SurvivaLists Unite (SLURP ;D)

[Weremouse]

scrape....scrape....
That's my alarm clock. The sound of scraping. Every morning at 6:30AM. It's like they have some kind of telepathy.

"Let's all find them every day at 6 30 in the fucking morning, giving them the rude awakening of groaning and scraping but being too moronic to actually pose a threat."

I've become so jaded because of all of this. I just drag myself out of bed, yawn, and grab my gun. It takes me a couple minutes to rouse the rest of the gang to help me deal with them, although usually it's only 5 or so zombies, it's always good to have backup in case they get smarter or it's a bigger group. I undo the barricade to the one door of our room, which because of the size of our group is the hospital cafeteria.

I lazily hack and slash my way through the zombies, their ruined appearances no longer bothering me. It used to be traumatic but it's been so long that a broken arm, bones protruding, blood all over them, it makes no difference to me.

We drag the bodies into the morgue, which now has more zombie bodies than it ever had normal dead people, lazily put them on the floor (they were people once but they sure as fuck aren't people now and I'm not arranging a funeral for a fucking zombie)

Stretch. Go outside, soak up some sunshine before we have to barricade ourselves in again. Explore. Find furnishings for our home. It's all routine.

We're adapters. Everything we know gets ripped from us? No sweat, we'll just build a new life for ourselves. That's how you survive. You adapt.

---
Hey ya'll! An RP from Jaya? What the fuck? Really? YARLY.
Also it's Sabrina's first RP. Everyone applaud politely for soon to be lost RP virginity. Now scream and make vulgar noises as she loses it.
RIGHT. RP. So, as the story up there makes pretty clear, it's a fuckin' zombie apocalypse. Swearing in this RP is not only allowed, it's encouraged. This is realistic, people. Sure there's zombies and crap, but this isn't too far from when civilization was normal.
I would love to give you clear details but shit will be revealed in the RP itself. ^_^"
I guess that's all I've got to say. BIO SKELETON TIEMZ.

I LIED. DID YOU JUST ASSUME THAT IT WOuLD JUST BE THE INTRO THAT'S IN FIRST PERSON? DON'T ASSUME ANYTHING, BITCH. THE WHOLE RP IS IN FIRST PERSON POV. YEAH. FIRST PERSON.

Name:
Age: (anything goes, unlikely that someone over 60 is fit enough to survive)
Career Before Apocalypse:
Appearance: (description FIRST. priority = description. Find a picture to match that AFTER having written it.)
Personality: (optional, will be revealed in RP obviously)
Brief History:
Extras:

[Allison]

((WASSUP.))

Name: Denise Denver Trace - Or, DDT, as she is nicknamed, due to the fact her blood is so contaminated with chemicals from her job that it's not even funny.
Age: 23
Career Before Apocalypse: Certified Nail Technician. And don't let that stupid bitch Louise who works in the Talbots next door tell you different.
Appearance:
Denise could be considered an attractive woman, if you disregard the insanely heavy make-up, the bad tan, and the hair that is obviously permed.
With skin the delightful color of a golden brown chicken, Denise has obviously gone a little bit over-board with the whole 'tanning' business, and not a god damn Zombie can bar her from her spray tan. Her hair used to be an enormous mane which would make even a Lion look on in jealousy- But due to zombies, she had to cut it all off. It now sits in a dark, flouncy bob that doesn't loose any body when fighting off the masses of undead. She has a long nose, which she has had reduced about twice, and impeccable eyesight for someone who has been straining and slaving for a god damn promotion even though the stupid secretary gets better pay. Accented with her own gaudy mix of 'Classroom Blue' eyeshadow and 'Coral Girly' lipstick, Denise is not happy unless she has some form of make-up on, which she ended up Tammy Faye Baker-ing and getting perfect cat-eye eyeliner tattooed to her eyelids.

Her fashion choice for the apocalypse is suitable for who Denise really is. Bike boots- Clasps on the sides, easy to move in if you know what you're doing, scuffs floors, gets good traction and expert for kicking in cerebral cortexes. Not that Denise knows what they're called. A white jean jacket, so that she can know where she is weak from zombies. Ripped blue jeans, with breathable white leggings underneath, to guard her skin. Long black hoodie under the jacket. Let her talk to you long enough, and she'll go on and on how it's so hard in these times to find jeans and shirts that will fit a woman with a d-cup who stands at 6'3 and is-- "110"--something pounds.

If you wanted to berate Denise about her choice of accessories, being impractical and such, she would not listen to you or give you the time of day. She'd actually probably just shoot you in the head. Signature Louis Vitton belts. Calvin Klien wristwatch. A darling little cross ring that her niece gave her for Christmas. Anything else you want?

Personality: For now, Denise is a total bitch who pretends to have manners.
Brief History: Conceived in the back of her Daddy's cousin's POS 76' Chev. Camero on the road to Denver, Denise is all too proud of her roots. She grew up in New Jersey, to a family of 'Italians'. From the time she was little, she wanted to be a Professional Beautician, but Stacy Levine in 3rd grade told her that she had to be short to be a Beautician, which Denise was not. From then on, she was hell bent on being better than a Professional Beautician- She was going to be a Certified Nail Technician!
Developing her own colors such as 'Jungle Red', Denise learned that breathing in fumes all day was so much better than being a stupid little Professional Beautician- She was CERTIFIED now, for cripes sake!

When the zombies hit, Denise was already as tough as the Nails on Sarah Palin, and working in a strip mall in a sea of Asian-Ladies.
(They communicated in some weird Jappy language and Denise didn't like that.)

Extras: Denise can wield a gun, due to her logic that god made her on this world to survive- And her good-for-nothing money-grubbing ex-boyfriend Louie was always playing those stupid video games with the guns and the no-good violence.
She's all-around handy and keeps herself going by trading ammunition for skin care products and half-empty bottles of spray tan- Which can also be used for explosives, but ONLY if they're that nasty Sunset color.

[melaniejane]

Name: Mina

Age: 23

Career Before Apocalypse: Manga Artist

Appearance: Mina is Japanese-American and has the cliche-like looks to prove it. You might mistake her for a zombie with her pale complexion and seeing as she hardly gets out for any sunshine, she only seems to get more lucid by the day. It doesn't help that her hair is also jet black, making the contrast even more striking. It falls to her mid-back and she always has it pinned away from her face with bobby pins because she can't stand it getting in her eyes. Speaking of eyes, her's are almond shaped and dark brown in color, almost black. She has a small, rounded nose with a nose ring in the right side and one tattoo of a vine crawling out of her neck and out to the very top of her right breast.

She is 5'2 and used to be a little on the round side but all the running from zombies has slimmed her down some. She'll never be a super model but at least she isn't slow enough to be zombie food.

As far as artificial aspects are concerned, the first thing she does when she wakes up is apply black eyeliner. She doesn't care about any other makeup but she has to have black eyeliner on or she doesn't feel like herself. And for clothes, she mostly sticks to torn up boot-cut jeans and whatever clean tank top she can get her hands on. She has one pair of trusty black Doc Martens that have seen the apocalypse through with her and should live as long as she does.

Personality: Mina has constant mood swings. Before the apocalypse, she was seriously considering having a shrink take a look at her. Some days she's happy, some days she's sad. It really just depends on the day...

Brief History: She was born in America but her Japanese mother died during child birth. She never learned anything about her biological father and was raised in an orphanage and then several foster homes before she went out on her own at 18. Despite that, she was lucky enough to have grown up around wonderful people and has no ill feelings about her history. Upon graduation, she took a scholarship at university in Japan and studied there for a few months before becoming homesick and dropping out. While only there for a few months, she soaked up much of her culture which she brought back with her to the States.

Before she left, she made connections with some fellow students who were in the works to release a new manga i.e. japanese comic. They made plans to collaborate on the project, herself becoming one of the artists. The first book was a small success and she was working on the second edition when the apocalypse hit. She;d been living in a slightly dingy apartment with two other roommate who only worked at night and she hadn't interacted with them much. Her feelings for them only lessened when she later found out they had turned into zombies. Since then, she wandered the streets of the city until finally settling in with the group of survivors she met that now reside in the old cafeteria.

[Rose]

*Stares at the first-person POV in horror* I…I’ll try…

Name: Clayton “Tomahawk”…Yes…Tomahawk.

Age: 30

Career Before Apocalypse: Soldier- Cavalry Scout, 2nd PLT, “Gladiators”

Appearance: Clay is what you would expect from a man who has served in the United States Army for 11 years. He is 6’2 and well-built, with strong muscles in his arms and legs. His chest and shoulders are broad, his jawline chiseled. The skin on his face is tanned a few shades darker than the rest of him because of the uniform he used to wear. Scars run all over his body from being hit by shrapnel so many times, the most prominent ones being the fat white scar on his right cheek, and the jagged pinkish one that runs at an angle all the way down his chest.

But Clay isn’t all business and rough exterior. There is a permanent smirk at the corner of his mouth, and whether he’s chatting idly or mowing down zombies, his muddy brown eyes always hold a glimmer of excitement. The sandy blond hair that he used to keep buzzed down is now long and unruly, falling wildly around his shoulders, and never does he go anywhere without his shredded cowboy hat to hold it down.

Personality: When you think of the military type, the first thing that comes to mind is probably the face of some screaming drill sergeant, his face beat-red with a vein throbbing in his forehead threatening to explode. That’s not Clay. That might be a strikingly similar visage of his DS Sumner, aka “The Berserker,” but not Clay.

He’s a man who was raised in the south by a mother who preached respect, mostly because she didn’t want him to turn out like his “good-for-nothin’, lyin’, cheatin’, stealin’” daddy. He’s a wild and free cowboy who thinks everything is game, even if that game could get you killed. Clay doesn’t hold a grudge or really dislike anyone unless they make a stupid mistake that could get someone killed, if they are disrespectful, if they talk bad about him, if they- well alright, he has a bit of a hot temper that flares up out of nowhere (he gets that from his no-good lyin’ cheatin’ stealin’ daddy) but he calms down after throwing a few punches or shooting something to make himself feel better, and afterward he’ll find you a beer. Oh, he likes beer. A lot.

Brief History: Clayton grew up in a small town in southern Georgia with his mother and planned to take care of her until the day he died, but cancer took her away from him just after he turned 18. With no insurance and no money because of his damn lyin’ cheatin’ stealin’ daddy, there hadn’t been much they could do for her illness. Left alone with nothing but a small house and a lot of teenage rage, Clay joined the army.

Through his 11 years of service he gained a lot of respect, a lot of scars, and the name “Tomahawk” for the infamous use of his favorite weapon. When he turned 30 he took a year off to visit home and travel around a bit. All he really got from the break was an itching in his hands to start using some weapons again and a scruffy stray dog he named Machinegun Billy after an old friend.

Just before Clay went back into service the apocalypse started. The group of survivors didn’t find him, he found them. Armed to the teeth with guns, a tomahawk, and a giant dog, Clay came to the rescue when they were swarmed. His only condition for joining the group was that they had to let him keep his dog. He’s been an invaluable member of the group ever since.

Extras: Don’t fucking touch his hat. Or his tomahawk. Maybe Billy, but only if you are going to scratch his belly. He loves that. Cute little bastard.

Billy:

[Aubs]

Still making a bio, Jayafer.

-A

[Weremouse]

Name: Ivy Paige Smith
Age: 21
Career Before Apocalypse: Cashier at your local grocery store
Appearance: Despite not using them much, Ivy's lips are actually a focus on her face. They're larger than average and manage to stay nicely moist despite her never using chapstick or lipstick or any of that girly shit. Ivy doesn't have time for makeup, although occasionally you can catch her putting on eyeshadow and the works, to help remind her of her old life when she used to wear makeup every day. Rule 32 of Zombieland is enjoy the little things, and for her that's the occasional moments of silence when she just has time to remember what she used to do and try to predict where she'd be if infected humans wern't all trying to kill her. Ivy has very dark skin and dark eyes to go with them. Her irises are brown when you look closely, although they're so dark that from medium-distance they're black, and even when you get close the small lighter flecks in them make them appear to have depth, like looking into a black hole surrounded by white. Ivy is a pretty down to earth girl, and likes to wear things that are practical. When they do the monthly clothing-store ransack, she usually goes to find cargo pants (they're movable and comfortable, and pockets always come in handy) and t-shirts, some tank tops and hoodies, all usually in neutral or conservative colors like black, grey, brown, or occasionally white, though the white doesn't usually stay white for long. She likes having lots of pockets, preferably big enough to hold knives or even guns. The crew sticks close enough together most of the time that having anything but methods to defend yourself isn't really necessary, so all her pockets are indeed usually filled with weapons. Her hair is bushy and is barely clinging onto the straight perm it received a while ago, so most of the time she puts it into cornrows or braids it, to keep it from going crazy.
Brief History: Ivy really didn't know what she was doing with her life pre-apocalypse. She wasn't sure exactly what her strengths were, although she was pretty good at math, and various academics, she wasn't outstanding at anything. She attended community college and was trying to try new things every day until she found her calling, though never managed to find it before the apocalypse. She worked part-time at a grocery store to keep up with her rent. Before that, she had an average childhood, though her parents divorced when she was 7. It didn't affect her much, if anything she tried to look on the bright side of double Christmases and a general influx of money. Her mother remarried when she was 13 and her stepfather was a very nice man, if a little sugar-coaty.

OOC: AUGH I'M SORRY I HATE BIOS.
I can do better. But right now...I'm lazy and I just want to get this going.

[Aubs]

I have to revise my character because I couldn't think of anything to balance out my ideas.

Instead, I'm going to have my character do something else. I'm not sure what though.
I wanted to make a black woman because they're so unrepresented in Zombie anything except for that one chick in L4D and a few others, but there's so many girls and I kind of feel like I HAVE to make a boy to balance everything out but I kind of don't want to write as another guy. I'm so confused. Help a bitch out.

[Chris]

Name: Luna Winchester

Age: 25

Career Before Apocalypse: Luna inherited a gun and hunting store from her grandfather and ran it.

Appearance: Luna stands at a short height of five feet, two and a half inches, and unless you want to be beaten severely, it’s best not to make fun of her for her height. She has an hourglass shape, with feminine curves and ivory skin, however her skin is far from flawless and is lined with a few scars from various fights she’s gotten in during her life. The most obvious of these scars, is one that runs from just above her left eyebrow, over her left eye and stops on her cheek around the bottom of her nose, another scar is located on her inner right wrist and starts at her elbow and curves out, rounding in towards her wrist in a sort of crescent moon shape, a third scar is located on her stomach and runs about three inches. Luna’s hair is strawberry blonde and falls to mid-way down her back, her bangs she keeps long and they fall over the left side of her face, usually covering her left eye and the scar that rests there as well. One strip of her bangs is dyed neon pink, another royal purple. Her eyes are her most striking feature, they’re a unique, bright Turquoise that are very piercing in color and never betray her true emotions, they’re also almond shaped and slightly dominate on her small, heart-shaped face, and highlighted by her high cheekbones. Her lips are naturally full and pink, and she has snake bites on her bottom lip, her ears are also triple pierced and in them she wears small, silver studs, and the right side of her nose is pierced, and in it she wears a small diamond stud, also her left eyebrow is pierced and so is her belly button. Luna always has her fingernails painted black, and wears dark smoky make-up, which consists of black eye shadow and liner, black lipstick and very black mascara. Luna has several tattoos, one on her left shoulder blade of a skull and crossbones, one on her inner right wrist of a black rose, one on her left outer ankle of a pistol, her left arm is completely covered in a tattoo sleeve and the colors of the various tattoos are made up of black, purple and pink, and finally she has a tattoo on the small of her back of a fire-breathing dragon, it’s flames shoot up her back to the base of her neck. Luna is almost always dressed in black, usually a pair of black jeans, with a skull and crossbones rhinestone design on the back right pocket, paired with a plain black t-shirt and black boots, she also wears a lot of rings on both hands, a dozed black rubber bracelets on her right wrist, a black cuff bracelet on her left wrist, and a skull key necklace that falls just below the hollow of her throat.

Personality: Luna is…well, she’s Luna and you have to know her to know what that means. She tends to keep to herself, she’s very private that way, however if she has something to say, you’d better listen, otherwise she’ll just beat the hell out of you and make you listen. She can be nice, but it’s a rarity to see, you have to take the time to actually get to know her and earn her trust to be able to see it, and Luna doesn‘t trust on a whim, she‘s been betrayed too many times for that. She’s extremely sarcastic and never without a dead-pan sarcastic remark for any situation and she cusses so much when she’s pissed she can make a sailor blush. She has a very tough exterior; almost rock-solid actually, she isn’t one to crack under pressure and likes to do things on her own to keep others from getting hurt, though she wouldn’t exactly admit that last part. She doesn’t take orders from anyone and she’ll do as she damn well pleases, she’s very independent and stubborn, once she makes up her mind about something, that’s all, there is to it.

Brief History: Luna’s is very, very private about her history, she isn’t one for talking about her personal shit, and that’s her business and nobody else’s. The most that anyone knows about her is the very basics: Her parents died when she was a little girl, and she was raised by her widower grandfather until she was eighteen, when he died and she inherited his gun store. Her grandfather taught her how to shot at an early age and she has a very deadly aim, so it’s best not to piss her off. She was always getting into fights at school, and always getting into trouble for it, well that and cussing out the teachers.

Extra: Luna is, surprisingly, fluent in Latin; it was her favorite subject in high school. Another thing about Luna, is that she’s never without a loaded gun, so it’s usually a good idea not to piss her off, especially since she has a deadly aim, and she’s also a black belt and knows…oh, only about a thousand different ways to kill or injure someone. She’s also good with a bow and arrow.

OOC: Okay, so this is my first shot at a bio on this site, lol, so let me know if you want me to fix anything. But, this isn’t my first ever bio, I did a ton over on The-N.