Darcs

I Remain: Desolation (A Zombie apocalypse RP without the zombies!)

That's dope. Working on a post.

Lena is kind of based lmao.

I Remain: Desolation (A Zombie apocalypse RP without the zombies!)

Maya ♥

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"Man, maybe this is bad, but I don't really feel bad for the dead. Like... like I've always been seen as just a dumb, silly little slut right? But I'm still alive. And like, everyone who hated me couldn't even last a week? It's pretty funny... and I'm still ready-- like water for chocolate."

Basic Information

Name:

Birth name: Angel Evans

Legal name: Maya Isaacs

Alias(es): Maya D. Starless, Maya Libertine, Bloody Maria

Age: She's been turning '27' for... maybe the past 10 years, at least?
Height: 5' 10"/1.77 m-- though she will insist she's actually just a healthy 5'8".
Weight: 110~ lbs/50~ kg. Her weight fluctuates pretty rapidly.
Race: Unclear. She knows her birth father was black and Puerto Rican,
so that's what she tells people. (Can't speak a lick of Spanish, though)
Pronouns: She/Her or They/Them, depending on her mood.
Though of course she's much less strict about these things now.
Horoscope (she cares about that kind of thing):

Sun: Scorpio

Moon: Aries

Rising: Capricorn

Text color: *#1E46A8*
Face claim: Indya Moore

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APPEARANCE

"And I oop and I oop and I oopandioopannaouannaouannou-- sksksksksksksksksksksksksks(...)"

If asked to define herself with one word, Maya would use 'glamour.' It's certainly an apt descriptor, though it doesn't tell the full story.

Maya is a beautiful, feminine-if-somewhat androgynous young woman-- (though, not as young as she would like most people to believe)-- with curious and sensual doe-like and dark eyes, framed by a thick mane of flowing, curly obsidian hair (occasionally styled, often left to its own devices). Her eyes can draw one in and her face will keep you looking, full of regal qualities, unblemished skin (thanks purely to a high level of skill with makeup), and naturally flushed and plump lips.

She smiles-- or rather, smirks-- easily, those perceptive enough may notice that these smiles don't always extend to her eyes-- those particularly perceptive may notice that her eyes often convey a certain melancholy, as well as a hunger, that many may recognize as lust. Her full lips are typically parted and dyed with some colorful variety of dark lipstick, contrasted against this Maya's honey mocha skin is maintained as flawlessly as the dawn-- the direct result of her very mixed ancestry, (of which she is only aware of her biological father's part) and, despite the apocalypse, makeup. Her eyebrows are regularly maintained and she spends more time than is responsible ensuring that none of the natural blemishes of her face can be seen. One of her (many) vices is makeup, obviously. She is particularly fond of concealer and lipstick.

Despite all of this, her face typically won't be the first thing that one notices about her. Due to being assigned male at birth, Maya naturally grew tall at a young age, by the time she had begun puberty blockers, she was well on her way to reaching her peak already-- and while they did help in preventing her from reaching 6' +, she is still a fair bit taller than the average woman, especially with her hair. Aside from her height, she has a slight, unassuming, very skinny and willowy physical frame with practically no muscle-- she is very much medically underweight, and her lack of nutrition before and after the mist has not helped with this. Her bust is modest, nearly flat, and her figure could best be described as a "thin, fragile hourglass." She has no noticeable physical disfigurements, save for dark spots along her arms where needles have hit (and missed) veins and her nails, once kept manicured, have been reduced to chipped, bitten down nubs.

Before the mist, despite not having the money for it, she shared the sensibilities of many a wealthy fashionista and tended to wear clothing that looked good, but lacked in functionality. Now that the mist is here, she still struggles with dressing efficiently, she won't wear extravagant gowns when trying to avoid human contact, but she will still wear designer tops and bottoms over clothing better suited for running or getting dirty. Being able to loot for such clothing has made this very easy for Maya.

PSYCHOLOGY

"Oh dear, there's not much here."

MAIN GOAL ♥ To blow up, and act like they don't know nobody. Meme's aside-- this wasn't too far from the truth in the 'beforetimes.' She wanted fame before, mostly to fuel her own addiction to pleasure. Now? Fame has been tossed aside in full pursuit of pleasure and aponia. Put simply, Maya doesn't want to deal with those monsters, or anything that would cause her pain or stress or anything like that. She wants to be warm and comfortable at night, and high all waking hours. Aside from that, finding her father-- though she doesn't want to admit this to herself, because looking for him means accepting the possibility he may be dead.

PHILOSOPHY ♥ She is an unrepentant hedonist, moral nihilist, and proud libertine.

SECRETS ♥ Not much, honestly. The fact that she's trans? Loud and proud. Her various addictions? She practically flaunts them as proof that she's still sane. She isn't particularly proud of some of the things she's done before the mist to maintain relevancy and her way of life, nor does she like her relationship with the mental healthcare system or her various diagnoses. She's not fond of discussing her parents, biological or adoptive.

SEXUALITY ♥ Lesbian. But she'll have sex with anyone.

FEARS ♥ The mist, obviously. Sobriety. She isn't particularly fond of bugs or rats, either.

QUIRKS ♥ She's compulsively been hoarding make-up and maintaining a made-up appearance to maintain a sense of normalcy. Most of the drugs she regularly partakes in (she's a bigger fan of hallucinogens and depressants than uppers), she isn't chemically dependent on (yet)-- it's purely mental. That being said, she does need liquor regularly or risk suffering withdrawals. On a more positive note-- she typically does really well with teenagers and children. While she may provide too high of a degree of freedom, she does genuinely care for them-- and may seem like a different person when interacting with them. They go out of their way to help children in need, and generally make younger people feel heard and seen, a trait inherited directly from her father.

FLAWS ♥ A refusal to fully apply herself. A lifetime of underachievement and unconditional support from her father has given her a bit of a complex, making her feel that even trying her best results in failure, so why try? The addictions and drinking can be a bit of a hindrance, of course. She exhibits many symptoms of borderline personality disorder, particularly in her risk taking, difficulty trusting, and rapidly fluctuating mood.

BACKSTORY

"A man who lies for a living is the most honest person I know. I think that's funny."

As far as the early stuff goes? Maya isn't exactly sure. She has the general outline, of course. She was born as Angel Evans, to a mother she'll never know, and a father who, at first at least, was well-meaning enough, but completely unprepared for a child. As time went on, her father became more distracted and neglectful, though she claims he was never outright abusive, her therapist may argue otherwise. She's forgotten most of this period, or otherwise buried it away. She remembers being in foster care for a few years, and that being so much worse. And she remembers things getting better, almost overnight, when she was adopted by a solidly B-list celebrity around the time she started high school.

She doesn't really know what happened to her birth father.

She has a much clearer memory of when she was adopted by her real father, very liberal, very gay icon Ricardo Isaacs, and onward. Moving from an Orange county poorhouse to the heart of Hollywood would make a strong impression on anyone. For Maya in particular, things clicked into place-- the excess, the parties, even the fake nature of everything made sense to her. It didn't matter that at this point she some mousy nobody in the body of a lanky boy. She could be whoever she wanted-- and so that's what she became.

Her transition, with puberty blockers, began around a year after moving in with who she would consider her true father (known to her alone, affectionately, as both Rico and Ricky). She was never a good student before, and going from the distractions of institutional poverty to the world through a lens of complete freedom didn't exactly help, but Rico getting her all the tutors she needed (as well as money making its way into certain hands to get her extra times, or failing grades accidentally marked higher)-- did help. When she expressed interest in music, Rico made that happen as well, giving her ample training from a young age, relative to when she was officially adopted-- enough so that she was able to earn a Masters of Fine Arts in Music Theory and Composition-- with financial assistance from Ricky, of course. Before the fall, she was an up and coming producer and song-writer, having worked with a few Billboard charting artists. It's very likely she's had writing credits on a few songs a fan of pop or pop-rap may have heard.

Her time at college was spent exploring her sexual identity (something she still loves exploring)-- and while she officially identifies as gay, she'll accept anyone as her play partner. Her openness and sexual liberation is something she directly inherited from Rico, himself very much a proponent for the open discussion and fostering of sexual relations. That being said, unaddressed insecurities developed during early childhood, combined with feelings of inadequacy due to feeling she never 'earned' anything, have left her a bit distrustful and unable to commit to much. She was in therapy for that before the fall, after much prodding from Ricky-- in fact, she was in the middle of a session before everything went belly-up. She's been traveling with her therapist and his son since then.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Not to toot my own horn here, but I'm pretty good at...

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blowing...

...

I'll go-- no, no-- it's fine, I'll leave."

[Kama Sutra expert] ♥ It's not a skill many would boast, but Maya dons this one and all of its implications and insults proudly. She is very adept at using her sexuality to get what she wants, as a weapon to some, as a means for negotiating on equal terms to others. Of course, there are many drawbacks in the world as it is, a lack of public services for treatment of STDs and those who would use violence to gain such things chief among them.

[Multi-instrumentalist] ♥ Right now, all she has is her voice. But Maya is a classically trained in many instruments, and informally or self-taught in many others. It'd be easier to list the few instruments she doesn't play. While she isn't trained in every style, she can recreate many songs she has heard within a day or two of hearing them.

[Decent actor] ♥ While she was never formally trained in classes, her adoptive father was a relatively famous actor before the fall, even moreso in his prime. A common night in with the two would involve watching one of his old Blaxpoitation movies, him explaining some of the techniques he'd use. The trick, he would often say, was making yourself believe the lie you we're telling everyone, before you even knew it. Her skill with make-up can often help sell whatever lie she's trying to sell, with a literal tailor made mask.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"*Drunk noises*"

[2017 Cadillac SUV] ♥ This car isn't hers-- technically it belongs to her therapist. Though, all driving, all siphoning of gas, and all maintenance (not much) is handled by his son. Maya, for her part, is an adequate navigator for night travel. Somehow, it's already on its last legs... But it's served as a reliable bed for a while now. Maya keeps several changes of clothes and a few other quality of life items in here.

[Chanel satchel] ♥ Somehow has less space inside than outside would imply. This is where she keeps pretty much all of her things that aren't clothes, which, isn't much.

[9" Italian Stiletto knife] ♥ This isn't hers-- it's on loan from her therapist's son, who wanted her to be protected. Maya has no idea how to use this efficiently-- she isn't particularly fond of violence, so her possessing this is almost entirely for show. That being said, it is very sharp and well maintained-- apparently (according to him) such a knife is illegal in the states, so however he got it, he takes good care of it.

[Make-up] ♥ At her current rate of use, Maya has about a month of concealer, eye liner, lipstick, and wet wipes in her satchel. A more than enough primer and nail polish to last at her current nervously reduced usage.

[Booze] ♥ A vodka girl. She keeps a flask on her person at all times. Her satchel has 3 Grey Goose minis, and a water bottle she is almost positive isn't actual water. This is mildly worrying. The near lack of booze, not the fact that she is 100% dehydrated.

[Basic hygiene supplies] ♥ The apocalypse is no reason to have bad breath and dirty teeth. Her deodorant will last, but she'll need new toothpaste and floss soon, though.

[Hormones] ♥ Her little group raided a pharmacy some time ago-- while she never particularly liked the idea of looting, she does know her hormone implant only has about 2 years left, if she's lucky. The hormones the place had were practically untouched. She grabbed a few bottles of spironolactone and estradiol to keep in her purse, just in case things don't go back to normal before then.

[... Other assorted pills] ♥ Well, in for a penny in for a pound, right? If she's going to steal the titty skittles, may as well take some of the fun stuff, as well. It's not like she can call her dealer up for these things! The place they hit up had been fairly cleaned through before they got there, but she knew of some more obscure downers that had been looked over that provide a passable high. These actually on her person or with her clothes-- her therapist's kid has about 6 months worth in one of his bags at recommended use, but she (and the kid, on occasion) take more than the doctor recommended amount, just a little, of course. They have 2 months between them. If they're lucky.

OTHER

"Really, I think we should just find some abandoned weed farm in the woods and wait this out."

Her favorite song is 'Love is Blue' and she considers the Breakfast at Tiffany's soundtrack the greatest film score, and a huge inspiration in her own sound design. Avant Garde Jazz musicians are her favorites. She very much values complexity and unique theming in her music.

That being said, she would unironically put this kind of thing on loop for 37 hours with zero hesitation.

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"Looking good ♥"

Riley H.

_{... Or Hattie, it's not that big of a deal}

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"Bruh, traffic downtown has NEVER been this good."

[ 16 | 5' 7"/170 cm | Mostly Black | He/Him | 136 lbs/62 kg ]

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APPEARANCE

"Shit, man. I like what I like."

Riley is a lithe, lightly tan-skinned teenager with well maintained, midnight black locs that reach anywhere from shoulder length to halfway down his back, often further braided or kept in messy buns in an effort to keep his eyes clear. His body is of a build that exists somewhere between muscular and lanky-- he would call it 'otter mode'-- still, he is naturally very thin, despite his muscle he is rather unassuming. His face is a perfect blend of his father and his mother; with caramel skin, freckles, and smouldering hazel-green eyes coming from his mother, contrasted with full lips, a prominent nose, and 4C hair directly from his father. Many have described him as being somewhat feminine in appearance, while this happens less frequently as he's gets older, people mistook him for a girl regularly when he was little and his mother's 'soft' features were more prominent. Hoping to fix this somewhat, and not get rid of his hair, he he's been hoping to grow some facial hair. Right now, sadly, to no avail.

As far as fashion goes, he is most easily described as a 'punk.' However, he tends to not get too extravagant with it, dressing as plainly as possible. Go-to options include plain black or white T-shirts, sleeves rolled up or outright cut off-- stolen, of course, black jeans, slim and long, heavily thrifted and usually only kept together by his skill with a needle and thread, and an incredibly reliable pair of doc martin boots he's had since middle school, skidded up to hell and back. While those are interchangeable, his two staple articles of clothing include a black, military-style hat, and more recently an oversized leather jacket.

Both items are unique to him in that, at any time he'll have sewn multiple patches on, or attached any variety of buttons-- any color in his fashion comes from these. The jacket has been particularly altered to have increased functionality. Notable, among various patches and buttons for local bands or revolutionary slogans, is a personally constructed recreation of the Black Panther Party logo made against the black leather using white thread and floss, and a fairly large black crow, with a thorny red rose held in it's beak, a design of his own creation, made using similar methods and homemade dyes. The jacket, while newer, shows signs of wear from how frequently it is worn-- it it's not worn directly on his body, he's got it wrapped around his waist. The hat is also clearly worn, from being near constantly used for over 5 years, were it not for the alterations, the thing would have fallen apart.

The only other physical aspects of note are a chipped canine tooth from an incident post-mist, and nose and ear piercings as well as small tattoos on his lower legs, not professionally done, certainly not approved of by his father.

PSYCHOLOGY

"Psych wasn't really my subject, man."

MAIN GOAL ★ He wants to do whatever he can to help keep everyone alive and protect the people he cares about. To see his mother and her side of the family again. To see his friends again. He just met Maya, but it would kill him if anything happened to her. He even wants see his father's side of the family in deadass nowhere Georgia again.

PHILOSOPHY ★ Riley believes, perhaps too optimistically, that people can organize to get through this. That everyone has things they want to protect, things they've lost-- by working together and organizing, things can be better for everyone.

SECRETS ★ Self-done tattoos from his father. He picks up on things his father and most adults may think he doesn't. His drug and alcohol use-- you guessed it, from his father.

SEXUALITY ★ Heterosexual. Though, his talks with Maya have made him think on it.

FEARS ★ Being a hindrance. Failing to protect or help anyone.

QUIRKS ★ Jokes when nervous. Almost never seen without a hat-- hence, 'Hattie.'

FLAWS ★ Questioning authority, while useful, does have its drawbacks-- for Riley, this borders on fanatic rejection of almost any authority figure. Can fall into flights of idealism. Him being quick on the uptake leads to over confidence, combined with his age and general inexperience-- this can lead to a lot of failures for him. He hasn't fully developed many of his skills and talents due to both to that youthful inexperience and his general slacker-like nature.

BACKSTORY

"My old truancy officer had a right hook from Satan himself, I bet he could take on these demons. But y'all ain't ready for that take yet."

Riley's father wasn't always a hotshot celebrity therapist able to afford a comfortable life for him and his son. No, before Riley was born, Doctor Lacey was actually a student at UCLA-- in his 40's, the man clearly stuck out from his peers, but more than his age-- his fierce dedication to earning himself a doctorate, while getting practically no sleep as he worked to keep his lights on while doing so, earned the attention of many of his professors. One in particular, a sociology professor interested in the vet who wanted to help his fellow soldiers suffering from PTSD, took a very keen interest. One thing led to another-- and the affair became a full on relationship-- following the spark of love, came a baby, then came marriage.

The first years of Riley's life were relatively normal. His mother and father loved him, and he loved them back. He was a precocious child, gifted in many ways, some may say-- with as much of a talent for learning as his father and just as kind and passionate about causes as his mother. As he grew though, his parents had less and less time for him-- his father graduating and going on to throw himself in his work, "saving the soldiers" as he would call it, and his mother became tenured leaving her even less time with the family. This bothered him at first-- but he learned to live with it-- supplementing the lack of affection with his extended family and friends he could do stupid things with.

The divorce between the parents was amicable, sparked by his mother accepting a position halfway across the country at some ivy league school and his father growing his firm fully dedicated to helping vets and PTSD sufferers, requiring him to take on high profile clients and celebrities to supplement the lack of income from some of the poorer vets and homeless clients his office would help. They both were further engrossed in their work-- his father made sure Riley knew not to blame himself. Instead, Riley came to blame the system that made things this way, one should be able to help people while still living in the moment, enjoying life for themselves-- this reading of the situation would strongly influence the person he would become in the following years.

While initially the parents wanted some flavor of joint custody-- the two agreed it would be better for Riley to spend more time in California, with his friends. Every other summer he would visit his his mother, who, to her credit, would have ample time for him since school was out. His time spent with his father, however? It wasn't really time spent with him-- Riley had been fairly self-sufficient from a young age due to how much his parents worked, but after the divorce Riley almost never saw his father unless he was passing out from work, or grabbing a coffee before heading in. Riley spent most of this time out with his friends, going to concerts, drinking or smoking, or otherwise doing some 'delinquent hood shit' as he would call it. His interactions with his father came in doing little thing, like preparing meals for him, doing his laundry, or otherwise taking care of him in some way. The nature of their relationship, to Riley, at least, was less that of a father/son and more like two roommates taking care of each other, which Riley actually liked quite a bit. The only time his father ever chastised Riley was when he got his piercings, and even then, it was mostly light chiding due to how tired the older man was.

From the day he got his permit on, Riley was picking up and dropping off his father at work. In fact, that's what he was doing when the mist came. His father was with some producer lady-- things were so bad she got in the car with them. And they've been together ever since.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Is crushing mad poon a talent?"

[Naturally talented driver] ★ Riley was first put behind the wheel, at his own insistence, as early as 13-- while his father and mother couldn't always make the time to give him lessons, he took the few he got in stride. Easily earning his learner's permit at 15. He became his father's personal chauffeur, as well as the designated driver for many of his friends. His driving can be characterized as very defensive and fluid, capable of maneuvering quickly in cumbersome vehicles. He's been driving regularly for a little over a year now, and this is easily his most developed skill.

[Decent cook] ★ In growing up the way he did, he had to learn how to make meals for himself very early on-- later even doing most of the household shopping by himself. As such, he can whip up tasty meals with little fuss. Though, he tends to focus more on taste than nutritional value in his meals.

[Amateur mechanic] ★ He has some idea of the fundamentals for repairing motor vehicles and doesn't mind getting dirty under the hood. One summer, he and his friends fixed up a moped purely out of boredom. There's some overlap there, but it's mostly apples to oranges. And his self-taught patchwork repairs are no substitute for an actual trained professional.

[Sewing] ★ A skill learned from his time with the crusty kids. So long as he's got a needle-- he can perform basic alterations, repair most rips and tears, and sew in fairly professional looking patterns.

[Physically active] ★ You skip classes to smoke some pot with your friends enough times, and you'll run into trouble with the law. Luckily, Riley is physically active and fairly quick on his feet.

[Excellent eyesight] ★ This is inherited directly from his father who also had a marksman's eyes when he was young. Riley doesn't have the training or practice his father did, that made the man capable enough that he could have been a sniper with the rangers-- but the boy's sharp eyesight does help in various ways. Since the mist, he's grown accustomed to driving at night without lights on and has good enough visual acuity that he can notice things far in the distance before others.

[Misc. Skills] ★ Riley, in addition to his more practical skills and talents, does have a few situational skills he brings to the table; Notably, he is a talented artist, with an eye for graffiti and design. Another skill picked up from the older punks is DIY tattooing and piercings-- currently he's limited by only knowing how to make black ink, as well as using a held sterile needle instead of a gun. His designs for tattoos need to be simple and small as a result of this, but he has a few permanent reminders on his body that he does know what he's doing. Hairdressing is another talent of his, maintaining his locs is something his extended family taught him when he was very young, and he currently serves as his father's barber. In the time before the mist, Riley was good enough at shoplifting to either not get caught, or at least be in a good enough of a position to run away from security when he did. Lastly, while not an official skill with much use in combat, Riley was decent at a game he and his friends used to play, in which they would get high stab at each other's hands with knives. Usually switchblades-- his is currently held by Maya, though.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"I guess I really got in my bag... Ugh, I'm sorry."

[2017 Cadillac SUV] ★ This is, for all intents and purposes, Riley's car. It's his baby, and the overuse and strain it's seen since all of this started is killing him. He can give basic repairs-- but it's giving out soon-- he's good enough to at least diagnose the various issues, and repairs he can't make. He'll be sad when it finally goes. It's terrible what's happening, sure, but the freedom he's had on the road since this all began is something he could only dream of before. Inside the car he keeps a few cans of food, some spices, two changes of clothes, and some cleaning/hygiene or keeping the clothes and himself from smelling too bad.

[Bags] ★ Both black, with one clearly designed for students, and the other travel. The big one contains 4 rolls of duck-tape, a roll of toilet paper, a multi-tool, sharpies, pens, and a notepad, needles and thread, a tube for siphoning gas, a length of wire, two bottles of water, assorted spice packs from ramen and sauce packets from entirely too many fast food places, as well as silverware both metal and plastic, a nearly empty travel container of hand sanitizer-- and a well read book of poetry. The smaller, is less filled, it's got more pills than Riley would care to mention-- he was always a weed person before all this, so he doesn't really use them to get high while scavenging or driving-- but they do reliably help him get to sleep. He's holding the bag for Maya because he's worried she may just OD if she had it to herself.

[Leather jacket] ★ Cumbersome in the desert sun, perhaps. But this jacket is invaluable for keeping warm at night. It's a sturdy enough leather to keep you protected from scrapes and cuts when you fall, and he has further altered it to include many more pockets in the interior than it originally had, allowing him to keep all kinds of things on his person. They range from things like an adjustable wrench and lighters to his car keys and his phone and charger, he's even got some candy and a few emergency joints squirreled away.

OTHER

"I only like Death Grips ironically."

A few songs from a typical Hattie playlist:

Probably with a name like 'Fuck the man'

Doc Lacey

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"I'll say this much-- we weren't trained for this in basic."

[ 59 | 6'/183 cm | Black | He/Him | 230 lbs/104 kg ]

APPEARANCE

"I uhh... I make due."

Tom Lacey, quite obviously from his graying hair and the chocolate tone of his skin, is a bit of an unassuming older black man. He's very much got a bit of an "average" face, mostly unremarkable, save for his near-sight alleviating glasses and a well maintained salt and pepper beard. Physically, he's a bit pudgy, most noticeably the beginnings of a small gut-- (very much a 'dad bod' as his son would say), though his arms and legs still posses muscle from his time in the armed forces. He's bespectacled, he's balding, and despite this, he could pass as younger than middle aged, were it not for the tired gleam one can clearly see from his eyes. Years spent working in exhausting jobs or studying so that he can work, compromising to build up something he truly believed in, only to have it all come crumbling down-- have taken a toll on the youthful glow that runs in his family.

Perhaps as a result of all of his friends who aren't vets being teachers-- Tom dresses like a bit of a college professor. He wears thin sweaters with shoulder pads over button down shirts, slacks or khakis, patterned socks, and some flavor of pleather loafer. Though, since the mist, he tends to forgo layers, either wearing only the button down or the sweater. He favors dark, neutral colors, dark beige, brown, navy, olive and the like-- with white being the only exception. It is very rare for his tops to have any kind of design, he likes monochrome simplicity. Since beginning to traverse the desert regularly, he dons whatever brimmed hat he can find to protect against the sun. The man does have more than a few scars from his time in active duty, though, he keeps these hidden with his clothes-- his most revealing display is rolling up the sleeves of his button-down or sweater, to which a few scars may be visible. He doesn't like talking about them.

Like any esteemed older gentleman, he goes absolutely crazy for sweater vests and Hawaiian shirts.

PSYCHOLOGY

"This is kind of my thing."

MAIN GOAL Achieving stability.

PHILOSOPHY After losing everything he'd worked years to achieve, Tom focuses less on protecting the world, or broad concepts like that. He can work with individuals-- that, he understands. Right now, the individuals are his son, and one of his former patients. He would sooner die than see any harm come to them.

SECRETS He keeps much of what he has seen in the service a secret. He is fairly tight lipped about the time between being discharged and earning his doctorate.

SEXUALITY Heterosexual.

FEARS Failing.

QUIRKS PTSD.

FLAWS He doesn't like talking about himself, which he knows means some people will be less likely to trust him. He tends to apply therapeutic solutions to more problems that it may apply to. He doesn't practice what he preaches all the time when it comes to his therapy, as he hasn't particularly worked through many of his issues and trauma. Can act impulsively when people he's invested in are threatened.

BACKSTORY

"There are some wounds that don't heal."

What Riley knows of his father is only half the story.

Tom Lacey was born some decades ago to a large but poor family in a small rural town in southern Georgia. His childhood was relatively normal-- he was known for being bright as he grew up and took to his studies with a vigor his siblings and cousins couldn't replicate. He was certainly a citizen of the times and his location, and saw some unsavory attitudes and actions committed by those who saw him as lesser simply because of the shade of his skin. But he was happy, and he still believed in the American Dream in spite of this. So, logically, once he graduated from high school, believing further academia wasn't an option for him, he joined the Army.

His results from the ASVAB, as well as his natural talent with various training meant he has his pick of jobs-- many times it was mentioned he could have excelled as a special operative, or ranger-- his incredible eyesight and aptitude for marksmanship made him a natural candidate. But he always had his eyesight set on the medical path-- his argument was that there was no point in being good at killing, if there was no one there to help you when you got shot at. And shot at he did get. The death and suffering he witnessed during his years in service have left him with scars he might never recover from. It's not that he doesn't believe in the country, or even the Army anymore. So much that, he saw it's effect on people, in particular his brother and sisters first hand.

Coming back home, he found himself unable to reintegrate into civilian life. At first his family was supportive, but with time even they grew cold, not knowing what they could do to help him. Eventually, he made like Otis Redding, and left Georgia to move in with a unit member of his in San Francisco. There he stayed for years, spending much of his time with his new roommate drunk, or high, wasting time and his body. It wasn't until his roommate died from an OD-- something he hadn't considered could happen outside of the shit-- that he got his act together. With a bit of help from the VA, he got himself in school-- starting with an associates from community college, he worked his way up to earning a doctorate. Just like he thought when he first became a medic, he wanted to support the soldiers who made it home-- mentally now, not physically.

A few years later-- add in an affair or two, a kid, a marriage, and an office of therapists that rely on him for support and guidance-- and you've got the overworked mess that is Tom Lacey. At least, you did until everything went to hell, and he was in the shit all over again.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Everyone brings something to the table."

[Licensed therapist] Tom is more than familiar with the horrors of combat and the traumatic specter of PTSD. As a therapist, he specialized in helping his patients work through trauma, though his talk therapy can be used to work through many issues.

[Combat medic] Tom blew the ASVAB away, as well as his AIT, excelling as a combat medic with his unit. Firing a weapon was a weak point for him, but he was always willing to rush into the line of fire to save his brothers and sisters (earning him more than a few scars and brushes with death). His specialty was stabilizing wounds while under fire and under-supplied.

[Old soldier] At the end of the day, despite it being decades ago, Tom was a soldier, a notable enough infantry medic that he could have gone on to special ops if he wanted. While his body is no longer in it's prime, and he doesn't remember everything. Some things stuck with him like muscle memory.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"You know how it is, with the back and all."

[2017 Cadillac SUV] Not the navigator or repairmen, and certainly not the driver, (he's had his fill, thanks) Tom is the group's lookout, often sleeping during drives and staying up whenever the other two park to get some sleep. If his son wants to handle the driving-- he figures it only benefits them all, and he's glad he got this overpriced ride for that alone. He's not the pack mule he once was, and hasn't really taken to scavenging like his son has, and such keeps pretty much all of his gear in the car. This is mostly clothes, he has the second most changes of clothes of the three of them, though this is still only about a third of Maya's supply. Aside from that, he has his own hygiene products, and has socked away a few rolls of toilet paper and some food from the communal supply for his own use.

[Sturdy pipes] Near the beginning-- Tom and co. were riding through what seemed like abandoned suburbs, looking for others. Eventually Maya and Riley went to look for anything useful, while Tom kept back, He picked up two thick copper, oxidizing green from their time spent without use, from a nearby construction site as he kept his eyes on the road. Giving them a few test swings in the air, he noticed a figure skulking toward the building Maya and Riley were in-- he stopped himself from excitedly calling out when he noticed the gun the figure was holding. Not caring to see what might happen next, he acted on fatherly instinct and old soldier's training-- coming up from behind and subduing the man, despite the risks. By the time the other two came back from their sweep-- the trio had a great lesson about taking more precautions in this brave, new world. They haven't left his side since that incident, when not holding them, he keeps them tucked between his belt and pants. The pipes screw into one another, allowing them to serve as twin bats, or a single spear if Tom wishes-- Riley filed down one of the ends to increase lethality as a spear.

[1911 .45 Pistol] The trio unanimously decided Tom should be the one to hold on to the pistol. He had been particularly fond of gun play in the Army, but he was the only one with actual training. The pistol is all black, and visibly old. Tom has done what he can to maintain it since acquiring it, but an old gun is still an old gun. The magazine had 5 bullets left when they first got it, and since then, Tom has only needed to fire the gun once. Typically it is kept in the glove box if he's near the car, since he doesn't care for having it on him without a holster.

OTHER

"Trauma responses are natural. But remember, we don't have to let them live our lives for us."

The good doctor's favorite artist is Prince (RIP). But he's also fond of Bowie, Janis Joplin, and Deep Purple when winding down. He has a real weakness for 'Dad Rock' and crime dramas.

I Remain: Desolation (A Zombie apocalypse RP without the zombies!)

And here's these two. I need a drink.

Doc Lacey

╚══════════════╝

"I'll say this much-- we weren't trained for this in basic."

[ 59 | 6'/183 cm | Black | He/Him | 230 lbs/104 kg ]

APPEARANCE

"I uhh... I make due."

Tom Lacey, quite obviously from his graying hair and the chocolate tone of his skin, is a bit of an unassuming older black man. He's very much got a bit of an "average" face, mostly unremarkable, save for his near-sight alleviating glasses and a well maintained salt and pepper beard. Physically, he's a bit pudgy, most noticeably the beginnings of a small gut-- (very much a 'dad bod' as his son would say), though his arms and legs still posses muscle from his time in the armed forces. He's bespectacled, he's balding, and despite this, he could pass as younger than middle aged, were it not for the tired gleam one can clearly see from his eyes. Years spent working in exhausting jobs or studying so that he can work, compromising to build up something he truly believed in, only to have it all come crumbling down-- have taken a toll on the youthful glow that runs in his family.

Perhaps as a result of all of his friends who aren't vets being teachers-- Tom dresses like a bit of a college professor. He wears thin sweaters with shoulder pads over button down shirts, slacks or khakis, patterned socks, and some flavor of pleather loafer. Though, since the mist, he tends to forgo layers, either wearing only the button down or the sweater. He favors dark, neutral colors, dark beige, brown, navy, olive and the like-- with white being the only exception. It is very rare for his tops to have any kind of design, he likes monochrome simplicity. Since beginning to traverse the desert regularly, he dons whatever brimmed hat he can find to protect against the sun. The man does have more than a few scars from his time in active duty, though, he keeps these hidden with his clothes-- his most revealing display is rolling up the sleeves of his button-down or sweater, to which a few scars may be visible. He doesn't like talking about them.

Like any esteemed older gentleman, he goes absolutely crazy for sweater vests and Hawaiian shirts.

PSYCHOLOGY

"This is kind of my thing."

MAIN GOAL Achieving stability.

PHILOSOPHY After losing everything he'd worked years to achieve, Tom focuses less on protecting the world, or broad concepts like that. He can work with individuals-- that, he understands. Right now, the individuals are his son, and one of his former patients. He would sooner die than see any harm come to them.

SECRETS He keeps much of what he has seen in the service a secret. He is fairly tight lipped about the time between being discharged and earning his doctorate.

SEXUALITY Heterosexual.

FEARS Failing.

QUIRKS PTSD.

FLAWS He doesn't like talking about himself, which he knows means some people will be less likely to trust him. He tends to apply therapeutic solutions to more problems that it may apply to. He doesn't practice what he preaches all the time when it comes to his therapy, as he hasn't particularly worked through many of his issues and trauma. Can act impulsively when people he's invested in are threatened.

BACKSTORY

"There are some wounds that don't heal."

What Riley knows of his father is only half the story.

Tom Lacey was born some decades ago to a large but poor family in a small rural town in southern Georgia. His childhood was relatively normal-- he was known for being bright as he grew up and took to his studies with a vigor his siblings and cousins couldn't replicate. He was certainly a citizen of the times and his location, and saw some unsavory attitudes and actions committed by those who saw him as lesser simply because of the shade of his skin. But he was happy, and he still believed in the American Dream in spite of this. So, logically, once he graduated from high school, believing further academia wasn't an option for him, he joined the Army.

His results from the ASVAB, as well as his natural talent with various training meant he has his pick of jobs-- many times it was mentioned he could have excelled as a special operative, or ranger-- his incredible eyesight and aptitude for marksmanship made him a natural candidate. But he always had his eyesight set on the medical path-- his argument was that there was no point in being good at killing, if there was no one there to help you when you got shot at. And shot at he did get. The death and suffering he witnessed during his years in service have left him with scars he might never recover from. It's not that he doesn't believe in the country, or even the Army anymore. So much that, he saw it's effect on people, in particular his brother and sisters first hand.

Coming back home, he found himself unable to reintegrate into civilian life. At first his family was supportive, but with time even they grew cold, not knowing what they could do to help him. Eventually, he made like Otis Redding, and left Georgia to move in with a unit member of his in San Francisco. There he stayed for years, spending much of his time with his new roommate drunk, or high, wasting time and his body. It wasn't until his roommate died from an OD-- something he hadn't considered could happen outside of the shit-- that he got his act together. With a bit of help from the VA, he got himself in school-- starting with an associates from community college, he worked his way up to earning a doctorate. Just like he thought when he first became a medic, he wanted to support the soldiers who made it home-- mentally now, not physically.

A few years later-- add in an affair or two, a kid, a marriage, and an office of therapists that rely on him for support and guidance-- and you've got the overworked mess that is Tom Lacey. At least, you did until everything went to hell, and he was in the shit all over again.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Everyone brings something to the table."

[Licensed therapist] Tom is more than familiar with the horrors of combat and the traumatic specter of PTSD. As a therapist, he specialized in helping his patients work through trauma, though his talk therapy can be used to work through many issues.

[Combat medic] Tom blew the ASVAB away, as well as his AIT, excelling as a combat medic with his unit. Firing a weapon was a weak point for him, but he was always willing to rush into the line of fire to save his brothers and sisters (earning him more than a few scars and brushes with death). His specialty was stabilizing wounds while under fire and under-supplied.

[Old soldier] At the end of the day, despite it being decades ago, Tom was a soldier, a notable enough infantry medic that he could have gone on to special ops if he wanted. While his body is no longer in it's prime, and he doesn't remember everything. Some things stuck with him like muscle memory.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"You know how it is, with the back and all."

[2017 Cadillac SUV] Not the navigator or repairmen, and certainly not the driver, (he's had his fill, thanks) Tom is the group's lookout, often sleeping during drives and staying up whenever the other two park to get some sleep. If his son wants to handle the driving-- he figures it only benefits them all, and he's glad he got this overpriced ride for that alone. He's not the pack mule he once was, and hasn't really taken to scavenging like his son has, and such keeps pretty much all of his gear in the car. This is mostly clothes, he has the second most changes of clothes of the three of them, though this is still only about a third of Maya's supply. Aside from that, he has his own hygiene products, and has socked away a few rolls of toilet paper and some food from the communal supply for his own use.

[Sturdy pipes] Near the beginning-- Tom and co. were riding through what seemed like abandoned suburbs, looking for others. Eventually Maya and Riley went to look for anything useful, while Tom kept back, He picked up two thick copper, oxidizing green from their time spent without use, from a nearby construction site as he kept his eyes on the road. Giving them a few test swings in the air, he noticed a figure skulking toward the building Maya and Riley were in-- he stopped himself from excitedly calling out when he noticed the gun the figure was holding. Not caring to see what might happen next, he acted on fatherly instinct and old soldier's training-- coming up from behind and subduing the man, despite the risks. By the time the other two came back from their sweep-- the trio had a great lesson about taking more precautions in this brave, new world. They haven't left his side since that incident, when not holding them, he keeps them tucked between his belt and pants. The pipes screw into one another, allowing them to serve as twin bats, or a single spear if Tom wishes-- Riley filed down one of the ends to increase lethality as a spear.

[1911 .45 Pistol] The trio unanimously decided Tom should be the one to hold on to the pistol. He had been particularly fond of gun play in the Army, but he was the only one with actual training. The pistol is all black, and visibly old. Tom has done what he can to maintain it since acquiring it, but an old gun is still an old gun. The magazine had 5 bullets left when they first got it, and since then, Tom has only needed to fire the gun once. Typically it is kept in the glove box if he's near the car, since he doesn't care for having it on him without a holster.

OTHER

"Trauma responses are natural. But remember, we don't have to let them live our lives or us."

The good doctor's favorite artist is Prince (RIP). But he's also fond of Bowie, Janis Joplin, and Deep Purple when winding down. He has a real weakness for 'Dad Rock' and crime dramas.

Riley H.

_{... Or Hattie, it's not that big of a deal}

╚═══════★═══════╝

"Bruh, traffic downtown has NEVER been this good."

[ 16 | 5' 7"/170 cm | Mostly Black | He/Him | 136 lbs/62 kg ]

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APPEARANCE

"Shit, man. I like what I like."

Riley is a lithe, lightly tan-skinned teenager with well maintained, midnight black locs that reach anywhere from shoulder length to halfway down his back, often further braided or kept in messy buns in an effort to keep his eyes clear. His body is of a build that exists somewhere between muscular and lanky-- he would call it 'otter mode'-- still, he is naturally very thin, despite his muscle he is rather unassuming. His face is a perfect blend of his father and his mother; with caramel skin, freckles, and smouldering hazel-green eyes coming from his mother, contrasted with full lips, a prominent nose, and 4C hair directly from his father. Many have described him as being somewhat feminine in appearance, while this happens less frequently as he's gets older, people mistook him for a girl regularly when he was little and his mother's 'soft' features were more prominent. Hoping to fix this somewhat, and not get rid of his hair, he he's been hoping to grow some facial hair. Right now, sadly, to no avail.

As far as fashion goes, he is most easily described as a 'punk.' However, he tends to not get too extravagant with it, dressing as plainly as possible. Go-to options include plain black or white T-shirts, sleeves rolled up or outright cut off-- stolen, of course, black jeans, slim and long, heavily thrifted and usually only kept together by his skill with a needle and thread, and an incredibly reliable pair of doc martin boots he's had since middle school, skidded up to hell and back. While those are interchangeable, his two staple articles of clothing include a black, military-style hat, and more recently an oversized leather jacket.

Both items are unique to him in that, at any time he'll have sewn multiple patches on, or attached any variety of buttons-- any color in his fashion comes from these. The jacket has been particularly altered to have increased functionality. Notable, among various patches and buttons for local bands or revolutionary slogans, is a personally constructed recreation of the Black Panther Party logo made against the black leather using white thread and floss, and a fairly large black crow, with a thorny red rose held in it's beak, a design of his own creation, made using similar methods and homemade dyes. The jacket, while newer, shows signs of wear from how frequently it is worn-- it it's not worn directly on his body, he's got it wrapped around his waist. The hat is also clearly worn, from being near constantly used for over 5 years, were it not for the alterations, the thing would have fallen apart.

The only other physical aspects of note are a chipped canine tooth from an incident post-mist, and nose and ear piercings as well as small tattoos on his lower legs, not professionally done, certainly not approved of by his father.

PSYCHOLOGY

"Psych wasn't really my subject, man."

MAIN GOAL ★ He wants to do whatever he can to help keep everyone alive and protect the people he cares about. To see his mother and her side of the family again. To see his friends again. He just met Maya, but it would kill him if anything happened to her. He even wants see his father's side of the family in deadass nowhere Georgia again.

PHILOSOPHY ★ Riley believes, perhaps too optimistically, that people can organize to get through this. That everyone has things they want to protect, things they've lost-- by working together and organizing, things can be better for everyone.

SECRETS ★ Self-done tattoos from his father. He picks up on things his father and most adults may think he doesn't. His drug and alcohol use-- you guessed it, from his father.

SEXUALITY ★ Heterosexual. Though, his talks with Maya have made him think on it.

FEARS ★ Being a hindrance. Failing to protect or help anyone.

QUIRKS ★ Jokes when nervous. Almost never seen without a hat-- hence, 'Hattie.'

FLAWS ★ Questioning authority, while useful, does have its drawbacks-- for Riley, this borders on fanatic rejection of almost any authority figure. Can fall into flights of idealism. Him being quick on the uptake leads to over confidence, combined with his age and general inexperience-- this can lead to a lot of failures for him. He hasn't fully developed many of his skills and talents due to both to that youthful inexperience and his general slacker-like nature.

BACKSTORY

"My old truancy officer had a right hook from Satan himself, I bet he could take on these demons. But y'all ain't ready for that take yet."

Riley's father wasn't always a hotshot celebrity therapist able to afford a comfortable life for him and his son. No, before Riley was born, Doctor Lacey was actually a student at UCLA-- in his 40's, the man clearly stuck out from his peers, but more than his age-- his fierce dedication to earning himself a doctorate, while getting practically no sleep as he worked to keep his lights on while doing so, earned the attention of many of his professors. One in particular, a sociology professor interested in the vet who wanted to help his fellow soldiers suffering from PTSD, took a very keen interest. One thing led to another-- and the affair became a full on relationship-- following the spark of love, came a baby, then came marriage.

The first years of Riley's life were relatively normal. His mother and father loved him, and he loved them back. He was a precocious child, gifted in many ways, some may say-- with as much of a talent for learning as his father and just as kind and passionate about causes as his mother. As he grew though, his parents had less and less time for him-- his father graduating and going on to throw himself in his work, "saving the soldiers" as he would call it, and his mother became tenured leaving her even less time with the family. This bothered him at first-- but he learned to live with it-- supplementing the lack of affection with his extended family and friends he could do stupid things with.

The divorce between the parents was amicable, sparked by his mother accepting a position halfway across the country at some ivy league school and his father growing his firm fully dedicated to helping vets and PTSD sufferers, requiring him to take on high profile clients and celebrities to supplement the lack of income from some of the poorer vets and homeless clients his office would help. They both were further engrossed in their work-- his father made sure Riley knew not to blame himself. Instead, Riley came to blame the system that made things this way, one should be able to help people while still living in the moment, enjoying life for themselves-- this reading of the situation would strongly influence the person he would become in the following years.

While initially the parents wanted some flavor of joint custody-- the two agreed it would be better for Riley to spend more time in California, with his friends. Every other summer he would visit his his mother, who, to her credit, would have ample time for him since school was out. His time spent with his father, however? It wasn't really time spent with him-- Riley had been fairly self-sufficient from a young age due to how much his parents worked, but after the divorce Riley almost never saw his father unless he was passing out from work, or grabbing a coffee before heading in. Riley spent most of this time out with his friends, going to concerts, drinking or smoking, or otherwise doing some 'delinquent hood shit' as he would call it. His interactions with his father came in doing little thing, like preparing meals for him, doing his laundry, or otherwise taking care of him in some way. The nature of their relationship, to Riley, at least, was less that of a father/son and more like two roommates taking care of each other, which Riley actually liked quite a bit. The only time his father ever chastised Riley was when he got his piercings, and even then, it was mostly light chiding due to how tired the older man was.

From the day he got his permit on, Riley was picking up and dropping off his father at work. In fact, that's what he was doing when the mist came. His father was with some producer lady-- things were so bad she got in the car with them. And they've been together ever since.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Is crushing mad poon a talent?"

[Naturally talented driver] ★ Riley was first put behind the wheel, at his own insistence, as early as 13-- while his father and mother couldn't always make the time to give him lessons, he took the few he got in stride. Easily earning his learner's permit at 15. He became his father's personal chauffeur, as well as the designated driver for many of his friends. His driving can be characterized as very defensive and fluid, capable of maneuvering quickly in cumbersome vehicles. He's been driving regularly for a little over a year now, and this is easily his most developed skill.

[Decent cook] ★ In growing up the way he did, he had to learn how to make meals for himself very early on-- later even doing most of the household shopping by himself. As such, he can whip up tasty meals with little fuss. Though, he tends to focus more on taste than nutritional value in his meals.

[Amateur mechanic] ★ He has some idea of the fundamentals for repairing motor vehicles and doesn't mind getting dirty under the hood. One summer, he and his friends fixed up a moped purely out of boredom. There's some overlap there, but it's mostly apples to oranges. And his self-taught patchwork repairs are no substitute for an actual trained professional.

[Sewing] ★ A skill learned from his time with the crusty kids. So long as he's got a needle-- he can perform basic alterations, repair most rips and tears, and sew in fairly professional looking patterns.

[Physically active] ★ You skip classes to smoke some pot with your friends enough times, and you'll run into trouble with the law. Luckily, Riley is physically active and fairly quick on his feet.

[Excellent eyesight] ★ This is inherited directly from his father who also had a marksman's eyes when he was young. Riley doesn't have the training or practice his father did, that made the man capable enough that he could have been a sniper with the rangers-- but the boy's sharp eyesight does help in various ways. Since the mist, he's grown accustomed to driving at night without lights on and has good enough visual acuity that he can notice things far in the distance before others.

[Misc. Skills] ★ Riley, in addition to his more practical skills and talents, does have a few situational skills he brings to the table; Notably, he is a talented artist, with an eye for graffiti and design. Another skill picked up from the older punks is DIY tattooing and piercings-- currently he's limited by only knowing how to make black ink, as well as using a held sterile needle instead of a gun. His designs for tattoos need to be simple and small as a result of this, but he has a few permanent reminders on his body that he does know what he's doing. Hairdressing is another talent of his, maintaining his locs is something his extended family taught him when he was very young, and he currently serves as his father's barber. In the time before the mist, Riley was good enough at shoplifting to either not get caught, or at least be in a good enough of a position to run away from security when he did. Lastly, while not an official skill with much use in combat, Riley was decent at a game he and his friends used to play, in which they would get high stab at each other's hands with knives. Usually switchblades-- his is currently held by Maya, though.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"I guess I really got in my bag... Ugh, I'm sorry."

[2017 Cadillac SUV] ★ This is, for all intents and purposes, Riley's car. It's his baby, and the overuse and strain it's seen since all of this started is killing him. He can give basic repairs-- but it's giving out soon-- he's good enough to at least diagnose the various issues, and repairs he can't make. He'll be sad when it finally goes. It's terrible what's happening, sure, but the freedom he's had on the road since this all began is something he could only dream of before. Inside the car he keeps a few cans of food, some spices, two changes of clothes, and some cleaning/hygiene or keeping the clothes and himself from smelling too bad.

[Bags] ★ Both black, with one clearly designed for students, and the other travel. The big one contains 4 rolls of duck-tape, a roll of toilet paper, a multi-tool, sharpies, pens, and a notepad, needles and thread, a tube for siphoning gas, a length of wire, two bottles of water, assorted spice packs from ramen and sauce packets from entirely too many fast food places, as well as silverware both metal and plastic, a nearly empty travel container of hand sanitizer-- and a well read book of poetry. The smaller, is less filled, it's got more pills than Riley would care to mention-- he was always a weed person before all this, so he doesn't really use them to get high while scavenging or driving-- but they do reliably help him get to sleep. He's holding the bag for Maya because he's worried she may just OD if she had it to herself.

[Leather jacket] ★ Cumbersome in the desert sun, perhaps. But this jacket is invaluable for keeping warm at night. It's a sturdy enough leather to keep you protected from scrapes and cuts when you fall, and he has further altered it to include many more pockets in the interior than it originally had, allowing him to keep all kinds of things on his person. They range from things like an adjustable wrench and lighters to his car keys and his phone and charger, he's even got some candy and a few emergency joints squirreled away.

OTHER

"I only like Death Grips ironically."

A few songs from a typical Hattie playlist:

Probably with a name like 'Fuck the man'

I Remain: Desolation (A Zombie apocalypse RP without the zombies!)

Is she hot? I hope so, to you. I think she's hot.

Anyway, here's Maya-- the therapist and son are getting their own sheets too, but I wanted to put her out there and see if you'd even accept her first. I'm late in getting this to you exclusively due to Animal Crossing.

Maya

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♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

"Man, maybe this is bad, but I don't really feel bad for the dead. Like... like I've always been seen as just a dumb, silly little slut right? But I'm still alive. And like, everyone who hated me couldn't even last a week? It's pretty funny... and I'm still ready-- like water for chocolate."

Basic Information

Name:

Birth name: Angel Evans

Legal name: Maya Isaacs

Alias(es): Maya D. Starless, Maya Libertine, Bloody Maria

Age: She's been turning '27' for... maybe the past 8 years, at this point?
Height: 5' 10"/1.77 m-- though she will insist she's actually just a healthy 5'8".
Weight: 110~ lbs/50~ kg. Her weight fluctuates pretty rapidly.
Race: Unclear. She knows her birth father was black and Puerto Rican,
so that's what she tells people. (Can't speak a lick of Spanish, though)
Pronouns: She/Her or They/Them, depending on her mood.
Though of course she's much less strict about these things now.
Horoscope (she cares about that kind of thing):

Sun: Scorpio

Moon: Aries

Rising: Capricorn

Text color: *#1E46A8*
Face claim: Indya Moore

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APPEARANCE

"No, I'm not a drag queen. And I oopandioopannaou-- sksksks!"

If asked to define herself with one word, Maya would use 'glamour.' It's certainly an apt descriptor, though it doesn't tell the full story.

Maya is a beautiful, feminine-if-somewhat androgynous young woman-- (though, not as young as she would like most people to believe)-- with curious and sensual doe-like and dark eyes, framed by a thick mane of flowing, curly obsidian hair (occasionally styled, often left to its own devices). Her eyes can draw one in and her face will keep you looking. It's full of subtle regal qualities, unblemished skin (partially genetic, but also thanks to a high level of skill with makeup), and naturally flushed and plump lips.

She smiles-- or rather, smirks-- easily, those perceptive enough may notice that these smiles don't always extend to her eyes-- with those particularly perceptive noticing that her eyes often convey a certain melancholy, as well as a hunger. Perhaps it's lust? Her full lips are typically parted and dyed with some colorful variety of dark lipstick, contrasted against this Maya's honey mocha skin is maintained as flawlessly as the dawn-- the direct result of her very mixed ancestry, (of which she is only aware of her biological father's part) and, despite the apocalypse, makeup. Her eyebrows are regularly maintained and she spends more time than is responsible ensuring that none of the rare blemishes on her face can be seen. One of her (many) vices is makeup, obviously. She is particularly fond of concealer and lipstick.

Despite all of this, her face typically won't be the first thing that one notices about her. Due to being assigned male at birth, Maya naturally grew tall at a young age, by the time she had begun puberty blockers, she was well on her way to reaching the peak of her height already-- and while they did help in preventing her from reaching 6' +, she is still a fair bit taller than the average woman, especially with her hair. Aside from her height, she has a slight, unassuming, very skinny and willowy physical frame with practically no muscle, but curves in the right places-- she is very much medically underweight, and her lack of nutrition before and after the mist has not helped with this. Her bust is modest, nearly flat, and her figure could best be described as a "thin, fragile hourglass." She has no noticeable physical disfigurements, save for dark spots along her arms where needles have hit (and missed) veins and her nails, once kept manicured, have been reduced to chipped, bitten down nubs.

Before the mist, despite not having the money for it, she shared the sensibilities of many a wealthy fashionista and tended to wear clothing that looked good, but lacked in functionality. Now that the mist is here, she still struggles with dressing efficiently, she won't wear extravagant gowns when trying to avoid human contact, but she will still wear designer tops and bottoms over clothing better suited for running or getting dirty. Being able to loot for such expensive clothing has made this very easy for Maya.

PSYCHOLOGY

"What personality?"

MAIN GOAL ♥ To blow up, and act like they don't know nobody. Meme's aside-- this wasn't too far from the truth in the 'beforetimes.' She wanted fame before, mostly to fuel her own addiction to pleasure. Now? Fame has been tossed aside in full pursuit of pleasure and aponia. Put simply, Maya doesn't want to deal with those monsters, or anything that would cause her pain or stress or anything like that. She wants to be warm and comfortable at night, and high all waking hours. Aside from that, finding her father-- though she doesn't want to admit this to herself, because looking for him means accepting the possibility he may be dead.

PHILOSOPHY ♥ She is an unrepentant hedonist, moral nihilist, and proud libertine.

SECRETS ♥ Not much, honestly. The fact that she's trans? Loud and proud. Her various addictions? She practically flaunts them as proof that she's still sane. She isn't particularly proud of some of the things she's done before the mist to maintain relevancy and her way of life, nor does she like her relationship with the mental healthcare system or her various diagnoses. She's not fond of discussing her parents, biological or adoptive.

SEXUALITY ♥ Lesbian. But she's down for whatever.

FEARS ♥ The mist, obviously. Sobriety. She isn't particularly fond of bugs or rats, either.

QUIRKS ♥ She's compulsively been hoarding make-up and maintaining a made-up appearance to maintain a sense of normalcy. Most of the drugs she regularly partakes in (she's a bigger fan of hallucinogens and depressants than uppers), she isn't chemically dependent on (yet)-- it's purely mental. That being said, she does need liquor regularly or risk suffering withdrawals. On a more positive note-- she typically does really well with teenagers and children. While she may provide too high of a degree of freedom, she does genuinely care for them-- and may seem like a different person when interacting with them. She goes out of their way to help children in need, a trait inherited directly from her father.

FLAWS ♥ A refusal to fully apply herself. A lifetime of underachievement and unconditional support from her father has given her a bit of a complex, making her feel that even trying her best results in failure, so why try? The addictions and drinking can be a bit of a hindrance, of course. She exhibits many symptoms of borderline personality disorder, particularly in her risk taking, difficulty trusting, and rapidly fluctuating mood.

BACKSTORY

"A man who lies for a living is the most honest person I know. I think that's funny."

As far as the early stuff goes? Maya isn't exactly sure. She has the general outline, of course. She was born as Angel Evans, to a mother she'll never know, and a father who, at first at least, was well-meaning enough, but completely unprepared for a child. As time went on, her father became more distracted and neglectful, though she claims he was never outright abusive, her therapist may argue otherwise. She's forgotten most of this period, or otherwise buried it away. She remembers being in foster care for a few years, and that being so much worse. And she remembers things getting better, almost overnight, when she was adopted by a solidly B-list celebrity around the time she started high school.

She doesn't really know what happened to her birth father.

She has a much clearer memory of when she was adopted by her real father, very liberal, very gay icon Ricardo Isaacs, and onward. Moving from an Orange county poorhouse to the heart of Hollywood would make a strong impression on anyone. For Maya in particular, things clicked into place-- the excess, the parties, even the fake nature of everything made sense to her. It didn't matter that at this point she some mousy nobody in the body of a lanky boy. She could be whoever she wanted-- and so that's what she became.

Her transition, with puberty blockers, began around a year after moving in with who she would consider her true father (known to her alone, affectionately, as both Rico and Ricky). She was never a good student before, and going from the distractions of institutional poverty to the world through a lens of complete freedom didn't exactly help, but Rico getting her all the tutors she needed (as well as money making its way into certain hands to get her extra times, or failing grades accidentally marked higher)-- did help. When she expressed interest in music, Rico made that happen as well, giving her ample training from a young age, relative to when she was officially adopted-- enough so that she was able to earn a Masters of Fine Arts in Music Theory and Composition-- with financial assistance from Ricky, of course. Before the fall, she was an up and coming producer and song-writer, having worked with a few Billboard charting artists. It's very likely she's had writing credits on a few songs a fan of pop or pop-rap may have heard.

Her time at college was spent exploring her sexual identity (something she still loves exploring)-- and while she officially identifies as gay, she'll accept anyone as her play partner. Her openness and sexual liberation is something she directly inherited from Rico, himself very much a proponent for the open discussion and fostering of sexual relations. That being said, unaddressed insecurities developed during early childhood, combined with feelings of inadequacy due to feeling she never 'earned' anything, have left her a bit distrustful and unable to commit to much. She was in therapy for that before the fall, after much prodding from Ricky-- in fact, she was in the middle of a session before everything went belly-up. She's been traveling with her therapist and his son since then.

SKILLS & TALENTS

"Not to toot my own horn here, but I'm pretty good at...

...

blowing...

...

I'll go-- no, no-- it's fine, I'll leave."

[Kama Sutra expert] ♥ It's not a skill many would boast, but Maya dons this one and all of its implications and insults proudly. She is very adept at using her sexuality to get what she wants, as a weapon to some, as a means for negotiating on equal terms to others. Of course, there are many drawbacks in the world as it is, a lack of public services for treatment of STDs and those who would use violence to gain such things chief among them.

[Multi-instrumentalist] ♥ Right now, all she has is her voice. But Maya is a classically trained in many instruments, and informally or self-taught in many others. It'd be easier to list the few instruments she doesn't play. While she isn't trained in every style, she can recreate many songs she has heard within a day or two of hearing them.

[Decent actor] ♥ While she was never formally trained in classes, her adoptive father was a relatively famous actor before the fall, even moreso in his prime. A common night in with the two would involve watching one of his old Blaxpoitation movies, him explaining some of the techniques he'd use. The trick, he would often say, was making yourself believe the lie you we're telling everyone, before you even knew it. Her skill with make-up can often help sell whatever lie she's trying to sell, with a literal tailor made mask.

EQUIPMENT & GEAR

"*Drunk noises*"

[2017 Cadillac SUV] ♥ This car isn't hers-- technically it belongs to her therapist. Though, all driving, all siphoning of gas, and all maintenance (not much) is handled by his son. Maya, for her part, is an adequate navigator for night travel. Somehow, it's already on its last legs... But it's served as a reliable bed for a while now. Maya keeps several changes of clothes and a few other quality of life items in here.

[Chanel satchel] ♥ Somehow has less space inside than outside would imply. This is where she keeps pretty much all of her things that aren't clothes, which, isn't much.

[9" Italian Stiletto knife] ♥ This isn't hers-- it's on loan from her therapist's son, who wanted her to be protected. Maya has no idea how to use this efficiently-- she isn't particularly fond of violence, so her possessing this is almost entirely for show. That being said, it is very sharp and well maintained-- apparently (according to him) such a knife is illegal in the states, so however he got it, he takes good care of it.

[Make-up] ♥ At her current rate of use, Maya has about a month of concealer, eye liner, lipstick, and wet wipes in her satchel. A more than enough primer and nail polish to last at her current nervously reduced usage.

[Booze] ♥ A vodka girl. She keeps a flask on her person at all times. Her satchel has 3 Grey Goose minis, and a water bottle she is almost positive isn't actual water. This is mildly worrying. The near lack of booze, not the fact that she is 100% dehydrated.

[Basic hygiene supplies] ♥ The apocalypse is no reason to have bad breath and dirty teeth. Her deodorant will last, but she'll need new toothpaste and floss soon, though.

[Hormones] ♥ Her little group raided a pharmacy some time ago-- while she never particularly liked the idea of looting, she does know her hormone implant only has about 2 years left, if she's lucky. The hormones the place had were practically untouched. She grabbed a few bottles of spironolactone and estradiol to keep in her purse, just in case things don't go back to normal before then.

[... Other assorted pills] ♥ Well, in for a penny in for a pound, right? If she's going to steal the titty skittles, may as well take some of the fun stuff, as well. It's not like she can call her dealer up for these things! The place they hit up had been fairly cleaned through before they got there, but she knew of some more obscure downers that had been looked over that provide a passable high. These actually on her person or with her clothes-- her therapist's kid has about 6 months worth in one of his bags at recommended use, but she (and the kid, on occasion) take more than the doctor recommended amount, just a little, of course. They have 2 months between them. If they're lucky.

Dr. Tom Lacey

[58 | Tom Lacey | Male]

Description:
An older black man, often dresses like the most stereotypical image of a college professor, but he's a therapist for rich people. He's a bit pudgy in the middle (very much a 'dad bod' as his son would say), though his arms and legs still posses muscle from his time in the armed forces, he's bespectacled, he's balding, and despite this, he could pass as younger than middle aged, were it not for the tired gleam one can see from his eyes. He's a therapist to his core-- calm, cool, and collected. He tries to speak very little, and he doesn't judge-- easy to determine he's educated, but has had more than enough experience to keep this from allowing him to fall into pretention. His smile is able to put most people at ease. A bit like Bob Ross.

Riley 'Hattie' Lacey

[16 | Riley Harriet Lacey (Hattie) | Male]

Description:
In many ways Riley is a mirror of his father. Everything he inherited from the man, he then flips on his head. His father's reserved sense of fashion? Riley inherited this, except instead of looking like a college professor, he fits perfectly into what one might think of when thinking of a punk. Appearance-wise he favors his mother, in fact, with his long hair and soft features, many have mistaken the lanky teen for a girl. His complexion is much lighter than his father's chocolate skin-- leading many post-fall to assume Maya was his mother (to both of their chagrin). While his father's muscle is more visible in his arms and legs, Riley's wiry muscle was most visible in the form of his chest and abs (before the mist, at least).

He inherited his father's calmness as well. Though, instead of using this ability to remain calm to foster a safe space for open dialogue like his father, he uses it as a means to further his youthful rebellion. Still fledgling in theory, Riley feels things very passionately and has deep beliefs-- but instead of exploding into action, Riley plans things coolly. Before the fall, he wanted to be some flavor of revolutionary when he grew up. While the mist has thrown a wrench into this plan somewhat, he hasn't completely given up on this. While being young, he picks up on things fairly quickly, and has a somewhat impressive generalist skill-set because of this. While not quite there yet, give him another 10 years, and Jack-of-All-Trades would be an apt descriptor.

And contrary to what most people might think, his nickname, Hattie, isn't the result of his shortening his middle name-- but instead comes from the fact that the youth is hardly seen without some form of headgear.

OTHER

"Really, I think we should just find some abandoned weed farm in the woods and wait this out."

I Remain: Desolation (A Zombie apocalypse RP without the zombies!)

I'm also working on a CS (or two)-- probably obvious from the fact that I've been looking at this thread for the past few days. Hope you're into them, if I finish them in a timely manner.

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Haven't left bed.

Shelter

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^{Location: Stockbridge Academy, Teacher’s Lounge}

^{Date: 3/6/19}

^{With: Everyone}

---

Colmillo certainly didn't like all the conflict that seemed to be rising like steam around her.

People were all trying to dominate each other or trying to suggest new things like apes battling for supremacy. Over what? A room full of scared teenager. Colmillo, of course, really liked what the small brunette had to say and almost immediately felt herself gravitate toward her. But she listened to the others. Xan's idea was technically useful. While the school was on lock down having maps of the places they had trapped the zombies in the building with. Of course... that was was if they could get past all the bickering.

The downcast girl looked over at Dontae speaking to the taller black boy in the room, this calmed her a little. At least amidst these tensions someone was making sure he was alright. Colmillo had always had an easier time speaking to people younger than her. Or, at least... less intimidating than her-- but Dontae had someone much more level headed then her to speak to right now. As she continued to think, the conversations continued around her.

Elliot-- that was the second blonde's name. Apparently she had a reputation around the school? Colmillo had never heard of her. But in her refutation of the Short Brunette Colmillo found herself in support of, Colmillo learned several things about her; 1) She either had a short memory or she was a hypocrite-- calling the short brunette out for foul language seemed particularly rude since Elliot's first spoken word since entering the room was literally GODDAMMIT! followed directly by Fuckin'-- she was pretty sure she had said something else-- and that wasn't to mention, she certainty hadn't come to the aid of her or Dontae's precious virgin ears when other's had cursed. Maybe it was just a joke? But it seemed like a power play to Colmillo, a subtle was of establishing dominance. 2) She was completely psychotic. To say we should just go outside and swing table legs around because it might make people feel good? She knew they had been calling them zombies, but Colmillo was only just now realizing none of the people so hungry for combat with these things might not have considered they behaved like fictional zombies.

Colmillo continued to stray further from Kay-- Kaylee was her full name-- ideologically as she agreed with Elliot. Though she did at least appreciate her suggestion that the underclassmen eat first, though, Colmillo wasn't particularly hungry. At least, that was what she told herself. Then the loud pretty girl spoke up-- expressing frustration, which was fair in this situation--- that was much healthier than rushing head first into violence with an enemy you knew nothing about, Colmillo thought. The girl could have Colmillo's share, if she wanted... oh, but how was she going to manage that? She was so pretty, and social interaction was really hard...

Then (Colmillo hated casting this judgement on people) the only person who was an even bigger idiot than her in the room, Colmillo learned his name was Alex. He admitted his table leg plan was idiotic, then he doubled down on it, saying it was even dumber to run out without anything-- which isn't what the loud pretty girl had suggested at all? She had only really seemed to criticize the rationing plan-- which could easily be talked through if we just took a second to let tensions die. But of course, the apes had to fight for dominance. It seemed Alex was so insecure in his own idea he was resorting to being rude and mean to people who were just having natural panic responses.

Colmillo was a patient girl, and she'd be patient with everyone here, including Alex. Though, she was never particularly fond of... testosterone.

She'd noticed while all the talking was going on she'd kind of slowly made her way behind the short brunette girl, as if hoping the smaller girl would somehow protect her from the tensing chaotic conditions of the room. Colmillo noted Fitz and the boy who was crying earlier arguing, making sure everyone else was distracted with something else before making her move. Colmillo was practically a giraffe compared to the girl with the ponytail, by her estimation she nearly had a foot on her, anyone not focused on something else might notice evidence of Colmillo's vocal capabilities. Luckily Colmillo naturally tended to blend into backgrounds, so at least she had that going for her. With a sigh, she went for it.

_"Hey," She whispered into the girls exposed ear with a shaky voice, _{"So um... I agree with everything you said, It's completely stupid to try fighting those things, especially since a lot of us are still in shock-- I honestly think some of the people so willing the fight things that can overpower grown men might be experiencing trauma induced psychosis or something, you know?"} Her eyes darted around the room nervously as she let out a nervous breath, _{"Speaking of the others, um can you please not tell them... I spoke to you? Or that I can speak at all? I know it seems like a weird ask, it's just... I'm weird, and an idiot... and I don't know... I've never really done people? I've always tried to be very patient with people, and I'll keep trying, but some of them are really starting to scare me? If that makes sense? Probably not. You actually seem really-- ugh, nevermind. Just, please?} Colmillo almost pulled away before adding, _{"Oh, right, my name is Colmillo, um, Russell-Jones if that matters. You can tell people that, if you want."}

---

_[@hawkins]

A Game of Desire

Madama Serpentine

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---

---

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Madama Serpentine

Personality:

Madama Serpentine has gone about her existence wearing many masks-- there’s all sorts of masks for dealing with The Court, Madama Serpentine the smiling courtier, Madama Serpentine the light gossip over tea time, Madama Serpentine the bane of all of the lower planes of existence, Madama Serpentine the cog in a much larger plan of fate… then there was Madama Serpentine the lover, often confused with Madama Serpentine the whore, there were of indecent Serpentine, crazed Serpentine, killer Serpentine, plain Madama Serpentine and the Madama Serpentine who may as well be the court jester-- or CREVAN, anyway, these facades usually get made out into a single, complex masks. Each one unique, each one wearable for certain occasions. All of these masks make up the person she tries to exude today.

She strives to present herself to the world as a stark contrast to The Court, the only real world she's known, and the one she's come to resent the most, its mere aura seems to suck mirth from the life marrow of all the rooms that inhabit it. To contrast this, Madama Serpentine has cultivated the type of personality… or rather, something deeper than that, she’s cultivated an aura that has an almost drug-like effect to those around her. She’s relaxed-- a gifted conversationalist despite mostly listening to others, and someone most people will want around as a comrade within a few minutes of meeting.

It’s easy enough to see why, her near-constant smirk can make one feel fuzzy inside, while her dark eyes seem to be able to pierce whatever difference she has with anyone, making people feel she genuinely understands and cares.

A joker and drunkard, Madama Serpentine seems to walk with an almost drunken swagger, and is never far away from wine or lean-- to say she clumsily stumbles about is a mistake, however. Speaking with her, you may laugh at her jokes and sailor’s mouth, and feel hypnotized her overwhelming charisma and charm-- but below that, what most can detect is a certain calculation. This calculation is sad, and it signifies that this is not the complete Madama Serpentine-- there is a duality to the masks she wears, with the ones she hides beneath being a calculated choice, motivated by fear.

But who, you may ask, is Madama Serpentine beneath the masks?

Specialty:

Weapons

Participant:

???

Affiliation:

The Court... For Now

---

---

Motel Cadillac

Hey ppl, I've been in a horrible depressed fugue state for the past few days (weeks?) for several reasons. I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced anyone. You can move my character around if you want, if this is still up and running I should be back up and functional soon!

Shelter

---

^{Location: Stockbridge Academy, Teacher’s Lounge}

^{Date: 3/6/19}

^{With: Everyone}

---

The troubled girl let out a silent sigh to herself as she finished looking through all she could look through in the room.

In her rummaging, Colmillo hadn't found much that the others might find particularly useful-- though, to her it was kind of a treasure trove. The coffee tin, the filters, and the unexpired milk-- all of that meant coffee! She didn't know about her schoolmates, but fresh coffee could keep her going for days! Who needed something as heavy as "food" weighing you down? Making you fat and unattractive, anyway? Less exciting, but still useful, she supposed, were the disposable cups-- though, they could be used to hold water, and by her count there were 16 more than enough for everyone to have one of their own. It wasn't the multi-gallon containers she was hoping for, but it was definitely a start-- everyone here was definitely dehydrated. Plus, once the milk carton and coffee tin were empty, they could be filled with water. Assuming the water and power last that long... or the others didn't just rush out of here... She tried to shake the negative thoughts out of her head, knowing that was impossible for her. As she did, she began to make herself, and whoever else wanted one, she supposed, a pot of coffee.

The Teacher's Lounge's coffee maker was a bit of a downgrade from what she had access to at Fred's house-- this was a simple auto drip-- back home she had a fully automated espresso maker, a moka pot, an aeropress, a Frenchpress, a chemex, a Vietnamese drip filter, a percolator, and a fucking Ibrik. Fred was a coffee buff himself, sure-- but he has surely gotten Colmillo all those different coffee makers as a way to see her out of her room more, his gentle way of 'prodding' at her. Using this reminded her of a her time in NYC-- as she moved from the cabinets, almost unconsciously remembering how much of the coffee grinds you needed to put in, in comparison to how much water she was using for a strong pot-- coffee and a coffee maker was one o the few things her mother never sold, even it seemed they'd become homeless. Her mother was working 3 jobs, she was barely getting any sleep-- she needed as much of it as she could get, as did Colmillo. Her mother would often take out her anger on the non-responsive Colmillo for having to dd to her workload, not that Colmillo blamed her, she definitely deserved it. Still, if it wasn't for the energy boost from coffee, which she eventually learned to make for the two on instinct, she'd have taken many more beatings.

Her attention snapped away from the hypnotic drip of the brown goodness and back to what the group was discussing when she caught the last of what someone was saying-- "--We can find improvised weapons all over the place. There also might just be a safer room in this place than this tiny thing. We can't find anything if we stay cooped up in this room though. Does anyone have anything that we could protect ourselves with? If anything we could break the legs off of that table and use them."

WHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT?????????????

Colmillo had to turn around and brace herself against the counter to avoid fainting right there. He wanted to fight those things? Without even knowing if they could be killed? Without knowing how their illness spread? With blunt weapons? Without even knowing if they could still be human and cured eventually? The girl felt a sharp pain shoot up her left arm as she balled her scrawny fists against the counter tops, she lifted her right arm and gripped her right arm around the source of the pain. The injury from the fall was lingering, it seemed. Besides that, more voices responded to the other brunette boy with the insane plan.

The second seemed reasonable at first. He spoke on how we didn't even know the logistics of the disease, and how it clearly increased the strength of those who had it. He had rum... somehow? Gerald would have liked him. But then he went right on ahead, agreeing with the table leg plan. Colmillo would have screamed, if she wasn't sure she was physically impossible of it. Then came Kay-- it seemed the boy she thought was reasonable was offering her booze, she'd denied it, and said someone else needed it more, Probably me... She thought. Then Kay agreed with the two boys.

Were it not for the pain shooting through her bony left arm, she would have gripped the bridge of her nose in frustration at everyone quickly jumping onto this plan of violence.

She was surprised though-- the next person to speak she actually did recognize. Dontae Davis, the underachieving Colmillo shared a few classes with the Freshmen, actually. They weren't friends, of course-- but she knew him well enough to recognize him by his voice. Probably because she'd gotten a little curious of his after class boasting to his friends and listened to a few of his mixtapes. He had some bars-- if it weren't for all these zombies she thought the child could have gone somewhere with his fledgling rap career. It stung her a little when his offer for help was completely ignored by everyone, even if what he had to offer was mostly useless. This Further proved to her, at least, that tensions were still far too high to be making plans of any kind.

Like. You just didn't ignore kids in a time of crisis like this! She'd grant them that maybe they couldn't tell that she was an underclassmen considering her height, making her the tallest female here, and nearly as tall as some of the males, even though she knew none of them had probably never seen her before, most if not all of the were seniors, they probably just thought she was a junior or took "special" classes or something. They could definitely tell that he was an underclassmen though-- he was the shortest here, he practically had tears in his eyes, and he was looking to them, these people who were practically adults for guidance and direction. Of course he gets nothing, finding the quickest route to violence is obviously the most important thing. Fuck her vow of silence-- she was going to speak to Dontae, hopefully a familiar face would do him some good (if he even remembered her), see if she could say anything or do anything for him that would make him more more comfortable.

Comillo nearly face planted on the counter as another non-Fitz blonde with a crazy look in her eye cursed and kicked at the vending machine. Perhaps bracing herself against the counter the counter with her injured arm wasn't the smartest idea? As the pain her arm numbed, she moved to cross them over her stomach, as she did, the crazy eyed blonde made her way over to the fridge. MUCH too close to Colmillo for her comfort, the girl shrunk away as she did. Colmillo didn't pay much attention all she had to say after that, history after that, history was never her forte-- but she had gathered that there was another person on board with the plan to send people out into the hallway armed with table legs. There weren't even enough for everyone to have one! So were they just going to send the 4 'strongest' out and hoped they made it back fine?

The awkward girl noticed Fitz looking at her-- directly at her. That itself was enough to make Colmillo want to vomit. But then she spoke: “Anything useful in there? Like, outside of Diet Coke. Any kind of food, like Alex mentioned?” This pushed her over the edge, she was sure she was blushing-- hopefully the senior couldn't notice it at their distance. It... typically took time before Colmillo was able to directly communicate with others, so to be so directly addressed was...

Well, it took Colmillo out of her body.

She was now hundreds of miles away, performing a song on Broadway.

---

---

A literal musical number

---

I know what's gonna happen
I'll try to say a word
With fear of failure flapping
In my head just like a bird

I've slept for like 70 hours
But somehow that's just not enough
I'll forget my drowsiness as my stomach's filled with knots
And of course I haven't had any breakfast
Really just a little coffee
Like when you have to go
And get a colonoscopy
Which incidentally isn't half
As disconcerting or upsetting
As when you just friggin know
There is no way to survive fighting these zombies

But anyway I work myself up to speak with Fitz
Where everything I'm dreading will be coming to the end of my wits
And here's what's gonna happen
I'll whisper weak with hunger
And there's half a dozen girls
Who look prettier than me but ten years older

I'll retreat into my head
And I'll try to formulate
And I'll be saying *blah blah blah it's mostly coffee and milk blah blah blah and some granola bars and cups for holding water blah blah blah*
But I'll be hearing is Colmillo sucks
She really sucks, she really, really, really blows
And she's young, and she's lame
And then Fitz calls my name

And here's what happens
I'm suddenly back into the room
The gross fluorescent lightning is inviting as a tomb
And all the seniors smile, they'll say its good to see ya
But all I see is judges
And they'll all look like Scalia

And then a little banter as they look me up and down
And somewhere through the fog of insecurity and hate
I'll try to convince them that I'm smart
And I'm clever and I'm useful to have around
But I'm starting to unravel, in my head I hear the gavel

Guilty!

They're gonna throw the book at me 'cause I'm

Guilty!

Of coming in and wasting all their time

Guilty!

Of almost every other survival-horror crime
Not old enough!
Not strong enough!
Not smart enough!
Not good enough!

We hereby sentence you to a death by being zombie bait and debilitating self-loathing

But wait now someone's asking
So can we hear what you found?
I make a lame attempt at humor: Do I have to say it loud?
I make the mistake of looking over at Elvina, she's got such perfect hair,
It's been three days since she's had it done but there's not a trace of dandruff and it falls without a care

No sooner do I get my words
And open up my trap
Then inevitably some mealy-mouthed senior student's
Eye's glaze over as they judge me
And I know they're probably thinking
Lmao, This girl is crap
She's a fake
She's a phony
She could never kill a zombie

And now I'm in a place I know quite well
I've left the world and I've entered hell
I'm this far away from a fainting spell

But just before I die
I finish a taking stock
Which I oversell
Fitz says thanks
And wishes me well
The next thing I know
I'm at the coffee maker
Stuffing my face with coffee

I'm trying to take it slowly
I'm trying to be my best
I'm trying to be more holy
Less bitter and depressed
I'm considering what Kay said
She makes a lot of sense
Maybe some booze would help me focus less on dread
Gerald says it helps you be less tense

I'VE TRIED IT BEFORE-- IT DOESN'T DO A THING FOR ME

I sit there on the floor
I watch a vivid sequence
Of humiliating instances from my past go by
And think what kind of masochist
Keeps coming back for more

But you know what's gonna happen
'Cuz it never doesn't happen
It's gonna always, always, always
No! I know what's gonna happen
Don't tell me that I don't
I know I say I'll rise up to
The occasion but I won't

And don't say I've got talent
And don't say I've got heart
And don't say that I'm clever
'Cuz I know I'm pretty smart
I'm smart enough to know
That I'm too stupid to admit
You can't survive a diet
That consists of eating shit
The trick is knowing when it's time to pack your bags
And say "That's it!"

You know what's gonna happen
I know what's gonna happen
Here's what's gonna happen
I quit!
I quit!
I quuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuit!

---

---

Colmillo, of course, didn't quit. As much as she wanted to. But her escape into her head was definitely a welcome one from the stress of... well, everything. She wasn't sure how many seconds, or even minutes that internal musical number had taken her-- but Fitz didn't seem particularly annoyed, and she seemed like the type who didn't like to be kept waiting. Acting quickly, Colmillo opted to simply present what was in the cabinets and fridge to her instead of simply telling her. Quickly, she grabbed the milk out of the fridge, the 4 remaining granola bars, the coffee tin (minus some grounds), the filters (minus one), and the disposable cups (minus one) and dropped them all off at the table.

After placing all the objects, Colmillo just took a few steps back from the table, an awkward blush on her face and her eyes glued to the ground.

---