Post by Elaine Auclair on Jan 17, 2015 7:41:57 GMT
ELAINE AUCLAIR
For you I am a gangster; A poison in a well
A body worn from fighting wars - it may be hard to tell
THE BASICS
NAME: Elaine Jūn Yi “June” Auclair
AGE: 26
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 5'4”
WEIGHT: 126lbs
SEXUALITY: Bisexual
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Once upon a time, long before the outbreak, Eileen could have been considered a pretty young woman. Her skin was clear and blemish-free, hair long and soft, eyes bright and wide. But now? She is hardly recognizable. Blood, dirt and scars paint her skin like the wall canvas of an over-eager 5 year old. Her hair, once long enough to tickle the small of her back, now reaches just barely under the blades of her shoulders in choppy, thick waves. Uneven bangs are usually ignored and left to hang before her eyes. The texture of her unkempt hair is coarse in some areas, slick in others. She doesn't bother washing it and would leave it in a tangled, unmanaged mess if not for the persistent prodding of Fille to, at the very least, run her fingers through the worst of it. Dull green eyes coolly observe her surroundings with practiced and feigned indifference, masking her keen and sharp gaze under a guise of aloofness. Below her eyes are thick bags that darken the skin, and are the result of her sporadic sleeping habits and long, monotonous days. Her lips, set below a rounded nose, are perpetually dry and cracked. Usually this area of her face, the nose, lips, and eyes, are often sporting a bruise or bleeding injury that she almost never tends to.
Where the pale skin of her body used to be soft and smooth, it is now home to countless scars and wounds that quietly sing songs of her defiance against death. A good majority are small, thin marks; scratches from jutting branches and misplaced steps, grazes from bullets and narrowly avoided stabbings. Typical hazards. But there are a choice few that, when looked at, could call to question how she managed to get back up. One such being a jagged scar that runs from just under her left breast to cut at an angle down across her abdomen to wrap around her right hip. While not particularly a gouge, but deep enough for there to be a noticeable groove when viewed and especially when touched, this particular injury had put her out for quite a while. It's one of her favorite scars and she is quick to show it off.
She finds the combination of brooding facial features and (mostly) battle-born scarring gives her a moody and unapproachable appearance to go with her moody and unapproachable temperament, so that's a plus. But there is one scar in particular that she is very defensive of, it being a thin cut that spans the width of her neck. No looking, no touching.
Aside from the road map of physical ruin that is her skin, Elaine is surprisingly healthy. Her weight is maintained, and there is even a bit of muscle definition in her arms, abdomen and legs - compliments of her new hit-and-run lifestyle and her willingness to fill her stomach with whatever she thinks might be edible. Upper body strength is not her deal – she might be a little tougher than she was before, but she wont be K.O. anyone bigger than her - and really only becomes relevant when she needs to haul herself up on something, but what she lacks in show-stopping biceps, she makes up for with her nimbleness and punishing kicks.
As for clothing...she really isn't very fashionable. Most of her days are spent in a well-worn black button up over a dirty white long-sleeve, a sturdy pair of jeans and a pair of fading purple converse. The shirts once belonged to some dude who thought he could merk her while her back was turned, jeans and shoes were taken off the body of some woman who was (blessedly) the same size as she. Elaine rarely bothers with washing her clothes unless they are beyond nasty and bordering toxic.
WHO ARE YOU?
FIVE LIKES: Music. Walkers. Sleeping. Fille. Cleaning her weapons.
FIVE DISLIKES: Silence. The Dark. Dreaming. Gun Fire. Feet.
PERSONALITY:
Je Sui Elaine
Usually, Elaine projects a quiet sort of confidence seen in the way she moves. She is not boisterous or raucous, and does not ever feel the need to puff out her chest and hold a pissing contest with anyone. She does not feel intimidation easily, although is very capable of recognizing when she might be bested, and seems to be mostly immune to attempts at goading her. It's rather hard to get on her bad side, and even harder to get in her good graces. That being said, while she likes to pretend to be a hardcore murder-machine, she's really quite lazy and unconcerned with most people or things. A good chunk of her time is spent taking siestas, casually looting, and listening to her cherished music. She appears to be largely oblivious to her surroundings, but it'd be a fool's mistake to think for one second that she isn't aware. Unless, y'know, she's not.
She's as friendly as the next non-hostile person, but doesn't go out of her way to make herself approachable, and even less to make friends. Although, whoever she does decide to get close to can feel safe in knowing she probably wouldn't stab them in the back. But for the love of God, don't expect her to take a bullet for you. Elaine and her heroics are limited to one person and it would take some powerful feelings to get her to open up a second slot.
Zombies are a Girl's Best Friend
Elaine is an unusual woman.
Where most people might run, panic or straight up kill a geek on sight, she is less likely to trouble herself with any sort of action unless she is certain that shuffling bugger is a legit problem. Actually, she rather likes them and, while not especially attached to or high-thinking of them, sometimes doesn't like to kill them. There is a comfortable predictability in walkers that you cannot find in people. She expects a walker to try and eat her, expects it to amble on over and clutch at her like a drowning man to a buoy. Unlike with the dead, she is naturally predisposed to distrusting every person she happens across, and will sooner put them in the ground than a geek. People are not predictable, and that equals doubly unsafe. She, stupidly, has a tendency to move through loose groups of the dead with relative comfort and ease despite knowing of the immense danger they can pose in less time than it takes to regret a bad decision. This woman has even been known to sleep in areas populated by walkers, reasoning that the more of them there are translates into less chances for a bad run-in with raiders and cannibals.
Her lack of fear has gotten her into several tight places on more than one occasion, but with each narrow escape her disregard for the dangers walkers present seems to grow. No doubt this will be the death of her come one fine day.
Ma Fille
Despite her own less-than-proper handling of her own life, Elaine can easily be a tornado of vexed maternal instincts and roiling estrogen when her smaller charge is faced with danger. She has shed most of her softer, feminine qualities to better survive the harsh reality of her apocalyptic surroundings, but one steady thing that was imbued into her via her own mother, was the natural protectiveness over the young. Or, well, her young one - Elaine isn't terribly interested in the continued survival of any other kid. But should her Fille ever be accosted in any negative way, God help the poor soul that will be on the receiving end of this woman's hellish ire. She has an attachment to the girl that borders on Mama Bear, and will readily hurl herself into the fire for the child.
What a Catch, Donnie
The whole zombie apocalypse thing has her dissociating from reality. The trauma she suffered in the early days stuck with her, clinging to her psyche and causing her frequent and unsafe breaks in focus. Sometimes, only sometimes, does she stop mid-motion to delve into the maze of a daydream, or the distant memory of a years old moment. Other times, it's nothing at all - just a blank space in her mind, leaving her staring at everything and nothing. And then there are the nights. Elaine is an expert at sleeping. No matter how awkward the position or how uncomfortable the place she decides to drop may be, she can knock out fairly quick. Sleeping is hardly a problem, but the dreaming is. Dreaming is less like a collection of subconscious fancies or fantastic sequences, and more like an old vhs of all the better days interspersed with the terrible here-and-now.
She has a handle on herself most days, capable of shrugging off all the horrible things that life presents to her, but sometimes all the bad builds and stacks and piles up on itself inside her and the result of the compiling feelings and triggering situations leaves her catatonic. Thankfully, this usually only happens when she's left to her own thoughts. Still, there have been inopportune instances.
FAMILY:
Gerard Auclair – Father/Deceased.
Christine Auclair (née Wu) – Mother/Deceased.
Dorian Auclair - Brother/Alive
Emma Auclair – Sister/Unknown.
GuiGui (Gwei Gwei) - Labradoodle/Alive.
HISTORY:
Elaine was born in Lyon, France. Her French father was a run-of-the-mill businessman, her Chinese mother was a personal assistant. Most of her childhood was spent in that city, evading her babysitters, tormenting her siblings and getting her hands stuck in places they had no business being. Her father traveled a lot due to his job, and usually took the family with him. When she was 10 years old, they relocated to Taiwan where they lived for 5 years. It was the most miserable time of little Elaine's life. She was not very well versed with the language and customs, so spent a good deal of time in self-imposed isolation. It would not be until she made her first friend that things would start looking up for her. A little girl by the name of Li Na, who was much more forgiving of Elaine's antics than she should have been, filled the role of 'best bud'. For a time, they were the yin and yang of their community. Where Elaine would set tempers flaring at her continued lack of understanding for the customs of the people, Li Na would frantically jump to her defense. She was a good influence on Elaine.
At 15, much to her conflicting joy and dismay, Elaine was shipped off to the States to live with relatives. Christine, her mother, had spouted off some line about the education being better while ushering the young teen into the ticket line at the airport. All she had to worry about was graduating high school and making her way through college. Which she did. But all the years spent in school, dealing with the utter nonsense of teenage drama and the raunchy advances of frat boys, left her mostly done with people. Where her parents had expected her to get a high-collar job at some firm or fancy company, Elaine opted for the not-so-stressful career of ace dog walker and pet sitter.
She was darn good at her job too.
By 26, just weeks before everything kind of died, she was in a relationship with a man by the name of Andy. Good guy, Andy. A little clueless and was more interested in placing in the top 3 on whatever Call of Duty he happened to be playing than spending time listening to her prattle on about stuff, but a good guy.
Made a mean plate of spaghetti.
Elaine had been walking her own dog, GuiGui, when she realized something was wrong. The usual route she took had at least a handful of people moseying around at any given time, yet on that day there was only one person that she had seen since leaving the house. It was a man. He had a slight build, a thick mess of ginger hair and was stood awkwardly by the drinking fountain. She could see blood seeping through his shirt from an out of sight injury. Concerned, Elaine had approached him, thinking to do the right thing in making sure he was alright. Had she'd known to turn on the tv, or listen to the radio before leaving the house, she would have thought better of placing herself within spitting distance of the man.
She had made it close enough to put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention while GuiGui's struggling intensified. As soon as she touched him, he turned, missing most of the skin on his face, and grabbed her. Both she and the man fell to the ground, and it was only thanks to her frantic kicking that he didn't take a bite out of her tasty stomach. It didn't take her long to jump to her feet and break off into a mad sprint back home, dog way ahead of her.
When Elaine burst into the apartment, having shoved her way through a thickening throng of frenzied people, she immediately sought out her boyfriend. She found him staring at the tv from the kitchen, clutching a knife in one hand and a tomato in the other. His arm was infected from a brawl the day before and her first thought was to hit him with an "I told you so." but not until after explaining what just happened. The blood on her shirt must have caught him off guard, because one moment she's running to the safety he provided, and in the next she's clutching at her throat to stop the bleeding. He left her there. She did his laundry, proved to his online friends he had a real girlfriend, and even endured his stupid humor. And he left her there.
Her neighbor, a kindly old woman with yellowing teeth and an unhealthy collection of dolls, found her hemorrhaging on the floor half an hour later. She patched her up and they had a symbiotic relationship for a good while. Elaine would eat her bland cooking and listen to her tales of what the 40's were like, and the old woman would keep her from bleeding to death or dying from infection. She also let the dog stay, so that was nice too. That lasted for a while until Mable had a heart attack and forced Elaine to fling her bitey old body out the window. From there, she traveled from place to place, sometimes with people but mostly alone. She's had several run-ins with the bad sort, even working with and for them at times. She's been a raider, an extra pair of hands, zombie bait and lesser to more deplorable things, before settling on full-time caretaker for a kid she saved. They've been a team for months now with GuiGui as their personal mascot, and Elaine intends to make sure they stay together longer yet.
WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER CARRYING?:
SAMPLE POST
Her fingers were spread wide before her eyes. Her eyes, passively looking, took in the sight of the red and the gore clinging to each finger. The blood, warm and sticky, snaked down the length of her hands and arms as she held them up, slowly turning and flexing and curling, conducting a slow inspection. Bits of flesh were embedded beneath the short stubs of her fingernails. She took a closer look at those, her expression steadily changing into one of mild annoyance. Her discarded gloves would have prevented this from happening, she realized too little too late.
At the woman's feet, laying in a crumpled heap of raggedy clothes and dark, peeling skin was the re-deaded remains of the violent encounter. He was a man, much bigger than she and very persistent in his attempts at her life, but ultimately no more a hassle than a grabby child. The blunted end of her scavenged bat had no trouble excavating the cavern of his skull, soft and rotting as it were. Still, the unexpected hands at her hair and her violent reaction left her winded, and she breathed deeply through her nose. Dropping her hands, Elaine tilted her head at an angle to stare at the properly-dead body of the large man.
His name, his age, who he was as a person was unknown to her, but she imagined, looking down at him, that he was named Walter. He worked at some factory, a menial worker who was unhappy with his job but diligent in the maintaining of it. He had a wife, newly named Loretta, the armless and vaguely feminine creature that shuffled awkwardly outside the dank house (let us ignore for now the name tag on it's chest that read Alex). He also had a daughter who was good at school, but not at making friends. The scrawny child that took refuge behind Elaine, tiny fingers pressed to her ears and her large eyes closed so tight, would be her in this draft version of Elaine's fictitious account of 'Walter's' life.
“Is it...is it over?” Aforementioned child asked. Her voice was small and wavering.
“Yes.” Elaine responded. “His legs are broken and his head isn't in working order anymore. See there? He can't get back up.”
She gestured to the crude display of broken limbs and rapidly congealing gore.
“D-daddy...?” A little hiccup breaks the word into a stutter. “...Dad?”
The child, Elaine decided in that moment to call her Fille, let loose a guttural cry of absolute anguish. Whether it was due to the brutal disposal in front of her, or her own poor choice of words, Elaine didn't know. Her small hands dropped from her small face, to ball into small fists that clenched the fabric of her small dress. The sound quickly became a shrill, feminine wail as the girl looked on through bleary, squinted eyes at the dead man. The noise attracted the attention of 'Loretta', and it shambled in to the house on weirdly angled legs with all the grace of a drunk co-ed. It was skinny and slow and jerky, and missing its arms. Seeing little threat, Elaine idly pushed at it with the bat to keep it at bay while the girl cried.
It was the least she could do for beating to death her (confirmed) father.
For you I am a gangster; A poison in a well
A body worn from fighting wars - it may be hard to tell
THE BASICS
NAME: Elaine Jūn Yi “June” Auclair
AGE: 26
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 5'4”
WEIGHT: 126lbs
SEXUALITY: Bisexual
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Once upon a time, long before the outbreak, Eileen could have been considered a pretty young woman. Her skin was clear and blemish-free, hair long and soft, eyes bright and wide. But now? She is hardly recognizable. Blood, dirt and scars paint her skin like the wall canvas of an over-eager 5 year old. Her hair, once long enough to tickle the small of her back, now reaches just barely under the blades of her shoulders in choppy, thick waves. Uneven bangs are usually ignored and left to hang before her eyes. The texture of her unkempt hair is coarse in some areas, slick in others. She doesn't bother washing it and would leave it in a tangled, unmanaged mess if not for the persistent prodding of Fille to, at the very least, run her fingers through the worst of it. Dull green eyes coolly observe her surroundings with practiced and feigned indifference, masking her keen and sharp gaze under a guise of aloofness. Below her eyes are thick bags that darken the skin, and are the result of her sporadic sleeping habits and long, monotonous days. Her lips, set below a rounded nose, are perpetually dry and cracked. Usually this area of her face, the nose, lips, and eyes, are often sporting a bruise or bleeding injury that she almost never tends to.
Where the pale skin of her body used to be soft and smooth, it is now home to countless scars and wounds that quietly sing songs of her defiance against death. A good majority are small, thin marks; scratches from jutting branches and misplaced steps, grazes from bullets and narrowly avoided stabbings. Typical hazards. But there are a choice few that, when looked at, could call to question how she managed to get back up. One such being a jagged scar that runs from just under her left breast to cut at an angle down across her abdomen to wrap around her right hip. While not particularly a gouge, but deep enough for there to be a noticeable groove when viewed and especially when touched, this particular injury had put her out for quite a while. It's one of her favorite scars and she is quick to show it off.
She finds the combination of brooding facial features and (mostly) battle-born scarring gives her a moody and unapproachable appearance to go with her moody and unapproachable temperament, so that's a plus. But there is one scar in particular that she is very defensive of, it being a thin cut that spans the width of her neck. No looking, no touching.
Aside from the road map of physical ruin that is her skin, Elaine is surprisingly healthy. Her weight is maintained, and there is even a bit of muscle definition in her arms, abdomen and legs - compliments of her new hit-and-run lifestyle and her willingness to fill her stomach with whatever she thinks might be edible. Upper body strength is not her deal – she might be a little tougher than she was before, but she wont be K.O. anyone bigger than her - and really only becomes relevant when she needs to haul herself up on something, but what she lacks in show-stopping biceps, she makes up for with her nimbleness and punishing kicks.
As for clothing...she really isn't very fashionable. Most of her days are spent in a well-worn black button up over a dirty white long-sleeve, a sturdy pair of jeans and a pair of fading purple converse. The shirts once belonged to some dude who thought he could merk her while her back was turned, jeans and shoes were taken off the body of some woman who was (blessedly) the same size as she. Elaine rarely bothers with washing her clothes unless they are beyond nasty and bordering toxic.
WHO ARE YOU?
FIVE LIKES: Music. Walkers. Sleeping. Fille. Cleaning her weapons.
FIVE DISLIKES: Silence. The Dark. Dreaming. Gun Fire. Feet.
PERSONALITY:
Je Sui Elaine
Usually, Elaine projects a quiet sort of confidence seen in the way she moves. She is not boisterous or raucous, and does not ever feel the need to puff out her chest and hold a pissing contest with anyone. She does not feel intimidation easily, although is very capable of recognizing when she might be bested, and seems to be mostly immune to attempts at goading her. It's rather hard to get on her bad side, and even harder to get in her good graces. That being said, while she likes to pretend to be a hardcore murder-machine, she's really quite lazy and unconcerned with most people or things. A good chunk of her time is spent taking siestas, casually looting, and listening to her cherished music. She appears to be largely oblivious to her surroundings, but it'd be a fool's mistake to think for one second that she isn't aware. Unless, y'know, she's not.
She's as friendly as the next non-hostile person, but doesn't go out of her way to make herself approachable, and even less to make friends. Although, whoever she does decide to get close to can feel safe in knowing she probably wouldn't stab them in the back. But for the love of God, don't expect her to take a bullet for you. Elaine and her heroics are limited to one person and it would take some powerful feelings to get her to open up a second slot.
Zombies are a Girl's Best Friend
Elaine is an unusual woman.
Where most people might run, panic or straight up kill a geek on sight, she is less likely to trouble herself with any sort of action unless she is certain that shuffling bugger is a legit problem. Actually, she rather likes them and, while not especially attached to or high-thinking of them, sometimes doesn't like to kill them. There is a comfortable predictability in walkers that you cannot find in people. She expects a walker to try and eat her, expects it to amble on over and clutch at her like a drowning man to a buoy. Unlike with the dead, she is naturally predisposed to distrusting every person she happens across, and will sooner put them in the ground than a geek. People are not predictable, and that equals doubly unsafe. She, stupidly, has a tendency to move through loose groups of the dead with relative comfort and ease despite knowing of the immense danger they can pose in less time than it takes to regret a bad decision. This woman has even been known to sleep in areas populated by walkers, reasoning that the more of them there are translates into less chances for a bad run-in with raiders and cannibals.
Her lack of fear has gotten her into several tight places on more than one occasion, but with each narrow escape her disregard for the dangers walkers present seems to grow. No doubt this will be the death of her come one fine day.
Ma Fille
Despite her own less-than-proper handling of her own life, Elaine can easily be a tornado of vexed maternal instincts and roiling estrogen when her smaller charge is faced with danger. She has shed most of her softer, feminine qualities to better survive the harsh reality of her apocalyptic surroundings, but one steady thing that was imbued into her via her own mother, was the natural protectiveness over the young. Or, well, her young one - Elaine isn't terribly interested in the continued survival of any other kid. But should her Fille ever be accosted in any negative way, God help the poor soul that will be on the receiving end of this woman's hellish ire. She has an attachment to the girl that borders on Mama Bear, and will readily hurl herself into the fire for the child.
What a Catch, Donnie
The whole zombie apocalypse thing has her dissociating from reality. The trauma she suffered in the early days stuck with her, clinging to her psyche and causing her frequent and unsafe breaks in focus. Sometimes, only sometimes, does she stop mid-motion to delve into the maze of a daydream, or the distant memory of a years old moment. Other times, it's nothing at all - just a blank space in her mind, leaving her staring at everything and nothing. And then there are the nights. Elaine is an expert at sleeping. No matter how awkward the position or how uncomfortable the place she decides to drop may be, she can knock out fairly quick. Sleeping is hardly a problem, but the dreaming is. Dreaming is less like a collection of subconscious fancies or fantastic sequences, and more like an old vhs of all the better days interspersed with the terrible here-and-now.
She has a handle on herself most days, capable of shrugging off all the horrible things that life presents to her, but sometimes all the bad builds and stacks and piles up on itself inside her and the result of the compiling feelings and triggering situations leaves her catatonic. Thankfully, this usually only happens when she's left to her own thoughts. Still, there have been inopportune instances.
FAMILY:
Gerard Auclair – Father/Deceased.
Christine Auclair (née Wu) – Mother/Deceased.
Dorian Auclair - Brother/Alive
Emma Auclair – Sister/Unknown.
GuiGui (Gwei Gwei) - Labradoodle/Alive.
HISTORY:
Elaine was born in Lyon, France. Her French father was a run-of-the-mill businessman, her Chinese mother was a personal assistant. Most of her childhood was spent in that city, evading her babysitters, tormenting her siblings and getting her hands stuck in places they had no business being. Her father traveled a lot due to his job, and usually took the family with him. When she was 10 years old, they relocated to Taiwan where they lived for 5 years. It was the most miserable time of little Elaine's life. She was not very well versed with the language and customs, so spent a good deal of time in self-imposed isolation. It would not be until she made her first friend that things would start looking up for her. A little girl by the name of Li Na, who was much more forgiving of Elaine's antics than she should have been, filled the role of 'best bud'. For a time, they were the yin and yang of their community. Where Elaine would set tempers flaring at her continued lack of understanding for the customs of the people, Li Na would frantically jump to her defense. She was a good influence on Elaine.
At 15, much to her conflicting joy and dismay, Elaine was shipped off to the States to live with relatives. Christine, her mother, had spouted off some line about the education being better while ushering the young teen into the ticket line at the airport. All she had to worry about was graduating high school and making her way through college. Which she did. But all the years spent in school, dealing with the utter nonsense of teenage drama and the raunchy advances of frat boys, left her mostly done with people. Where her parents had expected her to get a high-collar job at some firm or fancy company, Elaine opted for the not-so-stressful career of ace dog walker and pet sitter.
She was darn good at her job too.
By 26, just weeks before everything kind of died, she was in a relationship with a man by the name of Andy. Good guy, Andy. A little clueless and was more interested in placing in the top 3 on whatever Call of Duty he happened to be playing than spending time listening to her prattle on about stuff, but a good guy.
Made a mean plate of spaghetti.
Elaine had been walking her own dog, GuiGui, when she realized something was wrong. The usual route she took had at least a handful of people moseying around at any given time, yet on that day there was only one person that she had seen since leaving the house. It was a man. He had a slight build, a thick mess of ginger hair and was stood awkwardly by the drinking fountain. She could see blood seeping through his shirt from an out of sight injury. Concerned, Elaine had approached him, thinking to do the right thing in making sure he was alright. Had she'd known to turn on the tv, or listen to the radio before leaving the house, she would have thought better of placing herself within spitting distance of the man.
She had made it close enough to put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention while GuiGui's struggling intensified. As soon as she touched him, he turned, missing most of the skin on his face, and grabbed her. Both she and the man fell to the ground, and it was only thanks to her frantic kicking that he didn't take a bite out of her tasty stomach. It didn't take her long to jump to her feet and break off into a mad sprint back home, dog way ahead of her.
When Elaine burst into the apartment, having shoved her way through a thickening throng of frenzied people, she immediately sought out her boyfriend. She found him staring at the tv from the kitchen, clutching a knife in one hand and a tomato in the other. His arm was infected from a brawl the day before and her first thought was to hit him with an "I told you so." but not until after explaining what just happened. The blood on her shirt must have caught him off guard, because one moment she's running to the safety he provided, and in the next she's clutching at her throat to stop the bleeding. He left her there. She did his laundry, proved to his online friends he had a real girlfriend, and even endured his stupid humor. And he left her there.
Her neighbor, a kindly old woman with yellowing teeth and an unhealthy collection of dolls, found her hemorrhaging on the floor half an hour later. She patched her up and they had a symbiotic relationship for a good while. Elaine would eat her bland cooking and listen to her tales of what the 40's were like, and the old woman would keep her from bleeding to death or dying from infection. She also let the dog stay, so that was nice too. That lasted for a while until Mable had a heart attack and forced Elaine to fling her bitey old body out the window. From there, she traveled from place to place, sometimes with people but mostly alone. She's had several run-ins with the bad sort, even working with and for them at times. She's been a raider, an extra pair of hands, zombie bait and lesser to more deplorable things, before settling on full-time caretaker for a kid she saved. They've been a team for months now with GuiGui as their personal mascot, and Elaine intends to make sure they stay together longer yet.
WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER CARRYING?:
- MP3 Player
- 4 AAA Batteries
- Kitchen Knife
- Some Scavenged Clothes
- Dried Dog Food
- Broken Wristwatch
- Canned Goods
- Battered Aluminum Bat
- 5 Bottles of Boiled Water
- Whistle
SAMPLE POST
Her fingers were spread wide before her eyes. Her eyes, passively looking, took in the sight of the red and the gore clinging to each finger. The blood, warm and sticky, snaked down the length of her hands and arms as she held them up, slowly turning and flexing and curling, conducting a slow inspection. Bits of flesh were embedded beneath the short stubs of her fingernails. She took a closer look at those, her expression steadily changing into one of mild annoyance. Her discarded gloves would have prevented this from happening, she realized too little too late.
At the woman's feet, laying in a crumpled heap of raggedy clothes and dark, peeling skin was the re-deaded remains of the violent encounter. He was a man, much bigger than she and very persistent in his attempts at her life, but ultimately no more a hassle than a grabby child. The blunted end of her scavenged bat had no trouble excavating the cavern of his skull, soft and rotting as it were. Still, the unexpected hands at her hair and her violent reaction left her winded, and she breathed deeply through her nose. Dropping her hands, Elaine tilted her head at an angle to stare at the properly-dead body of the large man.
His name, his age, who he was as a person was unknown to her, but she imagined, looking down at him, that he was named Walter. He worked at some factory, a menial worker who was unhappy with his job but diligent in the maintaining of it. He had a wife, newly named Loretta, the armless and vaguely feminine creature that shuffled awkwardly outside the dank house (let us ignore for now the name tag on it's chest that read Alex). He also had a daughter who was good at school, but not at making friends. The scrawny child that took refuge behind Elaine, tiny fingers pressed to her ears and her large eyes closed so tight, would be her in this draft version of Elaine's fictitious account of 'Walter's' life.
“Is it...is it over?” Aforementioned child asked. Her voice was small and wavering.
“Yes.” Elaine responded. “His legs are broken and his head isn't in working order anymore. See there? He can't get back up.”
She gestured to the crude display of broken limbs and rapidly congealing gore.
“D-daddy...?” A little hiccup breaks the word into a stutter. “...Dad?”
The child, Elaine decided in that moment to call her Fille, let loose a guttural cry of absolute anguish. Whether it was due to the brutal disposal in front of her, or her own poor choice of words, Elaine didn't know. Her small hands dropped from her small face, to ball into small fists that clenched the fabric of her small dress. The sound quickly became a shrill, feminine wail as the girl looked on through bleary, squinted eyes at the dead man. The noise attracted the attention of 'Loretta', and it shambled in to the house on weirdly angled legs with all the grace of a drunk co-ed. It was skinny and slow and jerky, and missing its arms. Seeing little threat, Elaine idly pushed at it with the bat to keep it at bay while the girl cried.
It was the least she could do for beating to death her (confirmed) father.
