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B i r t h N a m e:: Elliot Jackson
N i c k n a m e :: Hollow
A g e:: Well... I died when I was 16 and I've been like this for two years now, so I guess I'm 18.
B i r t h d a y:: July 9th
O r i g i n:: Massachusetts, USA
S p e c i e s:: I call myself a corpse-golem. I'm a zombie that has been magically decked out with inanimate objects and parts from other dead things. But, you know, originally I was human.
H a i r C o l o u r:: Now it's black.
E y e C o l o u r:: Purple irises and pale blue schleras. To be fair, they're not real eyeballs. They're just glass.
H e i g h t:: 6'6" (originally 5'5")
W e i g h t:: about 30-35lbs (originally ~290lbs)
B u i l d:: Inhumanly thin and gangly and lanky and skeletal. Get it? Inhumanly? Skeletal?
M a r k i n g s:: I have nothing cool like piercings or tattoos... Just shriveled, old, dark, leathery skin stretched over my pipe and hollowed bone and wire frame. I look like an unwrapped mummy and smell twice as bad!
S e x u a l i t y:: Ahh.... Well, I never thought about it, I guess. Not like I had anyone to experiment with. Doesn't matter now though, since I have no functional plumbing anymore.
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C o l l a r:: Velvet
C h a r m s:: Butterfly (delicate), Broken Heart (has been abused), Pearl (virgin), Halo (innocent)
C o l o u r s:: Grey (troubled, may have mental issues), Plum (caring, suitable nanny), Yellow (troubled past, closed off), Red (likely to defend owner, angsty)
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L i k e s::
☑ People who aren't shallow
☑ Affection, praise, and encouragement
☑ Young children and animals
☑ Video games and roleplaying
☑ Mean people getting their comeuppance
☑ Spending time with friends (when I had them, at least)
D i s l i k e s::
☒ Bullies and shallow people
☒ Scaring people because of how I look now
☒ Getting hurt or breaking something
☒ Being alone (especially in a dark room)
☒ Mayonnaise
T a l e n t s:: In these past two years since being, um, brought back, I've had to learn to fix and take care of my body. One of the things I became good at was sewing and patching.
Q u i r k s:: Well, my body is made up of junk, pretty much, and I definitely smell like it. A little bit of raw iron, rotten bananas, mildew, dirt, old fish, and vinegar. Sometimes it's a little different if I need to swap or replace a part of my body or if I use a scented oil for my skin. But even if I do, it's never enough to cover my "natural" body odor.
P o w e r s:: Hoo... Okay, so, what you see right now actually isn't my body. I mean it kind of is in that it is attached to me and I need it to get around, but really I'm just huge roll of copper wire connected to a dead guy's mummified head. The wire runs through the hollow (Ha! Get it?) channels in my limbs so I can move them by tightening this or loosening that. I can detach my limbs, too. If the wire breaks or wears out I can just uncoil more from the spool. I don't need to eat, breathe, or sleep... just keep my skin and joints oiled and I will probably last forever. Oh, I also conduct electricity because of the copper wire. So... I guess if you forget your phone plug or something, you can use me instead?
W e a k n e s s e s:: I'm very breakable. I try not to get too adventurous when running around, you know? I don't really feel much with this body, but that doesn't mean I like having to fix a snapped leg. Do you know how hard it is to find bones or pipes that length when you can't just walk to a store like a normal person?
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P e r s o n a l i t y:: I try to be the funny guy so I get along with everyone. I was a big guy so I would make jokes out of my clumsiness or food or anything else you associated with fat people. Even though my peers bullied me I tried to seem like nothing was wrong. I didn't want anyone to know how depressed I felt. I didn't want anyone to know I hated myself. I didn't want anyone to get in the way of me ending it all so I played the big fat funny class idiot just like everyone wanted. And now that I can't die, I... I feel ashamed and more hopeless after I failed to kill myself. I'm scared. I'm miserable. Even though I laugh it off, I hate myself more now that I'm a monster.
H i s t o r y:: I have a mom and a dad. My dad works a lot and he used to pressure me a lot to be a tough, macho jock. You know the type. He put me in Boy Scouts even though I ate more popcorn than I sold and made me play baseball even though I was the dead weight of the the team. I never really had any friends. There were a handful of people that were friendly in school, but no one I could call a real friend. As I got older I got heavier and once I hit middle school and the teams actually had tryouts I was finally barred from the baseball team because I was so bad. After that my dad began to bother me about my weight and point out how he wished he had a son that could make him proud. My mom told me I should eat healthier (even though she didn't cook so it was takeout or instant food like every night) and she always criticized me for playing video games instead of working out and getting a girlfriend. I had no one to talk to about my problems in school. No one in my family liked me for who I was. At school, the others started to pick on me. The girls called me gross and fat and the guys would push me around and sometimes even hit me. I'm only an average student so it's not like I could be close with the teachers, either. I guess that was when I started telling jokes and making fun of myself. I guess I figured... it was better from my mouth first before theirs, right? After I started being the funny fat guy in class I didn't get beaten as often because I was fat, but I would still get picked on in the locker room and in gym class for being just a plain loser now.
I don't remember when the idea first came to me, but I planned my suicide for a long time. There was an overpass that crossed a pretty active railway. There was one train every two hours. I would tape my note to the guard fence and then I would jump. And then my pathetic waste of a life would finally be over. So after another day of misery at school I finally wrote my suicide note and went out around eleven and when I saw the train coming I stepped off the ledge and I died. And then I woke up on a slab in some old fart's basement after he had just stolen my body from the city morgue, butchered me for parts, and used me for his necromancy science project just for shits and giggles. I was the first and therefore the worst in terms of quality of parts and sophistication of technique. He made several others that were nicer looking and more human. They were allowed out around the guy's house but I had to stay in the basement. If a neighbor saw me through the windows he was sure they would report him. I lived there in the dark for two years before the necromancer died. His projects were seized and sold off to the slave trade, myself included. I'm sure the others sold quickly because they looked so good. But me? Who would want me?
I don't even want me.
`MaliceMizer
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