Noxious

ςнαяαςтєяş × яøℓєρℓαчş

Lolly Mae

L o l l y M a e J o n e s

^{Well we only got the two melons
I say we fill one with s h i n e
and the other with tannerite}

Eighteen || Female || 5' 5" || 130 lbs

S p e c i a l i t y

Jack of all trades, master of none. Unless you count roping and riding 'cause she can wrestle anything with legs. She learned to shoot at the age of five; never too young to protect the chattel from rustlers and varmints. She's handy with explosives, just ask the John Deere at the bottom of the pond, but hey, she did "catch" some fish. And there was never a lack of weaponry choices around her house to fiddle around with.

A p p e a r a n c e

Plaid, leather, lace and fringe. She wears a beat up black stetson over sun bleached mahogany curls that usually find their way in and out of a messy assortment of braids. She's got a glimmer in her mischievous hazel eyes that says the girl can take a punch and a smile that begs you to try it. She's got an extremely expressive face; eyebrows, eyes and lips that dare her to try and loose at some hold 'em. She has dimples that betray an innocence she'd rather hide and usually does, pulling up the black paisley bandana that's tied around her neck for dust storms.

[ & ] O t h e r

She's got her family brand, "J" with horns, on her left butt cheek
"Come And Take It" tattooed between her shoulders on her upper back
Star for Texanis tattooed behind her right ear
Scar on her left arm where her brother Boone shot her with an arrow

and then mangled trying to pull it out before Pa noticed

P e r s o n a l i t y

If Davie Crockett fucked a bottle of whiskey and then John Wayne drank it, she'd likely be the resulting tipsy two step. She talks too much, too loud and lady like meant she was fixin' to cook a pie when a neighbor took ill. She ain't the brightest lightning bug in the jar but Pa always says she made up for it with her gumption. Then again, she was the first girl after four boys so Pa always thought she hung the moon. The baby-can-do-no-wrong attitude cranked her wild child nature to an absurd level. She pulled on the reins once a blue moon, usually after Mama came home crying because the ladies at church were whispering about her heathen daughter. But it wasn't really her fault she had an unyielding need to keep up with the boys and often jump at their dares to impress them. She's the product of a sheltered life; easily impressed to the degree that little things amaze and fascinate her.

H i s t o r y

You hear Meemaw tell it and they've been on Texanis since right of way went to the tumble weeds. Their roots have grown roots and the folks she calls kin numbers a little less than half of their head on the ranch. Cattle ranchers, the lot of them. Mama says she was born trouble, popped out right in the back barn while the devil was beating his wife and Pa was chasing down a troublesome mustang in the western fields.

She'd never really aspired to much, let alone any thoughts of greatness. Hell, if she could win the buckle from that gap toothed Kessler boy she'd be tickled pink and probably call it a life worth living. She did always love the stars though. When everyone else was watching the mudders she'd lean back in the bed of the pickup and wonder what all was going on out there. She'd name them silly things, like the baying hound and the beaten bandit and make up stories about all the things they meant and try not to think about the taint of xenos and city folks.

Boone and Flint got into moonshinin' with the Curry boys and Bronc married a girl from money whose family set him up with some city boy job. Remington, always the responsible one, was fixin' to take over the homestead and so her family started grumbling about her finding her own path. Likely they meant settle down, take a job as a teacher, but she went right on and enlisted. See those stars she'd been dreamin' about, meet some xenos from exotic lands, and kill 'em all.

G e a r

She's got the regular standard issue weaponry plus a cattle prod that can be extended to about an arms length strapped to her right thigh, opposite from her peacebreaker autopistol. Plainstrider autogun rests on her back, combat knife stuck in her boot. Plus she carries a saddle bag with all the fixin's for homemade explosive rounds; good for a bit of a boom and can take down the thick skinned space hogs of Texanis, likely would have the same result for a xenos.

[ & ] P e r s o n a l i z a t i o n

Both the peacebreaker and plainstrider have adapted grips of pink camo engineered polymer

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

I took the coffee, vomit is gross.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

_{∙• but I don't want to go among mad people •∙}

S O L D I E R E ɴ ᴄ ᴀ ᴍ ᴘ ᴍ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ // Z ᴀ ʟ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴀ T ᴜ ɴ ᴅ ʀ ᴀ

There had been a meditating elation tingling beneath her moon kissed flesh for weeks. It was a rarity that they allowed the deranged heir out and about, and not just upon the ground, but in the sky! She hadn’t laid foot on a real shyp for so long the experience of such had been revoked from her, even as she attempted to pry into that recess. Much to the goon lackey’s dismay [they’d pissed someone off to get stuck traipsing around with this one.] she had ignored their request to remain stagnant and seated with the others in favor of frolicking about the unrestricted areas. They trudged behind her, exhaustion marring their features, haggard from nightmares in which arachnids of fantastical form and chromatic aberration crawled about their no longer sacred sleep. And how would the deviant know that? She would be glad to rid her shadow of the pair; their inability to make eye contact stirred something vicious just beneath her lackadaisical surface and control had yet to come to her forefront of traits.

And now, after uncountable days and trials, she had been promised playmates, real ones, not the un-deified shells that treated her as a contagion. Of course, she could have been with them, they lingered just below the deck that her barefeet now skipped across, but confinement had left its taint upon her and her aeon so that open air was a siren’s call she dare not mute. As the shyp began to drift from the clouds, and lower still, she followed suit, descending into the bowels of the beast. She grabbed offered shoes, laces tied so that they dangled about a slender neck and shattered the reflective nature of her lightweight armored jacket.

As the SOLDIERS began their exit she hung back, light caresses pretending to inventory her weaponry one last time while her oculars and aeon scanned instinctively for flaws and fears, a habit really, always judging, but never playing jury. If her mood wavered, it failed to register upon the idiotically sweet smile she possessed. She stretched once more, a predatory gesticulation that seemed at odds with her lithe frame, movement raising her jacket sleeves to reveal a splattering of thin lined scars; products of blessing the bo-shuriken, one of which was now being tucked into her messy locks. Then she fell into line, barefeet fluttering across the hard metal and then finding solace in the frigid form of earth. The ground was forgotten as soon as she stepped from the gaping maw of the shyp and attention fell on the open landscape. An entrancement took her features; eyes expanded and reflected a thrill that seemed to barely hide the thought of going AWOL, if only for a week or so. It was almost as if she’d forgotten how extensive the world really was.

They’d find you, and then they may not let you out again.

The faraway look that had begun to consume from the precipice of her iris’ inward, darting about the miasma within and tempting focus, was recalled as quickly as slight fingers retrieved a necklace previously coveted against her bare chest. She placed the thin vial almost imperceptibly against her nose and inhaled. If the action had been sly the result was less than. Lashes fluttered a few moments and eyes refocused so that the easy joviality became tinged with something more apathetic and hungry. Well, now you at least fit in. That’s something. The ferocity didn’t last long, though likely it was simply brushed from her expression and placed just below. When she met the gaze of the SOLDIERs, those offered, she had once again found a countenance of dripping nectar, made more elaborate by the raising of curling and wiggling fingers that came out like the wave of a beloved admirer.

She’d never been accused of being shy so when the aroma of coffee touched her senses she skipped forward, boots clicking around her neck. Graceful digits slipped around the cup offered by the, she tilted her head in an attempt to gauge the man, she was going to go for fear of loss and inability to hold liquor, but of course it was just a mental betting game she and the aeon played. She hadn’t actually leaked into him, they told her that was disrespectful, and likely it wouldn’t go unnoticed as it often did with the goons. She didn’t want to get caught being rude on her first day. Her aeon could be quite a judgmental bitch, and she did nothing to forestall this attribute within herself. She had yet to speak-- she was a little self conscious about interaction-- but she was again reminded about impressions. Instead of saying something out of place [did normal people comment on the weaving fates skittering about them?] she offered a glittering intonation to her already smiling features.

The Texanis 63rd: A Humorous 40K RP

Lolly Mae is posted. Woulda brought my coon dog if I'd known they were allowed, guess I'll just have to steal one of yours Seuss.

The Texanis 63rd: A Humorous 40K RP

L o l l y M a e J o n e s

^{Well we only got the two melons
I say we fill one with s h i n e
and the other with tannerite}

Eighteen || Female || 5' 5" || 130 lbs

S p e c i a l i t y

Jack of all trades, master of none. Unless you count roping and riding 'cause she can wrestle anything with legs. She learned to shoot at the age of five; never too young to protect the chattel from rustlers and varmints. She's handy with explosives, just ask the John Deere at the bottom of the pond, but hey, she did "catch" some fish. And there was never a lack of weaponry choices around her house to fiddle around with.

A p p e a r a n c e

Plaid, leather, lace and fringe. She wears a beat up black stetson over sun bleached mahogany curls that usually find their way in and out of a messy assortment of braids. She's got a glimmer in her mischievous hazel eyes that says the girl can take a punch and a smile that begs you to try it. She's got an extremely expressive face; eyebrows, eyes and lips that dare her to try and loose at some hold 'em. She has dimples that betray an innocence she'd rather hide and usually does, pulling up the black paisley bandana that's tied around her neck for dust storms.

[ & ] O t h e r

She's got her family brand, "J" with horns, on her left butt cheek
"Come And Take It" tattooed between her shoulders on her upper back
Star for Texanis tattooed behind her right ear
Scar on her left arm where her brother Boone shot her with an arrow

and then mangled trying to pull it out before Pa noticed

P e r s o n a l i t y

If Davie Crockett fucked a bottle of whiskey and then John Wayne drank it, she'd likely be the resulting tipsy two step. She talks too much, too loud and lady like meant she was fixin' to cook a pie when a neighbor took ill. She ain't the brightest lightning bug in the jar but Pa always says she made up for it with her gumption. Then again, she was the first girl after four boys so Pa always thought she hung the moon. The baby-can-do-no-wrong attitude cranked her wild child nature to an absurd level. She pulled on the reins once a blue moon, usually after Mama came home crying because the ladies at church were whispering about her heathen daughter. But it wasn't really her fault she had an unyielding need to keep up with the boys and often jump at their dares to impress them. She's the product of a sheltered life; easily impressed to the degree that little things amaze and fascinate her.

H i s t o r y

You hear Meemaw tell it and they've been on Texanis since right of way went to the tumble weeds. Their roots have grown roots and the folks she calls kin numbers a little less than half of their head on the ranch. Cattle ranchers, the lot of them. Mama says she was born trouble, popped out right in the back barn while the devil was beating his wife and Pa was chasing down a troublesome mustang in the western fields.

She'd never really aspired to much, let alone any thoughts of greatness. Hell, if she could win the buckle from that gap toothed Kessler boy she'd be tickled pink and probably call it a life worth living. She did always love the stars though. When everyone else was watching the mudders she'd lean back in the bed of the pickup and wonder what all was going on out there. She'd name them silly things, like the baying hound and the beaten bandit and make up stories about all the things they meant and try not to think about the taint of xenos and city folks.

Boone and Flint got into moonshinin' with the Curry boys and Bronc married a girl from money whose family set him up with some city boy job. Remington, always the responsible one, was fixin' to take over the homestead and so her family started grumbling about her finding her own path. Likely they meant settle down, take a job as a teacher, but she went right on and enlisted. See those stars she'd been dreamin' about, meet some xenos from exotic lands, and kill 'em all.

G e a r

She's got the regular standard issue weaponry plus a cattle prod that can be extended to about an arms length strapped to her right thigh, opposite from her peacebreaker autopistol. Plainstrider autogun rests on her back, combat knife stuck in her boot. Plus she carries a saddle bag with all the fixin's for homemade explosive rounds; good for a bit of a boom and can take down the thick skinned space hogs of Texanis, likely would have the same result for a xenos.

[ & ] P e r s o n a l i z a t i o n

Both the peacebreaker and plainstrider have adapted grips of pink camo engineered polymer

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

It's the name of one of my older coworkers. I thought it was charmingly old fashioned.

@Life in Stasis

Lol. It is an old school name. It's actually usually a guys name when spelled M a r i "o" n and is John Wayne's real name. I know all of this because it is also my name. ;) I approve.

edit: What's even better is that I used to date a Golightly.

Job, Nevada (Supernatural Western/Mystery)

Polite hello from Life in Stasis.

@Life in Stasis

Where on earth did you come upon the name Marion, if you don't mind me asking?

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

My weekend was busy busy so I'll be reading all these (I'm sure lovely) posts and then making my own.

@AmongHeroes Glad to have you back!

The Texanis 63rd: A Humorous 40K RP

When I finish my character sheet should I post it here or PM it?

The Texanis 63rd: A Humorous 40K RP

<Snipped quote by Lady Selune>

Okay. Well, just warning everyone, Cleet Bob is putting a pair of trucknutz with the Texanis A&M logo on it.

@HeySeuss

I'll be adamantly Red Raiders; Guns up bitches. Other than that, she's going to be cattle rancher born and bred, shooter by need and roper by trade.