Author Topic: ◜ 𝙆𝙄𝙇𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘽𝙔 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 — O. JOINING ◞  (Read 282 times)

Offline 𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✧

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Cities called to Caelan. Derelict as many were, there was an undeniable allure to the busy world metropoles could offer, and he was nothing if not a spineless addict. Enticed by the flash of cash or excitement, he was easily won over by the promise of opportunity, whether that opportunity be large-scale or confined to his own pocket-sized niche (which, more often than not, it was).

A post-blackout world suited Caelan better than most. Old enough to remember life before the lights went out and young enough for adjustment to not have been so jarring, he had grown up surrounded by memories of old movies and bleak portrayals of a future he now lived. Governments, it seemed, had fallen with media, and as electricity had fizzled into nothing, so had law. People formed their own groups now, and moving was easier than ever. No money, no food, no problem — society's shreds were no longer policed by menial boundaries such as law and order. If you found a house and were prepared to kill its inhabitants, it was yours until the next crook with a gun stumbled across the lot.

Innately, Caelan was no murderer, as much as he had to pretend otherwise, and "regularly-used birds' nest" would be a far more scathing descriptor of his personal style if it wasn't so unfortunately true (and he was in no position to punish anybody for the insult, being scarcely more than 100lbs and more twig than trunk). His survival was a comically tragic success story — he and his two chickens against the world made for an interesting concept, but in reality, it only led to a poor diet and desperation. He was tired of fighting foxes to keep his pets alive, and the promise of civilisation was infuriatingly seductive.

The Badlands sounded like his sort of place — unnecessarily edgy by name, chaotic and sprawling by nature. He had spent so long imitating criminality that to test his mettle with the big boys felt like an inevitability, a big break he had been preparing for for years. Granted, the presence of two uneaten chickens didn't scream hardened sinner, but he could make it work. It was just a matter of being found, now. If he'd learned anything from listening to nomads speak of these groups, it was that barging in uninvited was never appreciated, and he'd hate to die now.
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Offline MICHAEL.

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"speech" 'thought' text
tw: mentions alcohol, blood, profanity, themes of violence

The soldier was not often slacking in his duties, one of which was patrolling the outer boarder for signs of trouble, and also joiners. This was just another regular trek around the city limits for Mike, and without his dogs... it was a lonely one at that. The two had died a few short months ago, and while their killer now swam with the fishes, or decayed on the ocean floor with the rotting carcasses of the dead (the second sounded more satisfying in his mind), their absence from his life left a void that was not easily filled.

He tried not to think about them too much, these days it was just another reason to hate everything, and there needed to be some shred of positivity in his life, or he'd go out and kill every last person he could. That, however, seemed a rather dark and pointless excise in his skill set, and Michael was not too keen to go on a murder spree just now. The logistics were far too demanding, and he had no actual desire to hurt humans in general, just some of them.

He was thus occupied in thought when he came across the skrawny lad with two birds beside him. It was not the most odd traveler he'd ever encountered, though he had to say that this certainly made the list. The boy looked like he could use some good food, as well as the chickens (though, he supposed that the chickens would also make good food as well). If they were alive right now there was probably a reason for it, and besides, those two chickens looked unbearably stringy.

The broad shouldered man stopped a few paces from where Caelan was, his eyes taking in the scene in strides. "Hey, Bird-boy." He called, jerking his head in the direction of the fellow with two birds. Yep, it was probably what Mike would end up calling the kid for a long time, didn't matter if he liked it or not, though it was pretty unoriginal, and he knew he could do better.

The dark haired man furrowed his brows slightly, and drew a cigarette from his pocket, placing it between his lips and lighting a match. When the cigarette lit, he shook the match out, and crumbled the still hot end into ash between his fingers, taking a few puffs of the cigarette as he did so. "What're you doing here on Badlands boarder?" He chuckled dryly, and offered a humorless smile, and continued.

"Not that I'm complaining that you're on the boarder, it's nice, ya know, to have someone actually respect the goddamned boarder for once. But still, I gotta ask what's your business here." Mike finished thoughtfully.
Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's the leader of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.

Offline 𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✧

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Re: ◜ — O. JOINING ◞
« Reply #2 on: February 06, 2019, 12:57:00 PM »

Juxtaposed with his own paltry stature, the approaching stranger was a monster of a man, though it took very little to be comparably intimidating if the opposition happened to be somebody resembling a mop. Though not easily unnerved, the probabilities of him beating the other man in a fight were slim, and he'd already weighed his chances of escaping if a chase broke out. Ducking and weaving just as effectively threw off a bullet as it did a runner — though in practice, it was never as simple as left, right, left, right. His fingers curled in the glossy feathers of the hen he held in his arms, smoothing and ruffling in equal measures, but if he was anxious, he refused to show it; feet planted firmly in the ground, he squared himself, unmoving and possessing a countenance that dared to resemble a hack-job dispassion.

'Hey, Bird-boy,' the man greeted on approach, cool and unbothered. Older, seemingly sage and with a stance akin to that of a soldier's, he exuded an almost stereotypical 'manliness' that would have drawn a laugh had Caelan not been acutely aware of how easy it would be for this man to break him in half (tempting in some cases — it wouldn't be his worst decision — but probably not in this one). Perhaps he was supposed to feel inferior, but he had grown up surrounded by masculinity. It was a familiar, unpleasantly-nostalgic sort of aura.

His apathy dissipated quickly, replaced by a cocktail of mock-outrage and imperfect mirth. "Who're you callin' Bird-boy?" he asked, tucking his hen under one arm. As he spoke, the stranger pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it — Caelan followed the motion with eager, hungry eyes, attention flitting between the crumpled match and the orange glow from the burn. "You got any more of those?" The proximity coaxed his hands into trembling, excitement palpable. "I'll- well, I'll not pay you, I... don't have any money, but I'll find something to give you. If not, just—" he pursed his lips— "breathe in my face."

'What're you doing here on Badlands border?' the stranger continued in a dry chuckle, offering a cheerless smirk which Caelan returned, though it more closely resembled a faux grimace. Before he could form a reply, however, the man continued: "Not that I'm complaining that you're on the border, it's nice, ya know, to have someone actually respect the goddamned border for once. But still, I gotta ask what's your business here." Speech concluded, he adopted a thoughtful expression.

Caelan shrugged. "Well, life out in the wilderness just don't work for a city-lovin' gal like me." The rooster at his feet clucked, ever the pinnacle of suburban pet-hood. "So I thought: you know, why not answer my calling? And all the other places were just so... clean-cut." He wrinkled his nose in pseudo-disgust, continuing in a light, airy, mostly-joking tone. "So I came here instead of, like... a Church community. Visits to those sorts of groups usually end in fire and fury for me."
« Last Edit: February 07, 2019, 01:09:58 AM by 𝐂𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✧ »
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Offline 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐭

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At the moment of their birth, the lights went out. It wasn't long at all before the generators kicked in, but their birth had marked the beginning of the end. That's what would inspire their new name, years later, what would lead to Derick dubbing them the Harbinger of the Apocalypse.

They might believe that the moment of their birth was fate, that it was destined to happen the way it did. But they knew that the rest of it, their godhood, it was just an illusion. One they sometimes liked to entertain, but they weren't deluded by it. They were as mortal as anyone else here, deny it as much as they'd like. Eh, their mother was here. They couldn't really pretend that they had just appeared, fully formed and ready to kick ass anymore.

Mike was built like a brick, short (in comparison to some of the others here), stocky, all muscle. He could take a few good punches and dish back whatever he got. Catalyst, on the other hand, was more like a blade. Tall and narrow, with a sharpness about them that might be in the cut of their current jacket, the curve of their cheekbones or the piercing pale blue of their eyes.

They stepped up beside Mike and regarded Caelan with an unreadable expression. "Just breathe in my face." Well. Alright, then. "We've got room for one more." They said, shooting a glance at Michael. They weren't all that fond of cigarettes or any sort of drugs or intoxicant, and on some level they couldn't understand the desire to consume them. On another level they could, though, but they were quite content to just watch people lose their sobriety along with their dignity. "Me too." They said, smirking a little. Alright, the breathe on me thing was weird, but they had that going for him.

Spoiler: IF YOU DONT KNOW NOW YOU KNOW && INFO && 02/04/19 • show
GENERAL   welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life
⇥ Given name is Scott Mathew Darrow ⇥ Goes only by Catalyst or Cat
⇥ Assigned male at birth ⇥ Agender ⇥ They/Them pronouns only
Twenty-one ⇥ Born 11/27/17 ⇥ Sagittarius ⇥ Real time aging
Top Dog (leader) of the Badlands ⇥ Ex prisoner of the Badlands
⇥ Ex cultist (Mourningstar) ⇥ Ex member of the Young Rogues

RECENT EVENTS   done my time and served my sentence
⇥ 01/27/39 ⇥ Visited Flintlock Lodge
⇥ 01/21/39 ⇥ Reunited with their mother
⇥ 01/21/39 ⇥ Fought off Paige's attackers

APPEARANCE   dress me up and watch me die
⇥ Catalyst is 6'2" tall; they possess a lean and muscular body, one that has a variety of old scars adorning it. They have two piercings, one in their tongue and the other in the cartilage of their left ear. They typically dress in dark colors (favoring jackets with some sort of writing on the back), and their hair is black. They're not all dark, however, as they have pale blue eyes that peer out from beneath medium-sized eyebrows.

PERSONALITY   if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine
⇥ Catalyst is ambitious, with the cunning and ruthlessness to reach their goals by any means necessary. They can be brutal when they feel it is needed, however when it's not they won't bother. They tend to be rather aloof and apathetic to most things and people, with some very rare exceptions. Provided those around them don't cross a few specific lines, they're content to leave them be, though they've been known to take an interest in some people, which seldom has a positive end for whoever their interest is in. They can be manipulative, and will often encourage people to make bad decisions. Those that stick by them will be rewarded, but those that do not will be cast out, as they've been outcast for their entire life and have learned to appreciate loyalty wherever they can find it. Even during the most stressful of situations, they usually keep a firm grip on their temper and keep their calm, though when they do snap and lose their temper, it is uncontrollable. They're remarkably observant, often able to deign much from subtle clues in what people say, how they say it and how they act.

RELATIONS   dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight
⇥ Molly Darrow x Austin Darrow ⇥ No siblings
Pansexual/PanromanticSingle ⇥ No crushes or maybe crushes
⇥ Not looking but not not looking ⇥ Rarely forms romantic attachment
⇥ Holds most people at arms length and doesn't get close

INTERACTION   i'm taking back the c r o w n
Hard physicallyHard mentally ⇥ Doesn't let their guard down
⇥ Is most comfortable with close ranged-weapons ⇥ Dislikes guns
Brass knuckles ⇥ A variety of knives ⇥ Blunt objects like bats
⇥ Will kill/capture/maim in certain circumstances
⇥ Will leave things be in others ⇥ Will start & finish fights
⇥ No kill/capture/maim without permission
⇥ Peaceful powerplay allowed but they may react negatively
⇥ Dislikes almost any sort of touch unless they initiate or agree to it
there's blood on the leaves / there's blood on the sands I ——————