*doesn't know how to throw Magnolia into the fray*
- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
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- ChaoticNeutral 10 yrs ago
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10 yrs ago
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I haven't slept in three days, send help.
10 yrs ago
You know what's really great and amazing and currently beyond my reach? Sleep.
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Gunshots. More than once, Magnolia heard gunshots. Her heart soared in her chest as she started her bike and shoved her helmet down on her dainty head - walkers didn't carry firearms, there were humans nearby - but then plummeted seconds later - what were they shooting at? We're there walkers nearby? Or was it one of the looters, shooting to kill other survivors? Magnolia's efforts increased tenfold to get her bike outside, jogging beside it while gunning the throttle so it'd move under its own power. As soon as she passed the glass doors, she swung on with a well-practiced, graceful movement and shot forward before her ass had even hit the seat. She didn't know where she was driving, but she prayed it was towards other survivors - hopefully not looters, either.
Also, if horses have any place in this RP, I'd be more than happy to supply any information regarding care or gear or riding/driving technique - I own two horses and compete on a rodeo circuit (mostly barrel racing, pole bending and goat tying when allowed) as well as having trained in jumping, dressage, western pleasure, and a tad of driving, so yeah *shrugs*
Sorry for my short/grammatically incorrect/not well researched/generally not up to snuff posts, I had to take my laptop in to get fixed so I'll be posting from a phone or tablet for a while - my first post had the misfortune to be off a phone :/
Magnolia whistled cheerfully behind her bright red and black helmet as she shot through cluttered streets, bright red curls tucked into her black leather jacket.
She'd been riding for more than six hours straight, pausing only to fuel up her bike, using the 'pay inside' trick and checking out what food the gas station/convenience stores had left if that's where she'd stopped, trying to get somewhere, somewhere with actual living people. She'd gotten lucky with the gas - she'd found a few small-town co-ops and abandoned farms with private fuel tanks that hadn't been raided yet, sparing her the tragedy of dumping her bike somewhere and having to find other transportation. She'd been doing pretty well on her own, keeping a pack that was almost always full with some basics - some food, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and, of course, as many bricks of ammunition as her skinny frame could carry - and motoring around on her bike, but in the end, what was getting to her was the loneliness.
Checking her fuel gauge - still three-quarters of a tank left, she'd managed to fill up shortly before entering the city of Cleveland - Magnolia spotted a large WalMart she decided to check out - she always was looking for more supplies. Riding her bike to the door, then walking it inside, parking it near the registers, Magnolia stashed her Glock in the top of her left knee-high black Doc Martin and maneuvered her Ruger between her breasts, replacing her helmet with a forest green beanie to keep her hair out of the way while she swung her Weatherby behind her back - in a big building like this, she took no chances. After placing the finishing touch on her weapon assortment - her knife in a sheath near her underarm, hidden by her jacket - she started creeping around, rummaging through the mostly-scavenged shelves, occasionally coming up with a small treasure - a box of kitchen matches, a package of yeast, Jell-O powder - great for mixing with water for a quick energy boost - her heart jumping out of her chest every time she heard something, even if she had been the one to cause the sound.
After refilling her pack with such small treasures, Maggy nervously started back to her bike at the front of the store, somewhat spooked - the lack of zombies and scavengers in such a prime supply depot wasn't right.
She'd been riding for more than six hours straight, pausing only to fuel up her bike, using the 'pay inside' trick and checking out what food the gas station/convenience stores had left if that's where she'd stopped, trying to get somewhere, somewhere with actual living people. She'd gotten lucky with the gas - she'd found a few small-town co-ops and abandoned farms with private fuel tanks that hadn't been raided yet, sparing her the tragedy of dumping her bike somewhere and having to find other transportation. She'd been doing pretty well on her own, keeping a pack that was almost always full with some basics - some food, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and, of course, as many bricks of ammunition as her skinny frame could carry - and motoring around on her bike, but in the end, what was getting to her was the loneliness.
Checking her fuel gauge - still three-quarters of a tank left, she'd managed to fill up shortly before entering the city of Cleveland - Magnolia spotted a large WalMart she decided to check out - she always was looking for more supplies. Riding her bike to the door, then walking it inside, parking it near the registers, Magnolia stashed her Glock in the top of her left knee-high black Doc Martin and maneuvered her Ruger between her breasts, replacing her helmet with a forest green beanie to keep her hair out of the way while she swung her Weatherby behind her back - in a big building like this, she took no chances. After placing the finishing touch on her weapon assortment - her knife in a sheath near her underarm, hidden by her jacket - she started creeping around, rummaging through the mostly-scavenged shelves, occasionally coming up with a small treasure - a box of kitchen matches, a package of yeast, Jell-O powder - great for mixing with water for a quick energy boost - her heart jumping out of her chest every time she heard something, even if she had been the one to cause the sound.
After refilling her pack with such small treasures, Maggy nervously started back to her bike at the front of the store, somewhat spooked - the lack of zombies and scavengers in such a prime supply depot wasn't right.
Are we about ready to start yet?
Cleveland, I suppose
I'm cool with either
Name: Magnolia Lovissa
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Where you from?: Fayette, Iowa
Personality: She tends to adapt depending on who she hangs out with - she's not fake, just a survivor. She cares about humans as a whole, tends not to judge anyone from experience, and if she likes - or, god forbid, loves - anyone, her love is deep and hard to lose, even if she tries to let you go. A huge adrenaline junkie, she lives for the risk - and when there was none, she'd use other methods to get her high.
Back Story: Growing up in a small town with a corn farmer as her father and an attorney for a mother, Magnolia spent a lot of time alone before she got her license at sixteen - but once she had it, she was never at home. She made friends with what parents call 'the wrong crowd' at school, and most of her free nights were spent by the dam on the river in a little hollow in the limestone cliffs - perfect for having a campfire, or things less legal, without being seen - or at her friends' houses, blowing smoke with her buddies. Once she was eighteen, she bought a bike and took off, determined to see as much of the country - or world if she could afford it - as she could, mostly roaming across the United States, sometimes renting an apartment or calling on friends to crash with so she could work for a few weeks and get her cash moneyflow up again. After exploring much of the west coast, she'd headed east, having been in NYC for about two months before the outbreak hit.
Weapons:
Vehicle:
Other:
She has a couple of triggers - one of which being people grabbing her arms/wrists, from a time when she'd been a child walking home from school and been grabbed from behind, tied up, and left in a garage for three days, and another being - well, most of them are about people being behind her. If you walk up behind her and say 'boo', she won't yelp - she'll punch you in the gut, and that's getting off lightly. When she's triggered, her brain shuts down and gives in to self-defense, even when it's unnecessary. She always apologizes profusely when any such event happens, but beyond getting tied up, she refuses to share the reason she's so jumpy - she refuses to tell what else happened in the garage.
Appearance:
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Where you from?: Fayette, Iowa
Personality: She tends to adapt depending on who she hangs out with - she's not fake, just a survivor. She cares about humans as a whole, tends not to judge anyone from experience, and if she likes - or, god forbid, loves - anyone, her love is deep and hard to lose, even if she tries to let you go. A huge adrenaline junkie, she lives for the risk - and when there was none, she'd use other methods to get her high.
Back Story: Growing up in a small town with a corn farmer as her father and an attorney for a mother, Magnolia spent a lot of time alone before she got her license at sixteen - but once she had it, she was never at home. She made friends with what parents call 'the wrong crowd' at school, and most of her free nights were spent by the dam on the river in a little hollow in the limestone cliffs - perfect for having a campfire, or things less legal, without being seen - or at her friends' houses, blowing smoke with her buddies. Once she was eighteen, she bought a bike and took off, determined to see as much of the country - or world if she could afford it - as she could, mostly roaming across the United States, sometimes renting an apartment or calling on friends to crash with so she could work for a few weeks and get her cash moneyflow up again. After exploring much of the west coast, she'd headed east, having been in NYC for about two months before the outbreak hit.
Weapons:
(Purple because she has a sense of humor)
Vehicle:
Other:
She has a couple of triggers - one of which being people grabbing her arms/wrists, from a time when she'd been a child walking home from school and been grabbed from behind, tied up, and left in a garage for three days, and another being - well, most of them are about people being behind her. If you walk up behind her and say 'boo', she won't yelp - she'll punch you in the gut, and that's getting off lightly. When she's triggered, her brain shuts down and gives in to self-defense, even when it's unnecessary. She always apologizes profusely when any such event happens, but beyond getting tied up, she refuses to share the reason she's so jumpy - she refuses to tell what else happened in the garage.
Changed my form - took off the machete (wasn't working for me) and changed the M14 to the Weatherby I wanted
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