Dixie Fiend — Roleplayer Guild

Dexter Sterling

●   Location: Hoganville, Troup County
●   Time: Morning-Afternoon

     The sun poured into the room from three separate directions, a modest symbolization of the three men that found their way to that house. That elegant white house. It was truly a jewel of the south, tucked between the grassy hills of Troup County. An icon of what was and what will never be again.

From the bay windows came rays of sunlight thick like honey that flowed in from each corner of the living room. The sunbeams were distinctively visible as long, abstract knives that cut through plumes of smoke and dust – shining brightly upon a figure slumped into the spine of a stark white sectional in the center of the room. The man didn't move from his awkward position, his head tilted upright towards a pair of the windows.

Half of his face was bathed fruitfully in a wide ribbon of light, the bright morning sun glinting off of the soft blue color of Dexter's eye. He blinked several times now as his eyes strained and protested under the brightness, tearing up from the presence of dust in the air. A fresh cigarette hung loosely from his cracked lips, the lit end smoldering angrily as thin wisps of smoke spilled slowly from his nostrils.

Dexter tilted his head faintly to one side now, the movement looking sluggish and almost painful. He glanced down the length of the couch, making out what looked like dried mud on the floor. There was a trail of dirt and grime that led right to his boots, and beside that was his jacket and backpack resting on one of the cushions.

The cigarette shifted crookedly between his lips as Dexter took a deep drag, holding his breath for a long few moments as he sat up with a wince. He closed his eyes as smoke cascaded from one corner of his mouth, swirling around his face in a dense grey-white column. He took another breath, this one more shallow, and the smoke dispersed around him reluctantly as he exhaled.

He lifted an arm above himself as if going to stretch, straightening his back and shoulders at the same time that he made the uncomfortable motion. After doing so he retracted his outstretched arm, bringing his hand to his head and running his fingers through his hair gently. Disgustingly, the corners of his knuckles and palm were caked in dry blood that cracked and peeled as he did so – further attributing to the unwashed filth that his hair had become.

Dexter opened his eyes finally, squinting tiredly in the sunlight as he picked the cigarette from his mouth. He was stiff, and with it being morning and all, it was in more ways than one. Almost instinctively, he reached over the frame of the sectional, wrapping his hand around the grip of a pistol resting on the end table; while he balanced his cigarette between his fingers in the other hand.

"Hey!" Dexter called out in a raspy, hoarse tone. There was a pause as he brought his gun 'round, resting it against his knee for a moment. "I–.. Fuckin'. I'm awake. It's my shift now, right?" His fingers danced around the empty handgun, testing the coarse feel of the grip panel, enjoying its touch against his skin. It was cold, but felt like the most natural part of his hand.

Dexter shook his head, bringing the burning cigarette to his lips for another long drag. He held it there shortly before the smoke fell out of his nostrils in streams. Subconsciously, his foot began tapping faintly, impatiently, and his thumb kept pushing the magazine release of his Sig Sauer to the rhythm of the beat.

Unsteadily, Dexter went to a stand, "We were supposed t-to take shifts last night, right?" He called out again, his voice not as hoarse as it was before but still not normal for Dexter. He felt strangely comfortable this morning. Like he could take the day off and just relax out in the sun, have a little picnic by the pool – no matter how disgusting it had gotten over the years.

There was silence though. Uneasy silence. The kind that makes your skin crawl and grow cold. Dexter swept the room carefully, tucking the empty pistol at his back and behind his belt as he did so. There wasn't much to see. The floor was hardwood with a dark walnut stain, elegant, which contrasted the expensive white furniture. It was all trashed though from when they came in, hollering and knocking shit over a little too excitedly to draw out the two walkers they had eliminated inside the home.

     That's probably what drew the horde to them now, coming from the south. Nevertheless, Dexter didn't see anything off. There was a splintered end table thrown into one side of the room with two broken floor lamps, a chair overturned, and all kinds of dirt and mud trailing the floor. There was a light storm the night before that soaked them, and upon arriving at the house they tracked all kinds of grime into the old manor. Between the kitchen and the stairwell was a streak of deep red blood where Dexter had dragged one of the walkers corpses out of the house.

Dexter sighed, leaning down and lifting his red jacket from the couch cushion as he took a sharp drag on his cigarette. Another plume of smoke poured out of the corners of his mouth, diffusing around the living room. He pulled the jacket around one arm behind him, yanking it up to his shoulder before doing the same on his other arm.

Finally, he went to grab his boots when he froze up. Was he hearing something? "Richie? Is that you? S-stop fucking around. . ." He nearly yelled now, voice cracking unintentionally as he tried to suppress a cough. "I swear if you killed–. . . You can't hide his body from me, you can smell that Mexican shit from across the county." That smell?

It was like the smell of iron, mixed with rotting flesh and soaked linen. Dexter could barely detect it at all beneath the musky air in the living room with all the smoke and kicked up dust. Not only that, with a couple of the bay windows open there was a mixture of fresh dew and weeds thick on the air. He stood still beside the white leather couch in the living room, listening for the others.

He shrugged, lowering his guard reluctantly as he knelt down to tie his boots on and go through the 'routine' of getting ready for the day.

Dexter Sterling

Character Summary

Name: Dexter K. Sterling.
Aliases: N/A.
Age: Twenty-two.
Birthday: June 26th, 1994.
Ethnicity: Caucasian.
Birth Place: Delavan, Wisconsin.
Location: Atlanta, Georgia.
Gender: Male.
Major/Minor: N/A.
Occupation: Construction Worker.
Languages:

French ... (Very Poor Fluency)
Russian ... (Moderate Fluency)

Appearance

Height: 5'9"
Weight: 142 lbs.
Build: Thin & Willowy.
Eyes: Grey-Blue.
Hair: Ash-Brown.
Skin Tone: Pale.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings:

   A torn playing card with an unusual depiction of a King on it, with a series of numbers descending along the clean side of the card. The tattoo stops just barely above the collarbone, towards the left side of his neck near the tendon above the shoulder.

Except for the tattoo partially covered by clothing at the side of his neck, the others are neither readily visible nor significant.
All of Dexter's tattoos use very minimal color as he has preferred clean lines and to use black ink exclusively.

There are a few scars on his knuckles and thumb from various cuts and scrapes. They were received over time from working with glass, tile, and tools ranging from a simple hammer -- to more complicated woodworking equipment such as a planer.
There are two minor scars at the back of his skull which are not visible beneath his hair.
No piercings.

Psychology

Pragmatic * Disconnected * Confident * Neglectful

Sexuality: Heterosexual / Straight.
Relationship Status: In a relationship.
Personality:

Before the outbreak, Dexter was an easy-going guy. He didn't let anything stress him out and was friendly company to those he surrounded himself with. Sometimes he put his interests before what was best for him, but that didn't detract from who he was as a person.

However, he had an issue with disconnecting and quitting when he wasn't able to do something right the first couple of times. He didn't care about others' disappointment in himself, which actually made it easier to quit, but was afraid of disappointing himself. He thoroughly enjoyed being the best, and held himself to excessively high standards.

So, importantly, after the outbreak when Dexter realized he couldn't protect himself or the people he cared about – he began to dissociate himself from the situation, to quit essentially. Dexter went in and out of auto-pilot throughout the months he was alone. Before he realized, it had been years all blurred together into long nights starving and walkers around every corner.

Dexter doesn't like to commit to the details. It's better that he doesn't. Years of fear, stress, and questionable choices has put him into an uneasy state of mind. He does absolutely anything to keep himself distracted – often enlisting bad jokes to entertain bad company so he can spare a nervous laugh. Or he turns to a smoke as to ease his anxiety.

The best way to explain Dexter is to say that he's just a lost kid looking for something. What that something is he doesn't quite know. What he does know is that constantly living in fear is plucking him apart, day-by-day.

Note: Habits, hobbies, likes, etc – for the most part – are based on the current setting which is post-outbreak.

Habits:

Dexter likes to smoke whenever he gets a chance, limited only by the lack of cigarettes lying around.
He can be slightly self-destructive, falling into bad habits as a result of boredom and absent-mindedness.
He likes to collect items of previous significance, and often sacrifices precious time to retrieve them.

Hobbies:
Carpentry.
Guitar.
Fishing.
Swimming.
Reading.

Fears:
Phasmophobia. (Superstitious)
Atychiphobia. (Perfectionist)
Basiphobia. (from Dangerous Heights)

Likes:
People.
Slim Jims.
Large Dogs.
Historical & Science Fiction.
Board-Games / Video-Games.
Movies / TV.

Dislikes:
Boredom.
People.
Migraines.
Optimism.
Small Dogs.
Cold Water.

Cards On The Table

Pre Outbreak Skills:

Major Carpentry
Minor Electrical
Survival Skills
Technical Drawing
Camaraderie

Post Outbreak Skills:

Survival Skills
Hunting / Trapping
Handgun Handling
Basic Medical Aid

Current Supplies:

●   Black beanie missing its tag. A key-ring is fastened through the fabric behind an ear.
●Carhartt jacket in a rustic red color, sparsely covered in torn holes and stains.
●   Faded tan t-shirt that fits loosely beneath his jacket. No tears or stains are visible.
●   Pair of pants, faded blue work jeans held through by a worn out belt. The zipper is stuck and will no longer go down.
●   Rugged brown workboots that fit snug.
●   Knee-high bright red baseball socks concealed by his jeans and workboots.

Northface Backpack that is black and grey. One of the shoulder straps is held together by fastened shoe strings.
Empty pistol that is completely missing its magazine. The slide displays the manufacturer 'Sig Sauer' and some numbers, at which Dexter is unfamiliar with.
Buck-Knife with a fixed, beefy blade. The knife is stored in a sheath beneath his jacket.
Stanley FatMax drywall hammer, originally used for doing drywall. Now it's used for other things.
Electrical tape in a bright green color. It is barely used.
Standard work gloves for moving large or heavy objects.
Old Spice deodorant. You kind of need it when you have to go days and weeks without bathing.
Emergency supply of Slim Jims. Snack-sized sticks not normal sized. Running low.
Four emptied 16 fluid-ounce plastic water bottles. Flattened to conserve space.

History

Your First Walker Encounter:

Dexter was out with the guys at a property in Forsyth, nice big ranch style home some ways off a highway. There was a couple other houses like it nearby, each tucked into its own little tracts of land with a couple of open acres.

The woman who owned it used to work in the administration of the school Dexter went to as a kid, also worked with his mother. She was a quiet, lonely lady with no family that Dexter knew of. From what he knew she had some doctorate in English literature, and likely spent her free time ghostwriting smutty novels for other sexually repressed older women.

One of their crewmen wasn't feeling so hot, so the missus offered him to stay inside while they finished up replacing the old porch. As the afternoon dragged on and they were almost finished, they heard a scream from inside the home. At first it was out of surprise, but the screams quickly turned into that of heart-wrenching agony.

Upon entering the home they could see the grossly pale figure of their fellow crew-member on top of the woman, his face dug into the collar of her neck. Dexter froze up seeing what he did. There was so much blood, so much blood. It ran like a river of wine that soaked the white rug of the den in seconds, quickly running off in excess onto the nice hardwood.

It took what felt like hours to restrain what their friend had become, and long before the ambulance arrived the missus had died from blood loss. The following days were further shadowed by troubling news that spanned the world, and the decisive loss of contact with friends and family in the weeks to come.

History Before Outbreak:

For the most part growing up, Dexter always had something to do. He was born in a quaint little place in Wisconsin with a Navy officer as a father, a professional water-skier as a mother, and three older siblings. While his family originally moved very often, shortly after Dexter was born his father retired from the Navy.

Almost immediately after retiring, his father landed a solid job that required them to move to Georgia; and Dexter's mother opted to be a stay-at-home mom to raise their two daughters and two sons. Dexter's father, while being a complete inconsiderate hard-ass, was the smartest man Dexter had ever known. Not only was Dexter's father one of the best at his job as an electrical engineer, he was a damn good handyman.

Every piece of furniture in their bedrooms growing up was made by their father – in a shop that he had drawn up and built himself, with lumber that he had for the most part cut and planed himself. The only thing his father didn't do was lay the concrete.

Dexter was highly competitive with his siblings growing up, following in their footsteps to whatever sport they were interested in. He also became a Cub Scout at the age of five, and pursued it into being a Boy Scout until he was in eighth grade.

School was a breeze for Dexter for a majority of his young life, but when sports and school together began demanding further dedication from him – such as practices getting longer and more frequent, summer conditioning being mandatory, and morning workouts a requirement to play for the football team – he began to sacrifice things he was not already exceptional at.

Dexter had quit Boyscouts going into high school along with a number of other sports and activities; he instead stuck with contact sports like lacrosse and football. While Dexter initially had some of the highest scores of his grade, his aptitude began to catch up with him as curriculum quickly became far more difficult to learn.

After freshman year, Dexter's grades started to drop significantly. He opted out of his advanced classes, and gradually began to care less and less for his school work. Homework went without completion as he chose to play games and socialize over finishing it, and began to drag his grades down like an anchor. In his mind, if he couldn't get it right the first time or produce exceptional results, it wasn't worth doing.

Dexter didn't receive any secondary education, in fact he barely finished high school. Dexter was herded through the system off the grace of multiple-choice testing, riding off on exceptionally high test scores while having completed very little in-class assignments or homework.

Dexter's friends disappeared from his life, off to college or off for military service, while Dexter lived at home without enough financial support – or the desire, in reality – to attend college. He decided his best option would be to join his brother working for a construction company owned and operated by a friend of the family.

Extra Details:

●   Dexter has taken three full credit high school courses in Architectural Drafting & Design, which he began by learning on paper – and then in the second year started to use computer-based software such as AutoCAD almost exclusively.

●   Instead of taking P.E & Health in high school, Dexter opted for four years of Army Junior-ROTC. He made every team related to ROTC: Drill, Color Guard, Exhibition, Sabre, and Raider – but did not make Rifle Team, ever.

●   Most of what Dexter got paid to do was working with other contractors he knew, replacing flooring, laying tile, and setting drywall. Whereas Dexter's older brother specifically worked with their company, working with augers and concrete.

●   Dexter barely, BARELY passed his two years of French required to graduate high school. To graduate he did not specifically need French, but a foreign language is required. He had his mother do his French homework and projects, and in class struggled greatly with the language. He had no motivation to learn it.

●   Dexter's mother comes from a long line of Slavic generations, with half of his mother's family being Serbian and the other half being Russian. Dexter picked up the language at a young age and used it often when arguing with his mother, who's first language was not English, and his two sisters.

History Since Outbreak:

The first time everything hit the fan, things were pretty okay. Dexter and his family were safe, his neighbors were all nice elderly people who'd help each other out, and their neighborhood were some ways off from the shopping centers and downtown areas.

The initial panic wasn't the problem. The problem was that shit continued to hit the fan again, and again, and again. The local news teams responded to the crisis with the promise that the outbreak would be met with solutions. The United States was too big, too powerful to crumble under a virus. Even when the power went out and didn't come back, Dexter and his family weren't worried.

They were lucky at first, must have been from the Irish side of his father. They were fortunate enough to avoid conflict with others when his brother and father traveled to supermarkets like Kroger, Publix, and Walmart. They stocked up when money was still being taken, and they sure as hell had money to throw. Dexter's father even bought a gun from one of the neighbors, and as much ammo as he could get out of the older man.

Dexter waited it out in their suburban house perched in the hills, his dad keeping everyone calm and organized. Food was rationed adequately, and when they needed more water they could take from their in-ground pool and boil it. Life for some time was unusually comfortable and easy, with long nights of board games with his siblings and reading by candlelight.

Their little bubble of safety fucking blew up eventually. A band of looters in an elementary school bus swerved into the neighborhood one afternoon. Dexter's house was at the entrance of the neighborhood, and so the strangers came to them first.

Dexter didn't see much of it, he was instructed to leave with his mother and siblings and that's exactly what he intended to do. They tried to make it out through the backyard and into the woods, but. Shit hit the fan, again. It was a blur of shouting and an eruption of gunfire. Dexter's father was the first to go down, and with him the only gun they had.

Dexter never ran so fast in his life, not in any of the sports he played, not for anything. He vaulted the backyard fence as bullets splintered the wood beside him. He heard his older brother cry out, and then one of his sisters, and only briefly did he hesitate to turn and see one of them stumble.

It took a long time to find somewhere safe again. And an even longer time to recover from the shock of what happened. Dexter always thought him and his family would be invincible if the world was ever ending, and would somehow find a way through it all. He had never been so wrong.

And it didn't end there. They kept running into other bad people and each time something was taken from them, whether it be their supplies or their life. Shit kept hitting the fan, bad luck engulfed Dexter and his family. And eventually Dexter was on his own after being separated from his older sister and mother.

Dexter's best days of his life was with his family after the outbreak, and naturally they became the worst days of his life later. Hours that seemed to go by in centuries began to go by in days, then weeks, then months, and years. He moved between small groups of scared, weak individuals like himself frequently. The people he met clung to each other for help until someone stronger came and stomped them out.

Through it all, Dexter persevered. He talked his way into and out of sticky situations, used what little bit of luck he had left to stumble on much needed supplies, and when he couldn't talk his way out of something nor find what he needed – he didn't think twice to use his gun.

Dexter didn't move very often as he liked to avoid risk unless he had back-up. Instead he gradually shifted around the Atlanta metro area, following in the shadow of small groups. Whenever things got heated he'd typically slip away before anyone's guards were raised, with whatever supplies he could.

That's when he came across these clowns. He never paid paid much attention to his company, but it's hard not to pay attention when they're constantly waving weapons at each other. It was like a circus of retards, but he has to give it to them – meeting them was the most straightforward conversation he ever had with a pair of guns at his face.

Extras

Character Quote: Nothing.
Theme Song:State of Nature – King 810

How Many Walkers Have You Killed:

" That seems like the wrong question to be asking. It's like asking how many times you've taken a shit. Hey, you may not like it but you gotta do it. I never kept count, kinda makes me feel like a sociopath if I did, so I'll probably never be counting it. We're still referring to taking a shit right? "
How Many People Have You Killed:

" I don't know. It was only twice for a while. When I got a gun it was different. At first you're scared to use it, but things change. Most of the time I used it only when I had to. Sometimes that wasn't the case, sometimes I shot first. I can't tell you if some of those times I actually killed anyone. "
Why:

" I don't ask myself that question anymore. Some will tell you that you do what you have to, I don't believe in that bull shit. Sometimes I want to. "
Anything Else: I sent a private message to the GM.

*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this RP and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest extent with respect and courtesy.

Dexter Sterling

" . . . "
⚜ Respects || ☯ Neutral || ☮ Friends || ♫ Best Friends || ♥ Crush || ⚤ Significant Other || § Tense || ☠ Enemies

☯ Leann McCormick  ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Ashton Holloway ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Vivian Ormerod  ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Maxine Cross ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Siddharth Kumar  ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Meghna Kumar ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ James Grady ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Maria Smith ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Jaime Bishop ☯

" Jaime? I'd say he's... Hmm. He's wired, you know? I don't think his eyes are ever open for more than a couple seconds at a time, he's always blinking. If you dropped something behind him he'd– . . . Actually, I'm going to go see what he does. "
Dexter doesn't think much of Jaime, but he's definitely got some potential somewhere behind those ridiculous glasses. He likes Jaime however doesn't speak with him or spend any time with him. From Dexter's perspective, they both acknowledge that the other exists and in the sense that they're both living people they carry the most basic mutual respect for one another.

⚜ Richard Johnson ⚜

" Let's put it this way. When I was in high school there was a guy I knew since sixth grade on our football team. He was one of our best, went on to play for Alabama. But he was also a giant cunt. He'd been picking on me for years and I never really stood up for myself against him, because it wasn't a big deal.

Some time during freshman year he shoved me in the cafeteria over something that happened at practice. I straight up tried to hit him, and that was the worst mistake of my life. The guy nearly broke my jaw on the water fountain and I had to get quite a few stitches. It was the quickest fight that ever took place at the school.

You know what happened later? We became best friends. "
Dexter would like to say he's shared a few cigarettes with the guy, despite stepping on each other's toes a couple times. He's pretty submissive around Richard, but even-so he doesn't walk around with "bitch" on his forehead – Jaime has that covered, though the kid("kid", meanwhile Jaime is older than Dexter) has impressed him once or twice.

In some ways Richard reminds him of his older brother, although the biker is far more outspoken and hateful. Still, while Dexter feels somewhat uneasy around Richard he can't help but enjoy the company of someone who knows what they're doing. Even if that someone is an asshole.

☯ Kristina Smith ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯  Lorna Dunn ☯

""

Haven’t met yet.

☯ Victoria Taylor ☯

""

Haven't met yet.

☯ Jonas Soberano ☯

""

Haven't met yet.

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elusive eco-terrorist

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