HokumPocus

The Five Senses

Can I slap a quick post in beforehand?

Tales from the Roadside: S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Role-play

Roach

Roach

Name: Roach

Gender: Male

Age: Unknown, late twenties

Occupation and skills: Roach is a chef because that's what the faded yellow business card in his deteriorating photo album tells him he is. As for whether he's good, that's up for debate. Any of the desperate stalkers he's gone on expeditions with have had one or two close calls with starvation, only saved by meat with no discernible source cooked over a fire place made of whatever dead plants were around. Cooking up the flesh of the various deformed monstrosities the zone spits out and even the occasional human isn't an interesting skill, but it certainly is useful. Roach having a quiet nature means that no one is going to find out the source, which they find comforting.

What the rest of the zone sees him as is an average stalker with no faction and a crippling addiction to alcohol. He's got some talent for finding out stashes and artifacts, mainly out of curiosity and the thorough searching that goes into extracting some of his food. He's good with a gun too, and has killed enough of his fellow stalkers to prove it, although the same could be said for most.

Description: There isn't much to Roach to make him stand out in the zone. He keeps a gas mask that suffocates his entire head on at all times, only taking it off in the rare moments that he feels like it. There are straps and buckles to the sides, so he'll just loosen them and slide it up halfway if hunger calls. If you were to pry it off of the man the results would be underwhelming. Just another dirty looking russian man.

His eyes are your regular color of light blue and are pretty big and round, so he gets compared to insects a lot. He's got the fucked up face of your average survivor with enough scars to make friends without saying a word. And that's important, since he doesn't talk much.

Character History: Roach´s background is interesting, which is another way to say that it's a total fucking mystery. The zone is like a magnet for the lost and unexplainable after all. He had a thing going with a girl and some things going with his family and maybe some friends if he's feeling confident enough to imagine them while staring deep into the blurry photos with no answers behind them. They're in an album kept inside of a rucksack and are the only thing that keeps him up at night. It's him with so many people and all of them are either smiling, or drunk or both at the same time. He gets drunk in the zone a lot, so the smiling part is what confuses him. For the past few years they've been like a dream he could only half remember made into a cheap trinket.

The heavy thoughts of wanting to remember who he was spend their days weighing on him and yet he stays curious and even lively at times. He's the type of guy to want to do everything at least once, even if it could kill him. To him a part of the fun in getting completely shitfaced is the journey he'll go on after waking up.

His clearest memory that has never gone away is one where he's singing along with his grandfather to a soothing tune inside of a small and warm kitchen. The lyrics have been dissolved by cheap vodka and he can´t even remember the old man´s face yet the love and sincerity in their rhythm has stayed engraved inside of him. As long as that memory lingers around his heart he will never be truly happy with life in the zone. And yet, he stays, like a pig knowing that it's inside a slaughterhouse yet is afraid of the outside.

He stays silent in an odd attempt to preserve his voice as much as possible, even avoiding cigarettes and the like. A part of him wants to drink enough to forget the past and a part of him wants to relive it, so he swallows up these conflicting wants with his morning vodka and says nothing. That and, memory loss has really messed with his vocabulary. Good god, just try getting anything longer than two words out of him and you´ll see what his friends mean.

Equipment: Roach carries various knives in ranging states of degradation for the sole purpose of being used in his culinary antics. I mean sure, he carries cans of food around like any other person, but they're a nice tool for when those run out in the middle of god knows where. They have been used to stab other moving things, but he has the decency to wipe them before and after. He also keeps several other food items, proud of being able to have a varied diet inside of a place like the zone. That´s one of the only things he´ll ever talk about on his own, is eating. What else is the pleasant kitchen in his head around there for?

The AK-47 is his weapon of choice. Enough bandits have it so scavenging for ammo is never too hard and it's powerful enough to turn a snork into paste, which matters when you get mistaken for one a lot.

XD

hewwo....

Harvey

"I don't really like the c-calendars that my dad's friends always put up at the shop. Don't the women in them get c-cold?"

_{[ ❇ ] S Y N O P S I S}

---

_Name

Harvey Bouffalant

_Age

18

_Gender

Male

_{Starter Pokémon}

Gear the Mareep

_{Home Region}

Orre

_{[ ❇ ] C H A R A C T E R I Z A T I O N}

---

_Appearance

Harvey has a head of slightly curly brown hair with tan skin and bright brown eyes, standing at around 6’1”. His wardrobe consists of fleece jackets with whatever loose jeans are lying around. He wears a pair of wiry glasses that are frequently lost, broken, stained and bent beyond repair. One could almost say that he has single-handedly supported the optometrist industry within Orre through the whirlwind combination of his daily routine and advanced level clumsiness.

He carries an olive backpack covered in holes, tears and oil stains, and inside is a small tool bag used as an improvised pokeball holder.

On his feet are a staple to all of his looks, a pair of absolutely trashed tennis shoes. When you work in environments covered in grease and Arceus knows what, its only natural that your footwear is going to suffer. A lot.

_Personality

Calling Harvey a wallflower is an understatement. He is completely and utterly terrified of having conversations with people his age, and actually meeting a wild pokemon would probably melt his brain. While he would preferably avoid any and all contact with other people, he is aware that talking is the only way to achieve his goals and will often force himself to be social, resulting in plenty of awkward situations for everyone involved.

Harvey is used to following the rules and procedures of his job to a T and will quickly enter panic mode when things don’t quite go the way they’re supposed to. He will commonly have disagreements with people who aren’t as strict as he is, but will meekly go along with what they have in mind, though not before weakly protesting.

He is at his most relaxed when around grownups. He has little experience with pokemon and tries to avoid them at all costs. Any pokemon that isn’t small and commonly owned will either mystify or scare him. Or both.

_Background

Harvey has helped around his father's motorcycle shop for as long as he's been able to remember. Sure, they definitely have their fair share of shady clients, but they're not exactly in a very nice place. Harvey himself has little experience with pokemon and has avoided them without much effort for the most part out of living in Orre his entire life and being an inside person. Just lingering around the shop and helping out in menial tasks is enough to satisfy Harvey, as the place tends to get packed pretty quick. Or at least, that´s what he deluded himself into believing at first.

Exclusively interacting with tattooed behemoths twice your age tends to have an effect on you over time, especially if you´re the sort of teenager who gets an adrenaline rush out of watching anything PG-13. Harvey grew tired of the one sided conversations had with coworkers and customers alike that consisted of him wanting context to their suspicious slang terms and then receiving it along with a toothy smile and a lesson on human anatomy. Working away from the floor as the receptionist was even worse, as the way that he´d forcefully offer drugstore candy to the rare arrivals his age and lower had certainly placed him on a list somewhere.

Fortunately change did arrive one day in the form of a Professor with a mission. Recruit nearby youths that weren´t morally vacant criminals and band together to preserve peace within the region. The sort of job reserved for those with a knack for bonding with trainers and pokemon to overcome great danger, or in other words, meant for someone the complete opposite of him. Everyone familiar with Harvey and his quirks would have never imagined him willingly signing up to such a daring undertaking, and that´s precisely why he´s gone ahead and done it. He´s self aware enough to know that his current personality is in need of some tuning up, and is prepared to do whatever it takes to be the very best, or whatever it was that those Saturday morning cartoons would always blab on about. Friendship? Yeah, he could make some friends too. All part of the plan.

Alongside him is Gear the mareep, a pokemon gifted to him by a coworker after claiming the two had good chemistry. Gear had been banging her head against a garbage can repeatedly and had caught his attention. She then plodded over to him with a mane full of motor oil, selecting him as her new trainer and not the other way around. She has been kept inside her pokeball for quite some time now, as he´s been too busy and nervous to properly interact with her. One of his first goals is to have her out for as much time as possible.

_{[ ❇ ] M I S C E L L A N E O U S}

---

_{Items on Hand}

An empty tool bag used to store pokeballs and a can of WD-40. There´s also a giant wrench that he forgot to take out, though it works as a great toy for Gear.

_Pokébelt

Gear the mareep. An energetic and overly curious pokemon that is oblivious to any and all danger. She enjoys loud noises and will frequently create them if things get too quiet, especially in a situation where it´s a horrible idea to do so. Keep her away from batteries.

Moveset:
-Thunderwave
-Screech
-Tackle
-N/A

_{Personal Computer}

Nein

XD

Werewolf: Party Game for Devious People

Interested in joining, I sure am hungry for human flesh wonderful roleplay experiences

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. roleplay

@pugbutterHave da link

Tales from the Roadside: S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Role-play

Open to changes and the like

Roach

Roach

Name: Roach

Gender: Male

Age: Unknown, late twenties

Occupation and skills: Roach is a chef because that's what the faded yellow business card in his deteriorating photo album tells him he is. As for whether he's good, that's up for debate. Any of the desperate stalkers he's gone on expeditions with have had one or two close calls with starvation, only saved by meat with no discernible source cooked over a fire place made of whatever dead plants were around. Cooking up the flesh of the various deformed monstrosities the zone spits out and even the occasional human isn't an interesting skill, but it certainly is useful. Roach having a quiet nature means that no one is going to find out the source, which they find comforting.

What the rest of the zone sees him as is an average stalker with no faction and a crippling addiction to alcohol. He's got some talent for finding out stashes and artifacts, mainly out of curiosity and the thorough searching that goes into extracting some of his food. He's good with a gun too, and has killed enough of his fellow stalkers to prove it, although the same could be said for most.

Description: There isn't much to Roach to make him stand out in the zone. He keeps a gas mask that suffocates his entire head on at all times, only taking it off in the rare moments that he feels like it. There are straps and buckles to the sides, so he'll just loosen them and slide it up halfway if hunger calls. If you were to pry it off of the man the results would be underwhelming. Just another dirty looking russian man.

His eyes are your regular color of light blue and are pretty big and round, so he gets compared to insects a lot. He's got the fucked up face of your average survivor with enough scars to make friends without saying a word. And that's important, since he doesn't talk much.

Character History: Roach´s background is interesting, which is another way to say that it's a total fucking mystery. The zone is like a magnet for the lost and unexplainable after all. He had a thing going with a girl and some things going with his family and maybe some friends if he's feeling confident enough to imagine them while staring deep into the blurry photos with no answers behind them. They're in an album kept inside of a rucksack and are the only thing that keeps him up at night. It's him with so many people and all of them are either smiling, or drunk or both at the same time. He gets drunk in the zone a lot, so the smiling part is what confuses him. For the past few years they've been like a dream he could only half remember made into a cheap trinket.

The heavy thoughts of wanting to remember who he was spend their days weighing on him and yet he stays curious and even lively at times. He's the type of guy to want to do everything at least once, even if it could kill him. To him a part of the fun in getting completely shitfaced is the journey he'll go on after waking up.

His clearest memory that has never gone away is one where he's singing along with his grandfather to a soothing tune inside of a small and warm kitchen. The lyrics have been dissolved by cheap vodka and he can´t even remember the old man´s face yet the love and sincerity in their rhythm has stayed engraved inside of him. As long as that memory lingers around his heart he will never be truly happy with life in the zone. And yet, he stays, like a pig knowing that it's inside a slaughterhouse yet is afraid of the outside.

He stays silent in an odd attempt to preserve his voice as much as possible, even avoiding cigarettes and the like. A part of him wants to drink enough to forget the past and a part of him wants to relive it, so he swallows up these conflicting wants with his morning vodka and says nothing. That and, memory loss has really messed with his vocabulary. Good god, just try getting anything longer than two words out of him and you´ll see what his friends mean.

Equipment: Roach carries various knives in ranging states of degradation for the sole purpose of being used in his culinary antics. I mean sure, he carries cans of food around like any other person, but they're a nice tool for when those run out in the middle of god knows where. They have been used to stab other moving things, but he has the decency to wipe them before and after. He also keeps several other food items, proud of being able to have a varied diet inside of a place like the zone. That´s one of the only things he´ll ever talk about on his own, is eating. What else is the pleasant kitchen in his head around there for?

The AK-47 is his weapon of choice. Enough bandits have it so scavenging for ammo is never too hard and it's powerful enough to turn a snork into paste, which matters when you get mistaken for one a lot.

An M/M rp search bc I'm a trash oldie

I don´t usually do 1x1s because of the "be my hetero reverse-vore sonic the hedgehog foot slave" element of it but the "I´m a trashy gay" hooked me right in to this

I´m definitely down to clown with being a gay vampire. You mention you like to move into mature themes sometimes, but I don´t know if that´s what you´re looking for with this, since I´m not a smut person. If you´re cool with just doing romance without the [DATA EXPUNGED] then count me as interested