Lo Pellegrino

Life Continues

Nice posts all around!

To elaborate on my last one: Please do explore any means of escape you please. Just because a character believes one way is right and another is blatantly wrong does not make that truth. We're all wagering here, and our wagers will cost us in the end. Make the bet you think is right.

Looking forward to all these characters, who all seem to believe leaving is the best option, coming upon one another!

Life Continues

Doors are slamming left and right. If this is nothing, you can only imagine the messes people will find when they return. Messes left by their panicked rush or from looters. You figure the latter is unpreventable too. If things are seriously bad what in this not exactly dream worthy flat will you miss? Things turn out just fine, well, shit happens. A part of you considers staying and making use of that hand-cannon in your night-stand drawer. You haven't fired it and truth be told the thing's nearly useless to you anyway. That too big beast against some looter with anything larger than a steak knife. The headline would be embarrassing and your stuff would be gone all the same, except in this case is your life. You find yourself quickly loading a dufflebag, debating whether or not that hand-cannon should go in the bag or in your pants like some moron. After you decide, you go to the door and look back. Your loft looks like it's already been tossed and once again you find yourself right alongside those you criticize. Smirking, you slam the door behind you.

When you get down to the street your keys are already in hand. That quiet, empty street observation you made earlier seems to have changed. Changed very much, actually. Not a block down the road you see a line of dots, one after the other, stacking forward until the city lights blur together. Horns are blaring like no one's business. It's deafening, but some part of you -- the stupid part, probably -- thinks answers lie that way. You figure you'll get farther on foot.

Rain only makes things better. You lift up your hood, pull your pea-coat shut, and pop the shitty convenient store umbrella you've been meaning to replace. After a few blocks of walking you pass the seventh -- eighth row of cars. People resort to rolling down their windows and shouting. According to a man more that makes you feel skinny in comparison, 'fucking some of them fucking have fucking been there for fucking hours'. Funny, walking mustn't have come to mind. You're smirking again, you probably look like an asshole as you wave to fuck-man's car and walk by. There's a horn again, but closer.

You realize the sound is too close only after crumbling. Nothing hurts bad, not really, it's shocking. For a moment the world slows down and decides to do a full tilt. The lights bleed, streaking, then go dark. You go dark. You... go.

...

"Oh no," Edmund sighed, his eyes gaping. In a second the Prius was in park and the driver door thrown open. "Are you okay?"

Edmund rushed to the side of the man prone in front of his car. His long, wiry arms outstretched, Edmund stooped beside the man with worry lines cut down his face. The man lay on his side deathly still, but at first glance fine. The most Edmund had ever seen was a broken leg. He remembered how gruesome the reality of such pain was and how disturbingly close the expensive imitations at work actually were. This before him, the still, yet breathing man lying there, was not that. Not really even a scratch. Finally, the man rolled onto his back and let out a groan. He even spoke.

"Looked a proper ass. Got hit. Figures," the man grumbled. Clearing his throat, he stood, only lightly leaning on Edmund.

The man looked quite the opposite of Edmund. While both dressed well enough, under that pea-coat the stranger seemed a thick, dark mass. His arms and chest were half a hand wider than Edmund's and his skin two shades paler. Edmund thought to smile at him, but hesitated. He read the man's strangely calm expression as best he could. Under the man's grey hood he had long, dark hair now shuffled and a smooth, just shaved jawline. Handsome, tan, and stoic. A character right out of his marketing campaigns, Edmund thought to himself.

"Listen, I'm really sorry man. With all the yelling, honking, and fender benders I was crazy distracted. Can I give you a ride or something? I can bring you to the hospital, whatever you need," Edmund explained, his palms open and moving gently like waves. He knew how to calm a person. He knew how to guide them to a resolution, but it was easier when half the city wasn't panicking just behind him.

The man adjusted his coat, glanced at Edmund, then the car. He gave a crooked a smile, and laughed, "Piss poor offer when the only move you've made in the last ten minutes was hittin' me. Should carry me if we want'a get somewhere." The man's smile broke and his brow cocked sharply. Confusion painted his face, so Edmund began to turn. "Move!"

Edmund fell onto the sidewalk under the weight of the man. There were horns, the sound of shattering glass, and a sharp metallic slap. Then another. And another. When the men rolled onto their backs, they saw an armoured behemoth amongst Sedans. Cars moved aside as the massive military vehicle forged ahead regardless of those around. When enraged drivers looked out from their cars, they saw the cannon atop the beast and simply gasped. Edmund sat up. His Prius was moved by another that'd been directly hit, but he was fine. In fact, the Pruis had turned about so that his wind-shield pointed toward the clearing.

Without hesitation the man stood and held a hand out to Edmund. Words were needless. In a mix of trust, guilt, and fear, Edmund tossed them over and jogged toward the passenger seat. The Prius's headlights clicked off and the man had them following the cleared path in seconds.

"Tanks in the streets. I guess that proves it," Edmund sighed, looking back to mass of luggage behind him.

"Elayevee."

"What?"

The man glanced back at the luggage, then to Edmund. "Lightly-Armoured-Vehicle. Not a tank, but better than a truck. That cannon atop it was a twenty-five millimetre, much smaller than a tank's. Used to operate one. The Elayevee. What's in this direction?"

Clearing his throat, Edmund replied, "The bridge, I think. Do you think it's a blockade or something? Maybe we're being attacked or something."

"Attacked?" the man retorted, his voice suddenly octaves higher. "You think they drove bloody tanks across the country to attack your city? Right narcissist you are! Bloody American I'd wager! No, first thought's the best. Blockade might be right, which means we won't be gettin' over the bridge. And I'll be damned if I resort to the subway in this mess. Boat docks maybe."

"What makes you think we should leave? What if they're keeping someone out?"

The man gave a grim smiled and sighed, "You don't mash the people you're protecting on the way to meet the enemy. They're forming a blockade. This is a quarantine. Now, do you know any other ways off the island?"

Apocalyptica

I'd throw my lot in.

Life Continues

Ink Blood said
Sorry for the lack of a post so far, Lo. I will try and have one uo later tonight or tomorrow.

I will be posting the next IC tonight. Consider that a gentle nudge ;).

Phoenix said
I don't really know what else to add. I'd really just reiterate what's already been written in greater (and arguably irrelevant) detail. Do you want me to write a kind of story depicting his everyday life? It won't even be longer than the Brief History due to the nature of his life, which is relatively uneventful outside of what I alluded to already.

Let me know what you're looking for so I can accommodate.

First, pointing out that there may be quite a bit of fluff already should not be how you sell this to me -- not being mean, just saying. The CS should have a background and a Brief History, right now it looks like you dumped it all in the Brief and did nothing in the Background. Both have a purpose, both are necessary for me to properly check out your character and provide real feedback. Basically, please follow the CS's instructions.

Life Continues

Phoenix said
Only if this is still open.I do want to make a sheet for his sister. Would this be possible?[spoiler=Forrest Archer Johnson] 25 Farm hand Singing, Archery Forrest is a quiet man, almost shy. He's not one to make a show of himself, but being 6'3" and built like the farm hand he is, others can't help but notice him. He's sensitive to others' emotions, claiming himself to be empathetic. He didn't grow up in a religious house and formed no formal opinion on the matter. He will pray or use religious profanities due to his sociological experiences. He has a large respect for firearms and dislikes those who wield them unskillfully or disrespectfully. He remembers his middle school years as the most difficult as he was bullied for being a farm boy. He was still small during this time and felt hopeless and alone. He even admits to crying a couple times during those years. However, in high school, he grew quickly. He was approached by his middle-school bullies for joining the football team, but turned them down due to his formed bias and the fact he cared about his family farm more than sports. His father was, understandably, upset by this and needed his wife to explain the reasons behind their son's decision. Girls fawned over his masculinity, but he seemed to never show any care or even notice the flirtation. In truth, he ignored it, being completely uninterested in the superficial world his peers seemed to come from.He was raised to appreciate what he had, as he lived on a subsistant farm that sometimes sold their crops. He knew what real hard work was and would often arrive to school with wrappings or bruises. He learned to hunt quite effectively and became callous to the idea of death for sustenance. He even took hunting further and honed his archery skills by using recurve, reflext, and a self bow he made. These tools mean more to him than the firearms his father provided. He's only ever driven standard vehicles. He also knows how to run and maintain most any vehicle including tractors and agricultural equipment. He also trained in dressage and barrel racing with Hanoverian, Draft, and Quarter Horses. He, personally, raised at least 3 horses of each of these breeds himself and has intimate relations with all of them, but most of all with Buck, the first Hanoverian born to him.His relation with his younger sister is strong and extremely paternal, even more so than their father. She claims to be suffocated by him, but never admits to actually appreciating it. Forrest believes this to be a larger reason to his disinterest in girls: his attention to Willow is so much more demanding of his energy and focus.He's quick to make decisions and is reasonably more educated than most other farmers who make a life of their farm. However, this merely means his knowledge extends further from agriculture and animal husbandry, which he knows quite well. He has a basic understanding of politics, psychology, and sociology. His strongest subjects in school were maths and English. Additionally, he understands well enough that he doesn't know everything, but that others don't necessarily know everything, either. Personally, he feels the ability to relate to other humans to be paramount to responsibility and physical aptitude. He not in the least boastful and despises condescension above all. He was born on the ranch when his mother went into labor too suddenly. They say he was her quickest and easiest birth and not quite nearly as long or painful as his younger sister, Willow Yew. Being seven years apart, Forrest has always been a stronger father figure to her than their own father, Richard Robert. Their mother, Katherine Jeanne James, had also been the light and lovely housewife, but surprisingly taught their children what "real" work looked like.Forrest was taught how to ride, hunt, slaughter, and farm since he was able to walk and knows much about the arts of farming. He also taught himself archery from his grandfather's bow. However, he is not ignorant of the world and its developments. He doesn't show any interests in technology, but is curious enough to learn about it, however minimally. His strengths were in maths, English, and social sciences. Even though he only got an Associate's degree in Liberal Arts at a local Community College, his surprisingly worldly, though he's never traveled outside the state. Through his elementary and junior years, he was small and often picked on by larger children. His father put him to work when the boy got home to distract him, but then told the boy that his work was too great to be lessened by the words and actions of others. "Take pride in your work," Forrest's father would always say.He grew quickly in high school and was the attention of the girls. Ignoring them only made them fawn more. His attention was on his baby sister and his work. His parents pushed him to join an extracurricular, preferably football since the coach and players often approached him due to his size, but being most of them were his bullies, his bias against them was too great to consider such an activity. Instead, he joined the school's Chorus as it took up much less of his time and his beautiful baritone voice was discovered. By today, his father condemned his son's celibacy only through cultural norms. "It's unnecessary," he claimed. Later he would learn this as non-sexuality, or something close to it. He focuses on his work on the farm and helping to raise his little sister in spite of both their parents being alive and well. Will create if requested Automotive, mediation Deep emotional connections created quickly, independence[/spoiler]

I will review the CS when the background is completed.

Community Challenge # 1

How long should we wait until the next rotation Brand? I'm free this weekend and happy to put another round together.

Life Continues

You can tell you went back and forth with your CS a bit as Arthur is said to have finished his Ph.D at one point and at another that he is apparently near the end. Otherwise, I like this character, but perhaps I'm biased -- from the detail of his background to the very image, he is extremely close to old professor of mine from undergrad. A philologist and historian Ph.D, he started me off on my way to learning Latin and put me in an entirely new head space. Yes, this is not him and I understand that, but imagining an academic like him in a world like this seems very compelling.

I'd love to see a post from you before I move us along!

Ink Blood said
Arthur Collins 39 Rare Book Collector/Part-time Professor of Literature Reading and playing chess Arthur thinks in terms of a game. He sees everyone and everything as a giant game and will do his best to plan everything out in his day and gets extremely bothered when something doesn't go according to his plan or is out of his control to fix. He hates being late for anything, and he considers himself being late if he planned to get somewhere ten minutes before he had to and arrives any time after that. Arthur went to a private school for Grade School, Middle School, and High School. He was Captain of the Chess Team in High School. He graduated second in his class and went on to a local University in his hometown, where he pursued a Bachelors in Literature and was also on the fencing and chess team; he also met his best friend, Richie, there. After graduation there, he moved to where he is now for Grad School and his Doctoral Studies in Literature with Richie. Arthur has since completed his studies and has been teaching part-time at the same University he got his Ph. D. from for ten years now along with working at a local museum as a rare book collector. Arthur is a very well-spoken man, making him very charismatic; he is also fluent in Latin. He is a very clever and quick-witted man and excels at strategy games such as chess and even fencing. Arthur is fast when it comes to sprinting short distances, but when it comes to running long distances he has very little endurance. He is also not very physically strong at all and can be overpowered easily by a stronger adversary.

American, not African American?

So Boerd said
So what exactly is your issue? Thought we were complaining about prison pop.Cum hoc ergo propter hoc, if you cared to google it, means that correlation does not imply causation. A discrepenancy between black and white poverty does not mean ipso facto the system is racist

“'If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there's no progress. If you pull it all the way out that's not progress. Progress is healing the wound that the blow made. And they haven't even pulled the knife out much less heal the wound. They won't even admit the knife is there.'”

Congratulations, So Boerd, you've made this quote relevant in 2014! Feel deeply dirty, deeply ashamed, and despicable at your leisure (or simply don't recognize it, that's working well for you so far)!

Life Continues

I'd just recommend someone non-combat in general. It doesn't matter what branch to me, but it'd be far more interesting to explore someone not schooled on our to murder to and defend themselves and instead see a person who only now have to face such moral blocks.

Life Continues

Ink Blood said
I'm stuck on my character. I'm torn between making a Professor of Literature, a gunsmith, an old and grizzled veteran, or a combination of the last two. Any suggestions?

The last two are predictable for any apocalypse setting. I'd suggest emphasis on the first, and would suggest the possibility of a veteran was not combat oriented for the sake of originality.