Meltdown || Literate Zombie Survival RP--ACCEPTING

Zombie strippers?

...Wut?	0.0%	[ 0 ]
I'm game. *shrug*	42.9%	[ 3 ]
HELL YEAH! BRING ON THE NAKED ZOMBIE BITCHES!	28.6%	[ 2 ]
I'd hit that...with a METAL BAT!	28.6%	[ 2 ]
Total Votes:			[ 7 ]

[Homie G Luxory]

DO NOT POST HERE UNLESS YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE RP.
We've had a rash of people just randomly posting here. :/ I don't understand that.
If you aren't interested in joining the RP, but want to chat, mosey on down to post 5 and follow the link to the OOC thread. Posting here when you have not been given an affirmative from either Homie G Luxory or Phantasm of the Orchestra will get you an ignore and you will be added to our blacklist.

This evening finds you standing in the airport of snowy St. Hope, a quaint, up-and-coming city economically fueled by the nearby St. Hope Nuclear Power Plant. You’re waiting at your gate for your flight to board. The airport is jam-packed with five hundred or so complete strangers, grumbling and waiting out near-blizzard conditions and delayed flights. An announcement comes over the PA. You're not really paying attention because it isn't about your flight, but then a hush falls upon the crowd as the other passengers strain to listen. You turn your attention to the announcement…

"-ASK YOU TO REMAIN CALM, AS WE ARE SECURING THE PREMISES AND WILL BEGIN QUARANTINE. WE REPEAT, WE HAVE RECEIVED REPORTS FROM THE MILITARY OF A STRANGE VIRAL OUTBREAK AT THE ST. HOPE PLANT, AND HAVE BEGUN QUARANTINE MEASURES. AFFECTS SEEM TO BE PALLOR, ALMOST NON-EXISTENT PULSE AND RESPIRATION RATE, LOSS OF SPEECH FUNCTION, REDUCED MOTOR FUNCTION, AND TENDENCY TO ATTACK SURROUNDING PEOPLE. IF ANYONE AROUND YOU IS EXHIBITING SUCH BEHAVIOR, PLEASE FIND AND NOTIFY THE NEAREST AIRPORT STAFF. IF YOU HAVE BEEN ATTACKED AND INJURED BY SOMEONE EXHIBITING SUCH BEHAVIOR, PLEASE FIND AND NOTIFY THE NEAREST AIRPORT STAFF. AGAIN, WE ASK THAT YOU REMAIN CALM-"

You tune out the announcement as it replays again, looking frantically around at the other passengers. Looks like you're stuck with them, and thankfully you don't see anyone in the immediate vicinity chomping down on anyone else.

Yet.

Stage 1: Intro || Stage 2: Rules || Stage 3: Character skeleton || Stage 4: Approved profiles || Stage 5: link to OOC || Stage 6: Saved

[Phantasm of the Orchestra]

RULES:
Ok kids, let's keep things simple. biggrin
1.We're in an airport. This means none of you have guns, unless you're a security guard. This goes for police, military, etc. If you're not airport security, tough luck, no guns. This also means no katanas, rocket flares, bo staffs, magic-infused demon shuriken, pocket knives, etc. Let's not be ridiculous. You'll have to scrounge for weaponry, and sorry, you won't find any guns unless you are getting them off a dead security guard, and there aren't a lot of those around.
2. Please try to keep your nationality American, unless you have a damned good reason for your Australian/Asian/British/Russian/French/Mongrel to be in a small city airport in America. This also means, no ladies named Hikaru/Sakura/insert-other-Japanese-sounding-name and no guys named Riku/Akira/etc, you get my point, unless, like above stated, you have a damn good reason. Also, please refrain from naming your character after the fashion of ‘Raven Isabelle Elegance Darkchild’. If your character needs some exquisite, uncommon name to make your character unique, then you ought to work on developing your characters before jumping into an rp.
3. I shouldn't have to say this, but just in case, there is no magic. Sorry. Only unnatural thing going on around St. Hope is zombies. :/
4. Homie G Luxory and Phantasm of the Orchestra are God. One big, crazy, two-headed Siamese twin freak God. And if you think we're a little too strict with the rules, or we turn your application down, deal with it, we're running a literate RP here.
5. On that note, no chatspeak or l337. Literacy is key. Please try not to post one liners all the time (it makes Phantasm rage), and please, please, if you aren't sure about a word's spelling, use a spellchecker. Nothing irks Luxory more than constant misspelling. Swearing is fine, but don’t get ridiculous with it.
6. We are aware that you all have lives outside of Gaia, hey, we suffer from lives too. So please, if you're going to be too busy to post for over two days, send either Phantasm of the Orchestra or Homie G Luxory a PM to let us know. Otherwise, we might get a bit irate, and you may just end up as a zombie.
7. To prove that you have read the rules, type “no-no place” at the bottom of your application.

Stage 1: Intro || Stage 2: Rules || Stage 3: Character skeleton || Stage 4: Approved profiles || Stage 5: link to OOC || Stage 6: Saved

[Homie G Luxory]

Character skeleton:
PM these to Homie G Luxory and Phantasm of the Orchestra with "Graar, I am your username" in the subject.

[b]Username: Your screename[/b]
[b]Name: Your character’s name[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Description:[/b] Please look to the bold red text below, and keep in mind that we’re all normal people; there are no special snowflakes here. No anime pictures, write out your description--this is a writing exercise.
[b]Bio:[/b] Remember to include the reason you are in the airport in your bio.

[b]Give us an example of your role-playing. This can be a snippet from another RP, a link to another RP that you participated in, or you could give us a paragraph off this scenario-- you’re washing your hands in the airport restroom when you hear weird noises in one of the stalls behind you:[/b]

"YOU ARE NOT A PALE SKINNED GOTH KID WITH SHIMMERING BLACK HAIR AND IMPOSSIBLY BLUE EYES, WITH A BACKGROUND IN MARTIAL ARTS AND BIOCHEMISTRY, WHO'S ALSO THE SON OF A MILLIONAIRE. YOU'RE A SLIGHTLY OVERWEIGHT MIDDLE-AGED MAN WHO'S BALDING AND HATES HIS JOB, WHO SUDDENLY NEEDS TO BEAT A ZOMBIE INTO OBLIVION FOR HIS KICKS."

Stage 1: Intro || Stage 2: Rules || Stage 3: Character skeleton || Stage 4: Approved profiles || Stage 5: link to OOC || Stage 6: Saved

[Phantasm of the Orchestra]

Approved Profiles:

Green is for the deceased.

Username: Homie G Luxory
Name: Maxwell Gregory Collins
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Description: Max is 5'7" and average build, with dull brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Gold spectacles frame intelligent bright green eyes. He came to the airport straight from a class, so he was wearing a brown suit jacket over his usual Blitzen Trapper T-shirt with jeans and brown dress shoes. He enjoys spending his time reading indoors or playing video games on his PS2 while listening to folk or metal, so his physique isn’t the best, and he’s rather pale. He’s been blessed with a fast metabolism, however, and has never really gained much weight.
Bio: Max was an Air Force brat and an only child, and moved around fairly often as a kid. He kept mostly to himself, spending his free time watching B movies and reading science fiction books. After graduating high school in Louisiana, he attended college in Virginia, majoring in science education. He taught for a few years in Virginia, but after marrying at age 26 and then suffering a painful divorce two years later, he moved to California to take up a vacant position. It was a good position, if a bit hectic, and after visiting friends who lived in St. Hope, he decided to re-locate there himself. Max is in the airport of St. Hope to pick up Chrysanthemum Wu, his former student and girlfriend. :O

Username: Homie G Luxory
Name: Helen Paigi Tully
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Description: Helen is a young adult model and pornographic actress of moderate fame who goes by the stage name "Pearl Hills". Helen often rolls her eyes when photographers remark on how ironic her real name is; "Helen of Troy, and all that." Her mother just wanted to name her after her best childhood friend--Greek mythology had nothing to do with it. Nevertheless, Helen lives up to her Greek namesake, being tall and statuesque, with killer curves and a small waist. Curly carrot-red hair comes to her shoulders, and it's really her trademark quirk. A spattering of freckles crosses the bridge of her nose, under dark brown eyes that are often bored when not 'smoldering lustily' for the cameras. She has a habit of absently running her hands through her hair, and has a 'firecracker' personality. When she isn't at home doting on Ennis, her spoiled Cavachon puppy, she is usually out rubbing elbows with the rich and famous--always looking for "Pearl's" next big break.
Being a porn star doesn't mean she's a slut, however, and she likes to dress conservatively when not hobnobbing or working. Her personal wardrobe consists of boots, ballet flats, sweaters and turtlenecks, jeans, long skirts, and dress slacks. Helen likes to shop expensive brands and enjoys looking prim and put together; it helps to seperate Helen Tully from Pearl Hills.
Bio: Believe it or not, Helen's a small town girl who grew up in St. Hope, and could only dream of getting out and making it to the big city. Sure, St. Hope has changed a helluva lot from the podunk hole that it was when she was a child, but she's not moving back in--not a chance in Hell. Rather, the joyous occasion bringing her back to her old stomping grounds would be watching her mother lose the battle to cancer, and then burying her in the frozen earth at the Flynn street cemetary. She has dealt with her share of weeping relatives, has comforted her sister and nephews, and has spent all the time she can stand in St. Hope. Now all Helen wants is to get the hell outta Dodge, and get back to her fancy New York apartment where she can curl up with Ennis and ruin her figure with lots of chocolate ice cream.

Username: Phantasm of the Orchestra
Name: Chrysanthemum Martha Wu
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Description: Second-generation Chinese-American. Though entirely assimilated into American culture, Chrys laments to find that her shoulder-length hair will forever be straight, her eyes narrowly oval, her stature slight, and her legs not quite as long as she'd like. Her habits have been molded to be rather a**l-retentive and precise, her constant apprehension reflected in her prim-and-proper dress and neatly trimmed nails. She constantly chews the corner of her lip, nervously straightens up her surroundings, collects plushies, and hopes to be a school teacher someday. She also adores pizza.
Bio: Raised in a strict environment and pressured to produce top scores every week had driven Chrys to a breaking point. At about the age of 20 she snapped. Imploded. Kaput. She dropped out of her university and took a few years off, drifting and unhappily searching for some undefined liberation. She found it in Las Vegas. Undergoing the holiest crusade of her life, she was determined to purge her soul of regimented schedules and uptight rules, and found her absolution in tattoo parlors and casinos. Upon discovering her favorite teacher was transferring to a school across the country, Chrys decided it was high time to pursue an education yet again. Her mental meltdown had come to close. She had to see him again.

Username: Phantasm of the Orchestra
Name: Kenneth Lawson Dawdry
Age: 11
Gender: Male
Description: Kenneth's rather short for his age, with sandy blond hair, and dark green eyes fleckled with brown. His appearance greatly contrasts with his brown-haired, brown-eyed sister. Kenneth likes baseball and has a Spiderman backpack. He doesn't care if it made him look like a baby. Nervous as hell, he had chosen to wear his favorite white shirt with the blue sleeves and lucky sneakers. He had also opted for blue jeans with the knees ripped, despite the cold weather. His mother forced him to wear a fuzzy black jacket that itched. He hated it.
Bio: Kenneth and his six-year-old sister Kelly were flying on a plane alone for the first time. Flitting between two divorced parents is never easy, and the difficulty's distinctly enhanced when flying across the continent to do so. After dropping off the two children off at the airport in San Francisco, their mother had driven off racked with worry, and Kenneth was placed in charge of his sister. Arriving in St. Hope, Kenneth is trying as hard as he can to appear in control for his sister's sake, but maintaining calm will become increasingly more difficult as the world around him falls to pieces.

Username: Seven VII
Name: Sol Delgado
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Description: X Sol has a head full of messy, rather fluffy brown hair, along with dark hazel eyes and a smile that fits his name. With one hell of an imagination and a knack for creating clothes, Sol's outfit is perhaps too out there for a simple plane flight, but hey... If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing! Yep yep. With a black half-cloak, a striped shirt underneath that with a deck of cards symbolism thing going, dark jeans, and a long black scarf, Sol certainly stands out from the crowd.
Bio: Sol was adopted at a very young age by a lonely and lovingly Spanish couple, who were unable to make any babies themselves. With a heavy influence from his adoptive parents, Sol grew up bilingual, and often found himself being dragged to the nearby church. That's how he met Zeb, his soon-to-be best buddy EVA, who's own family was heavily religious.
"Your name's weird."
"So's yer face."
And boom! Sol and Zeb were soon notorious best friends, and went without any bumps right into highschool. Then the s**t hit the fan.
See, dear Sol has the misfortune of being targeted by the local group of highschool bastards, and one day, simply snapped. One of the bullies followed him behind the school...
The other boy suffered a few broken bones. Sol suffered from the trauma of waking up in the nurse's office with blood on his hands and no idea of what had happened. Turned out Sol had developed a split personality sometime during his teen years. There wasn't much info on his blood family, so no one had any idea that he could be carrying some mental problems in his genetics. Now, his family insisted on sending him to a therapist and putting him on medication, but as soon as he got out of highschool and into college, Sol quickly ditched both of those.
Hey, it wasn't a big deal! It was just a-a physical problem, or something. Sometimes, he suffered black-outs, it wasn't something a lot more sleep couldn't fix! In denial that he had a problem (which was just another little problem of his), Sol threw himself into college, all the while rooming with Zeb, who had come with him to St. Hope, their city and his college of choice.
It was around then that Sol ran into Disa, who he was convinced was the love of his life. Disa quickly left to join the military, however, although the two still communicated often. Now, after learning about Sol's little problem, Disa demanded he get help, or she'd ditch him.
Well, that settled things pretty quit. With college on hold, Sol is in the airport, waiting for the plane that'll take him back to him and Zeb's hometown. The way he figured it, he'll chill there for a while, get things together, and then start the whole therapist-medication deal again. He just had to avoid getting stressed out during the trip home and hey! How hard could that be? It's an airport, man, nothin' to get stressed about~!

Username: Commander RoboTribble
Name: Mars Jimmy Ingo Atari
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Description: I want to link his image just in case there are those that lack imagination, but I can promise that I did create him and did draw the picture. He Looks Like Thisss~. Mars has long, thick drealocks in a brown so dark it could be black. Two of the thick locks above his right temple have been bleached, just to cause a little more pandemonium in the lives of the average person. They are also held back with thick, dark red barrettes. Mars is half-Italian and therefore quite a hairy man. Thin and muscular, he's also a tan that could be more olive-green than any natural skin colour. He likes to dress like he's still eighteen: Wife-Beaters, the T-shirts with sayings on them, dramatic flannels, flight jackets, striped scarves. If he's not trying to blind you with his hairy legs exposed by his kilts, he's trying to do so wth his skinny jeans. An unusual red tribal tattoo circles his left shoulder.
Bio: Mars Atari is a man full of rage. His mother was an incredibly obsessive-compulsive white woman whose best friend just happened to be a very gay Italian man who desperately wanted a child. So the two got married, half because they were living together anyway, half because Mr. Atari needed citizenship. Mars was teased constantlythroughout his life for his fractured lineage, and it didn't help his image that he often found solace in classical music, nature and botany. So he hardened himself to the world, building muscle and obliterating anyone who opposed him. He developed a very difficult outward persona, ruining his once beautifully long, shiny hair by training them into the alienlike hair-tentacles of his dreads. He got an off-putting tattoo that looked like an explosion of human tissue. He beat the s**t out of the punk-a** thug kids who tried to ******** with him when he started home from work. He started his flower shop and was on a trip to buy a rare bulb, as he often did. He was tired and more irritable than normal, and really wanted to go home...

Username: Commander RoboTribble
Name: Margot Eleanor Dahlia Anderson-Ellis.
Age: Twenty-One.
Gender: Female.
Description: Again, linking for linking's sake. Again, I can promise I drew this picture. Margot Looks Like Thisss~. Margot is a dramatic blonde with hair so pale it is often confused for being white. It's cropped nearly to her head in the back, but she's let her fringe grow out long and cover her face. Her eyes are light green, wide and sharp. Calling the girl skinny simply wouldn't do her justice; she seems almost to the point of emaciation, but hides it well with her bulky sweaters and fluffy scarves. What gives it away are the black skinny jeans. Her skin is chalk-white; she'd be an albino if not for those eyes. Her small feet are covered by black Converse sneakers too large for her, and the toes flop loudly when she walks. She has small hands covered with cracked, dry skin and light pink scars.
Bio: Margot Eleanor Dahlia Anderson-Ellis (Or MEDEA, if you look at her initials) is just as spurned as her initial-counterpart. She's one of those artsy-fartsy types, as her over-conservative father would say over his seventies-style spectacles. A student going to a college for her piano-playing (she prefers her guitar; but hey, they don't give out scholarships for that) and music degree. She likes painting, but anything she does is just splashing colour across a canvas with no real purpose. After years of torment over her hair, her clothes, her name, even; years in which she was thought to be a raging bull-dyke because no boy wanted to date her, a shut-in elisist because she liked to paint, a smelly hippie because her favourite thing to do was sit under an oak tree and play folk songs on her guitar, she simply gave up. She moved away. Left everybody who would know of her and dissappeared to a little town called St. Hope. She could thrive there. She could make new friends, maybe people who liked the same things she liked. She could start fresh.

Right?

Username: James Phobos
Name: Zebedeo "Zeb" Doe
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Description: X Amidst the hustle and bustle of the airport, the tall young man with the white hoodie doesn't really stand out. Amidst people with mohawks and all the crisp suits businessmen wear, his shabby attire fades into the background: worn jeans that have seen a bit too much action, blue and white sneakers which are on their last legs, and a beaten up black and white guitar case held loosely in one rough hand. With blond hair spiked to the side and two long 'tails' that frame his round face and large blue eyes, he could be handsome underneath all the worn clothes and oil that's apparent on his skin. A rather relaxed air radiates off of him, from the way he casually gazes around the airport to how lazily he leans against his guitar case. A cheerful tune is whistled out from chapped lips, and they look as if they've been that way for a while, if the scab on his lower lip is any indication. The only thing that doesn't look worn and used is the hoodie, a unique and simple little design of a pocketwatch and its chain decorating his chest. Peeking out from underneath the pulled-down hood, a pair of rabbit ears lay limply against his back.
Bio: The Doe family is by no means a small family. With four biological children and another four adopted, they're large enough as it is, and that's not even taking into equation the many cousins that live nearby. Everyone knows everyone, and secrets are practically unheard of. In that aspect, Zeb grew up in quite the environment, and as a result was honest to the point of foolishness in his teen years. (Oh, how highschool cleared that up. ) With a twin sister named Araxie, Zeb was only the third-fourth oldest of the household, but that was already asking for much. The two oldest of the house left behind a tough act to follow, but Zeb never saw much point in doing so. In his mind, there would be other to watch out for him, so he could always relax, right?
That wasn't the case when he left highschool. Zeb had always dreamed of starting up a band, or even just going solo. However, not everyone makes it into the big time...
Nowadays, Zeb lives in St. Hope while he tries to start up some sort of musical career. During the daytime, he works at an auto repair shop, and has shown to have a fair hand with cars. If he only went to college like his family keeps prodding him to do, maybe he could really make something out of himself... But hey. The way Zeb figures it, life wasn't given to him so he could spend it all in a stuffy classrooom and dying of stress.
All their nosiness aside, however, Zeb quite misses his family. It's why he's waiting in some stuffy airport for a flight that he just knows is delayed with his best friend Sol. The food in the port is expensive, the employees all keep giving him dirty looks, and no one even has the manners to say sorry when they slam into him! Man, this just can't get any worse....

Username: NicGuy
Name: Frank West
Age: 33 (looks and feels much older)
Gender: Male
Description: Dark Brown hair, slicked back like that of a greaser. Brown denim jacket, full of burns, stitches, patches and dirt. Long sleeved Stafford shirt, tanned from age. Used black slacks, worn loafers. His face is a worn as his clothes, with a slight 5 o'clock shadow. Hazel eyes. On his person can be found a box of matches, a pocket knife, and 50 dollars (US cash).

Bio: Frank is a photographer for "Rollaruha", a special studio which allows it's customer to come up with the backgrounds, themes, and types of photos.
The customer is always thankless for his job, and so is he. He's a selfish man who never knew much of his family, never keeps a girl longer then a week, and just hates everything around him- a normal American male.
There's only one thing in his life that means anything to him, and that's his talent as a photographer. He may take stupid wedding photos, but they are the best. So says Frank.
The airport idea was from the Evens family. They wanted a photo shot while entering the plane, headed off to there honeymoon. Frank didn't care-as long as they bought his stuff, there wouldn't be a problem. before Frank could shoot anything, he had to "find his Zen". The only place he could think of to do it was the john. Unfortunately, things were going to hit rock bottom, as he sat in the stall, and listened to a strange intercom announcement...

WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT FROM FRANK? Good Question.

1. He will leave you behind if he doesn't-
A. Know you
B. trust you
c. think he can get laid as a reward

2. He's got an artists eye for detail. I think this means he can see things that others may not in times of crisis. Ask him for help if there's a need to barricade a door, or something.

3. Order of survival (by Frank himself)
"1.ME
2.Women, children, and whores
3.pets
4.old people
5.fags"

"Don't take it personal, kids."

Username: Bellpeppers
Name: Olivia Trudith Jett
Age: 29... says shes 26
Gender: female
Description: X Olivia or as she goes by, "Livi" is about 5'7" and weight about 155 lbs. (most of that being in her legs.) She has medium length brown hair that is dyed a warm blonde. She has brown eyes and a narrow nose. medium shoulders and bust. Flat stomach and large firm hips. Very defined calf muscles. She usually dresses very casual but today she is in a slate grey business coat top, slate grey skirt, black hosiery and black stilettos. (with good reason)
Bio: Livi Got into gymnastics as a child. At age 15.she was chosen to represent the U.S.A. In Atlanta for the 1995 Olympics. She broke her ankle 2 days before she was supposed to fly out and was quickly replaced. She never professionally or publicly did gymnastics ever again. Though she kept up with it in her spare time and kept in shape. She is just a little rusty now. She has a bachelors in Philosophy and works as a bank teller (very unhappily) and has not had a steady boyfriend in 4 years.

Had an older brother named Rocko. He and his wife worked at the local power plant and have been missing for days now. Livi is the guardian of his two children and has come to St. Hope to take care of them (in a suit because she has to do this at C.S.S. and wants to look like a fit mother).

She's pretty much going from a woman not wanting to admit she's turning 30 soon, lighthearted with no real attachments, to an unmarried old maid with two kids at 29 years old. In short, she's having a mini-meltdown.

Username: Storm Aether
Name: Richard Anderson Benvolo
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Description: 6'1" tall with a moderate build. He has an abundance of body hair, and scraggly, unkempt brown hair on his head, as well as a stubble beard. He has dull, disinterested brown eyes, tired of life. He arrived at the airport wearing the cliche beige trenchcoat of the detective, as well as a white collared shirt, beige pants, and a brown belt and shoes. On his belt are his empty holster, his badge, and a pair of handcuffs.
Bio: Richard was born into a typical, disfunctional middle-class family. He went to public school, got average grades, and went on to join the police force. What set him apart was his sense of chivalry and aloof behavior. He was never a people person--He never had any friends, did everything himself, and treated others with disdain at best. He was, however, protective of those who could not protect themselves. He got in fights a lot as a child, due to his inclination to protect the smaller kids. It was that frame of mind that inspired him to join the force. He spent several years on the streets, going through partners like paperwork due to his personality. Eventually, however, he made detective. Of course, he insisted to work alone, and his attitude won him a lot of unfavorable assignments. One such assignment was driving all the way out to the airport to pick up a vandal that had been arrested by security--what a day that would turn out to be.

Username: Storm Aether
Name: Victoria LeChance
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Description: 5'8" with a trim, athletic build. She is a noticeable character, with a high-standing, green mohawk. Despite her remarkable hairstyle, she appears to make no use of cosmetics, except for black nail polish. Her eyes are bright blue, and exuberate with chaotic mischief. Her arms, shoulders, and back are heavilly tattooed. She wears black fingerless gloves, a purple tank-top, baggy black cargo pants with a variety of steel adornments, and combat boots with buckles.
Bio: Victoria grew up in a lower-class environment. She showed great scholastic potential, but her achievements in life were limited by her constant struggle for survival. She had three older brothers, and learned to play rough as a child, which served her well in the future. She always placed survivalism and personal gain above morality, however, and old-fashioned notions of honor and decency are lost on her. She frequently used her body as a weapon, both combatively and sexually, to further her agenda in her highschool years. Despite her bad behavior, however, she never dropped out. She, in fact, excelled in all her classes. After graduating high school with honors, she faced a major identity crisis. She realised she had to choose between furthering her education, and living the way she had come to enjoy. Before she made that decision, however, she was arrested by airport security for spray-painting a provocative image and phone number of an old "friend" on the wall of the airport men's room.

Username: This Is Zen
Name: Phillis Evan Wesker
Age: 47
Gender: Male
Description: Like the red text said, Phil is the quintessential working man. Nearly fifty years on this planet, and nearly thirty of them spent in a dead-end office job just hoping for that promotion have left him with a decent beer gut. His hair is coming out early, completely gone on top and thinning around the sides, and what does remain is turning slowly gray. He’s clean-shaven, but when he isn’t working he just doesn’t care. As such, when he arrives at the airport he’s got a rather decent beard running, which doesn’t help his overall appearance in the least.
He needs reading glasses for books, but doesn’t read that often. When he does, he has some of those cheapo thin pairs you can pick up just about anywhere.
He’s dressed in the office worker uniform most of the time; white, collared shirt, black tie, black slacks, black shoes. Dreary, to be sure. Coming back from a vacation that did him no good, though, he’s gotten a bit of a tan, he isn’t quite so miserable. He’s also managed to pick up the typical flower-print shirts Hawaii-goers so often get, like its some sort of disease.

Bio: Phil works at an office building in St. Hope, riding the economic boom in the town with all the dedication of a mouse in a wheel. Of course, he was here before the boom, and he figures he’ll be here after. Going from a starry-eyed newbie in the business world dreaming of an executive position, all Phil really cares about now is his paycheck, his family, and the prospect of retirement sometime in the next decade or two.
He has a wife he loves, but a marriage that is suffering some bumps. His two children are 16 and 21, one of them already gone and the other on the way out, so he’s finding himself with a bit more free time and no idea what to do with it.
He’s just recently come back from a trip to Hawaii he took alone. Why would a family man take a vacation alone? Layoffs at work due to falling profit. He managed to keep his job, but the prospect of unemployment had stressed him out enough that he had to get away for a bit. So, Phillis Evan Wesker comes home a little tanned, wearing a corny shirt, and feeling a bit more relaxed. Ready to see his wife and the kid still in grade school. Unfortunate bit of work that is, isn’t it?

Phil’s preliminary gear list:

Large suitcase
5 or 6 changes of clothes
Cheapo Hawaiian souvenirs
Electric razor
Cell phone
MP3 Player

Stage 1: Intro || Stage 2: Rules || Stage 3: Character skeleton || Stage 4: Approved profiles || Stage 5: link to OOC || Stage 6: Saved

[Homie G Luxory]

If you've sent in an application and been accepted, take a stroll on down to Over the PA, our out of character thread. The OOC thread is vital, in that we will sometimes plan what happens in the RP, smooth out disputes or problems, give and receive advice on roleplaying better, and just get to know each other. OOC threads help the RP to all around run more smoothly.

Be glad I did this politely; normally I would just say "Bitches, use this or I shoot you in the foot."
XD

Stage 1: Intro || Stage 2: Rules || Stage 3: Character skeleton || Stage 4: Approved profiles || Stage 5: link to OOC || Stage 6: Saved

[Phantasm of the Orchestra]

Saved
Save
Sav
Sa
S

((Save us))

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[Phantasm of the Orchestra]

Chrys shook her hands and reached for a paper towel. "Forty friggin minutes just to retrieve luggage. Never heard of anything so absolutely ridiculous." She frowned into the mirror, leaning in to inspect the state of her make-up. Max had called ahead and had warned that he might be late; the weather had suddenly decided to enter its annual pre-menstrual cycle. "He's probably already in the lobby by now," she said aloud, nervously glancing over her shoulder at the darkened, empty stalls. Heart quickening with apprehension (and perhaps the smallest twinge of hope), Chrys hurriedly snapped her watch back on, repositioned her bags, and walked briskly to the bathroom door. Her hand was perhaps an inch away from the knob when she froze. "--WE ARE SECURING THE PREMISES AND WILL BEGIN QUARANTINE. WE REPEAT, WE HAVE RECIEVED REPORTS FROM THE MILITARY OF A STRANGE VIRAL OUTBREAK--"

The voice was tense with restrained fear, and reverberated like thunder in the small, piss-fragranced room. Panic gripped Chrys, who began to breathe shallowly. Something acidic was bubbling at the back of her throat as her chest went numb. "Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod. Okay...it's okay." Impulsively, she reached for the lock and snapped it shut, and the sound of the mechanism sliding into place was akin to a gunshot in her ears.

[Homie G Luxory]

Max stood at the counter of the coffee shop just inside the front entrance, his thick, heavy snow coat bundled under his left arm as he read the options over one more time. Looking back down at the pretty blonde cashier, he smiled. “A large Earl Gray tea and Double Mocha latte with whipped cream, please.” She smiled at him as she rang him up and he slid the bills across the counter, fumbling his wallet back into his pocket. Moving over to the side, he waited for the hot drinks; Chrys was probably waiting on him, but he felt it was only right to greet her with a warm drink when they would be going out into the cold snow to get to his car. Besides, she had called him off of her cellphone when she had landed, and told him there was a delay with the luggage, so she might still be busy. He wasn’t really paying attention, wondering if Chrys had been waiting very long, when a woman’s voice came over the PA. He first noticed that she sounded tense, almost fearful, and then he listened to what she was saying: “-RECIEVED REPORTS FROM THE MILITARY OF A STRANGE VIRAL OUTBREAK AT THE ST. HOPE PLANT, AND HAVE BEGUN QUARANTINE MEASURES.”

Quarantine measures? Viral outbreak? The military? What the hell was that about? Max threw a look at the doors, and sure enough, the security staff were closing them and locking them, pulling down metal shutters. Outside the glass, there were a few confused faces, people being turned away. Looking around, Max could see people digging around in pockets and purses for phones, throwing furtive, suspicious glances around at each other. An impatient cough brought him around, where a boy behind the coffee counter was holding his drinks out, waiting. Taking the drinks, he was reminded with a jolt that Chrys was on the other side of the airport, waiting for him. Waiting in a strange place surrounded by strange people, in the middle of some...viral outbreak, whatever the hell that was about. He was suddenly no longer worried about how annoyed she might be with him for the delay. Instead, the burning questions now were is she ok? and how do I find her? His hand shook minutely, and some hot tea sloshed onto his shoe. Max took that as a sign that he ought to quit standing around and set out to find her.

[James Phobos]

"-I mean, seriously, dude, why do they even have a giant mall in airports, anyway?"

Okay, yeah, so he's bitching. What!? He's allowed! Zeb hunches his shoulders up, managing to look more like a little kid then ever with the sulky look on his face. The rabbit-eared hoodie doesn't help at all, he just knows it. Oh man, Sol is just eating this up.... Zeb doesn't have to look at his best friend to confirm this, but he does so anyway, big baby blues narrowed. With that quite necessary expression out of the way, he continues his rant, straightening up and gesturing wildly to emphasize his words. When he's not slumped over in annoyance, the young man proves to be quite tall, towering over most of the other strangers that populate the airport.

Normally, he'd be quite proud of this little fact. Unfortunately... Goddamn bunny ears. If he didn't live with Sol, who obsessed over clothes like some deranged mother, then he would so have torn them off when he got the chance.

"I mean, for one thing, there are malls everywhere! There's one down the street! I could go there if I wanted to buy something! I'm at an airport, I just want to get on a plane, then get off, and then get the hell out! ARGH!" He reached upwards, and his fingers tangled themselves in the pretty-boy blond strands they found there. For the moment, he didn't notice the words that PA had begun to garble out. "I don't want to buy anything, and I definitely don't want to be jumped by some crazy perfume chick so that I end up smelling like 'White Diamond'! What kind of name for a perfume is that, anyway? Man, Sol, I swear, that is the story of my life: Try to be normal, then end up smelling like a girl. This is just so... so..."

Slowly, his words began to trail away as the volume of the PA triumphed over his own voice. Later, he'd figure it odd and really kind of stupid of him to first notice that the speaker was a woman, probably really pretty if her voice was anything to go by. Then, he realizes there's something wrong with the way she's speaking, too fast, too tense, and that's when her words actually get through his thick skull.

"-QUARANTINE. WE REPEAT, WE HAVE RECEIVED REPORTS FROM THE MILITARY OF A STRANGE VIRAL OUTBREAK AT THE ST. HOPE PLANT, AND HAVE BEGUN QUARANTINE MEASURES. "

Whoa, whoa, hold up! Zeb blinks, his brain tripping over itself to try and absorb everything the woman is saying. Quarantine? Like, big plastic bubble and guys in big yellow suits? Viral? That's basically a virus, right? Automatically, Zeb thinks of all the late-night horror films he's watched, all the aliens and zombies and crap. A laugh, nervous and low, bubbles out from his mouth as he shakes his head. One hand tucks itself into one of his hoodie pockets, and the other smooths out the gelled spikes of his hair while he thinks to himself how stupid that is.

Aliens. Zombies. Man, he has got to lay off the coffee or, better yet, stay away from crazy airport mall saleswomen with perfume. The fumes are going to his brain. Pfft.... Probably like a... flesh eating disease thing. He saw that on the Discovery channel once. Nasty. Suddenly, an idea flashes into his head and Zeb grins mischievously. While Sol's distracted, he suddenly flop-launches himself onto the brunette, making a terrible groaning noise that's too comical to be real.

[Seven VII]

Having been best of buddies with Zeb for God only knew, Sol has pretty much tuned out the blond's ranting. Of course, with the experience all good friends have, he kept tuning for the best bits to tease Zeb. "It's because Theo got your haircut from a girl magazine," he offered at one point with a big fat grin that just begged to be smacked off. So yeah, that was probably the reason why, while Zeb continues on his own little mental soapbox, the scratchy screamy noise of the PA flaring to life caught Sol's attention first.

He didn't even hear the words at first, to be honest. Sol just winced, and glared in mock hurt at the speakers. Aw, man, this reminded him of highschool. The speakers THERE never worked either. That kind rushed out of his mind, tho, the longer he listened to the speakers. Slowly, the relaxed expression he had on his face slipped away, replaced by a worried, uneasy look. Um-

"Zeb-"
"REMAIN CALM, AS WE ARE SECURING THE PREMISES-"
"Maybe you should shut up-"
"-RECEIVED REPORTS FROM THE MILITARY-"
"Dude, this sounds really important-"
"-TRANGE VIRAL OUTBREAK AT THE ST. HOPE PLANT-"
"Zeb!"

Finally, Zeb's words had dwindled into oblivion, and the two of them kinda just stood there. When he finally realized that the thing was just going on repeat, Sol nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Man, that sounds reaaally creepy. Think it'll-"

Ok, the first person to say he screamed is getting kicked in the face. The first person to say he screamed like a little girl when Zeb suddenly fell on him sounding like a zombie will get kicked in the balls. Although... Ok, yeah, he did scream, and stumbled back looking ridiculous while staring at Zeb in wide-eyed horror. Pretty quickly, he caught on, and his face scrunched up into a scowl as he reached over to punch his best friend in the arm. "You a**!" he laughed, unable to keep the smile of his face. "What was that about?"

[Phantasm of the Orchestra]

Quickly, without thinking, Chrys unlatched and pulled down the baby changing station and placed her messenger bag on it. Bending down to her suitcase, she rifled through it desperately, extracting from it a small toiletry purse, a few embroidered handkerchiefs, a hairbrush, and a small flashlight. Grabbing her messenger bag off of the changing station, she quickly stuffed the items inside, and rooted out items that may weigh her down. "Quarantine. Quarantine. Quarantine," she whispered frantically under her breath. Unfortunately she'd have to make do without her Nintendo DS and the stack of books she had brought with her--she tucked them into her suitcase. She made an exasperated sound trying to pull a second set of clothing from under Black House, loftily snagging a shirt. She jammed the clothes beside her laptop, which caused the messenger bag to bulge uncomfortably. Snapping the suitcase shut, she straightened up, and managed to hit her head on the baby changing station in the process. She cursed under her breath. Must relax,” she reprimanded herself, chewing her lip. Her eyes swept across the room, and settled on the wide-rimmed garbage bin.

She wheeled her suitcase over to the bin latched onto the wall, and peered into it. It was large enough to fit her petite suitcase in twice-over, and was about half-filled with brown paper towels. As the adrenaline rush began to subside and the quiet, logical part of her brain took control, Chrys lifted her suitcase and shoved it into the bin, panting slightly. She quickly spread some of the towels over it and pulled fistfuls out of the dispenser, trying not to think about how much time this was taking her. Satisfied that the suitcase was adequately covered, she spun around to retrieve her messenger bag.

Someone was already standing over it.

Clutching at her chest as the panic lunged at her heart like a rabid dog, it took her a moment to realize that the intruder was suffering from the same affliction. It was just her pale reflection. She let out a shuddering gasp and slowly walked toward her messenger bag, as if expecting her reflection to slide out of the mirror and approach her at the same pace. She swung the bag over her shoulder, and feeling thoroughly worn, approached the bathroom door yet again.

[Kriemhilde]

Mars was pissed.
No, [******** furious.
He was tired. He hadn't slept properly in three days, and the black bags permanently clutching his lower eyelids were even heavier and darker than normal. He was hungry. His stewardess, an annoying woman with a shrill voice and an unpleasant personality, had skipped his in-flight meal as he slept. One of his suitcases had been lost, and his bulb was gone.

The [********] bulb. He had traveled all the way to this po-dunk little town to retrieve the bulb of a rare flower, and now it was ******** gone. He tripped on a dog. The stupid creature's leash wrapped around his leg, and he had dropped the pot, sending terra cotta and dirt flying out in an inverted firework over the white linoleum. At the time, it had seemed to move in slow motion. Somehow, the bulb had slipped sideways, underneath a partition and into a conveyer.

Who the ******** walks their dogs in a terminal, anyway? he thought poisonously, narrowing his dark eyes. He thought he was gonna kill the ******** guy. At the time Mars had been so angry he couldn't hear. It was as if the static-y screaming of some old punk band - a real punk band, not the modern-day whiners in the girl jeans, but the ones who had a real ******** cause, and real ******** rage - had filled his head. He had simply said "It's okay," in a numb tone, and walked off, clenching his clean fingernails tightly into his palms, leaving the dirty mess of pottery and soil where it had landed.

Now he was in the dark, sepia-tinted hole-in-the-wall shop, moving to a chair and sucking down furiously on something cold and green.

If Starbucks couldn't calm his nerves, there was nothing that ******** could.

He fell into a green vinyl chair in the corner; one of those deals that are usually filled with a crowd of loud, irritating scene-teens listening to their s**t music too loud. This one was empty, so he curled up, crossed his legs on the seat like they teach you in preschool (Criss-Cross Applesauce, he thought vaguely, I'll never forget that s**t), and delved deep into the oversized pockets of his flight jacket. He pulled out an ancient paperback. It was a collection of Shakespeare plays. Mars thumbed through until he found something he cared to read, and then read.

He heard the words over the PA, and stopped. His eyes froze on the line in the book. "Doubt thou the stars are fire". He pushed the book back into his pocket, uttering a single word.

"********."

He stood up.

"********."

He yanked his bag after him, leaving the half-finished Frap on the small table.

"********."

It became his mantra. He looked out into the terminal, where pandemonium had already begun. He dropped to one knee, still chanting his mantra as he rumaged through his belongings. He stopped only for a moment as his face split into a toothy grin.

It wasn't illegal to carry flashlights in your luggage.

Mars pulled out an Industrial-sized Mag-Lite, equipped with all the batteries. Because that made them heavier.

He zipped his bag and took a long stride forward, but hadn't been looking where he was going. He banged foreheads with a man who may have been two inches shorter than him, at the most. The guy was an complete Aryan Nation job. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, and... wearing a bunny hood?

[James Phobos]

"You're such a scaredy cat," Zeb teases, smirking as he pushes away from Sol. "Seriously, you're just getting all worked up over nothing. Just..." For a minute, he flounders, one hand gesturing around and around as he tries to think of a good example. "Hey, remember all the times the fire alarm used to go off in highschool? And nothin' ever happened? This is probably exactly like that. In a minute, the PA'll come back on, and they'll give the all clear."

Just like those times in highschool. It's just like those times in highschool. Although it's impossible to tell on Zeb's face, on the inside, he's pacing in some little mental room his mind's conjured up. Hopefully, it's just like those times in highschool, because, really, what the hell's he supposed to do if it isn't? The worst disaster he's ever had to deal with is the time their apartment flooded like God had forgotten to give Noah a call. For some obvious reason, he has the feeling this quarantine is going to be a lot worse. Zeb doesn't think he can deal with that, deal with what will probably be an imminent panic attack from Sol. s**t, this is what he gets for not paying attention when the Delgados explained to him what to do in case of something like this. s**t, s**t, s**t. Don't think like that, Zeb, just relax. Everything'll be fine-

People are already panicking, but it seems almost as if it's happening far away, like he's watching one of those late night movies. Only occasionally does he connect a thought to them (she said not to panic, you dumb ********]) and even then it's quick and brief, vanishing into oblivion as he focuses on himself and Sol. That's not an option, however, when some one suddenly smashes into him, skull on skull, and for a moment his vision blinks white, then black, before finally returning to the blurred color of the mall. One part of his mind breaks out the curses, all of them carefully muttered out of his mouth as Zeb rubs the sore part of his head. The other suddenly decides to take on paranoia as a hobby (-tendency to attack surrounding people-), and his other hand reaches up to wrap around the shoulder strap which holds his guitar case to his back.

The paranoia is apparently unjustified, although Zeb still wants to bang some one's head (probably his own) against his guitar case once he spots the look he's being given. It's very easy to tell his thoughts, because his face kinda scrunches up while one eye gives a manic twitch. Oh, that's it! He's tearing off the damn hoodie, and reclaiming what little manliness he has left! ...Except then Sol will probably get all butt-hurt, and that's really not the kind of thing to be worrying about in a damn quarantine. Ugh. Argh. What was he thinking, trying to get on a plane today? First all the delays, and now this damn quarantine.

Story of my life! All the minor s**t goes wrong.

Trying to pretend he isn't embarrassed or about to explode of frustration (think happy thoughts! ), Zeb tugs down the hood and opens his mouth, maybe to demand an apology from yet another rude and or oblivious airport stranger or maybe just to give a simple 'what the hell'. Suddenly, he spots the large flashlight in the guy's hand. Once he manages to combine this with the crazy dreadlocks the stranger has, Zeb decides to go with the latter option. "What the hell?"

[Seven VII]

Denial was Sol's goddamn forte and it was easy to just grin and nod with what Zeb said. Yeah, yeah. False alarm, fire drill, whatever- he could go with that. He liked that idea. Those ideas? Nice, very nice. They were the best. Still, he couldn't hold back the nervous glances he sent around the little shopping center of the airport. He wasn't alone, either, and he noticed pretty quick, too. Other people were looking around, some looking suspicious and some more panicky. Others were even bolting for it, and for a moment, Sol's worried stare followed after a man in a suit and spectacles that caught the light of the bright lights.

He didn't really have time to wonder about all of this, tho, because there was suddenly a light crack-thud noise and muttered cursing. Blinking and looking bemused, Sol turned around, and right into the tall, hairy guy with dreadlocks. Whoa, that was a weird sight. Y'know, he really loved airports. All the interesting people popped up in airports.

It was the odd look he caught from the stranger that got him going, however, and all worry was banished in the favor of his own special brand of cheerful denial as he casually slung one arm around Sol's shoulder. Rather easily, he drowned out Sol's exclamation as he gleefully inquired, "Oh, do you like this? Made it myself. If you want, I'm pretty sure I could get one for a guy your size!" The grin that stretched across his face made it reaaaaallly difficult to tell if he was joking or serious.

[Homie G Luxory]

Max had an eye for room attitudes or emotional atmospheres, whatever it was you wanted to call it--it came in handy when you were in a room with forty-or-so young adults who were more interested in their MP3 players and cellphones and the cute girl next to them than what you were saying about zebrafish and their uses in today's genetics research. So as his eyes skimmed the airport for a familiar form with black hair, he absently noted pockets of calm among swelling boils of panic; it was almost like the phrase 'ask that you remain calm' was some kind of trigger to flip your s**t and find some kind of weapon. Max noted a few people holding hard backed books like shields, a man who had even taken off his shoe and held it like a weapon, and an elderly lady who held a gleaming pair of knitting needles with surprising calm, half of a brilliant red scarf hanging from one needle. He shook his head--if something didn't happen fast to calm people down, it wouldn't be long before there was a full scale riot.

Cutting through the shopping area that was the heart of the airport would get him to Chrys's gate a helluva lot faster than trekking past the increasingly paranoid passengers at each gate. That was the idea anyways, but as he passed a newsstand there was a commotion, a woman screamed, and he turned to see a pale and scruffy man standing far too close to him, eyes rolling and teeth bared. Max reacted on instinct as the guy got in his personal bubble, stumbling back as his hands shot up, hot tea and coffee spewing out of paper cups all over the guy's face and outstretched arms. His mind disconnected from what he was doing, Max just kept stumbling backwards in horror, only able to focus on the steam rising off the guy as he just kept coming, completely un-phased.