care how you feel about me carrying a gun, and no you can't touch it. Pretty much no skill with cybernetics.
Any hobbies? (Likes/dislikes):
I like cigarettes, sitting on roofs, and crafting things. I dislike assholes who think they know better, men who think they are superior, especially because of their strength, and being hit on. Lavender is also pretty gross.
Anything you need help with? (Character Goals/Motivations): Rehab. I would like a safe place to call home, if that even exists.
How'd you end up here? (Bio - Minimum 3 paragraphs. I will be strict.): I... walked here?
(Calypso was a teenager when the bombing began. Her father, a tradesman, died in the initial explosion. Her mother turned to prostitution to feed herself and her daughter, and to pay for Calypso's augment. Eventually, the Sickness took hold of her mother, and Calypso was left to fend for herself. Fortunately, she was left with a little money from her mother's passing, but it soon ran out, and the teenager was left to the streets. Calypso had been used to the comfortable lifestyle her father had provided, so the drastic change was difficult, to say the least.
A few days on the streets led her to the doorsteps of a drug ring, where she was taken in. They took care of her, fed her, housed her. Of course, they introduced her to their product, and left her with no way to pay for more except working for them. She took after her mother, using her body as payment at times. Over time, she learned to close off from her emotions and just do what needed to be done. She learned to survive. Calypso, using what skills she had picked up from her father, picked up small jobs wherever she could when she wasn't high, but her "friends" always took a cut for themselves. She was useful to them as both an extra gun and a heavy lifter, beyond her other uses.
After a near overdose and too much abuse, Calypso is desperate to move on. Start a new life, get away from the drugs. Find a forever sort of family. So when she saw Reggie's ad, she jumped for it; she stole just enough to get by, but not enough to be noticed, and ran.)
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Noam
Member
Name?:
Valentine! Pretty cool, right? I picked it out myself.
Oh, uh. Valentine Bernchik.
How old are you, kid?
What are you, a cop? Fourteen.
What do you do for a living?
Wellllll, sometimes I cut hair. And sometimes I sell stuff that I found. I used to be a cook, that was cool, but then the restaurant got shut down because it TURNS OUT you can't keep rats out of the kitchen with another, bigger rat. I mean, you CAN, but the health inspector gets mad.
(Mostly she steals things and sells them at pawn shops.)
Describe yourself to me.
Oh yeah, the screens on these things are garbage. Well, I'm five feet tall. My hair's mostly red, I gotta dye it again. The ends are red, anyway. The top's black. Oh, uh, I'm a girl, in case you couldn't tell. Sometimes people can't tell.
(Scrawny transgender teenager with roughly-cut, dyed-red hair, dark brown skin, and one brown eye. The other eye is a metal prosthetic with a red lens. She's wearing a huge hoodie, leggings, and boots that are held together with several colors of duct tape.)
Is working with you gonna be a pain?
Naw, I'm pretty cool. I know how to be quiet when I need to be.
(She actually does. And she's smart, quick on the draw, highly-motivated, all that jazz. She's still about as annoying as your average fourteen-year-old, though, and she will steal your shit.)
What are you good at?
I know how to fight, 'cause my ma showed me, and I can climb up the outside of buildings really well, and I'm super sneaky. So I'm good at, um, sneaking? I can also cry on command and pretend to be a little lost rich girl. And I can make peanut curry and do lots of different hairstyles. If, um, that's something you need.
(She's an amateur but extremely talented cat burglar and liar. Actually can make peanut curry.)
Got any Augments? What do they do?
Right, you can't see that good! My left eye is a prosthetic! Kinda old, but it still works. I can see in the dark!
What do you got on'ya?
Let's see...a knife, some clippers, about twenty credits, still got half a loaf of bread, a water purifier, my phone, charger, some markers...yeah, that's about it.
Anything important I need to know?
Nope!
(She steals everything that isn't nailed down, and generally has very little impulse control and virtually no long-term planning skills. Tends to overestimate her own skills. Her vision in her artificial eye is far from perfect, and if you come up fast on her left side, she will flip her shit.)
Any hobbies?
I like drawing, and climbing up really high on top of stuff, and cooking. I like most stuff, though. Except for the cops, they suck.
Anything you need help with?
Right now, I kind of just need a place to stay, you know? I guess someday I'd like that place to be a house, instead of the sewers. And, like a real job, and always enough to eat? But, uh, that's probably not gonna happen, huh?
Yeah. Pretty dumb dream.
How'd you end up here?
So it's kind of a funny story. 'Cause I used to live in the Court, which--nice, you know? The Court. We had an apartment, me and my mom and dad, and they owned a candy store, which is just the best when you're a little kid. I got to bring candy to school to share with my friends and it totally ruled. And we had this really cosy blue couch, and I had a big pad of paper on the wall to draw on. I mean, I'm sure it wasn't that big, but it was big to me, you know?
Anyway.
Buuuut it turns out that candy stores don't make that much money? And it also turns out that my dad was, like. Also selling other, illegal stuff. And they thought my mom was too, but she totally wasn't, but they took them both to jail and there was this whole trial and I had to stay in an orphanage while it was happening and it took months and my dad, uh, he got sent to jail.
After that, my mom and me moved to the Cavity. Which was okay, I mean, we had kind of a shitty apartment with a lot of other people, and we didn't have the candy store anymore, and I couldn't go to school. But it was kinda fun not going to school! I'd go to work with my mom and while she was waiting tables I'd pick up outside and the manager would give me a little pocket money. And my mom was, um. Actually I don't want to talk about my mom if that's okay.
She's dead now. Anyway.
Anyway, so I got older and they let me be a cook at the restaurant, and sleep in the back room, which was a good gig. But that got shut down, and I've been sleeping rough for the past couple months. Which, you know, is cool, I can deal, it's just--it's starting to get kind of cold out, and I used to know this old guy who didn't have any fingers because of frost-bite? And I would really like to keep my fingers.
Valentine! Pretty cool, right? I picked it out myself.
Oh, uh. Valentine Bernchik.
How old are you, kid?
What do you do for a living?
Wellllll, sometimes I cut hair. And sometimes I sell stuff that I found. I used to be a cook, that was cool, but then the restaurant got shut down because it TURNS OUT you can't keep rats out of the kitchen with another, bigger rat. I mean, you CAN, but the health inspector gets mad.
(Mostly she steals things and sells them at pawn shops.)
Describe yourself to me.
Oh yeah, the screens on these things are garbage. Well, I'm five feet tall. My hair's mostly red, I gotta dye it again. The ends are red, anyway. The top's black. Oh, uh, I'm a girl, in case you couldn't tell. Sometimes people can't tell.
(Scrawny transgender teenager with roughly-cut, dyed-red hair, dark brown skin, and one brown eye. The other eye is a metal prosthetic with a red lens. She's wearing a huge hoodie, leggings, and boots that are held together with several colors of duct tape.)
Is working with you gonna be a pain?
Naw, I'm pretty cool. I know how to be quiet when I need to be.
(She actually does. And she's smart, quick on the draw, highly-motivated, all that jazz. She's still about as annoying as your average fourteen-year-old, though, and she will steal your shit.)
What are you good at?
I know how to fight, 'cause my ma showed me, and I can climb up the outside of buildings really well, and I'm super sneaky. So I'm good at, um, sneaking? I can also cry on command and pretend to be a little lost rich girl. And I can make peanut curry and do lots of different hairstyles. If, um, that's something you need.
(She's an amateur but extremely talented cat burglar and liar. Actually can make peanut curry.)
Got any Augments? What do they do?
Right, you can't see that good! My left eye is a prosthetic! Kinda old, but it still works. I can see in the dark!
What do you got on'ya?
Let's see...a knife, some clippers, about twenty credits, still got half a loaf of bread, a water purifier, my phone, charger, some markers...yeah, that's about it.
Anything important I need to know?
Nope!
(She steals everything that isn't nailed down, and generally has very little impulse control and virtually no long-term planning skills. Tends to overestimate her own skills. Her vision in her artificial eye is far from perfect, and if you come up fast on her left side, she will flip her shit.)
Any hobbies?
I like drawing, and climbing up really high on top of stuff, and cooking. I like most stuff, though. Except for the cops, they suck.
Anything you need help with?
Right now, I kind of just need a place to stay, you know? I guess someday I'd like that place to be a house, instead of the sewers. And, like a real job, and always enough to eat? But, uh, that's probably not gonna happen, huh?
Yeah. Pretty dumb dream.
How'd you end up here?
So it's kind of a funny story. 'Cause I used to live in the Court, which--nice, you know? The Court. We had an apartment, me and my mom and dad, and they owned a candy store, which is just the best when you're a little kid. I got to bring candy to school to share with my friends and it totally ruled. And we had this really cosy blue couch, and I had a big pad of paper on the wall to draw on. I mean, I'm sure it wasn't that big, but it was big to me, you know?
Anyway.
Buuuut it turns out that candy stores don't make that much money? And it also turns out that my dad was, like. Also selling other, illegal stuff. And they thought my mom was too, but she totally wasn't, but they took them both to jail and there was this whole trial and I had to stay in an orphanage while it was happening and it took months and my dad, uh, he got sent to jail.
After that, my mom and me moved to the Cavity. Which was okay, I mean, we had kind of a shitty apartment with a lot of other people, and we didn't have the candy store anymore, and I couldn't go to school. But it was kinda fun not going to school! I'd go to work with my mom and while she was waiting tables I'd pick up outside and the manager would give me a little pocket money. And my mom was, um. Actually I don't want to talk about my mom if that's okay.
She's dead now. Anyway.
Anyway, so I got older and they let me be a cook at the restaurant, and sleep in the back room, which was a good gig. But that got shut down, and I've been sleeping rough for the past couple months. Which, you know, is cool, I can deal, it's just--it's starting to get kind of cold out, and I used to know this old guy who didn't have any fingers because of frost-bite? And I would really like to keep my fingers.
Goonfire
I CAST GUN!!!
Name?
Judith Clair
How old are you, kid?
24
What do you do for a living?
A lot... I’ve worked for several companies and law enforcement agencies. I also have a bartending license. Need me to page over a resume? (Freelance mercenary and spy)
Describe yourself to me.
Is this thing working? After a fashion... okay. I’m 5’8, got a blonde pixie cut with a small black streak, and light skin. My eyes are a gray blue, and I wear heavy eyeliner. I try to dress appropriately for the job, usually some form of dress, suit, or even tactical gear for tougher work.
Is working with you gonna be a pain?:
I focus on my job, so I guess I’m not really fun. I keep a level head and a dry professional facade at most times; it makes me look one-dimensional to some, but I’d be eating my own gun if I cared so much about that. Those who don’t know me assume my face would crack my face if I smiled. I think it’d crack their frail minds if I did, so maybe I should.
I take a sly approach to most problems; I’d rather be that person behind the scenes. I’ll only take credit for actions if I absolutely have to write a report on my assignment. Be warned, though: you won’t hear much more about me. I value my privacy. Don’t pry, don’t spy, and we’ll be just fine.
What are you good at?
Just two; bone-lacing to reinforce my legs against hard landings and a commlink so I don’t have to drag a phone or a radio with me.
What do you got on'ya?
Nothing you’ll need to worry about. Just my usual belongings.
Anything important I need to know?
Any hobbies?
What is this, a dating profile?
(She enjoys drinking, visiting nightclubs, sleeping during the daylight hours, art, and televised contact sports. She also hates mint ice cream.)
Anything you need help with?
I’d like a steady job someday, and E-Corp prevents me from having that. They’ve robbed me of my future, bleak as it was looking in the first place. Seeing them crash and burn would be nice. I think we’d all like to move on with our lives, maybe have some semblance of happiness without them breathing down our necks and growing the lower class.
How'd you end up here?
If you really must know...
I grew up a bit of a tomboy, a real adrenaline junky from a middle-class family. I got into a few fights, did rough physical activities... but then I saw this televised fashion show, and it grabbed my attention like it had never done before. I decided to tone down the savage behavior and carry myself with a bit more pride in my outward appearance. I graduated just shy of the upper ten percent in high school, though there wasn’t a lot of competition after the bombs were dropped. Several friends were killed, sparking outrage. My family managed to stay afloat as E-Corp slithered into power.
I went into law enforcement right after college. It didn’t really work out; I hated the limelight, and it felt like there was a bullseye painted on my head. Cops get way too much shit, even if they are just making ends meet. I got a bartending license shortly after, but then heard a tip from a corporate security guard one night. So I quit that and did some security work for the larger businesses, mostly transporting sensitive cargo. I got into a few tussles and shootouts, the works. I was also contracted for a few industrial espionage jobs. One such job was to steal several classified documents from E-Corp. They really didn’t like that, so they cleaned out my savings accounts, seized my property, attempted to kill me, and succeeded in killing my parents in an “apartment fire”. I’ve been in hiding for several months, thanks to Emperion’s goons.
So here I am. It’s impossible for me to find work anymore, I’m going through my remaining cash like it’s water, and my car sucks. I’ve moved into the Cavity, since it’s harder to track fugitives over here. I’m ready to work towards some degree of mutual success. What do you need me to do?
Judith Clair
How old are you, kid?
24
What do you do for a living?
A lot... I’ve worked for several companies and law enforcement agencies. I also have a bartending license. Need me to page over a resume? (Freelance mercenary and spy)
Describe yourself to me.
Is this thing working? After a fashion... okay. I’m 5’8, got a blonde pixie cut with a small black streak, and light skin. My eyes are a gray blue, and I wear heavy eyeliner. I try to dress appropriately for the job, usually some form of dress, suit, or even tactical gear for tougher work.
Is working with you gonna be a pain?:
I focus on my job, so I guess I’m not really fun. I keep a level head and a dry professional facade at most times; it makes me look one-dimensional to some, but I’d be eating my own gun if I cared so much about that. Those who don’t know me assume my face would crack my face if I smiled. I think it’d crack their frail minds if I did, so maybe I should.
I take a sly approach to most problems; I’d rather be that person behind the scenes. I’ll only take credit for actions if I absolutely have to write a report on my assignment. Be warned, though: you won’t hear much more about me. I value my privacy. Don’t pry, don’t spy, and we’ll be just fine.
What are you good at?
- Firearms, for one; I know how to assemble and disassemble, modify, repair, and—naturally—shoot them.
- Gymnastics. I can pull various high-flying stunts, if I have the right equipment and apparel.
- Stealth is a plus. I can get in and out without being seen, most of the time.
- Driving. I can drive most vehicles, but I’d prefer faster, more compact rides.
- Bartending. As I mentioned, I also have a license for that. I know my way around a mixed drink.
Just two; bone-lacing to reinforce my legs against hard landings and a commlink so I don’t have to drag a phone or a radio with me.
What do you got on'ya?
Nothing you’ll need to worry about. Just my usual belongings.
- (10mm pistol - centuries of recoil-dampening technology have culminated into pistols like this one. It holds ten rounds, enough to put down most threats. It also has a suppressor that can be attached as needed.
- Puzzler - a more discreet item that simply looks like a collection of miscellaneous purse items like a phone, a tube of lipstick, and earrings. The individual components can be quickly combined to make a small-caliber pistol with a 6-round magazine.
- Night vision goggles - simple devices for seeing in the dark without alerting the whole neighborhood.
- Purse - a knockoff designer handbag with hidden compartments. Its insides are lined with an extremely thin layer of lead.
- Makeup - a lifeline. ‘Nuff said.)
Anything important I need to know?
- I mean... I keep to myself if I can. I don’t advertise everything I’m about to do. Guess some people don’t like that opacity.
- I like a stiff drink or five... saw some shit while doing police work a few years back.
- I need maintenance on my augmentations every now and then. It takes time and money away, but I don’t regret it myself.
Any hobbies?
What is this, a dating profile?
(She enjoys drinking, visiting nightclubs, sleeping during the daylight hours, art, and televised contact sports. She also hates mint ice cream.)
Anything you need help with?
I’d like a steady job someday, and E-Corp prevents me from having that. They’ve robbed me of my future, bleak as it was looking in the first place. Seeing them crash and burn would be nice. I think we’d all like to move on with our lives, maybe have some semblance of happiness without them breathing down our necks and growing the lower class.
How'd you end up here?
If you really must know...
I grew up a bit of a tomboy, a real adrenaline junky from a middle-class family. I got into a few fights, did rough physical activities... but then I saw this televised fashion show, and it grabbed my attention like it had never done before. I decided to tone down the savage behavior and carry myself with a bit more pride in my outward appearance. I graduated just shy of the upper ten percent in high school, though there wasn’t a lot of competition after the bombs were dropped. Several friends were killed, sparking outrage. My family managed to stay afloat as E-Corp slithered into power.
I went into law enforcement right after college. It didn’t really work out; I hated the limelight, and it felt like there was a bullseye painted on my head. Cops get way too much shit, even if they are just making ends meet. I got a bartending license shortly after, but then heard a tip from a corporate security guard one night. So I quit that and did some security work for the larger businesses, mostly transporting sensitive cargo. I got into a few tussles and shootouts, the works. I was also contracted for a few industrial espionage jobs. One such job was to steal several classified documents from E-Corp. They really didn’t like that, so they cleaned out my savings accounts, seized my property, attempted to kill me, and succeeded in killing my parents in an “apartment fire”. I’ve been in hiding for several months, thanks to Emperion’s goons.
So here I am. It’s impossible for me to find work anymore, I’m going through my remaining cash like it’s water, and my car sucks. I’ve moved into the Cavity, since it’s harder to track fugitives over here. I’m ready to work towards some degree of mutual success. What do you need me to do?
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Goonfire
I CAST GUN!!!
Name?
Hadrian Solveig
How old are you, kid?
23. Not a kid anymore, that’s for sure.
What do you do for a living?
I repair both clothing and lower-tech doodads, but I also do some odd jobs for good causes.
Describe yourself to me.
Uh, sure... I’m 6’4, pretty tall and built like a brick shithouse. I got auburn hair; it’s layered, swept back, pulled into a ponytail, ya know. Let’s see... green eyes, tanned skin, some stubble, aaand a piercing in my right ear. And I wear clothes... obviously.
(His clothing is both slim-fitting and reinforced to prevent snagging and tearing, ideal for operating less stable, jury-rigged vehicles. It’s noticeable they’ve been repaired.)
Is working with you gonna be a pain?
No, not at all. If you get to know me, you’ll see I’m great with kids. Cavity life is a hard life, but I make the best of it, salvage what I can, and do my part. You know as well as I do, we won’t get any relief from the higher tiers of society. So, I act as that gentle giant, watching over the others here. And if someone starts a fight with an innocent person here, I’ll finish it.
I’m careful around the blues here; they’re just another bunch of fingers for E-Corp, whether they know it or not. I’m no genius, but I’m wise enough to not kick that hornet’s nest. Yet I know without them, we’d have total anarchy. I hate this frail balance.
I also enjoy working with my hands; it brings me peace of mind to create, especially after smashing or stealing some fancy junk. I impress myself sometimes, especially when I totally repurpose some old crap that was two steps away from the junkyard.
What are you good at? (Skills):
Got any Augments? What do they do?
Nah, I’m all-natural still.
What do you got on'ya?
Few things, but it ain’t a lot.
Anything important I need to know?
Any hobbies? (Likes/dislikes):
Eh... I love working with my hands and tinkering with the motorbikes around here. Riding a well-made one’s a joy. Don’t mind the occasional drink, and I love paying visits to friends. Gotta enjoy the simple things.
Anything you need help with?
I wanna contribute to something bigger, do something different with my life. Sure, it doesn’t seem different, but I got a hunch we’ll need a hand from each other sooner or later.
How'd you end up here?
I’ve always been pretty damn poor. Only difference was that shit here went “boom” and everything turned into a hellscape for a few years. I survived the blast without losing my own limbs, but my parents weren’t so lucky. I ended up making the other refugees my family; we were all each other had. We scavenged what we could, taught each other what we knew, and tried to return to everyday life knowing we’d be providing for ourselves. I holed up in some trashed garage, scavenged some tools, and got to work making stuff the younger kids needed.
When people see a pretty strong teen guy, they think “hey, let’s recruit him.” Well, I said “no” at first, because I didn’t wanna get involved with some “thugs”. Of course, nothing goes as planned, and I tagged along with the Molar Caps at 18. I did a few looting runs, almost got arrested a couple times, but I was usually in some workshop reinforcing and fixing these guys’ stuff, sniffing out tracking devices on merch, and slapping together armored jackets for the few guys prone to doing stupid shit. They weren’t as bad as I thought, but I was a bit shaken after Philip’s supplies got trashed by the blues.
In the past year, I’ve been pulling away from the Caps. I still work on whatever people bring me; I don’t refuse a plea for help. But I’d like to go with more neutral groups. Got any room for another scavenger and repair guy, or even a babysitter? I’m up for the task, man.
Hadrian Solveig
How old are you, kid?
23. Not a kid anymore, that’s for sure.
What do you do for a living?
I repair both clothing and lower-tech doodads, but I also do some odd jobs for good causes.
Describe yourself to me.
Uh, sure... I’m 6’4, pretty tall and built like a brick shithouse. I got auburn hair; it’s layered, swept back, pulled into a ponytail, ya know. Let’s see... green eyes, tanned skin, some stubble, aaand a piercing in my right ear. And I wear clothes... obviously.
(His clothing is both slim-fitting and reinforced to prevent snagging and tearing, ideal for operating less stable, jury-rigged vehicles. It’s noticeable they’ve been repaired.)
Is working with you gonna be a pain?
No, not at all. If you get to know me, you’ll see I’m great with kids. Cavity life is a hard life, but I make the best of it, salvage what I can, and do my part. You know as well as I do, we won’t get any relief from the higher tiers of society. So, I act as that gentle giant, watching over the others here. And if someone starts a fight with an innocent person here, I’ll finish it.
I’m careful around the blues here; they’re just another bunch of fingers for E-Corp, whether they know it or not. I’m no genius, but I’m wise enough to not kick that hornet’s nest. Yet I know without them, we’d have total anarchy. I hate this frail balance.
I also enjoy working with my hands; it brings me peace of mind to create, especially after smashing or stealing some fancy junk. I impress myself sometimes, especially when I totally repurpose some old crap that was two steps away from the junkyard.
What are you good at? (Skills):
- Sewing; I do some tailoring for the youth and some adults. I’m not churning out knockoff designer clothes over here, but it keeps people from wearing rags.
- Metalwork; I learned this along with tailoring, so I could add more functional touches to jackets for tough guys like the Molar Caps. They say clothes make the man, but armor keeps the man alive. Get it?
- Motorcycle repair; I’m not great with servicing cars, but I can rig simpler crap like cheap motorbikes to work. It ain’t fancy, but it keeps you going from point A to point B.
- Brawling; I can take a punch, and I can sure as hell throw a punch back... or a chair... or anything else. Beer bottles? Lamps? Tire irons? Anything’s fair game when I’m fighting some jackass.
Got any Augments? What do they do?
Nah, I’m all-natural still.
What do you got on'ya?
Few things, but it ain’t a lot.
- Boot knife - just a cheap blade with an ankle sheath. It’s been modified with the handle removed for a slimmer profile. The tang is wrapped in old cloth for a better grip.
- Handkerchief - a piece of violet fabric, trimmed and stitched around the edges.
- Flashlight - a heavy-duty flashlight used by police, good for lighting the way or knocking someone’s lights out.
- Wrench - a simple adjustable tool, great for adjusting bolts, pipes, and faces.
- Duct tape - the universal solution. Temporarily mends objects and seals mouths.
- Sewing kit - a needle, thread, and a thimble for repairing clothing in a hurry.
Anything important I need to know?
- I’m not the quiet type. Get me talking, and I get pretty loud and lively. People call me boisterous and say it ain’t smart to bring me along when you’re being sneaky. Ain’t that the damn gospel truth...
- Don’t break my ‘status quo’. Screw up my bedroom or workshop and you’ll never hear the end of it.
- I work until I’m exhausted. I don’t have a sleep schedule; just do my thing until I can’t go anymore. Wash, rinse, and repeat.
Any hobbies? (Likes/dislikes):
Eh... I love working with my hands and tinkering with the motorbikes around here. Riding a well-made one’s a joy. Don’t mind the occasional drink, and I love paying visits to friends. Gotta enjoy the simple things.
Anything you need help with?
I wanna contribute to something bigger, do something different with my life. Sure, it doesn’t seem different, but I got a hunch we’ll need a hand from each other sooner or later.
How'd you end up here?
I’ve always been pretty damn poor. Only difference was that shit here went “boom” and everything turned into a hellscape for a few years. I survived the blast without losing my own limbs, but my parents weren’t so lucky. I ended up making the other refugees my family; we were all each other had. We scavenged what we could, taught each other what we knew, and tried to return to everyday life knowing we’d be providing for ourselves. I holed up in some trashed garage, scavenged some tools, and got to work making stuff the younger kids needed.
When people see a pretty strong teen guy, they think “hey, let’s recruit him.” Well, I said “no” at first, because I didn’t wanna get involved with some “thugs”. Of course, nothing goes as planned, and I tagged along with the Molar Caps at 18. I did a few looting runs, almost got arrested a couple times, but I was usually in some workshop reinforcing and fixing these guys’ stuff, sniffing out tracking devices on merch, and slapping together armored jackets for the few guys prone to doing stupid shit. They weren’t as bad as I thought, but I was a bit shaken after Philip’s supplies got trashed by the blues.
In the past year, I’ve been pulling away from the Caps. I still work on whatever people bring me; I don’t refuse a plea for help. But I’d like to go with more neutral groups. Got any room for another scavenger and repair guy, or even a babysitter? I’m up for the task, man.
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norway
a white butterfly
Jax Cason
sins never wash away
I walk through the valley of death and can't tell myself from what I fear
Name?: Jax Cason
How old are you, kid?: 23
What do you do for a living? (Occupation/Position): Odd jobs
Describe yourself to me. (Appearance - Picture, Description, or both):
6'1, blue eyes, ivory skin. Lean, relatively toned with veins and scars all over his skin. Heavily augmented along his chest and up to his jawline. Tongue piercing. Long lashes. His voice is typically softer and lazy, like the way his fringe falls aloof upon his head.
Is working with you gonna be a pain? (Personality):
despondent | thorough | collected | loyal
avoidant | easy to pick on, hard to anger | greatly suppresses his anger
avoidant | easy to pick on, hard to anger | greatly suppresses his anger
. Broody exterior, though not too far underneath is a whole lot of goodness. Dependable, reliable, the type of guy you can expect to come back for you and keep his promises even if no one else agreed with it. With his life, Jax strives to follow through with even the most menial things he says; he is consistently referred to as 'good' but he is really just trying to be true to his word. There's been a notable lack of spirit about him especially in recent years as his luck has not changed much.
Jax is not open, but he is not exactly closed off either - if you ask, he might answer, or at least return it with a deep question of his own. He is an easy target for picking on as he rarely lets his emotions get the best of him -- he'll take it and take it, which explains the plethora of dented metals and bruises on his body. But he is not submissive -- he just prefers to pick his battles, the fact is however he never really picks a battle to fight. Though he won't turn away company, and while he won't share much about himself past verbal existential wonders, he is a constantly available shoulder to lean on. He's easy to trust and the least likely to be up to anything, other than taking a walk just to take a fucking walk.
What are you good at? (Skills):
Negotiating, remaining undetected, compromising
Got any Augments? What do they do?:
WIP?
What do you got on'ya? (Gear/equipment):
To be discussed.
Anything important I need to know? (Weaknesses/Character Flaws - At least 3):
A bit of a push over
Not a fighter
Terrible with conversations
Any hobbies? (Likes/dislikes):
Anything you need help with? (Character Goals/Motivations):
Jax is kind of like a lost dog in the rain just looking for shelter, he just wants a place to lay his head at night where he doesn't have to worry about getting the shit beat out of him just for existing.
How'd you end up here? (Bio - Minimum 3 paragraphs. I will be strict.):
Jax left home at an early age with the naive idea that there was an adventure waiting outside for him. Unlike some who live the traveling dream and experience the best of the world, he was met with nothing but bad luck and worse people. He remained loyal to his quest however, and wandered as a lonely soul quite far from home, attempting to justify his travels but honestly just getting himself tangled into a greater web of troubles. He found himself naively falling into debts and the wrong crowds, continuously trying to crawl his way back to the middle ground but to no avail; When the bombs dropped, he had been away from home so long and without contact he found it hard to say he'd really lost anything, he was so lost himself. He's been barely scraping by in the cavity since it was birthed, wandering like a stray just trying to find a place that wasn't in danger of the unforgiving public.
Throughout his life he has gotten into many fights he neither started nor intended to finish, and he has the batters and bruises and mechanical parts to prove it -- he is greater debt from his heavy augmentation spreading from his delicately wired chest to his bulked up jawline -- it was a medical decision that saved his life from an unwilling brawl in the pit of the city.
He eventually was offered the chance to chip away at his enormous debts by working as a debt collector for E-Corp, something he did with little hesitation despite the companies bad reputation. He just wanted to crawl out of the grave he'd dug himself. It all came crashing down however under false allegations that Jax had kept some of the money from the shady individual that enlisted his help, and he's been hiding in the shadows ever since trying to avoid being arrested under false pretenses -- he's a lowkey outlaw, and also isn't very well liked for the work he did for E-Corp.
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