Johnathan Coxwell: Francine’s husband and close family friend;
Chelsea Coxwell: Francine's and Johanthan’s twelve-year-old daughter;
Marshall White: one of the survivors Hannah lived with up until The Towers until Marshall ultimately took his own life. Hannah hadn't been very close to him but still thinks of him from time-to-time;
CURRENT AFFILIATES:
Mary-Ellen Cooper: a fifty-two-year-old woman and part of Hannah's original group;
Elliot Rice: a twenty-eight-year-old man, from Hannah’s original group, and close friend to Francine;
Charles Okeke: a nineteen-year-old boy, previous neighbor of Hannah’s, close friend, and from Hannah’s original group. Hannah exudes a protective, sisterly nature over Charles;
Gerry Tran: a forty-five-year-old man whose English is fairly limited, from Hannah’s original group
;
SKILLS: When the upcycling craze bloomed on Pinterest long ago, Hannah became wrapped up in it. That, paired with her intelligence and creativity, makes Hannah a resourceful ally. She’s also got problem-solving skills down a T, able to work her way out of any situation or find a solution. Even when it’s on a topic she doesn’t yet know, Hannah’s mind will work overtime and pitch plausible ideas (or at least she thinks they are) based off what little understanding she has of it.
It doesn’t come naturally, but having studied psychology and reading articles about body language, Hannah feels as though her ability to read others is one to not be taken too lightly. When dealing with unknown people, Hannah likes to imagine herself as a social chameleon; she gets others and, through their motives, gets a better understanding of how to act and react in certain circumstances.
In her relationship with Marcus, Hannah was, without a doubt, the handyman of the household. She knows the difference between a Phillips head, slot head and a Robertson screwdriver, or how to hold a handsaw. Maybe she can’t build a whole house, but she does now how to repair a leaky sink.
And, Hannah doesn’t like to brag, but even after the apocalypse, she can make a mean Americano.
STRENGTHS: From all the years spent studying, switching majors and always needing answers to trivial questions that keep her awake at night, Hannah is fairly intelligent and studious, having often been on the honor roll or Dean’s List. All throughout school she had been dubbed a nerd or a bookworm; she had an affinity for reading, and not the sappy YA romance novels, either. The hard sci-fi novels, space opera, thriller/mysteries, all the way up to historical non-fiction and textbooks on religion. Likewise, Hannah always has an urge to learn what she sees others doing, wanting to know how things are done or made. Easily Hannah will get the hang of something; she’s a quick learner with a refusal to stop wanting to learn everything.
Throughout her life many people have said Hannah’s empathic nature is a valued one. She’s a caring and thoughtful person. She understands people, relates to them on a personal level, and is a good listener. It had never been a desire of hers to become a therapist or anything even remotely close, but Hannah’s ability to hear someone’s problem or pain and calm them down, make them feel better or loved is a natural trait she doesn’t think twice about. To Hannah, it’s basic human instinct to care for others so deeply, especially after there’s so very few left to care about.
WEAKNESSES: Hannah doesn’t have the toughest skin, nor a strong voice. She’s a pushover, sensitive, soft-spoken and non-confrontational. Her preferred method of dealing with upset or aggressive people is trying to talk things over while combatting overactive nervousness, but even then she won’t speak up or try to defend herself unless absolutely necessary. She's prone to crying when alone, still mourning those that were lost and dwelling on too many questions. On the outside she can appear calm when sifting through corpses, but there's always the one or two that gets to her. She's not a mentally strong nor brave person; she's a team player and will help in any way she can whenever needed, but don't expect Hannah to carry any army into battle. She may cower in the corner instead.
Though Hannah’s gotten used to the new way of living, she tends to bottle up negative emotions in favor of appearing okay with everything. If something is bothering her, Hannah will try to ignore it or downplay it as nothing too serious. Avoiding issues at all costs is her forte.
Francine is not a physically strong person; she’s thin, unable to lift a lot of weight and is not nearly coordinated enough to run smoothly for long periods of time.
HISTORY:
In a quaint little apartment still in the process of being furnished exclusively by IKEA’s best, Francine lived with her long-term boyfriend, Marcus. Sometimes at night when neither could sleep and all the other conversational possibilities have been worn down, pillow talk of marriage would arise. It was never fully serious – not to the extent Francine wanted – but Francine was more than welcoming of the idea of settling down with Marcus for the remainder of her life.
At a small café near the downtown core’s financial district, Francine worked as the stores’ assistant manager. For months the higher-up’s had been promising Francine a promotion to managerial level and her own store, but it was something Francine doubted deep down within. She was simply too shy and timid, too much of a pushover to want to constantly ask about it for fear of coming off as annoying. Besides, the coworkers at her store were some of her best friends – a makeshift family. To leave them permanently, knowing she would have to replace them, broke her heart more than she would ever admit. She was okay with staying behind if it meant not having to lose the people she grew so close to.
Elsewhere in the city, Francine’s mother and father had officially moved in with their other daughter, Hannah, and her own family of three. Most Sundays Francine and Marcus would have dinner at their place, where sometimes her brother Jeremiah would attend, looking more and more ragged than ever, on some new drug Francine preferred to pretend never existed. It was easier to ignore Jeremiah’s lifestyle, believe they were all one happy, fully-functioning family, and that Jeremiah wasn’t as bad off as Francine knew he was.
Playing the card of ignorance was better than facing reality.
When the virus began circulating the news and became a serious threat, Francine and Marcus bunkered down with Hannah’s family and their parents. They stayed in the basement, stockpiled food, listened to the radio until it became too hard to keep hearing so much destruction and death daily. After so long, they shut it off for good. They sat quietly and waited, listened to gunshots and sirens and fires rage on. Very quickly on it became chaos in the streets; people didn’t want to wait for death, it seemed.
Jeremiah never arrived, never replied to any of their text messages. Francine doubted any got through, what with the millions of other people jamming the airwaves. In some morbid, twisted way that left Francine questioning her sanity ever since, she preferred he didn’t. She wanted to believe, of all of her family, Jeremiah – the strung-out, couch-hopping lowlife – survived, and that he thrived in the new world. Even at his worst, Jeremiah was resilient. Francine liked to imagine him sobering up and rebuilding society single-handedly.
That thought helped her cope with the images burned into her mind of how, in the cramped, damp basement with mildewed boxes pushed to the sides and enough canned food to last only a week, each and every single last one of her family let out a shudder, a groan, a wet and weak gasp. One-by-one they all went limp, and Francine didn’t know which one to try and help first. She froze, her hands reaching out for Marcus as her eyes fell on her mothers’ worn, weary face that became lifeless, motionless.
When her body began to respond again, Francine ran to her niece Chelsea’s side, knowing it was what everyone would have wanted. But Chelsea was dead the moment Francine was next to her, frantically shaking her, trying to get any response from the young girl.
In the end, Francine stood in a room of bodies she once loved and lived for. She was too shocked to do anything but stand stock still, wide-eyed, staring at a pockmark in the brick wall as her mind tried to process anything that had just happened. It felt like an impossible nightmare, one that Francine couldn’t grasp the reality of until it had hit her hard, like a cannonball right in her guts.
On auto-pilot her feet carried her outside, looking for help or an escape or something to explain what really happened. Standing on her front lawn covered in crispy brown leaves, she saw the teenage boy from across the street, Charles. Without a word shared between the two, they crossed the gap of concrete and grass between them in a second and embraced one another, and for a solid day they sat on the grass and wept heavier than ether had in a long time.
After two days of searching for help – or other living people – and finding only more bodies that further reduced the duo to tears and emotional exhaustion, they returned to their homes. It was an agreement they made that they couldn’t return home and see their families again. Instead, both gathered their belongings and left before any attachment could pull them back. Even as they walked down the road in a hurry with knapsacks on their backs, Francine wanted to run back just to make sure her family wasn’t still alive the whole time.
Eventually Francine and Charles made their way to the EMS station a few blocks over, still hoping help would arrive. Instead, after a few days of total silence in-between sobs and fits, a small group of regular people showed up. There were three of them, making a group of five in total. It was getting colder outside, and no one from the group wanted to see any more corpses, so they remained indoors for a few months. Over that time, Francine learned to cope a bit more with the loss of her entire family through the help of total strangers that became very close to her. Calling them friends wasn’t quite right; they were more than that, and in a different way.
Come February, the supplies had gotten lower and it began to make more sense to leave their pseudo-home. Trekking out into the cold, blistering wind, bundled up and unprepared for it, they made their way from building-to-building, becoming inner-city nomads. Through that way of surviving they found another survivor, Gerry Tran, who was unable to communicate very well but became a quick fixture of their group. English or not, Gerry was part of them, and they relied on him just as much as he did to them.
The group headed for The Emerald Towers as it was the next closest residential spot, and that day had been a particularly bad one. They walked through the front doors, set down their packs, took a moment to shake out the cold from their bones, and saw three other people – Annette, Alexander and Amina. It was a relief to see other living beings for a change, and despite the weather, that night had been the first time Francine laughed in a long while.
When one of their group, Marshall, jumped from the rooftop and committed suicide, Francine simply stared at his body half-buried under the snow from the warmth of inside. Amongst the sadness, pity and regret, Francine felt disappointment, and slight anger. She cried for him, but not in the way she had for the others. There wasn’t as much emotion or effort behind those tears shed. It just wasn’t possible to keep crying like that anymore.
Since the beginning of The Towers, Francine learned to look at the bodies with a little less humanity and sorrow. They became a trademark of the city; they were not things she let herself think about, or feel things over. It made scavenging for supplies more bearable. It made getting through each day less depressing.
It made it easier to not feel guilt every time she laughed or smiled or had a light-hearted conversation with someone. It also made her question her sanity and what became of her, that she felt so disconnected and unaffected. But those were thoughts she never let leave her head.
True that. It's refreshing to have an approved characters tab over another thread entirely, though. Now get with the IC makey now.
It's just, I write a big paragraph and then think, "Oh, hey, remember that band, Evanescence? Yeah, let's binge-watch their music videos for the next hour." Then I remember I was writing something, but I also remember I still am not caught up with Game of Thrones or Daredevil and, by god, it's a viscous trap, that Netflix. Do you see my dilemma?
The post should be up soon. I'm 75% done it.
Also, @Hank, I hope it's alright with you that I added Sarah to the "Other Residents" list. I think I've gotten all other NPCs from the rest of the character sheets added. If anyone wants me to add any, let me know. There's seven more nameless people walking around The Towers right now, and they're open for name-giving.
Yeah, that's fine. Everyone else can do that as well, if they want. You know, back in my day, we didn't have a whole extra page dedicated to character sheets. The times are a-changin'.
I was in no hurry to join a new RP as my deadlines are all lining up to punch me in the face, but it seems that I've made a mistake there. Do you guys still have room? Although I'm in no hurry because my character won't be part of the condo group initially. Basically, I wanted to create a feral boy character at first, but since there's gender imbalance here I'm thinking of create a feral girl character instead. Anyway, you know what I'm aiming for; basically part of the demography that's been left out: the desperate outsider and the minor, and partly the female XD.
So... Got room or is it a tight squeeze? I won't join immediately, and I'll take my time with the CS. All I know is that... That feral girl is crawling in the vents of the tower right now, knife in her mouth and SMG in hand, looking for a way in, and she might drop in on someone asleep or the kitchen, and she's willing to kill even for a scrap of meat.
Hey, Darkraven! Finally you post something! I've seen you viewing this thread a few times. Nice to see you're interested!
Well I do appreciate you wanting to even out the demographic - both in terms of a female and a child. I expect a lot more younger characters than older, and instead it was the other way around. Weird how things work out like that.
I will admit, Valentina seems like an interesting, lethal character. Trying to reintroduce a feral child so badly scarred into a semi-functioning society would be great to read and explore. I know she wasn't as bad off, but it reminds me of Newt from Aliens a bit. But, unfortunately, I am going to have to say we are a little full right now. If you want I can PM you once we have an opening? I'd love to see what you'd do with Valentina, but I feel a group of ten characters would easily get messy and disorganized. Sorry about that! But I'll keep you posted.
It is customary for the game master to strike the first blow write the first post, so... after you.
Basically I need someone to set the scene for me.
Ah, yes, that's a thing, isn't it? Okay. I'll have something up later today or tomorrow. Sorry about the delay!
I'm not entirely sure about the stuffs I've written on my character's history but nevertheless, it's all finished. And I'd like to blame my blasted work schedule for giving me a hard time completing it.
Even though it was just me generally being lazy on my free time.
I'll look over it when I get a chance to. Speaking of, I now realize I didn't add your character to the list. Well, that's only a bit awkward. Sorry about that.
And you weren't being lazy, you were [i]recharging/i]. Work is overwhelming and stressful, and you just needed time to restore your sanity. Be stoic and humble about it.
I hope everyone doesn't mind, but I chose to take over Annette as a semi-main character. I won't write for her as much as I will my main main character, Hannah, but I felt like Annette deserved more than just a background NPC. At least for now.
Well, since you've already got a mostly full party, I'm gonna go ahead and pull out. Of course, in case anyone leaves or disappears, you can call on Ink or I to come into the fray. Just send me a PM or something. I'll keep watch of this and read it if I can, though,
Are you sure? Honestly, if you (and Ink Blood) still want to apply now, I am willing to read over both and consider them. Of course, as you said, it'll be the type of RP where characters can and will come and go often. If you decide to not apply now, I definitely will let you know when we have more room.
Johnathan Coxwell: Francine’s husband and close family friend;
Chelsea Coxwell: Francine's and Johanthan’s twelve-year-old daughter;
Marshall White: one of the survivors Hannah lived with up until The Towers until Marshall ultimately took his own life. Hannah hadn't been very close to him but still thinks of him from time-to-time;
CURRENT AFFILIATES:
Mary-Ellen Cooper: a fifty-two-year-old woman and part of Hannah's original group;
Elliot Rice: a twenty-eight-year-old man, from Hannah’s original group, and close friend to Francine;
Charles Okeke: a nineteen-year-old boy, previous neighbor of Hannah’s, close friend, and from Hannah’s original group. Hannah exudes a protective, sisterly nature over Charles;
Gerry Tran: a forty-five-year-old man whose English is fairly limited, from Hannah’s original group
;
SKILLS: When the upcycling craze bloomed on Pinterest long ago, Hannah became wrapped up in it. That, paired with her intelligence and creativity, makes Hannah a resourceful ally. She’s also got problem-solving skills down a T, able to work her way out of any situation or find a solution. Even when it’s on a topic she doesn’t yet know, Hannah’s mind will work overtime and pitch plausible ideas (or at least she thinks they are) based off what little understanding she has of it.
It doesn’t come naturally, but having studied psychology and reading articles about body language, Hannah feels as though her ability to read others is one to not be taken too lightly. When dealing with unknown people, Hannah likes to imagine herself as a social chameleon; she gets others and, through their motives, gets a better understanding of how to act and react in certain circumstances.
In her relationship with Marcus, Hannah was, without a doubt, the handyman of the household. She knows the difference between a Phillips head, slot head and a Robertson screwdriver, or how to hold a handsaw. Maybe she can’t build a whole house, but she does now how to repair a leaky sink.
And, Hannah doesn’t like to brag, but even after the apocalypse, she can make a mean Americano.
STRENGTHS: From all the years spent studying, switching majors and always needing answers to trivial questions that keep her awake at night, Hannah is fairly intelligent and studious, having often been on the honor roll or Dean’s List. All throughout school she had been dubbed a nerd or a bookworm; she had an affinity for reading, and not the sappy YA romance novels, either. The hard sci-fi novels, space opera, thriller/mysteries, all the way up to historical non-fiction and textbooks on religion. Likewise, Hannah always has an urge to learn what she sees others doing, wanting to know how things are done or made. Easily Hannah will get the hang of something; she’s a quick learner with a refusal to stop wanting to learn everything.
Throughout her life many people have said Hannah’s empathic nature is a valued one. She’s a caring and thoughtful person. She understands people, relates to them on a personal level, and is a good listener. It had never been a desire of hers to become a therapist or anything even remotely close, but Hannah’s ability to hear someone’s problem or pain and calm them down, make them feel better or loved is a natural trait she doesn’t think twice about. To Hannah, it’s basic human instinct to care for others so deeply, especially after there’s so very few left to care about.
WEAKNESSES: Hannah doesn’t have the toughest skin, nor a strong voice. She’s a pushover, sensitive, soft-spoken and non-confrontational. Her preferred method of dealing with upset or aggressive people is trying to talk things over while combatting overactive nervousness, but even then she won’t speak up or try to defend herself unless absolutely necessary. She's prone to crying when alone, still mourning those that were lost and dwelling on too many questions. On the outside she can appear calm when sifting through corpses, but there's always the one or two that gets to her. She's not a mentally strong nor brave person; she's a team player and will help in any way she can whenever needed, but don't expect Hannah to carry any army into battle. She may cower in the corner instead.
Though Hannah’s gotten used to the new way of living, she tends to bottle up negative emotions in favor of appearing okay with everything. If something is bothering her, Hannah will try to ignore it or downplay it as nothing too serious. Avoiding issues at all costs is her forte.
Francine is not a physically strong person; she’s thin, unable to lift a lot of weight and is not nearly coordinated enough to run smoothly for long periods of time.
HISTORY:
In a quaint little apartment still in the process of being furnished exclusively by IKEA’s best, Francine lived with her long-term boyfriend, Marcus. Sometimes at night when neither could sleep and all the other conversational possibilities have been worn down, pillow talk of marriage would arise. It was never fully serious – not to the extent Francine wanted – but Francine was more than welcoming of the idea of settling down with Marcus for the remainder of her life.
At a small café near the downtown core’s financial district, Francine worked as the stores’ assistant manager. For months the higher-up’s had been promising Francine a promotion to managerial level and her own store, but it was something Francine doubted deep down within. She was simply too shy and timid, too much of a pushover to want to constantly ask about it for fear of coming off as annoying. Besides, the coworkers at her store were some of her best friends – a makeshift family. To leave them permanently, knowing she would have to replace them, broke her heart more than she would ever admit. She was okay with staying behind if it meant not having to lose the people she grew so close to.
Elsewhere in the city, Francine’s mother and father had officially moved in with their other daughter, Hannah, and her own family of three. Most Sundays Francine and Marcus would have dinner at their place, where sometimes her brother Jeremiah would attend, looking more and more ragged than ever, on some new drug Francine preferred to pretend never existed. It was easier to ignore Jeremiah’s lifestyle, believe they were all one happy, fully-functioning family, and that Jeremiah wasn’t as bad off as Francine knew he was.
Playing the card of ignorance was better than facing reality.
When the virus began circulating the news and became a serious threat, Francine and Marcus bunkered down with Hannah’s family and their parents. They stayed in the basement, stockpiled food, listened to the radio until it became too hard to keep hearing so much destruction and death daily. After so long, they shut it off for good. They sat quietly and waited, listened to gunshots and sirens and fires rage on. Very quickly on it became chaos in the streets; people didn’t want to wait for death, it seemed.
Jeremiah never arrived, never replied to any of their text messages. Francine doubted any got through, what with the millions of other people jamming the airwaves. In some morbid, twisted way that left Francine questioning her sanity ever since, she preferred he didn’t. She wanted to believe, of all of her family, Jeremiah – the strung-out, couch-hopping lowlife – survived, and that he thrived in the new world. Even at his worst, Jeremiah was resilient. Francine liked to imagine him sobering up and rebuilding society single-handedly.
That thought helped her cope with the images burned into her mind of how, in the cramped, damp basement with mildewed boxes pushed to the sides and enough canned food to last only a week, each and every single last one of her family let out a shudder, a groan, a wet and weak gasp. One-by-one they all went limp, and Francine didn’t know which one to try and help first. She froze, her hands reaching out for Marcus as her eyes fell on her mothers’ worn, weary face that became lifeless, motionless.
When her body began to respond again, Francine ran to her niece Chelsea’s side, knowing it was what everyone would have wanted. But Chelsea was dead the moment Francine was next to her, frantically shaking her, trying to get any response from the young girl.
In the end, Francine stood in a room of bodies she once loved and lived for. She was too shocked to do anything but stand stock still, wide-eyed, staring at a pockmark in the brick wall as her mind tried to process anything that had just happened. It felt like an impossible nightmare, one that Francine couldn’t grasp the reality of until it had hit her hard, like a cannonball right in her guts.
On auto-pilot her feet carried her outside, looking for help or an escape or something to explain what really happened. Standing on her front lawn covered in crispy brown leaves, she saw the teenage boy from across the street, Charles. Without a word shared between the two, they crossed the gap of concrete and grass between them in a second and embraced one another, and for a solid day they sat on the grass and wept heavier than ether had in a long time.
After two days of searching for help – or other living people – and finding only more bodies that further reduced the duo to tears and emotional exhaustion, they returned to their homes. It was an agreement they made that they couldn’t return home and see their families again. Instead, both gathered their belongings and left before any attachment could pull them back. Even as they walked down the road in a hurry with knapsacks on their backs, Francine wanted to run back just to make sure her family wasn’t still alive the whole time.
Eventually Francine and Charles made their way to the EMS station a few blocks over, still hoping help would arrive. Instead, after a few days of total silence in-between sobs and fits, a small group of regular people showed up. There were three of them, making a group of five in total. It was getting colder outside, and no one from the group wanted to see any more corpses, so they remained indoors for a few months. Over that time, Francine learned to cope a bit more with the loss of her entire family through the help of total strangers that became very close to her. Calling them friends wasn’t quite right; they were more than that, and in a different way.
Come February, the supplies had gotten lower and it began to make more sense to leave their pseudo-home. Trekking out into the cold, blistering wind, bundled up and unprepared for it, they made their way from building-to-building, becoming inner-city nomads. Through that way of surviving they found another survivor, Gerry Tran, who was unable to communicate very well but became a quick fixture of their group. English or not, Gerry was part of them, and they relied on him just as much as he did to them.
The group headed for The Emerald Towers as it was the next closest residential spot, and that day had been a particularly bad one. They walked through the front doors, set down their packs, took a moment to shake out the cold from their bones, and saw three other people – Annette, Alexander and Amina. It was a relief to see other living beings for a change, and despite the weather, that night had been the first time Francine laughed in a long while.
When one of their group, Marshall, jumped from the rooftop and committed suicide, Francine simply stared at his body half-buried under the snow from the warmth of inside. Amongst the sadness, pity and regret, Francine felt disappointment, and slight anger. She cried for him, but not in the way she had for the others. There wasn’t as much emotion or effort behind those tears shed. It just wasn’t possible to keep crying like that anymore.
Since the beginning of The Towers, Francine learned to look at the bodies with a little less humanity and sorrow. They became a trademark of the city; they were not things she let herself think about, or feel things over. It made scavenging for supplies more bearable. It made getting through each day less depressing.
It made it easier to not feel guilt every time she laughed or smiled or had a light-hearted conversation with someone. It also made her question her sanity and what became of her, that she felt so disconnected and unaffected. But those were thoughts she never let leave her head.
Alright, so I know I said I'd wait until everyone posted their CS until I decided if we had just enough people or if I had to cut some of you, but I'm only a little impatient. Only a little.
Right now we're at eight applications and, truly, I don't mind that number. I liked everyone's characters enough that I'm okay with a larger group. So, to everyone that applied, welcome to the RP! Get on to writing those first intro posts! There's a few little things that bugged me/I might need further clarification on for some of the CS's, but I'll send out PM's for that.
However, the CS's that are still listed as WIP, please finish them soon.
To the people who are still working on CS's: I get it, life gets in the way, or sometimes the inspiration just doesn't come quick enough. So get it done as soon as you can and post it. I can't say you're definitely in once you post it, but I'm not going to turn you away without reading it first.
Also, @Gowi, I forgot to tell you this, but I chuckled when I read that David likes Ned. I envisioned Ned as the one bubbly dumbass in the apocalypse who doesn't really get what happens and is good for nothing but comedic relief at her own expense. Thinking of David and her being friends is just such and absurd duo. I love it.
And another point I wanted to touch on: I didn't outright state it - though it's heavily implied in Interest Check - this world takes place in an alternate reality (hence the KFC-McDonalds joining, "satellite" spotted near Pluto, etc.). It's not radically different, but feel free to make up things of the past if you want to.
A few updates: 1) I made a CS for Annette. It's linked in the NPC list on the front page, but can also be read here. I feel like the leader and important character deserves a bit more information. I may write ones for other NPCs as well, over time; 2) everyone else who wants to apply needs to hurry up! I want to get this show on the road!
<Snipped quote by Palindromatic>
Accessibility and active chat channels instead of waiting hours between conversations; gathers a community together and great for non-RP related communication as well.
But enough about skype, how about DAT SHEET THO.
Skype chat doesn't sound too bad. We may just consider it down the road.
Anyway, onto other pressing matters like DOWN-LOW, DAT CHARACTER SHEET FINNA MAKE DEM OTHER THOTS BE LOOKING SOFT!
Thanks, Urban Dictionary.
In all honesty though, I like David, from his great work ethic to his background, it was all a great read. He seems like an interesting character that'd add a fun dynamic. I can see David become Annette's go-to-guy for every problem, and when all hell breaks loose, turning to David to keep things under control when she can't.
In a way, I see David as being The Towers' Batman. Not literally, of course, but the controlling anti-hero. In a good way.
AGE: 47 GENDER: female FORMER OCCUPATION: Mayor of Rittendale HEIGHT: 5’6 WEIGHT: 118 lbs SCARS/TATTOOS/OTHER: in a small, square-lettered font on her left wrist, Annette has a tattoo of the birth date of her son, Sebastian.
PAST AFFILIATES:
Jason “Jay” Danes: Annette’s forty-eight-year-old husband;
Gregory Mackey: Annette’s seventy-two-year-old uncle and former close friend;
CURRENT AFFILIATES:
Amina Ali: resident of The Towers, close friend/emotional support;
Alexander J. McMurray: resident of the towers, close friend, second-in-command;
all other residents of The Towers;
STRENGTHS: If anything, Annette Danes is known for her ability to appeal to the masses. Her charismatic skills kept her afloat during her term as Rittendale’s mayor; even if she never wholly believed the words she let rocket off her tongue, she knew when to let them go and how much force should be put into each syllable. When her back isn’t making friends with a corner, she’s personable, attentive and understanding. She has a sharp tongue and quick wit – a million different retorts or statements will sprout in her mind before her opponent had the chance to attempt to voice their way out of an instant verbal KO.
Likewise, Annette was never blessed with the ability to read a textbook and memorize every fibre of those words, but she does possess adequate “street smarts”. She thinks quickly and clearly, always on the ball. Rarely does Annette slip up or not immediately grasp a concept.
WEAKNESSES: Annette always had been a workaholic, ever since she was first employed as a fast food chain cashier and felt that gritty texture of a crisp paycheque between her fingertips. That thrive to constantly work and do better leaves her exhausted. Annette is unwilling to give up, even when success has long since left her reach. She’s critical of herself, constantly blaming and berating herself for not doing better, not putting more effort into things. This puts her under constant stress, making her agitated and restless, unable to eat or sleep comfortably and always anxious. She’s aware the migraines, heartburn and stomach pains she experiences may be caused from it, but Annette refuses to worry about those.
In the same vein, Annette cares too deeply about what others think of her. There’s a façade she held for years that she was a confident, well-put-together political warrior who always knew the answer. The end of the world didn’t change her need to be that hero; it only made it more needed. In reality, Annette doesn’t believe she’s nearly as strong as she’s made out to be. Inside, she’s an anxious bundle bound to unravel and never stop crying or shaking once every knot comes undone. People look to Annette, and she hungers for their willingness to. It started when Annette first became mayor, how she craved being the good guy, the one with all the answers and solutions. Annette needs to be their saving grace, and then some. It’s the only way she can feel validated.
At her age, and with her health, Annette is not a physically adept person. Her knees crack when she crouches and more often than not she awakes with new pains in her back and shoulders. A bad right knee makes it difficult to run before the pain begins, and truth be told, Annette can’t do a single push-up to save her life.
HISTORY:
In the year of 2007, Annette Danes became a household name in the city of Rittendale; she was a mayoral candidate known for her sharp mouth, unwillingness to bite her tongue, and ambitious plans to better Rittendale. With the promise of more bike lanes, greenspace, pedestrian-only streets, free public transit and to fight for taxpayers, Annette’s platform was also well-received, though many had doubts she would accomplish everything she promised.
Steadily, Annette’s popularity grew. From enthusiastically appearing in the city’s Pride Parade to supporting and promoting small businesses, Annette made a face for herself as someone who genuinely cared about others. As she once joked in an interview, it was why she always excelled in customer service.
As of 2008, Annette Danes won the election. She went on to lead a full term, managing to reduce crime rates to an all-time low as well as fulfill each promise she made. Though she may have earned the title of “The Green Giant” from her often spoken about drive to make the city as eco-friendly as possible, Annette was renown for her motivation to improve the environment.
In the end, however, Annette was not voted back into office for a second term. She lost to her former competitor, Michael Mann. Though it was a tough blow, it was not all in vain. Annette had been looking forward to an early retirement for a while.
With her husband and son, Annette lived in a well-off condo near the beaches area. They had a pitbull named Sandy and an overweight housecat named Danny.
When the virus hit, Annette’s son Sebastian passed away first. Jay, her husband, collapsed onto the floor just as Annette scrambled to pull Sebastian into her arms. For several hours Annette had attempted CPR on both to no avail. It had not surprised her when no emergency response team answered her calls.
Eventually, when the sun came up and both were pale, cold and unresponsive, and when Annette finally felt the bitter sting of an early winter wafting in through the windows, she sat down on the floor next to both her son and husband and stared off at the dawning sky.
Festive
