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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 25, 2016 20:55:27 GMT -5
Survivors
x x x → Abuela Zubizarreta ↳ eighty-two years old, female, Abuela's group ↳ grandmother of Emilio ↳ cooking, fishing ↳ one hunting rifle, two cans of beans, one lighter, two extra pairs of socks, one kitchen knife, one rosary ↳ a sweet old woman, the apocalypse should have ironed her flat by now, but granny keeps on chugging along at the speed and intensity of an on-coming frieght train. All she cares about now is keeping her adorable grandson safe from the man-eating hordes of the undead at any and all costs. She'll gladly protect a group of strangers in the meantime as well. ↳ born and bred in Spain for over seventy years, time has turned Abuela's brown tanned skin into a roadmap of wrinkles. She keeps her thin, white hair in pair of twin braids, both for practicality and style. Though her bones are brittle, they are not lacking in the muscle required to stab a walker in the skull, if only she were a bit taller than her meager height of 5'. A pair of round, thick-lensed glasses may not be the most advantageous way to see in the middle of the apocalypse, too bad she's blind without them.
ʰᵒᶰᵉʸᵇᵃᵈᵍᵉʳ ღ x x x → Emilio Zubizarreta ↳ eighteen years old, male, Abuela's group ↳ grandson of Abuela ↳ baking, being a ray of sunshine ↳ one pistol, one bag of cookies, one bar of soap, one book, one sleeping bag ↳ Emilio is... soft. the end of the world has done nothing to harden his good, gentle soul. it hasn't even given him a bit of bite. to the overall survival of the group he's weak and rather useless. if it weren't for his Abuela, Emilio would have been picked off at the very beginning. thankfully, old Abuela is there to keep him good and safe. ↳ wip
ʰᵒᶰᵉʸᵇᵃᵈᵍᵉʳ ღ x x x → Hester Scoresby ↳ nineteen years old, female, Group two ↳ none ↳ sharpshooting, tracking, stealth ↳ one hunting rifle, one lighter, three sets of bandages, one hunting knife, three photos, two books, one blanket ↳ Hester is a resilient, hardworking soul. she puts the wellfare of others before herself, even those undeserving of such generosity. growing up with a big family and a whole lot of kindness will do that to you. ↳ appearance
ʰᵒᶰᵉʸᵇᵃᵈᵍᵉʳ ღ x x x → Soraya al-Farashatan
↳ twenty years old, female, Group 2
↳ none
↳ fishing, weapon-building, knot-tying
↳ one sewing needle, one roll of fishing line, one roll of bandages, one jar of peanut butter, one water bottle, one pistol, two knives, one three-prong fishing spear, one pearl
↳ Soraya is rather lacking in people skills. She tries her best to be helpful and kind but too often she comes off as forthright and abrasive. She possesses a sharp tongue and a blunt sense of humor, her jokes often fall flat.
↳ Soraya’s lithe figure stands at 5’5” with skin of a rich bronze.. Her thick hair hangs past her shoulders in a plume of midnight curls and waves that whether left free to the will of nature or woven into as neat a braid as she can manage drapes behind her like polished obsidian. Soraya’s sloe-shaped upturned eyes are two pools of coffee, which would be warm and welcoming if they weren’t offset by her thick low-set eyebrows that give her a look of perpetual judgement and discontent. She also sports an arched nose that she says runs in the family.
servalstrike x x x → Kameko Ikeda
↳ 36, female, group 1
↳ n/a
↳ physically and emotionally strong, can stay calm and focused in bad situations
↳ 2 rolls of hockey tape (i’m not kidding. it’s helpful.), scissors, those super intense really large bandaids, at least 2 bottles of naproxen. stock up, folks. also, a hunting knife.
↳ Kameko is not naturally an open, happy woman (though this is the apocalypse and it is not like many are expecting such), and she can even seem standoffish or judgemental, quietly surveying situations, with a harsh neutral expression (she can’t even blame the language barrier anymore). Kameko can be a little awkward; shows her affection in roundabout ways, nothing straightforward, maternal in a quiet way. She has a blunt sense of humour, quiet, with an accent leftover from her childhood, her Osaka days, and more often than not she is simply quiet as snowfall, offers more with her body language and a smile than with words.
↳ Kameko is not a conventionally pretty woman, not by a lot of standards, but there is something accessible about her features, half-moon, dark eyes, fluffy shoulder-length hair (never lying flat and shiny like an inkwell, though it is dark as ink), the tawny-brown expanse of her skin, the pigmented, dark freckles reaching up the curve of her high cheekbones. She has a tendency to look somewhat like she just tumbled off of a recreational ice skating rink, cheeks flushed pink in the cold, thermal clothing, mittened hands clasped firm around the strap of a bag.
koi x x x → Marcus "Mark" Lias
↳ 25, male, group 2
↳ n/a
↳ fast, has great stamina, physically strong for his size and build
↳ a hiking backpack, sports tape (what is with my ocs and tape? they’re both athletes but wtf?), a stupid amount of warm clothing, one singular sleeping bag. oh, and, a machete. dude used to build trails with his dad as a kid give him a break
↳ Out of all the people that know Mark, there is a solid 2% that do not absolutely hate him. Y’see, there is not much to like about a loud boy with a spitting issue, braces at age 25 and a really creaky pair of hips (seriously, they pop so much, it’s a disorder, or something). Out of a place of a severe inferiority complex, this dude has the tendency to act like he is better than mcdonalds on a weekend at midnight, though his inner self-reflection would suggest otherwise. He is someone that will make light of awful situations in a way that will make him seem callous, insensitive, and will snap over tiny, insignificant things. He can be unfortunately forward, and has no brain-to-mouth filter, will blurt things that make absolutely no sense, not even as an afterthought.
↳ Mark is remarkably pale, like he’s made of snow, notsomuch of flesh, blood, bone—reddens at the cheeks when he is cold and embarrassed of himself, reddens at his lips when he worries at them with metal-roughed teeth. Speaking of which, try not to judge a boy by his $7,000 smile, adults with braces exist and they screwed up the first time around (at age 17, stuck in his grad photos with rainbow elastics). His hair is long, dark brown (for his standards, still short for others), flippy and in his face, right across his forehead, and you will most likely never not see this man without a toque of some sort and a scarf like the damn canadian he is. He has a rather intense look to him, a neutral expression of “I wanna go home, bro,” or “fight me in a parking lot at 2am, dude”, set by the tilt of his eyebrows, his narrowed brown eyes. He’s 5’7”ish, on a good day, on the best day, and has a frame tightly packed with muscle (thanks, ballet!) and like I’m not saying he has a great set of legs, but, like, yeah he sure does.
koi x x x → Ezra Maclaurin
↳ 19, male, group 1
↳ everyone this binch loves is dead (aka. none)
↳ He is an Eagle Scout so he has an assorted knowledge of fire-starting and knot tying and general wilderness survival skills. He can also make a mean macchiato.
↳ Several scarves, an assortment of tea bags, two lifestraws, a container of Louisville Vegan Jerky, a garden hoe, and too much shampoo for the zombie apocalypse.
↳ If Ezra had to name one good thing that came out of the end of the world, it would be that, hey, at least his student debt has been absolved; the University of Washington is none too worried about money now that their financial department is staffed by zombies. A former college freshman, Ezra shows his youth in many ways: he is petty, indecisive, brazenly argumentative, and was initially more worried about how he would maintain his veganism after society collapsed than the threat of imminent death. Creative to the point where it could be considered a flaw, Ezra has a penchant for looking at situations from every possible perspective, probably has existential crises on a biweekly basis, and rarely stays convinced of anything for an extended period of time. While he doesn't particularly seem like the type to survive in a zombie apocalypse (an unabashed hipster whose ideal weekend was spent reading James Joyce at some artsy, overpriced coffee shop) his extensive survival training and (relatively) good intuition hint that there is more than just luck keeping him alive.
↳ It's not that Ezra is your stereotypical Washington pretentious, artsy hipster... but he certainly looks like it. Skinny even before he ran out of food, Ezra looks rather self-important, with naturally narrow eyes that are almost-blue, almost-gray and full lips that trend narrow at the edges, giving him the constant expression of being either vaguely disenchanted or judging the living ****ens out of whoever his gaze is trained upon, both of which are not necessarily incorrect, because he is an opinionated little twit, even if those opinions are mercurial. His complexion, on the Starbucks Scale, would be about an iced mocha latte (thanks to a half-Irish, half-Indian heritage), and is covered with a spattering of dark freckles (less present on his face than everywhere else). His hair is an expected dark brown, that, when styled into a messy undercut, as it often is, makes him look a wee bit taller than his rather average height of 5'9.
briar x x x → Moira Damboue
↳ 34, female, group 2
↳ *james blunt's "goodbye my lover" plays faintly in the background*
↳ ex-military (insofar that she deserted, oops): she is good with most fire-arms and hand-to-hand combat, got basic survival knowledge, a very nails-and-steel personality.
↳ A tactical backpack, two bags of tortillas, an assortment of dried fruits/jerky, a 5" serrated knife, an aluminum water bottle, iodine, two guns (a P229 DAK and an M-4 Carbine), and a running-low supply of bullets.
↳ While it is easy to see how someone could describe Moira as "cold", the term is not entirely accurate. As hardened as she might be, not emotionless but instead muted, Moira is not uncaring; her stoicism is, perhaps, the result of caring too much. However, above all else, she is desperate, and this desperation has morphed her into a creature both manipulative and cruel. While she does give a cr*p about other people, Moira prioritizes her own interests and will, although she does not find it desirable, sacrifice the good of others to achieve her goal. Her actions are not malicious but simply a side effect of selfish opportunism. Guilt has become her constant companion. Albeit all of her mental turmoil, Moira is quite level headed, with a light sense of humor and a quite temperate personality. She tends to be personal-conflict avoidant, acting as a sort of peacekeeper (as she has enough stress already) but tends to defer to 'fight' rather than flight in combat situations. Her overconfidence in her abilities (while not unwarranted) combined with a variable mental state may prove to be her hubris.
↳ At 5'11, Moira is quite tall for a woman. Built, as one might say, like a brick wall thanks to years of farm-work and military service have made Moira into a physical spectacle. Approaching middle age, she is not as attractive as she once was, though, granted, she was never the most traditionally beautiful woman, hovering about average, with large wide-set eyes set under thick (albeit naturally shapely) brows, low cheek bones, and a large fore-head. Her head is shaved nearly bald, only a fine dusting of black curls remain, fading into her dark brown skin. Originally from south Louisiana, Moira still has a faint Cajun accent, dulled but still distinct due to her living in Iowa for the past six years.
briar x x x → Dr. Dashiell Shay
↳ 26, male, group 2
↳ n/a. (lol)
↳ "i'm a doctor, jim, not bear grylls", cpr and emergency responder certified, can kind-of use a gun
↳ EMT first aid kit, a black Target backpack, a edible plants of Washington handbook, an aluminum water bottle, and a Beretta M9A3 handgun.
↳ They say to "fake it until you make it", and heaven, has Dashiell Shay become an expert on hiding his deep-rooted insecurities behind a persona dripping with warmth and charisma. Thanks to a superiority complex brought on by being raised in an upper class family (they paid his way through medical school), Dashiell Shay often acts with little regard to people around him. He is not malevolent nor particularly selfish (beyond natural human tendencies); he genuinely wants to help people, but has a narrow-minded understanding of consequence and, while patient, is an extreme go-getter, and thus often involves himself in situations he feels he could improve but should never have inserted himself into in the first place. Easily stressed, this boy has a self-destructive streak that rivals Bojack Horseman hidden behind onion-layers of smiles and Lady Gaga references. While fervently optimistic and often displaying a positive front, Dashiell trends towards sarcasm, cattiness, and contempt. His pride is easily wounded, and while he often will play therapist, he is an emotional hypocrite, partaking in the healthy hobby of repression, and is simultaneously both extremely confident and extremely self-loathing.
↳ Dashiell Shay is beautiful, objectively, in the way that one looks at him and they do not mind letting their gaze linger a few seconds longer, but not so much that one sees him and is suddenly overwhelmed with the impulse to leave their significant other and elope with him to Tahiti. He is tall (but not like, giant) at 6'1 with short, wavy blonde hair, a caucasian skin tone, unusually dark brown eyes warm like black coffee that's been sitting out for about 20 minutes, and a strong jawline accented by crazy sharp cheekbones that half look like they're trying to slice through his face. He can usually be found in a jacket of some kind, never white, and always with a leather pendent necklace worn as religiously as a wedding band. Often cheerful looking, his smiles do not reach his eyes (it is the apocalypse after all; everyone has their ghosts).
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