I'm still interested.
Monotonous Member
Sock
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- Monotonous 10 yrs ago
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10 yrs ago
Potatoes.
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<Snipped quote by Ghost Shadow>
Immortals stop aging from the point they are granting immortality. Simply put, if you are granted at the age of 30, you're 30 for the rest of your life.
According to google, aging means the process of growing old. This means that immortals can still mature right? As in, a 2 year old immortal toddler won't be forced to walk on stubby legs forever, right?
I just have to assure myself before setting my character's age.
Cheese cake is pretty good.
Interested
The Trottels
Name: Warren TrottelAge: 17
Appearance:
Sporting a dress shirt and half apron, he looks like he's ready to cater your every need. Warren stands an undaunting 5'8", with his skeletal build only adding to his timid waiter appearance. Unkempt black hair frames his dismal expression. What were once playful brown eyes have lost their gleam, and having to turn his opponents into swiss cheese for the amusement of whatever sick bastards are watching isn't helping.
Equipment:
- Meat Cleaver
- Knife set
- Beretta 92
- Ammunition
- Food & Water
- Books
- Broken gas mask
- Clothing
- Bicycle
Name: Arnost Trottel
Age: 50
Appearance:
The head of the Trottel family is a bitter fellow, and his expression shows it. Along with Arnost's constant scowl, one of his most prominent features is his bulbous nose. However, said schnoz could never compete with the size of his stomach. Covering his belly and dark freckled skin is his fancy attire, which consists of an overcoat, loafers, and a dress shirt. He stands a few inches below 7 feet. With the aid of his imposing size, Arnost looks down upon everybody else with black eyes.
Equipment:
- MP-133
- Ammunition
- Watch
- Bible
- Lint roller
- Baseball bat
- Gas Mask
- Clothing
Name: Whitney Trottel
Age: 20
Appearance:
Unlike the rest of her family, she isn't saddened by getting to shoot the bitches she knew from before Baltimore became a warzone; and her demeanor sure as hell shows it. Whitney is always cracking jokes when possible and smiling without any real reason. Her black eyes seem to always be darting around, but it isn't like you'd notice it since she is almost always wearing her gas mask. Like Arnost, she has tan skin and brown hair: the difference being that her hair is long. She has a slim build with some muscle tone and is happy to be taller than her little brother by 3 inches. Like Warren, Whitney sports a waiter outfit, and like her father she wears an overcoat to conceal everything.
Equipment:
- M4 Carbine
- Ammunition
- Gas Mask
- Bulletproof vest
- Machete
- Mints and gum
- Clothing
- Rollerblades
Family History:
Arnost lived in Baltimore his whole entire life. He inherited the restaurant from his parents when they died and eventually got hitched. Wanting someone to inherit the restaurant, the man decided he wanted a child; so out came the bouncing baby, Whitney. Unfortunately, the head of the household wanted male successor. From this desire came Warren. It is only after the both of them grew older that Arnost started to favor Whitney and not give a shit about the sex of whoever got the restaurant. It is because of this new favoritism that Warren had to do more work in the restaurant, while Whitney ran around doing whatever she felt like doing.
When Baltimore became a warzone the Trottel family attempted to camp it out at the restaurant. Arnost's wife was out of the house when it all started and they all decided to wait for her to come back. After a few days, they all decided to look for her and abandoned the restaurant for the chaos outside.
Trottel Threes--uhm... Trottel troupe ftw
Interested.
Hypate recoiled at the sight of Tarit bounding into the room with not a stitch of clothes on his skin. No human should have to witness what she saw. No other-human creature, too. The horror! The horror!
Meanwhile, Tarit took the clothes Dragon gave him before promptly walking to a corner. He rushed to put on all his clothes, frowning when he realized they were damp; regardless, they were still better than the burnt remains he was using to cover up. Subsequent to the prankster getting not-naked, Kendict dashed into the preparation tent to order those who were still in costume to return to the ring and for everyone else to go look for the absent Atla; afterword Dragon came in asking for anyone that wants to smash some skulls to come with him. Looking at his fellow circus members, the performer reckoned that most of them would go searching, and that would simply not do. The show must go on!
Hypate's motives were less heroic and gallant; she just didn't want to leave the comfort of the tent. Yes, she could summon some mindless corpses to scourge the circus grounds, but she wasn't in the mood for that either. She settled into a laid-back position and decided she would just wait, unless someone asked her personally.
The male entertainer nearly darted into the ring, but halted right before going through the flaps. He already tricked them once. It would be difficult to deceive them again. Tarit strolled over to his electric chair and sat down; the man knew that he'd need more power to amaze the audience after everything they've seen. Larkus would probably help him if he asked, but the rascal wanted to make his day a bit more interesting.
"Hey Hypate! You wanna strap me in and flick that lever real quick?" Tarit asked with a smirk.
Not particulary inclined to exit her comfortable spot, Hypate paused, wondering if this was going to end well. "It depends! Is this another excuse for me to get electrocuted and ruin my hair?" She replied, eyeballing Tarit. At least he had put some clothes on.
---
"Come on! Do you really think I'm that cruel?" he asked, his grin as wide as ever. Tarit extended his hand invitingly, looking at Hypate and anticipating her response. "Besides, I'm gonna need to charge up a bit if we're going to charm the audience. So... pretty please?"
Regret was already flowing through her, and Hypate couldn't help create far-fetched images of what was to come. Flashbacks stirred in her head, along with a burning odor that she faintly remembered. "Who said we were working together?" she put in weakly, trying a faint excuse. It didn't work, and Tarit continued smiling like a fool and stretching his arm out. He did ask personally. She stood and languidly made her way toward the chair, continuing to hope that he would stop extending his arm and say 'Nevermind!'
"Whatever you say." He chuckled while returning his limb to the armrest. With a poor attempt at a serious expression, Tarit reclined in his seat and closed his eyes. Electricity openly flowed through him, but he didn't feel any pain; instead, invigoration took the place of dying. The lounger idiotically expressed how carefree he was with his now happy face, and no foul darkness could get rid of it. His damp clothing causing his batteries to be charged a bit faster, the man soon stood up and stretched.
"You need to lighten up. Also, you mind turning that off for me?" he asked, gesturing to his beloved chair. The performer was ready to perform and strolled towards the ring, stopping right outside the flaps of the tent and looking back at Hypate. "Ready to shock 'em?"
Hypate witnessed the transformation with an expression of wonder on her face. People with powers such as Tarit's never ceased to amaze her, and for a moment, her bored face was replaced with affection. Then the process was over, and Tarit was already out of the chair, spewing out jests. She flicked the lever back up before calling to him: "Lighten up? Is that supposed to be a pun? "
Despite this, she still followed him out toward the performing ring. "Ready to shock 'em?" Ugh. When would it stop?
"What am I supposed to do?" Hypate hissed, reaching for inspiration in the clouds. "The skeleton shtick won't work, and I can't spare another disapearing audience member!"
And so, Tarit leaned over and began to whisper his scheme into her ear.
---
Pitch black. The audience was incapable of perceiving anything, other than the breathing of their fellow spectators and the footsteps of two performers. The magic that once illuminated the the tent was absent. Several of the onlookers took out their phones, only to find that they wouldn't help them regain visibility. A deathly stillness came over all of the unfortunate beholders; indifferent towards any attempts to move, their limbs would not respond. The screams of fear and gasps of surprise that filled the tent couldn't be heard, for their mouths would not open. Unable to run or scream, the only important thing that the audience retained was their ability to observe.
The tent was brightened by a flash of light prior to a chortling from somewhere within the tent. Lightning struck the ground disorderly.
Then a cry echoed round the tent, a howl most unnatural and spine-chilling, as the lights flickered back on. The cheery, yellow circus lights were gone, and in their place was a dim and unsteady green glow being cast down from the roof.
There, in the center were five figures. One could easily mistake them as humans, but upon closer inspections, it would be revealed that that was not the case. Their skin was of a porcelain quality, with rosy cheeks and empty, blue eyes. The forms wore black jackets and matching trousers, and each had a bowler on top of their too-perfect head. The audience waited.
Then, as what could follow as one of the most bizarre things of the night, music began filling the tent. It was Fred Astaire's 'Putting on the Ritz.' The puppets, if they could be called that, began shuddering in what was a ghastly attempt at a tap-dance routine. The audience continued waiting. How horrifying! But how stylish those jackets were!
The audio abruptly cut out, and the figures swiftly halted their convulsion-dance. The eerie blossom of light was replaced by the amber shine from the original lights, and the audience found that they could once again talk and move freely.
Tarit zapped back into the prep tent, and immediately started clapping along with the audience that reluctantly did the same. "Nice show hmm?" he said once Hypate was inside.
"Irresponsible, dangerous, reckless. Shall I go on?" she said, still stealing glances at the audience who were still clapping. "I only hope that they've managed to find a trace of Atla while I've been dangling these strings. And speaking of strings," With a flourish, Hypate brought up her hands, revealing a tangled knot of strings. "Do you mind getting something to cut these?"
The subtlety of his teasing—if it was ever subtle— vanished as the mischief-maker placed his hands on hers, and started vaporizing some of the rope; taking special care not to shock his fellow entertainer. When enough of the thread singed, Tarit undid the remains of the string. "That better?"
With a mumble of "Good enough." Hypate bowed slightly and promptly vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the blonde performer alone in the bustling tent.
Meanwhile, Tarit took the clothes Dragon gave him before promptly walking to a corner. He rushed to put on all his clothes, frowning when he realized they were damp; regardless, they were still better than the burnt remains he was using to cover up. Subsequent to the prankster getting not-naked, Kendict dashed into the preparation tent to order those who were still in costume to return to the ring and for everyone else to go look for the absent Atla; afterword Dragon came in asking for anyone that wants to smash some skulls to come with him. Looking at his fellow circus members, the performer reckoned that most of them would go searching, and that would simply not do. The show must go on!
Hypate's motives were less heroic and gallant; she just didn't want to leave the comfort of the tent. Yes, she could summon some mindless corpses to scourge the circus grounds, but she wasn't in the mood for that either. She settled into a laid-back position and decided she would just wait, unless someone asked her personally.
The male entertainer nearly darted into the ring, but halted right before going through the flaps. He already tricked them once. It would be difficult to deceive them again. Tarit strolled over to his electric chair and sat down; the man knew that he'd need more power to amaze the audience after everything they've seen. Larkus would probably help him if he asked, but the rascal wanted to make his day a bit more interesting.
"Hey Hypate! You wanna strap me in and flick that lever real quick?" Tarit asked with a smirk.
Not particulary inclined to exit her comfortable spot, Hypate paused, wondering if this was going to end well. "It depends! Is this another excuse for me to get electrocuted and ruin my hair?" She replied, eyeballing Tarit. At least he had put some clothes on.
---
"Come on! Do you really think I'm that cruel?" he asked, his grin as wide as ever. Tarit extended his hand invitingly, looking at Hypate and anticipating her response. "Besides, I'm gonna need to charge up a bit if we're going to charm the audience. So... pretty please?"
Regret was already flowing through her, and Hypate couldn't help create far-fetched images of what was to come. Flashbacks stirred in her head, along with a burning odor that she faintly remembered. "Who said we were working together?" she put in weakly, trying a faint excuse. It didn't work, and Tarit continued smiling like a fool and stretching his arm out. He did ask personally. She stood and languidly made her way toward the chair, continuing to hope that he would stop extending his arm and say 'Nevermind!'
"Whatever you say." He chuckled while returning his limb to the armrest. With a poor attempt at a serious expression, Tarit reclined in his seat and closed his eyes. Electricity openly flowed through him, but he didn't feel any pain; instead, invigoration took the place of dying. The lounger idiotically expressed how carefree he was with his now happy face, and no foul darkness could get rid of it. His damp clothing causing his batteries to be charged a bit faster, the man soon stood up and stretched.
"You need to lighten up. Also, you mind turning that off for me?" he asked, gesturing to his beloved chair. The performer was ready to perform and strolled towards the ring, stopping right outside the flaps of the tent and looking back at Hypate. "Ready to shock 'em?"
Hypate witnessed the transformation with an expression of wonder on her face. People with powers such as Tarit's never ceased to amaze her, and for a moment, her bored face was replaced with affection. Then the process was over, and Tarit was already out of the chair, spewing out jests. She flicked the lever back up before calling to him: "Lighten up? Is that supposed to be a pun? "
Despite this, she still followed him out toward the performing ring. "Ready to shock 'em?" Ugh. When would it stop?
"What am I supposed to do?" Hypate hissed, reaching for inspiration in the clouds. "The skeleton shtick won't work, and I can't spare another disapearing audience member!"
And so, Tarit leaned over and began to whisper his scheme into her ear.
---
Pitch black. The audience was incapable of perceiving anything, other than the breathing of their fellow spectators and the footsteps of two performers. The magic that once illuminated the the tent was absent. Several of the onlookers took out their phones, only to find that they wouldn't help them regain visibility. A deathly stillness came over all of the unfortunate beholders; indifferent towards any attempts to move, their limbs would not respond. The screams of fear and gasps of surprise that filled the tent couldn't be heard, for their mouths would not open. Unable to run or scream, the only important thing that the audience retained was their ability to observe.
The tent was brightened by a flash of light prior to a chortling from somewhere within the tent. Lightning struck the ground disorderly.
Then a cry echoed round the tent, a howl most unnatural and spine-chilling, as the lights flickered back on. The cheery, yellow circus lights were gone, and in their place was a dim and unsteady green glow being cast down from the roof.
There, in the center were five figures. One could easily mistake them as humans, but upon closer inspections, it would be revealed that that was not the case. Their skin was of a porcelain quality, with rosy cheeks and empty, blue eyes. The forms wore black jackets and matching trousers, and each had a bowler on top of their too-perfect head. The audience waited.
Then, as what could follow as one of the most bizarre things of the night, music began filling the tent. It was Fred Astaire's 'Putting on the Ritz.' The puppets, if they could be called that, began shuddering in what was a ghastly attempt at a tap-dance routine. The audience continued waiting. How horrifying! But how stylish those jackets were!
The audio abruptly cut out, and the figures swiftly halted their convulsion-dance. The eerie blossom of light was replaced by the amber shine from the original lights, and the audience found that they could once again talk and move freely.
Tarit zapped back into the prep tent, and immediately started clapping along with the audience that reluctantly did the same. "Nice show hmm?" he said once Hypate was inside.
"Irresponsible, dangerous, reckless. Shall I go on?" she said, still stealing glances at the audience who were still clapping. "I only hope that they've managed to find a trace of Atla while I've been dangling these strings. And speaking of strings," With a flourish, Hypate brought up her hands, revealing a tangled knot of strings. "Do you mind getting something to cut these?"
The subtlety of his teasing—if it was ever subtle— vanished as the mischief-maker placed his hands on hers, and started vaporizing some of the rope; taking special care not to shock his fellow entertainer. When enough of the thread singed, Tarit undid the remains of the string. "That better?"
With a mumble of "Good enough." Hypate bowed slightly and promptly vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving the blonde performer alone in the bustling tent.
Potato person and I are still writing the encore.
I am now rock person.
Interested.
Interested
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