Name: Donatello 'Donnie' De Rege
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons:
Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Donnie has mutated to possess chloroplasts within his body, allowing him to conduct photosynthesis when in the presence of water and carbon dioxide. As a result his skin is permeable, and he can absorb water and oxygen through it. His veins are greenish instead of blueish and his blood is amberish, sort of like sap.
Appearance:
Donnie is a shorter man, standing at around 5'2"-5'3", and he weighs about as much as a thrown stone. A thin, gaunt thing at first glance, but a life of surviving alone have turned him from placid little boy into a wiry, almost chimp-like young man. His head is squarish, his jaw is chiseled and his chin is cleft. His eyes seem a tad too small and his nose curves out like the beak of a vulture. His hair is black, greasy and hangs down in long, clumped strips like wet meat from his scalp. His skin is a sickly pale, with a slight tinge of green to it, enough to make him look constantly ill. He favors wearing sun-bleached torn jeans, a tight-fitting extra-extra-small t-shirt (it might be from a children's clothing store), a pair of welding goggles and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He's not the most fashionable man.
Brief Personality:
By every definition, a fantastic coward. Donnie has no problem with potentially avoiding any trouble he comes across, no matter the extra effort expended in doing so. Some would tell you that he has no shame, as groveling and begging are not beneath him by any means. Otherwise a reclusive individual, his family taught him to never trust anyone but the family. And when you come from a big family, you've got a lot to trust, but without that family there for him, he's suspicious of everyone and everything that he comes across. A coward and a snake.
Background:
Donnie was part of a big family, once upon a time. Mother, father, brothers, sisters. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Plenty of all of them. The family was big enough to be considered THE Family, at least at one point. Life was good, from what he's been told. A big estate, lots of privilege and a great group of friends to boot. If you asked him, he might even tell you about the time he helped the Franzetti brothers cover his sisters in punch during the big family reunion. When the bombs fell, the family grew smaller. They held ceremonies, fights broke out as calls to action came from all over and the Family divided even more. Slowly, Donnie's life fell apart and he grew into a man, trusting no one but his mother and father, and learning in his own time that to play the second banana and stay out of the limelight wasn't nearly as bad as people say it is.
He doesn't talk about his parents passing much, but he'll tell you that ever since his uncle took over the Family's business, its all gone to shit. That is why he left, you know. Left for the Big Apple, for New York, to see if he could make something of himself. A name, a home. Maybe even a new family.
Alone or with someone?:
Alone.
Other:
Despite his parentage, he's actually terrible at speaking his mother tongue, Italian.
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons:
- An MK14, fitted with a foregrip.
- A Beretta M9.
- A survival knife.
- He is an alright shot. Accurate, but not exactly precise.
- Pretty observant for a jumpy dude.
- He can pick a lock pretty well.
- He can climb with the best of them.
- He's a sneaky little shit.
Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Donnie has mutated to possess chloroplasts within his body, allowing him to conduct photosynthesis when in the presence of water and carbon dioxide. As a result his skin is permeable, and he can absorb water and oxygen through it. His veins are greenish instead of blueish and his blood is amberish, sort of like sap.
Appearance:
Donnie is a shorter man, standing at around 5'2"-5'3", and he weighs about as much as a thrown stone. A thin, gaunt thing at first glance, but a life of surviving alone have turned him from placid little boy into a wiry, almost chimp-like young man. His head is squarish, his jaw is chiseled and his chin is cleft. His eyes seem a tad too small and his nose curves out like the beak of a vulture. His hair is black, greasy and hangs down in long, clumped strips like wet meat from his scalp. His skin is a sickly pale, with a slight tinge of green to it, enough to make him look constantly ill. He favors wearing sun-bleached torn jeans, a tight-fitting extra-extra-small t-shirt (it might be from a children's clothing store), a pair of welding goggles and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He's not the most fashionable man.
Brief Personality:
By every definition, a fantastic coward. Donnie has no problem with potentially avoiding any trouble he comes across, no matter the extra effort expended in doing so. Some would tell you that he has no shame, as groveling and begging are not beneath him by any means. Otherwise a reclusive individual, his family taught him to never trust anyone but the family. And when you come from a big family, you've got a lot to trust, but without that family there for him, he's suspicious of everyone and everything that he comes across. A coward and a snake.
Background:
Donnie was part of a big family, once upon a time. Mother, father, brothers, sisters. Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Plenty of all of them. The family was big enough to be considered THE Family, at least at one point. Life was good, from what he's been told. A big estate, lots of privilege and a great group of friends to boot. If you asked him, he might even tell you about the time he helped the Franzetti brothers cover his sisters in punch during the big family reunion. When the bombs fell, the family grew smaller. They held ceremonies, fights broke out as calls to action came from all over and the Family divided even more. Slowly, Donnie's life fell apart and he grew into a man, trusting no one but his mother and father, and learning in his own time that to play the second banana and stay out of the limelight wasn't nearly as bad as people say it is.
He doesn't talk about his parents passing much, but he'll tell you that ever since his uncle took over the Family's business, its all gone to shit. That is why he left, you know. Left for the Big Apple, for New York, to see if he could make something of himself. A name, a home. Maybe even a new family.
Alone or with someone?:
Alone.
Other:
Despite his parentage, he's actually terrible at speaking his mother tongue, Italian.
Name: Atlas
Age: 4
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons: Teeth. Claws. Standard dog stuff.
Skills:
Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Atlas is smarter than your average pooch. Smarter than most pooches for that matter. Atlas is smart enough to bark along to 'Sweet Home Alabama', get you a beer and fetch the newspaper, all in time to lay down at your feet and watch the bandits try to traverse the minefield and death traps you set up earlier. He possesses a bulge in his throat, like an adam's apple, that allows him to make some rather outlandish noises.
Appearance:
Atlas is a Doberman Pinscher like any other really. He stands at around 2'4" at the shoulder. He wears a green leather collar bearing a nametag that says 'Atlas' on it.
Brief Personality:
Atlas is a cautious dog. He's not exactly one to run to the nearest human contact he can find in hopes of receiving love and gratification. He's a cluey pup, and he knows that people are prone to violence. He will stick to the shadows as he feels necessary, scavenging and taking as he can to survive. He does not get along well with other dogs. He does not know why.
Background:
Atlas was once a pack dog. He was born into, and came from a pack of dogs that has been roaming the wastes for generations, fending for itself and picking at the bones of the world left behind by the creatures that once cared for them and accompanied them. He grew up with the firm belief that he was a dog just like all of his siblings and cousins, a simple canine trying to eek out a living in this new world that had been lumped to all who still fought to survive. While he was not a dog that was well liked by other dogs, he enjoyed what time he spent with his kind. Over the course of his short life, he had been free, and he had been captured, made to fight for entertainment and sport. When he and his siblings demonstrated abilities uncharacteristic of their species, they were culled, so as to not pollute the blood of the sporting dogs. All except for Atlas himself, the smartest of the lot, who had heard the cries of the others and played possum, escaping into the night shortly after. Now he wanders the wastes of New York alone, eating and marking and hunting. And learning.
Alone or with someone?:
Alone.
Age: 4
Gender: Male
Nomadic or sedentary: Nomadic.
Weapons: Teeth. Claws. Standard dog stuff.
Skills:
- Helluva nose.
- Great hearing.
- Quick like a... really quick dog.
- Quick to learn.
Any unusual traits? Does it show physically?:
Atlas is smarter than your average pooch. Smarter than most pooches for that matter. Atlas is smart enough to bark along to 'Sweet Home Alabama', get you a beer and fetch the newspaper, all in time to lay down at your feet and watch the bandits try to traverse the minefield and death traps you set up earlier. He possesses a bulge in his throat, like an adam's apple, that allows him to make some rather outlandish noises.
Appearance:
Atlas is a Doberman Pinscher like any other really. He stands at around 2'4" at the shoulder. He wears a green leather collar bearing a nametag that says 'Atlas' on it.
Brief Personality:
Atlas is a cautious dog. He's not exactly one to run to the nearest human contact he can find in hopes of receiving love and gratification. He's a cluey pup, and he knows that people are prone to violence. He will stick to the shadows as he feels necessary, scavenging and taking as he can to survive. He does not get along well with other dogs. He does not know why.
Background:
Atlas was once a pack dog. He was born into, and came from a pack of dogs that has been roaming the wastes for generations, fending for itself and picking at the bones of the world left behind by the creatures that once cared for them and accompanied them. He grew up with the firm belief that he was a dog just like all of his siblings and cousins, a simple canine trying to eek out a living in this new world that had been lumped to all who still fought to survive. While he was not a dog that was well liked by other dogs, he enjoyed what time he spent with his kind. Over the course of his short life, he had been free, and he had been captured, made to fight for entertainment and sport. When he and his siblings demonstrated abilities uncharacteristic of their species, they were culled, so as to not pollute the blood of the sporting dogs. All except for Atlas himself, the smartest of the lot, who had heard the cries of the others and played possum, escaping into the night shortly after. Now he wanders the wastes of New York alone, eating and marking and hunting. And learning.
Alone or with someone?:
Alone.
