GALLAGHER, BREWSTER BONAVENTURE

[brewster bonaventure gallagher]

_{YEAH, THIS IS NOT NATURAL:}

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BREWSTERBONAVENTUREGALLAGHER
_{A BUNCH OF HOLES WHERE THE DEAD USED TO BE.}[/center][/font]

SO I HERD U LIEK MUDKIPZ.

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NAME

[/b][/font] HOLY HELL, DOES THE KID HAVE A NAME.
NICKNAMES[/b][/font] nine hundred variations of 'freak', 'prime example of what should NOT have survived a zombie attack', and then, 'Brew'.
BIRTHDAY[/b][/font]19TH OF MAY.
AGE twenty-four.
ORIENTATION hetereosexual por favor.
SEX male.
ALLIANCE turns out the Inferi took pity on this kiddo.
ALLIANCE ROLE soldier.[/blockquote][/blockquote]

_{FORGET SUPERNATURAL, CAUSE ALL}

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THEPHYSICAL
_{THOSE RESTING IN PEACE ARE OUT WALKING THE STREETS!}[/center][/font]

BUILD Brewster is a ode to Picasso; an absolute clusterfuck of skin and bone. he is stretched long and thin as taffy, though he has a permanent slouch (earned from years of avoiding people's gaze.) perhaps he'd be regarded as a gentle giant if he wasn't always cutting his stature in half.
HAIR COLOR black as expresso.
EYE COLOR if you were ever permitted to see them, you'd see they were cast in the same shade of hazelnut he appreciates in coffee blends.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES a long slab of shnoz hangs off of his face and gives it a jagged silhouette. His hunchback-of-notre-dame posture also defines him in a crowd.
PLAYBY FARIS BADWAN (formerly ROTTER) of THE HORRORS.

_{ACROSS THE SKY, THEY CAN HEAR YOU ON}

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THEPERSONALITY
THE OTHER SIDE A SCREAM THAT'S LOUD ENOUGH TO WAKE THE DEAD![/center][/font]

LIKES expresso, vanilla, hazelnut, irish cream, any and all makings of a proper coffee, being of use to others, everything having its place, the process of becoming the human Encyclopedia Britannica, people (despite his eye aversion tactics, he's yet to meet someone he hasn't liked).
DISLIKES when people don't believe that coffee loses its flavor, and fast. the nickname 'freakshow', although he's yet to hate the people behind it. Starbuck's--the entire franchise, their half-naked mermaid and their overpriced drinks do not qualify as 'in the spirit of real coffee' to him. (in fact, the cappuccinos there 'reek of mediocrity.') the fact that coffee doesn't really have a place in this world anymore. having to take up a gun--but without someone to act as his own personal Jiminy Cricket, he'll continue this 'policing' gig and doing what he's told.
GOALS re-introducing the world to the arabica bean, discovering his use to the world, and (he doesn't know this one yet:) being given the freedom of choice.
FEARS despite being dragged onto the Inferi's side in this time of crisis, the idea of flesh-eating monsters makes his skin crawl. he'd likely never be able to pull the trigger on one personally (what if one was his mother or father? and besides, it defies all of his orders as an Inferi infantryman) but the undead make him squeamish and unsettled. boyyyy, he picked a bad time to be born.

burdening people. whether this is with his eye contact or with his presence, he fears the idea of being more of a burden to people than a help. this may be the root of his overly submissive nature.

discovering that he is capable of hate. never before has Brewster found a man that he's hated, but the fact that he may have the potential to decidedly freaks him out.
OVERALL PERSONALITY HE IS A HUMAN WISHING WELL.
quiet. unimposing. fidgety. quirky. submissive. spouts random trivia. refuses to meet your eye.

(he much prefers looking at his nails.)

he is the son of a pair of nomadic freaks that traveled the world in pursuit of the perfect expresso. they eventually bunked down and started an entire coffee franchise. their love for the little black bean was fostered in him from year one, and he even stepped up to take care of the family business when old age and arthritis rendered his parental figures incapable of the job.

you wouldn’t expect much of him, but he can and will surprise you.

he is the shadow in the last booth of your café,
he is the coffee stain on the back of your molar;
something always present and rarely noticed
until you start caring about the world’s subtler defects and oddities.

his submission is to a painful degree. he gives off this ‘vibe’. there’s something in him that leaps up at the offer to help someone. the bounce in his step and the gleam in his eyes (eyes that will never meet yours) usually challenge people to find a limit to the things he will not do.

but it’s like discovering the ocean has no bottom.

at work, he’s been relatively safe--sure, he’s been pulled into other people’s chores or finding himself as a sudden unpaid babysitter, but nothing nasty. outside of café walls he is vulnerable to someone’s slightest inclination.

look:

he picked up a gun for the Inferi simply because he was asked.

_{ALL ALONE YOU BOUGHT TICKETS FOR}

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THEHISTORY
THE NIGHTMARE AS YOU WAKE THE DEAD! WAKE THE DEAD! OH![/font][/center]

PARENTS LIAM GALLAGHER; who likes his coffee like he likes his sarcasm: black.
ELIZA GALLAGHER; an absolute hurricane of a woman; fiery and idealistic despite gray hair.
both were torn from him in the epidemic, but gallagher jr. has no doubt that they're still alive.
(maybe he was told to never believe otherwise.)
SIBLINGS freakshow is a single child. attempts for children before and after him resulted in tragic miscarriages.
OTHERS a collection of uncles, aunts, and cousins, but all are scattered around the globe due to nomadic genes in both sides of the family. brewster sincerely hopes to meet the members of his extended family tree one day, though.
HISTORY
ALL THE LIVING ARE DEAD.

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PEOPLE don’t like to think about it--oh, no, no.

BUT there’s artistry dormant in those coffee beans, and poetry in the aromas of a café.
mocha and cinnamon play a brazen overture just down the aisle, and there’s a symphony in that combination of vanilla and almond just the next chair over. brazillian coffees are matched to their key lime pies, or mocha yemen to their cheesecakes--because another thing people so rarely think about is how similar coffee tasting is to wine. there are few joys in this world that can compare to a decadent cup of coffee enjoyed with typical café clamor.

AND most days Brewster takes both in

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx in solitude, complete.[/blockquote][/blockquote]

tap. tap. ca-ching.

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HIS fingers key the register. the register itself is a submissive beast, reliable and potbellied. it is happy to leap apart at the seams and offer up change, or to keep records of the sales that would make the man’s brain bleed. Brewster, the ragdoll behind the till, the one with this indescribable passion for the coffee beans and the café clamor, he only speaks in smiles and murmurs and trivia:

“did you know the cash register was created in 1879?”

“that flamingos’ mothers’ milk is red?”

“that a canary that can’t sing will never find a mate?”

“did you know Pablo Picasso’s real name was Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María d...”

AND if and when people tune him out, he doesn’t notice. he will just continue to be the human Encyclopedia Britannica, albeit in his own subtle mumbling way.

HE serves the cappuccinos with a crinkle in his eye and regardless of so much as the fact that his shift is over, he will continue his service long after hours. he will seek refuge in the corner of the coffeehouse, his apron bloated and reveling in its expresso perfume. he will sip at cup after cup of freshly steamed mocha (COFFEE RULE ONE: it must be enjoyed while piping hot! TRUEFACT: brewed coffee begins to lose flavor within minutes.) and unfurl news article after news article, expanding his knowledge libraries.

HE is a stranger, even to the likes of his own customers, the inhabitants of the cheesily-but-sincerely-as-always named, Expresso Yourself. they call him The Creeper. they are amused by him, intrigued; frightened. for four bucks a cup you can sit here and watch him; the world’s cheapest freakshow. or you can see what you can get him to do (because the guy radiates his own brand of submissive enthusiasm). mostly, they ask, doesn’t he have anywhere else to go? does he have a life? mostly, they wonder, doesn’t he have a home?

BUT the café is his home. the smells his cologne, the people his family, their conversation his music. he is so pitifully sincere in his appreciation
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthat he will overlook how he is at the laughing end of it.

AND THE DEAD ARE ALL LIVING.
YOU WERE JUST A

[/color][/size][/font]KID.[/font][/right]

PANIC soon takes that quaint little coffeeshop from him. the throngs of people and those that labeled him a freakshow are suddenly, inexplicably...

gone, baby, gone.

BREWSTER is useless in the panic--he needs order. needs direction. needs people to cling to and submit to and help and exchange his trivia with, in the hopes of being liked. he finds himself wandering, in need of being needed, his attentiveness to any and everyone highlighted only by the chaos. he takes his coffee-stained apron to the ends of the world and before long he's found himself glued to someone's back--oopsoopsoops. he wonders what he can do to make it up to the person he's just plastered himself to, and as it turns out his enthusiasm to be used has leaked out and had him noticed by the Inferi. before he'd registered what he was doing--he found himself behind a gun and a mask, policing the remnants of Fitch.

SIMPLY because he was asked.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/color]

_{THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE! AN EMPTY HOLE IN YOUR}

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THEROLEPLAYER
CHEST WHERE YOUR HEART USED TO BEAT! DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?[/font][/center]

YOUR NAME DON'T ACT LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW KRINA.
AGE IS JUST A NUMBER.
OTHER CHARRIES Emory Siinfel and the blonde half of Team Dipshit.
SAMPLE

TO EMMY'S APP.