ONL

Current Mood in One Gif

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Alexander Polawski

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L9 (Street) -> L6 (Street outside Education Center)
Skills: N/A

---

---

As the duo of baby boomers kept their stride up the street of Mexico Beach, Alexander turned briefly around to look in the general direction of the beach. Though he didn't see anything in particular, he knew who they were leaving behind there; Thana and Thalia, their friends and the few others Alexander felt he could say he knew. As if by instinct he felt the urge to turn around, a primal fear of what could happen to them in their absence clawing in the back of his head. The rational part of his brain cast light on those primal fears however, as he once again had to remind himself that they were safe behind those walls. He would be seeing them in the morning or later.

They were safe.

Alexander wasn't safe from Manny's witty remarks though, and ol' Mugsy turned to him with a huge grin on his face. A low laughter began to come out of Alexander's mouth, before a gave Manny a well-deserved laugh. "Fuck you, Manny you teeth-hoarding pixie. I was the only thing standing between whatever undead or goons out there, and your sorry ass. So don't you come knocking on my door when you pee your bed." Alexander threw back at Manny, it clearly being filled with a big dose of humour and well-meant snarkiness. As Alexander paddled on with his good foot and prostethis, he clapped Manny on the shoulder. "If you're scared, I might lend you it. Only of Wednesdays though. Okay?" Alexander squeezed his friend's shoulder, letting the laughter die down with his smile still on the face of the old veteran. He'd seen some very bad shit throughout his life, but the jokes, smiles and friendliness he had witnessed that day reminded him of its importance. When you were at war in the middle of Hell on Earth, a smile and a joke could keep you marching the rest of your patrol. "I think we will do just fine here, Manny. Sure hope that kid will too."

---

---

Nigel "Hadrian" Cooper

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L11 (Beach, Kettles) -> L10
Skills: N/A

---

---

While Nigel had reached out with his hand in order for Hunter to grab it and get off his sorry ass, he had not expected the drunk kid to grab the oatmeal right away. Much less commence in an eating-ritual that would make the most barbaric Gaul look civilized in the eyes of a Greek king. With the one hand he had held out, Nigel slowly planted its palm straight onto his own face, a facepalm one could be so inclided as to call it. He sighed heavily, face resting in the hand as he slowly stood up. Was there no saving grace for Hunter in this Greek comedy - tragedy?

The proposal for a wheelbarrow made Nigel turn to Morales, arms crossed and his patience growing thinner by every scoop of oatmeal. "If he keeps going like this, he sure needs it…Oh for the love of…" Nigel began to contemplate, interrupted by Hunter's feeble attempt at standing up and walking away. To Nikki dancing with someone else? To get away from the oppressive fist of the Roman? Fleeing ridecule? Whatever the cause of flight was, it wasn't working. Nigel's face found its old companion in the palm of his hand again, cursing under his breath. Clearly he wasn't the only one who disapproved of his behavior, though Nigel had to ask about it being marked down. "What did he mean by that? Mark it down? Is his behaviour being added to his list of debt, so to speak?"

Nigel couldn't really argue against such logic if that was the case. Resources were scarce, and here Hunter was wasting it just as much as he was wasted. In the ancient Roman army he might have been flogged, or worse. A different time indeed, so what was the punishment here? Nigel shook his head in disbelief, giving Cook and Morales an apologetic look as to apologize for Hunter's behaviour. In the end Nigel waved goodbye to both of them and anyone else who wached him leave with Hunter, a dissapointed father walking him unruly son home. Nigel didn't want to touch him unless he was going to fall over again, but he was ready to steady him if he must. "Good…good Hunter, I'll follow you to your room. I hope your sober self will come find me and the others tomorrow to give us an apology. For now we just want you to get some sleep. And that oatmeal? You really shouldn't have wasted it like that."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Alexander Polawski

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L11 (Beach, Near Dance Floor) -> L9 (Street)
Skills: N/A

---

---

Alexander wanted to say something to the General, knowing that he would be able to give a final goodbye to Lola. He had only briefly known both her and Gavin, but it was in part thanks to her that he was there now. If not for her and her TANK way back then, who knew where the old veteran would have ended up? Alexander opened his mouth to tell the fellow old-timer something, though his words failed to materialize at the mention of Eden. Terrible? It wasn't even close of a worthy description. Alexander was pulled back to one certain room he had entered, and the vengeful act of God he himself had performed on that Eden son-of-a-bitch.

Do not take revenge, my dear friends but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.

And yet Alexander had shot a dying man in cold blood, not in defence but in despise. For a moment Alexander had become someone he feared.

Alexander only nodded at the General's words, catching where to find him after his work was over tomorrow. It took him a moment to realise the hand held out for him to shake, but Alexander also rose up and shook his hand. The same hand he'd shaken when both were young and lively. Manny showed up on cue to head to bed as well, which was more than fine for Alexander. He gave Manny a wave and a smile, giving the General one last grateful look. "And so say the Lord. Thank you, good night. Come on Manny…wait what?"

He had began to make his way away from the dance floor when he understood what Manny and the General had been talking about. Wild fucks, the boy who drank too much. "Oh…right, right…I'm going to feel sorry for that kid in the morning." Alexander stated quietly to Manny, not elaborating on it more as he walked off the beach. It was right that the boy was too rowdy and needed to be talked to, but Alexander couldn't judge him too harsly. It just felt too familiar, too much like himself. "I wonder how it feels to have a room for ourselves now. Will you miss my snoring, Manny?"

---

---

Nigel "Hadrian" Cooper

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L11 (Beach, Kettles)
Skills: N/A

---

---

Hadn't it been for Nigel somewhat voluntarily taking care of Hunter - that one was very much up for debate in whether he had chosen so himself or been forced to take the choice because nobody else cared - he would have been tempted to simply leave Hunter right where he was lying at the moment. The guy's incoherent ramblings about nuggets, America, taxes and more fuck nuggets only reciprocated shrugs of disbelief from the Neo-Roman. Some part of him was glad he himself hadn't been the one to drink his sorrows away in Erica's absence, though the teacher in him made him feel responsible for Hunter's well-being.

Nigel wasn't about to play by Hunter's rules however, leaning over the drunkard and giving him a stern look as he was getting sick and tired of this Greek tragedy. "Forget about the cursed nuggets already, and get up on your feet." Nigel told him sternly, though Cook's words made him regret giving off such a hard tone. As Morales returned with the promised bowl of oatmeal, Nigel sighed and hung his head forwards, thinking about what Cook had just said. "I guess you are right…we've all become something less out there. Thanks you two."

Kneeling down beside Hunter again, Nigel held out his hand for Hunter to take it and sit up straight for once. It was probably best to get some food down while they were still outside, and later Nigel could get Hunter back wherever he was sleeping. "People are like that, errare humanum est. Our fault as human beings. That is not for you to think about at this moment, young Venandi. Now get up from the ground and eat this, and I'll get you to your bed. And yes that is an order."

While waiting to see if Hunter would actually do as told or not, Nigel noticed the second person in this whole maelstrom pass down towards the dance floor. Nikki, who ended up dancing with someone else as the party winded down ever more with the enveloping darkness. Nigel sighed - he had sighed a lot that night come to think of it, he probably sounded like a fed-up philosopher with students asking too many stupid questions. While sure didn't want Hunter to watch Nikki dance away with someone else, he still wanted to have some fun himself. After Erica had called it an early night that had been difficult. Hopefully she was feeling better tomorrow.

Gumshoe and Femme Fatale - A tale of silver-screen intruige and pulp-action

Richard Barker

It was a welcomed change of appearance to see the young lady, still unnamed, give Richard a smile that hadn't involved sarcastic remarks of sensually-dripping seduction. Clearly his relationship with the bottle of imported Canadian whiskey had resonnated with her, though the private detective couldn't help but notice her smelling it. It was faint, but it was the type of reaction when unsure of what you had just smelled. Well unlike January, who's name she had now given, Richard didn't drink because he liked the taste.

Richard puffed another breath of smoke as January finally began answering his questions, giving her another good look up and down. The detective looked as if he was thinking hard and methodically to place her face, smoke idly drifting out of his half-closed mouth. "Not frequently at least, Miss Endicott..."

The private detective continued to look at the lady as she produced a bundle of cash and a newspaper. He elected to ignore her overly-priviliged jab at his lack of qualifications for high society. If she payed him well, he wasn't going to jab back at her. For now. Instead Richard accepted the newspaper she handed him, for the moment reading over the top story alongside January's job-description. So, so original; Who done it and why?

"First of all, Miss Endicott, I'm sorry about the loss of your father. His reputation and standing proceeded him, even to low-cultured gumshoes like me..." Richard said to January, both hands holding the newspaper before him as the cigarette continued to smoke in his pursed lips, eyes scanning the front-page for any information of value. To the wealthy socialite of a lady, it was clear that Richard had done this many times before. He may have looked shabby and rough around the edges, but he was not lazy. "Secondly, why do you suspect he was murdered for specific reason?"

Richard leaned off his desk and grabbed a chair beside January, holding out the newspaper in front of her and pointing at various parts of the article. When he looked back and forth between her and the photograps, he saw the resemblance in their hair. Other than that, she looked as distant an Endicott as Richard could have been himself, but she sure was not bad to behold. "According to the article he was killed during a robbery of the museum, an accident. Why are you suspicious?" He asked her, pulling out his cigarette and looking frankly at her, a hint of a devious smile found on his lips. "Because I am so myself. You could say a lot about the New York Times and their milking of news, but this? No suspects, no mention of where or when he was found, and most importantly..."

Richard rose up from the chair and wandered over to the window, looking out of it as if in deep thought. The neon lights of the street cast a glowy sillouette around the hard-boiled detective. "What where a bunch of murderous brutes trying to steal during a packed exhibition-season, and why hasn't the cops found them? Miss Endicott, did your father have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him? I may not have known your father personally, but from what I gathered, he wasn't the type of man to get into trouble."

The detective let the smoke cast a colourful aura around him as he asked those questions, turning around to look back at January with a sincere look on his face. He was a hard-boiled gumshoe, but something in the man spoke of understanding what she was going through, even if she was coping with it well. "You can consider your offer accepted, Miss. I'll find the dagos who killed your father, or you can count the drinks on the house."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Nigel "Hadrian" Cooper "No Sir, just skilled with swords, shields and books." - Nigel in response to Ash asking about people's military past at arrival in Camp Mexico Beach. ⚘ Looking Inside ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ If there is one thing that Nigel has learned over the course of The End of the World, is it that one cannot survive without taking risks, sometimes even hang out the neck of one to save the others. Even his own. That's how Nigel tries to take on the hostile world around him, with a firm grip around his gladius and a stern look when he sees what they have to do, no matter the cost. He'll do so with ruthless Roman efficiency, not afraid to getting up close and personal. Perhaps this is why he's uncomfortable in social settings, being slow to understanding the human side of life nowadays. Nigel knows how to fight, but to talk and act normal doesn't come as easy. He's slow to truly warming up to people, while quick to taking a dislike of others that doesn't agree with him. Especially people poking fun at his Romanesque nature, though they're right in that he's gone too deep into his niché when he doesn't shut up about the Ancient world. He's only passionate about though, and those who can stand up to this is considered a friend. ⚘ A Brief History ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Pre-Outbreak Growing Up: Nigel, contrary to what most children assosiated with those people he came to study and lecture on later in his life, had a rather happy childhood. He grew up a little northwest of Leavenworth, Washington state on the West Coast, the son of a small-time farmer as a father and a veterinarian for a mother. The only thing he could have wished for better was more time with his parents, due to them being busy many a time when Nigel wanted company. But living close to the woods as they did, he had plenty of time to explore his little world of wonders and exploration. While he didn't have an interest in chasing the local wildlife, he did learn the in's and out's of what the woods had to offer; berries, mushrooms, leaves and the like to be eaten, and what to stay away from unless you wanted a real itch in your backside. What time he did have with his parents, he learned the most from his own father. Being an ol'timer, his father preferred to make and repair his own tools, horseshoes, basically most of the metal used around the farm himself. "It's cheaper that way, and you don't have to pay for poorly made Chinese steel." his father always told him, but Nigel only remembered the smithing itself, which he never quit doing even as he went to university. Adulting: Life at university - Washington State University to be exact, was to prove a bumpy new chapter in his life. Nigel felt awkward socializing with all the new people around him, not used to such large gatherings of people at one place after growing up in halfway isolation, far from the buzzling city life. He applied first to take a degree in agricultural science, hoping to find a field he'd like. His father always told him that that was as good a field as any to take, and so why shouldn't he listen to his ol' pa? Because he hated it. Okay, perhaps "hate" was too strong a word, but he certainly felt it was not what he had thought of it to be. It just didn't click for him, and perhaps that was for the best. Because eventually, the rural farmboy made friends with other students at the university found a new passion in his life; Roman history. He had decided to attent one of the lectures with a friend, hoping to lighten up a dull day of papers and what-not. And by the end of the lecture, he was hooked. Addicted, in love, everything! He had found his calling in life; to teach history, and be amazed by Roman antiquity. And that's what he did. He changed his courses over to teaching, grew closer into the group of friends and history enthusiasts. It even went so far as to him moving out of state to join a Historical Roman Reenactment group on the East Coast. Sure he was able to find work there, but it was still a bold move for a former country boy. His parents supported him, however reluctantly. And so Nigel worked mostly as a teacher through his adult life, but put more and more time into his side-time passion of reenactment. There he gradually became the expert on weapon smithing and Roman siege warfare, not only explaining curious bystanders how they fought in sieges on both sides, but showing them with real weapons and constructions. He did learn how to swing the Gladius too, but he much more enjoying walls and siege engines than swords. Post-Outbreak Your First Walker Encounter: It was bad enough already that they had to attent a different faire because of some other reenactment group of vikings had been chosen over them. It was bad enough that they had so much free time on their hands due to little attendance, that they actually got through the whole "Building a Roman palisade fort" routine. It was even worse when they had to depend on their lives on the fort when the first signs of hell breaking loose arrived. At first it was nothing more than a distant shout of someone calling for a doctor, one which Nigel and his group payed attention to in the sense of fumbling for their phones and calling 911. But then, once the shouting turned into screams and cries, followed by loud moaning and people fleeing towards them, they knew something was wrong. Even more wrong when Nigel saw It for the first time; bloody, mortally wounded, yet stumbling determined towards him. Nigel didn't know what to do at first, but the sight of the carnage left behind convinced him of one option; to draw his gladius and threaten the attacker. When It didn't stop, he hit It across the head with the flat side. When that didn't stop It, the blade went through Its skull. With more kills necessitated as time went by, he would stop questioning if it was right or not. Those First Years: The groups first idea was to get as many as possible inside their Roman palisade to protect them. That they managed, guiding or even forcing people scared for their lives inside their little fortress before more of Them could grab hold. It worked at the start, but sooner rather than later it dawned on Nigel that simply sitting idly inside the fort was doing them any good. The Walkers couldn't get in, but neither could they get out. Within the nexy day their already pity supply of overly-priced water bottles and peanut bags ran out, as no one had expected this. And even if they did, they wouldn't have had time or space to store it. They waited, hoping the Walkers would lose interest and wander somewhere else. Nigel stood on top of the tower and watched to his horror that they didn't. More and more of Them came, hopelessly trying to grab him and only attracting more attention. They needed to get out. Nigel led the group in their valient attempt to 'break the siege'. Armed with their swords and shields, the reenactors put up the show of their life, holding back the Walkers and cutting them up as they tried to protect the 'civilians' in the middle of their Testudo. Tried, because it almost worked. Some Walkers got through and had a field day, while others managed to get a bite or slash through the swords and shields, infecting them. And even when they managed to get most of them to safety in the local grocery store, the damage as already done. Within the night, more people had started to turn, starting the cycle all over again. That night Nigel started to change into his current self; he grew more cold and determined to survive, whatever the cost may be. The coming weeks, Nigel and his remaining 'Legion' decided that they needed a long-term plan, and set out on the open road for better grounds. They found their sanctuary in an old, abandoned sanitarium, perfect to their liking; high, sturdy walls of iron bars surroudning the whole building, an open grounds perfect for farming, and plenty of space on the inside for storage and scavenging material for them building defences. And for a long while, it worked fine. The settlement, "Nova Invictus" as the reenactors fittingly named it, survived for two years with what they had. They allowed in some people, but many very turned away because of scarce resources, obvious Walker wounds and dubious motives. Nigel did regret those turned away, but knew he had little choice. It was "Us versus Them". And that's how they survived, and most likely attracted attention to themselves. After the two year mark of Nova Invictus, they were attacked. Not by the Walkers or random looters mind you, but an all out-siege of their fortress. This was a well-organized band of survivors who wanted what Nigel and his people had, and they wanted it now. They refused to give up, and the siege lasted until their walls were breached and compound compromized; their home was gone, as the besiegers foolishly for themselves threw firebombs at the building. Nigel and those remaining saw the writing on the wall, grabbed as much as they could and fled out into the darkness to live another day. One died of severe blood-loss that night, and one refused to believe his girlfriend was dead and so went back, never to return. Nigel and the handful of close friends went on into the night, surviving another year and a half as semi-nomads. The last half year Nigel was alone, the last one of the Legion XIII Augusta still alone, migrating slowly and stealthely south in hopes of reaching spring sooner. He was unsure of where he was ending up, but eventually he found himself within the borders of Georgia. Since Entering RP Searching: Nigel didn't know what he expected to find down in Georgia, though he surely didn't expect to find the companionship of three other survivors. Well, they were four for the briefest of moments which will become clear. Nigel had taken shelter in an abandoned house in the midle of a swamp and ready to move on westward, when Fortuna decided to intervene. First he came upon a man asking about his wife; Robert was his name, a man of God it seemed. This would have been only an expected surprise to Nigel, hadn't it been for the three following survivors he met. The dynamic duo of Wayne and Hank, and Erica further up the road. Robert didn't make it far, suffering from heatstroke and lain to rest on the road. They were an unlikely group of survivors, never quite the friendly bunch to everyone in the group, though they got further than Nigel had done on his own. They survived, and that was what was important. Over the course of the following month, the group of four made their way further south for about three months. As they ventured into the grand state of Florida, Fortuna struck once again with her sense of humour - even more survivors. This time it wasn't just a ragtag group of deshuffled people, but the remnants of the United States military. Three groups met in Wewahitchka, and they entered Camp Mexico Beach as one group of strangers. Camp Mexico Beach: Initially Nigel was reluctant to lay his life in the hands of the military folks at Camp Mexico Beach, but the passing week changed his mind. They spent a week in quarantine for obvious reasons, though their stay was far from the horrid isolation he first feared. They were well-fed, cleaned, checked by medical staff and given access to more entertainment that Nigel had seen for years. At the mercy of the camp's people they were treated well overal, strict but fair. He had changed his mind. This was somewhere he felt he could stay, take part in rebuilding Civilisation. Only time will tell if he will stick out like a sore Roman thumb or not. ⚘ Relations ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Major Thana Martin "Athena, excellent choice. I couldn't agree more really" -Deciding which Greek god suited each other, during first day of work. Nigel first met Thana in Quarantine, surprised the level of emotional upheavel her appearance caused amongst the survivors gathered there. It quickly became apparent just how much she meant to them, and soon Nigel too would grow fond of the woman he'd call for "Athena". He was assigned to work with her in the greenhouse, finding its underwater-section a true Hanging Garden of Babylon. Unsurprisingly he became impressed with her skills, and truly respects her. It helps to have someone willing to listen to his Roman banter too. Erica Monroe "What, you too now? I do in fact not have a stick up my ass!" - Nigel to Erica's jest on what it means to be a bit stiff. Nigel's first time with Erica was far from ideal. She was the one who had to take down Robert after he died of heatstroke, and the one to break the news to him. Though she was probably right, and the two of them followed Hank and Wayne back to that fishing shack in the swamp. The initial weariness has washed away over time as they've grown close friends. Erica has so far been the only one to take an interest in Nigel's Roman disposition and him in general, and for this he considers her his only true friend. It is therefore a shame that Erica has disappeared into the backdrop of the everyday life of CMB. No longer does Nigel find comfort in her presence, and he often finds himself missing her company, though it will be the same. Minor Ashton Jameson Holloway "Nemo tenetur se ipsum accusare, Ashton…" - Quoted at Hunter's trial. Nigel finds Ash to be a man with both his feet firmly planted on the ground, even if that observation is only at a distance. Their time together has been brief, but what words they've exchanged have shown Nigel that Ash is a man of his word, a strong individual and industrious military man. He has respect for the man, though he knows little of him. Thalia Angelica Carmichael "I...yield. Are you not...entertained?" - Yielding to Thalia in their first sparring match. More than companions of verbal interactions, these two fighters spend most of their time together sizing one another up and down before they come to blows. Literary. While Nigel hasn't spoken much with Thalia, their time sparring and dueling has forged a peculiar bond. They fight, but help each other up back on their feet afterwards, even teaching one another a few tricks along the way. Nigel has nothing but blunt respect for the One-Armed Amazon. Respect, and a score he intends to win. Alexander Polawski "Not acting, reenacting. There's a big difference in playing with swords and actually swinging them." - Conversation during the Tuna Casserole incident. The old legionaire, friend of Thana and man who's seen far too much. Those are Nigel's thoughts on Alexander, the old man from Chicago. They have only sparingly spoken with each other, and their paths cross rarely. For a man his age though, he seems capable of holding his ground. With age comes experience, like a true member of the Triarii. Nigel is curious as to what Alexander has seen, considering his bouts of daze. He wonders, and perhaps one day he will find out. Amelia Vincenti Payne "Just like how it worked in real life; limit the speed and increase the, what do you call it, Armor Class?" - Discussing the implementation of historical tactics into DnD. While no connection was made between Nigel and Amelia during Quarantine, the neo-Roman felt a strong sense of sympathy for the troubled young lady the moment he laid eyes on her. Shaking, frightened and head clean-shaven, life had dealt a harsh hand of cards for Amelia. Their friendship didn't begin until the unlikely event of Nigel joining (or being fooled into joinging) the game of DnD. An unlikely friendship built upon his historical facts and tales, and her immense imagination, combined into an unstoppable force on the tabletop battlefield. Strange, but a welcome friendship. Hunter Monroe "You can keep cursing nuggets all you want, Hunter, but right now isn't a good time to apologize. Later. -Reprimanding Hunter for his drunken stupor at the CMB party, telling him to apologize later. What started as a well-placed suspicion towards the clearly unstable young soldier, grew slowly (or quickly, it felt as if both were true) into a paternal sense of responsibility from Nigel's side. He tried - and failed - to help Hunter recover from his social ineptitude over the course of their first week inside safe walls. And now? Gladly the death penalty was not bestowed upon Hunter, though the enforced psychological help was not a fine wine to drink. Harsh, but neccecary. Nigel awaits and hopes for Hunter to find some semblence of social stability. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Male ↕ 35 ↕ Caucasian ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 6 feet ↕ 175 lbs ↕ Toned ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Grey ↕ Light red ↕ Pale ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Psychology [+] Positive Traits: Hopeful Adaptive Loyal Negative Traits: Stubborn Stern Hardened Fear: Deep waters ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Abilities [+] Strength: 32 Dexterity: 27 Fitness: 22 Intellect: 37 Will Power: 24 Perception: 17 Attractiveness: 24 Luck: 24 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Languages [+] English (Native): 30 Latin: 37 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Skills [+] Rifle: 36 Shield: 65 Sword: 75 Hand To Hand: 50 Blacksmithing: 50 Farming: 37 Navigation: 20 Survival: 30 Tanning: 37 Tracking: 20 Alertness: 50 History (Ancient): 60 Profession (Teach): 70 Psychology: 37 Scavenging: 30 Science (Military): 37 Siege Warfare: 37 Stealth: 40 Trade (Leatherworker): 30 Trade (Construction): 30 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Profession [+] Highschool teacher: Nordfolk (Pre) Roman Reenactor: Spartanburg (Outbreak) Guard: Nova Invictus, Spartanburg (Post) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Family [+] Julian Cooper - Father (Unknown) Nicole Cooper - Mother (Unknown) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Character Trivia [+] Sexuality: Heterosexual Likes: Wine Learning new skill The Outdoors Everything Roman Talking about his hobby Dislikes: Being lectured by 'experts' Swimming Tight spots Idleness Vodka Scars: Small cuts and old bruises on his hands. Piercings: N/A Tattoos: N/A Blood Type: Unknown Religion: Atheist, ironically Roman polytheist Birthday: 11th of March, 1977 Face Claim: Kevin McKidd Nickname: Hadrian, Sportacus Items Of Note: ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

Alexander Polawski "You're lucky I only have one foot, or I'd be kicking your ass right now." - Alexander reading from a cup found while held up in Quincy. ⚘ Looking Inside ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Alexander is a classic example of a Vietnam war veteran who's seen some serious shit. His personality is in the middle of a tug-of-war, two sides vying for control over him; the traumatic past that haunts him to this day, and the human side of him that smiles and still finds some joy in life. The first has made him appear an introvert, enclosed and anti-social as he refrains from talking about his past openly. Alexander can quickly get uncomfortable in social situations, either closing up or even blacking out to one of his more frequent flash-backs. The other part of Alexander, however, still shows that he too was once a man with a life. While quick to clamp up, in situations he's comfortable in he will smile and joke around, talking about parts of his life he finds no shame in retelling others. Especially after meeting the Eden group he's opened up to the small team of survivors, while once again finding a purpose in life which he before hadn't. He's a hardened veteran with many issues, a missing leg and a big heart. ⚘ A Brief History ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Pre-Outbreak Growing Up: Alexander was born into a Polish-American family at the very beginning of the 'golden years' of the 1950's, though his childhood was nowhere near as gilded. His mother, Maria Polawski, died not longer after his birth. This left the infant boy in the care of only his father, William Mathias Polawski, whom Alexander would have a shaky relationship with for the rest of his life. While his father never blamed Alexander for the death of his wife, there was always something disturbing there. Growing up without a mother at home meant that Alexander spent much of the time alone or with his less than ideal friends, according to his father of course. What time the two Polawskis spent together was a mix between open hostility and the usual father-son relationship of the 50's/60's. The only time they rarely said a bad word to one another was when out fishing on Lake Michigan. That was how Maria would have wanted them to be. Happy. The bitter tones between Alexander and his father didn't end though, but only grew worse as Alexander grew up to become an adult. At least in the eyes of the law, while his father still saw little Alex' as the child he needed to guide. "Do this, do that. Get an education, a job, a home and a wife." Alexander had heard nothing but his father's 'preachings' all those years, and so he listened to his friends instead for advice. That meant taking a massive step into adulthood when George was called into the Army, and Alexander followed him. Adulting: His time in the Army and in Vietnam from 1970 to 1972 was both the most formative years of Alexander's life, and possibly the worst time of his life. At first the young Chicago loudmouth enjoyed his time in the military life, far away from his hawkish father and judging eyes. In some way he could be his own and total self, listening to The Rolling Stones and talking about girls to his heart's desire. His time in Vietnam both reinforced this free behaviour of Alexander, but also the horrors of war which scarred him deeply. In 'Nam he spent the better two years of his life carrying an overly-sized radio on his back, calling in air-strikes and helicopter evacs on demand for Sergeant Jackson while fighting for not only his brothers in arms' lives, but also his own. When Alexander came back home from the war, he rarely spoke about it, only in passing conversation could one get a glimpse of the horrors he witnessed. His return home to America and Chicago was no way easier for him, as he returned just in time to learn of his father's death. Car crash, wandering in the middle of the road with a bottle in his hand. Coming home to that cluttered, yet empty house on that rainy Chicago street made the young veteran realize something - his father was right all along. That cold autumn day in 1972 Alexander to do what his father had told him. No, begged of him. After all, he was a lot like his old man. The rest of Alexander's life was as turbulent as an active vulanco. While he got a degree in electronic engineering from the University of Chicago, it was not until he met his future wife Judith that Alexander could begin the process of becoming a human being again. While his past haunted him as much as anti-war protesters chased him, she was the rock in the storm which he could find shelter on. With Judith, Alexander could become the person he wished to be, and his parents hopefully would have loved. Post-Outbreak Your First Walker Encounter: The lack of response from the local coast guard on the Bahamas was met by a growing feeling of something being wrong. That's why Alexander turned his boat around from his wife's and his annual boat-trip around the Caribbean, and headed to the closest port he could find. Earlier news on the radio about riots had concerned the couple, but this was different. Alexander called over and over again over the radio, stating his boat's name and coordinates, but received no reply what-so-ever. It wasn't until they saw the harbour itself that they saw that something was indeed very wrong. At first Alexander thought it was the Bahamas Coast guard that was watching them approach land, but they were too many to be simple them. Then he thought it was a group of tourists waiting for their boat. They all seemed to shout at their boat, but it wasn't until they got ever closer that they saw it; Them. Around the group of people all cluttered up, Alexander saw people all bloodied up, attacking those in the middle with vicious ferocity. Biting, clawing, grabbing and eating them. They weren't simple shouting at them; they were crying for help. As quick as he could, he managed to get some of the people onto his boat and sail away, leaving behind those now lying dead at the pier and the rest, moaning and grabbing after the boat as it sailed away. Those First Years: The small group of survivors in the boat decided, after dealing with both a massive case of overcrowding and people turning to the Undead themselves, that going back to the mainland was not an option. Not at that time at least, and instead they made plans for living isolated from the infected. It was meant to be a safe plan, and for the longest time it seemed like it worked. Life was hard on the island they settled down on, supplies taken from brief raids at the coast, but they managed to go on living, not just surviving. That was two years ago, before someone on that island died. Before anyone could react, the corpse sprung back to life, mauling its way through his wife's neck and others. Nobody knew how it had happened, at least those still alive after the incident. Regardless if the island was safe or not, Alexander couldn't stay there anymore, not after that. Alexander and a few others set sail for the mainland again, the old veteran himself vowing never to return to that God-forsaken island. They headed north into better suited climate, though that meant nothing to the unforgiving world around them. Their numbers dwinled over time. Then the winter came, and an already weakened rag-tag group of survivors didn't fare well in the winter cold. One wandered off into the night in search of food, another was bitten by a Walker during sleep. The rest were killed when their shelter were overwhelmed by Them, while Alexander got away. Of that, however, he isn't proud. Since Entering RP Eden:One fateful day Alexander stumbled upon the biggest life-changer to that very day when he met two ladies in a TANK. Lola and Thalia. They agreed to take him with them for a while in exchange for some fine porcelain, hence Alexander's nickname of "Mugsy" that he swear by this very day. The trio drove on further until they came upon another group of survivors, though their meeting was cut short by Mother Nature herself. Some died, many were separated, but they all agreed to go on a mission; Take out Eden, Hell on Earth. They lost Lola in the fighting, but friendships grew in the group that would live on; Alexander, Thana, Beatrice, Thalia and Manny. Searching: They headed south after that, searching for the other group. Alexander lost his leg to a bear trap, Thalia her arm to a Walker, and Thana went MIA. But they did the only thing they could do - keep moving. Always keep moving, and you will live. And somehow they did just that. By seemingly God's grace they found the other group from just before Eden, another small group of survivors and the remnants of the United States Military. This was their best chance for the future, and they took it. Alexander took it, and went to Camp Mexico Beach. Camp Mexico Beach: Alexander has adapted well to the new safe environment, though his internal barriers have more easily been broken down. The week went on for mostly the better, except the one incident of him losing all control and falling into a massive flashback. But now he's better than ever, finding some purpose in that his friends - even Thana who was alive, Thank God - are safe, though he will dearly miss Beatrice. In a world of anarchy and constant change, CMB was the military rock which he could find solid ground on. Though he could only imagine what the General - The Dragon - would have in store for him. ⚘ Relations ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Major Thana Martin "Welcome back, Navy…It's… it's good to see you." - Upon being reunited in CMB. Through the rupturing of the very Earth itself, through the hellscape of Eden, through schorching days and freezing nights out on the road, through the loss of Thana and return of her later, Alexander has been Thana's loyal trooper. They've not seen eye to eye always, especially when he lost his leg. She might have taken the blame for it, but to Alexander, he felt like a massive burden to the group back then. To Thana. He'd made peace with their strained relationship when she returned alive, and he found joy in being her friend. They'd been through a lot, but now they had walked through Hell. For now all was well. Thalia Carmichael "Thanks Thalia, you're an angel to ol' Mugsy." - Being tended to by Thalia after the flashback-incident in Quarantine. The two cripples have been through a lot by now, and their unlikely friendship has shown to be resilient in the face of their challenges. Alexander views Thalia as the niece he never had, someone he trusts not only with his life, but his thoughts as well. Seeing each other less outside of their work within the basement of Administration, their kinship isn't going anyhwere, though Alexander fears what she might think of his actions during the war... Manny Newman "You don't know when to shut up, Manny, but you're good…Thanks." - Alexander accepting Manny's apology after the incident in the Chapel. Alexander's fellow Baby Boomer, the victim of his "Bitch Duty" as put by Thalia, the best damn dentist in the post-apocalypse. Manny has worn many different hats since they first met at the barrel of a gun, but these days Alexander has one title that stands above the rest; His friend. Manny remains the person who simply can't keep his mouth shut, and yet Alexander finds his company a safe space of stability from his broken psychie. With Manny he can laugh and smile, joke and be sincere, even if he hasn't spoken fully open about his past. With time and patience, that will come. He deserves it. For really, why wouldn't he? Manny is the damned best dentist-surgeon in the whole post-apocalypse Alexander knows. Without him, Alexander would be a lesser man in many different ways. Minor Nigel Cooper "So, Nigel, you acted or something then?" - Asked during conversation involving a certain tuna cassarole. While Alexander finds the young redheaded man to be odd, with his out-of-date way of speech and fascination with swords, he believes Nigel to be a good man. He seems hardworking, and he's been polite towards Alexander so far. If only he could stop giving him those questioning, wondering looks. Ashton Holloway "Good to finally meet a fellow Stones' fan out here." - First day of Quarantine, bonding over The Rolling Stones. Other than the respect Alexander has through Thana's relation to Ash, the two (former) soldiers have only sparingly crossed paths enough for casual conversation. When they have, it has always been on friendly terms. So far that's only been rock and roll, and Alexander has liked it. In due time Alexander may share war-stories. In due time. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Male ↕ 60 ↕ Caucasian ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 5ft 9 inches ↕ 160 lbs ↕ Aged but fit ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Brown ↕ Greyening brown ↕ Light ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Psychology [+] Positive Traits: Caring Hardened Self-less Negative Traits: Mentally scarred Enclosed Compulsive Fear: Booming noises ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Abilities [+] Strength: 25 Dexterity: 24 Fitness: 26 Intellect: 28 Will Power: 13 Perception: 27 Attractiveness: 25 Luck: 18 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Languages [+] English (Native): 30 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Skills [+] Club: 30 Pistol: 50 Rifle: 60 Hand To Hand: 30 Fishing (Line): 59 Navigation: 32 Boat (Sail): 30 Business: 30 Communications (20th Century): 60 Computer Operations (20th Century): 30 Electronics: 70 Redneck Engineering: 50 Science (Engineering): 35 Electronic Engineering: 68 Science (Military): 30 Suppressive Fire: 30 Trade (Carpenter): 30 Trade (Radio Operator): 70 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Profession [+] Radio operator: U.S. Army in Vietnam (Pre) Electronics store owner: Boston (Outbreak) Job Title: Location (Post) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Family [+] Judith Perkins Polawski - Wife (Deceased) William Mathis Polawski - Father (Deceased) Maria Polawski - Mother (Deceased) ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Character Trivia [+] Sexuality: Heterosexual Likes: The Rolling Stones Spending time by himself Working with his hands Dislikes: The Kinks Enquisitive people Disorder Scars: Small gunshot wound at his left thigh, various cuts and bruises at his hands and arms. Burn-scars in both his palms. Left leg amputated below the knee after the beer-trap incident. Piercings: N/A Tattoos: N/A Blood Type: O-Positive Religion: Roman Catholic Serial Number: 351-28-9463 Birthday: 8th of March, 1952 Face Claim: Robert De Niro Nickname: Mugsy Items Of Note: Catholic rosary Photo of himself and Mason in Vietnam ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Gumshoe and Femme Fatale - A tale of silver-screen intruige and pulp-action

Richard Barker

Richard let the lit cigarette dangle lously from his lower lip, his tired but focus eyes taking in the lady that now had stepped into his office. If the opened window hadn't given it away, the shimmering dark hair revealed, raindrops casting an unnatural light upon the lady's hair and face. The P.I. moved the cigarette from one side of his lip to the other, watching and listening to her as she took a seat in front of him. "No, not even if she wanted to. She's a jealous gal, afraid of dangerous people..." He commented flatly, whether or not she was the dangerous person was up for intepretation.

He did not expect her to snag the cigarette out of his mouth. She was elegant on his movements, smooth like a cat balancing a rooftop before jumping on a rat. But instead of claws, this lady had the lips that could kill a man. Richard pulled out another cigarette and lit it in silence, waiting for her to start talking. Finally, she did.

"Mr. Baker? I'm not into pastries, doll. I'm just a guy getting paid to do other people's laundry, if you get what I mean." Richard responded to her swift, if not empty answer. He stood up from the desk and walked over to a filing cabinet, feeling the lady's eyes penetrate him like daggers as she judged him and his office. Pulling out the filing cabinet drawer, Richard pulled out an half-empty bottle of booze and two glasses, walking back to the desk and putting the glasses down.

"How do you like your drink, ma'dam?" He asked her, filling one glass and leaving the other for her. "So, what do you want from me, ma'dam? If you've asked for a someone in my profession, "for that kind of thing", clearly there's something specific you want me to do. But on two conditions; First payment, and second your name."

Something about the young, radiant lady looked familiar to Richard. He'd surely seen her face somewhere in the big city, but where and when he couldn't tell. Too many faces to remember, too many dames one wanted to forget. Richard took a swig of his strong, dry drink and a puff of his cigarette, sitting ontop his desk as he looked down at the woman and her modern look. Rich, probably new money. "Do II know you from anywhere, miss..."

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

---

---

Alexander Polawski

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L11 (Beach, Near Dance Floor)
Skills: N/A

---

---

Alexander kept his gaze forward, bobbing back and forth to the music like the General did. The atmosphere around the two old soldiers, one with more bars on his shoulder than the other, was ever growing around Alexander as the two of them spoke. For having not spoken with the man for many years - and even then only briefly and mostly about military issues that Alexander could remember - he felt his shoulders remain down even as the memories passed before him. Faces of people he'd buried: his father William, his wife Judith, many good friends on foriegn soil. People he'd never see again.

"Burial? You mean that Lola…" Alexander turned quickly to face the General, looking at him in suspense as he attempted to understand his words. He began to ask for their beloved and dearly missed Kiwi, stopping himself as the first name might not ring a bell for Aeron. "I mean Miss Holler, from the hellhole Eden; she's buried here at Camp Mexico Beach? Could we see her grave and the others? We left them in haste, never thought they would get the burial they deserved…"

After the General continued to describe their place in the world now, the comparison to soldiers making Alexander nod his head in agreement, the old veteran got his answer for what he had seeked out Aeron for - The photographs. Not only did he have such memories printed onto polaroids, but boxes upon boxes of boxes of material from houses and libraries. From the sound of it Alexander could be of assistance in Aeron's efforts to organise all the photographs and other documents he had gathered throughout the years. Since the General had managed to find a photograph of Alexander, who knew what else he had managed to dig up. Alexander gave Aeron a growing smile equal to Aeron's, feeling a sense of purpose grow inside him. Him, useful? It had been a long time since he felt that.

"You need not ask me twice, Aeron. Been a while since I've sorted out papers, photos and bills, but I'll do my best. Where can I find you normally?" Alexander asked the General, moving his gaze from him and over to the party going on around them. It was getting late. People were turning in, and as Alexander felt himself yawn like an old man at a Florida-resort, it was probably time for him to head for bed too. "I should probably get some sleep. It's been a long day. Good night, Aeron. It's been good speaking with you."

---

---

Nigel "Hadrian" Cooper

---

Location: Camp Mexico Beach: L11 (Beach, Kettles)
Skills: N/A

---

---

Nigel kept his attention split between the poor, dog boy of Hunter still lying on the ground and the party still going on around them. Clearly Hunter was somewhat able to take notice of people around him too, adding that crackers would be good. Something dry and salt, that would help, just like Cook had said. While the much needed sustinance was nowhere to be seen, Nigel could see that the bar was getting crowded again. Were the others trying to talk to Nikki like he was talking to Hunter? Some might have found amusement in their quarrel, but not Nigel. Perhaps later in the week or month he would find it a funny memory.

The teacher looked back down at Hunter as he agreed to Nigel's words. Nigel himself would have corrected Hunter's terrible drunk-grammar, but it was just that; drunk. It would be of no use. Nigel only shook his head in a resigned manner, wondering how Nikki would take such an apology Hunter wanted to make. But as Hunter tried to stand up, Nigel looked at him with wide eyes and tried to hold him back with a "No no no no, you're not going anywhere just yet." Nigel didn't have to stop him though, the alcohol was clearly doing its job. "You can keep cursing nuggets all you want, Hunter, but right now isn't a good time to apologize. Later."

Nigel turned back to Cook as he was done talking with Hunter, shaking his head and crossing his arms at the whole affair. "I should get him back to his bed after he's gotten something less boozey in his stomach, don't think anyone else want to take care of him right now. But thanks for everything, Cook." Nigel thanked Cook in passing his eyes across the beach, watching it slowly draining of people like an audience leaving the arena. It was probably time to get some rest for everytone either way, both mostly sober Romans and stupidly drunk dog-boys. "And you? I'm getting you too bed, whether you want to or not. Understood?"

Gumshoe and Femme Fatale - A tale of silver-screen intruige and pulp-action

Richard Barker

"Christine, tell whoever's there to come back later!"

It was nearly pitch black inside the small office, placed neatly on the third floor of a New York building with a clear street view from the open window. The only illumination came from the street lamps, cars and colourful signs accompanying the sounds of a jungle. A concrete jungel, drawn with sharp edges in two colour pallettes - grey and blue. Grey as in the buildings rising up higher than anything else made by human hands, and blue as in the very sky said building tried to reach. Tonight the only blue outside was a blue Ford parked up on the sidewalk and the blue raindrops falling from the sky. They landed hard on the hard surfaces, the concrete and buildings. Some dripped down window panes, leaving a wet trail like a bloody murder.

The window of Richard Barker's Private Detective office, however, was wide open. Who forgot to close it wasn't important. At least to Richard, who woke up from the sound of a car horn, rain dripping down at the floor of his office and running feet outside. He spoke out to his secretary before he opened his eyes, rubbing them as he lifted his head up from the desk. Dark. Who turned off the lights? And where was Christine? The questions of guilt had become so permanent in Richard's line of work that he rarely asked it outside of his investiations, so only the latter question grinded his mental gears. Until it hit him.

"...That late? No wonder she turned it off and left me here..."

It was late in the evening, as told by the ticking clock over the entrance. It read 8:41, and the lack of light indicated it being PM. Perhaps not late for your average Joe, but for an seriously overworked and secertly drinking P.I.? It hadn't been his first time falling asleep on the desk, but tonight felt different. Richard felt it in his leg. The game leg, or was it a heacache? Richard stretched out his arms and neck, listening to the sound of feet going upstairs. They surely weren't ascending the stairs to Heaven, few who came to Richard Barker had the qualifications of angels. Least of all himself.

Richard pushed himself out from the desk, getting up on his feet and trying to wake up from his sleepy state. He looked down at the desk. Nope, no giggle juice in sight. What caused the headache then? Had Christine called a doctor on him? Probably not, doctor's rarely climbed stairs at a slow pace in high-heels, not at this hour. Richard got around to turning on some lights in his office, putting away an empty glass and a case file before he returned to his desk. The footsteps got ever closer. Someone wasn't going to the dentist, that was for sure. No, only gumshoes and lucky fellas got visited at this hour, and Richard was of the first.

The door opened with the sight of a woman. A dame with a striking beauty that could kill a man with just one bat of her eyes. Richard had lit a cigarette that now dangled lously from his lip, his eyes only briefly taking in the whole lady standing in the door. Yeah, she looked absolutely poured in that dress, like so many other clients who had walked in that door. Richard puffed his cigarette, taking it out with his hand and blowing out the smoke, before finally spoke to her. "You're lucky my secretary left early, or she'd turn you away. It's awfully late for you doll to come here, don't you think?" Richard placed the cigarette back in his mouth, leaning up against his desk with his hands rested on it. "Richard Barker, private detective if you couldn't read the sign. I take it you've come to the right place, miss...?"

Gumshoe and Femme Fatale - A tale of silver-screen intruige and pulp-action

Oh I do adore January already! This is going to be a fun ride!