Realistic or Modern Overcast: Alexandros Galczynski

[Lorsh]

OVERCAST
Elucid

• Intro
• Inventory
• Maps
• Companions
• Your Character Sheet
• Stats

• 
  
  Spring
  Friday, 9:30 PM
  Congress City
  
  You are Alexandros Galczynski, a resident of Congress City, the provincial capital of Castun. You work as a foreman for Gevinson Development, a construction company which is mainly focused on building low-income flats around the area. Though, it's obvious that it's all really controlled by the local Strayka (Kazacian Mob) brigade via the construction union. Most people were no-shows at work this morning, and things were cut short when the cops showed up and got into a scuffle with a bunch of 'drunks' that were encroaching on the construction site.
  
  You're in your apartment on of Balton Beach, located on the west side of Congress. The area is known for its immigrant population, comprised mainly of 'enemy aliens' as they had been known as in the old days, Kazacians and Senkens. The stink of the beach lingers in the litter-strewn streets, and it's generally quite dangerous to go out at night. Balton Beach is a fine place if you want to buy narcotics, find prostitutes, or get your hands on a Saturday night special. The Congress PD doesn't frequent the area, but occasionally there'll still be a big shootout between the tac-squad and some local gangbangers.
  
  
  The first reports of the strange pathogen came in yesterday, though life continued as normal, for the most part. Today was worse, with violent riots starting to occur within the inner city, and a lockdown being called. The TV said that the governor is going to call a state of emergency in the province. The Central Medical Institute posted a warning for everyone to wash their hands, stay indoors, and put on face masks.
  
  A car alarm has been blaring outside for an entire half hour. From within your apartment, you can see that the street is empty, and the beach and ocean beyond is quiet, save for several staggering homeless people that look even more high than usual. You can hear your upstairs neighbors, a local Senken couple, loudly arguing in a foreign tongue. Someone from the family in the apartment across from yours is slapping the door constantly for no reason. In the room to the right, which is occupied by a Kazacian teen girl, you can hear her music faintly playing.
  
  Your dog is rather excited by all the noise, wandering between the window and the door to occasionally bark at the sounds.
  
  
  
• 
  -Baseball cap [Worn]
  -Gevinson Development work jacket [Worn]
  -Checkered shirt [Worn]
  -Khaki pants [Worn]
  -Workboots [Worn]
  -Flip phone [Pocket]
  -Wallet [Pocket]
  -Credit card [Wallet]
  -Driver's license [Wallet]
  
• 
  
  
• 
  -Anatoly (Dog)
  
• 
  
  Name: Alexandros Galczynski
  Appearance: Alexandros is best described as a man whose glory days were long behind him, pot bellied and gray in the hair he looks and seems like the personification of an old and grumpy rottweiler. Yet, behind that distant demeanor and stocky frame lies the remnants of someone who society would've once considered to be quite handsome.
  Height: 5'11''
  Age: 52
  Ethnicity: Kazacian
  Gender: Male
  Personality: Ever since the divorce Alexandros has been of a reclusive sort, he never did have many friends and the ones he did weren't keen on making house calls. Most of his days are spent in the company of his canine friend Anatoly and a six pack he'd just bought from the store. At work was probably the only time he'd strung more than a few sentences together. No one was particularly fond of the man, he was harsh and demanding although not unfair, the workers figured whoever they'd send in his place would probably be worse and thought to stick with the devil they knew.
  History:
  Alexandros was born in a small town, somewhere within one of the many republics that comprise the Kazacian Confederation. Its relative proximity to the sea and somewhat Mediterranean climate made it a ripe spot for some of the higher ups in the state communist party to spend their summers with the family. This influx of the elite provided new opportunities for those with bigger ambitions than being a simple sheep herder in the middle of nowhere. With the help of a well to do member of the party, a friend of the family, Alexandros was able to secure a position at a fairly prestigious art school in the capital. Here, Alexandros would be introduced to what was then called socialist realism, a style of art that would soon become the bane of his existence. It wasn't that it required too much patience or skill but that it was almost completely devoid of any feeling or emotion, more propaganda than anything else. Any other form of art was of course considered vulgar and individualistic making its consumption and production heavily frowned upon. There were a few, however, teachers and students included, who in dark halls and behind closed doors awed at the works they saw being produced in the rest of the free world. Those brave enough, would even go as far as to procure some of such art for themselves. Learning about the artistic license they gave to the creatives in the west was perhaps the catalyst behind his anti-communist behavior. During a somewhat eventful excursion into Centralia to display what were considered to be particularly impressive examples of Kazacian art, Alexandros defected to the Republic at the ripe old age of 22. The next few years of his life were a haze, he made a modest living painting and selling his art whilst traveling the country doing all the things a twenty year old artist would do. Much of it involving the consumption of illicit drugs and unprotected sex. Before he knew it he was in his thirties with a baby on the way, the art paid enough to keep a roof over his head but it wouldn't feed three, and so he took up a job working construction in different parts of the city. Months became years and years became decades, broken dreams and broken furniture plagued his marriage, one borne more out of necessity than love. When the divorce was finalized, his only son Mikael who always preferred to be called Michael elected to take his mother's surname, becoming Michael Clarkson. Alexandros would never see the two again and perhaps that was for the best, last he heard, his wife had remarried and his son was working as an editor in some well to do publishing house. Alexandros had resigned himself to the possibility of having to spend his last days on earth within the confines of his bleak, unfurnished apartment home. Only later would he realize how sorely mistaken he was.
  Occupation: Construction Foreman
  Zone Type: Urban
  Residence Type: Apartment Complex
  Cohabitors: None, except for a slightly overweight husky he calls Anatoly
  
  
• 
  People Killed
  
  Zombies Killed
  
  

 

[Elucid]

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Alexandros
Galczynski

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Two cartons of spoilt milk, yesterday's Senken takeout and a six pack of the cheapest beer you'd find out on the west side. That was the full inventory of what they had left in the fridge, minus the now empty cans of dog food Anatoly had somehow managed to get his greedy paws on. It looked like they'd have to go out after all, it wasn't that late and he'd never known people from Balton actually doing what the TV told 'em to. The liquor store down the street had to be open. The kid that worked there didn't speak a word of common and Alexandros was pretty sure he'd gotten here illegally, people like that don't have the luxury to get off work early.

Having cleared up the mess Anatoly'd made in the kitchen he went on over to the bedroom where he'd stashed that flatscreen he bought last summer, which he was pretty sure was stolen. When someone offers a good deal on something around here, people don't really ask that many questions. There was no new information on at the moment, just vague details about the pathogen and some corny public health announcements. Alexandros stuck around for a few minutes breezing through whatever trash that was on cable nowadays, until he was finally distracted by Anatoly's periodic barking, the noises had the dog frantically pacing their tiny apartment. He couldn't remember the last time Anatoly was this spooked by anything.

"Hey bud! I've gotta go get a refill, we're out. You're coming along too, It'd do you good to get some exercise." he said nonchalantly as he put on the dog collar with some difficulty.

Alexandros made his way to the window before leaving, pulling the curtains apart to reveal an empty street. It seemed quiet, apart from the blaring car alarm of course, but that wasn't a rarity in Balton. He made sure to have all he needed on him as he went out the front door; the keys to his truck, his wallet, a flip phone that looked like it'd been dropped multiple times and of course, the hat he'd wear whenever he went out, one that was particularly dirty with a logo of the local baseball team sown on it threatening to come off.

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[Lorsh]

Your dog's tail wags, and Anatoly sniffs and laps at your face as you take a knee to apply to leash and collar around his neck. You open the door and step outside of your apartment room and into the hallway. The janitor keeps the building clean enough for it to not be a pit, but there's still some cracks in the tiling on the floor, and old stains on the wall.

When you make it to the stairs, a beat up-looking young man with a large wad of bloody paper towel pressed against his wrist walks hurriedly passes you on his way up the steps. It's probably a resident of one of the upper floors.

When you get to the bottom, you see 'Fred' Fredek heading towards the stairs from the lobby. He's a man in his late thirties, with a five o'clock shadow and somewhat gaunt features. He's wearing his usual tracksuit pants and blue windbreaker, hands stuffed into its pockets. Fred is one of the low-show 'supervisors' at your job, who usually isn't present except to deliver very specific instructions passed down by the 'higher-ups', such as orders to cease work if there was trouble with the contractors. It isn't hard to deduce that he's with Strayka.

He recognizes you, and smiles at your dog, who briefly tenses before sniffing and panting at the other man. "Alex, how are you, my friend?" Fred explains that he's here to check on his sister, as weird people are 'banging on her door'. "Nothing in this town is right tonight," he remarks.