Post by emory siinfel on Mar 9, 2010 22:18:59 GMT -5
YEAH, THIS IS NOT NATURAL:
[/font][/sub]EMORYCALEBSIINFEL
A BUNCH OF HOLES WHERE THE DEAD USED TO BE.[/center][/font]
(thanks to acidtongue @ caution 2.0)
[/b][/font] Emory Siinfel, what more do you want?NAME
NICKNAMES[/b][/font] EMMY EMMY EMMY EMMY EMMY EMMY GO GO GOOOOO.
BIRTHDAY[/b][/font] Remember, remember, the fifth of November.
AGE He's crawling into his early twenties, though his grumpyoldmancynicism often has him interpreted as older.
ORIENTATION EMORY NO PICKY.
SEX Kcool meet me in the bathroom.
ALLIANCE Ever since Disneyland went under, searching for the next Happiest Place On Earth has rendered he and his brother Outcasts.
ALLIANCE ROLE N/A ILY.[/blockquote][/blockquote]
FORGET SUPERNATURAL, CAUSE ALL
[/font][/sub]THEPHYSICAL
THOSE RESTING IN PEACE ARE OUT WALKING THE STREETS![/center][/font]
BUILD If Emory's genetic make-up was put under the microscope, you'd find a lethal dosage of sarcasm laced with cynicism and AMAZONIAN height. The guy's a beast--take that as you will. He stands at a sturdy 6'2" and cuts the silhouette of a stallion. When the threat, "don't make me come down there," is uttered, gnomes instantly learn their place. In life and in motion he is leviathan, but unconscious he is almost approachable (and perhaps draws people into his midsts more frequently than he'll ever admit.) The threat of the zombie apocalypse has left sheets of smooth muscle beneath his skin--though it may not always be apparent. Rest assured he puts every pound of muscle mass to good use in a brawl; fighting tooth and nail is never beneath him.
HAIR COLOR Blatantly disregarding suggested zombie protocol, he wears a mop of vision-obscuring ebony hair and wears it with pride. ("BUT IF I CUT MY HAIR, HAWAII WILL SINK.")
EYE COLOR Slate.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES Emory and his unconscious, self-destructive tendencies have wrought more havoc on his body than a zombie ever could. He’s inked from heel to brow and pierced to the niles (the most notable being the bullring residing between his nostrils. Olé!) His chest is also painted in awkwardly dispersed birthmarks. An entire freckled Milky Way is embroidered on his ribs. The fact that he highly resembles an Ent is probably also distinctive.
PLAYBY Jordan Holland.
ACROSS THE SKY, THEY CAN HEAR YOU ON
[/font][/sub]THEPERSONALITY
THE OTHER SIDE A SCREAM THAT'S LOUD ENOUGH TO WAKE THE DEAD![/center][/font]
LIKES His brother, "Mars" (one of the pitifully few human beings that will ever find a crack in his Giant armor.) Seeing the damned moron smile. His height (and hoisting it above the heads ofgnomessmaller individuals.) Stretching his claws (metaphorically speaking.) Sex (frighteningly scarce in this day and age.) Chillums (his mad overprotection extends to other people's kids as well.) Reptiles (he'sadudewhatdoyouexpect.) Raising a little hell (with a stick constantly up his ass, he needs a source of stress relief.)
DISLIKES DAMNED FLAMINGOS. CLOTHES. BEING OUT OF HIS COMFORT ZONE. SPEECH. FOR SOME INEXPLICABLE REASON, THE NAME "KYLE". ALMOST EVERYTHING.
GOALS Finding Mars the [next] Happiest Place On Earth. Surviving this crisis--or at the bare minimum, going down with blood beneath his nails. KILLING SOME ZOMBIE BITCHES.
FEARS Finding out Mars doesn't need him anymore, or that his 'slight' overprotectiveness is holding him back. Having to realize he's not The Terminator and therefore not indestructible. Absolutely everything, but like hell he'd admit that to you.
OVERALL PERSONALITY He would have you believe the world has it out for him, but his pains are all self-inflicted. Emory has nobody but Mars in this world because he lets himself have nothing else. Subconsciously or not, he pushes people away, and the few that remain a recurrent part of his life are hoarded
prettyprettyprettylikeprettyprettyprettyprettyprettyprettyprettylittleprettyprettyprettytrinkets.
They are collected and placed on a shelf. Protected but never played with. The fear of attachment (as well as 99.9981% of everything else in the world) is too great. Attachment has consequences. Attachment means he will threaten to throw all else away, because a gruff, time-eroded figure hides a heavy, tarnished heart. And attachment to the wrong person could threaten Mars's being, and thus, the fabric of his own existence.
Emory’s interactions with others are limited at best. 'Social awkwardness' is an understatement, and flinching, teeth-gritting and feral growling are common in the most normal of social situations. Of his two decades on earth, rest assured learning to properly socialize did not fill much of it. The only tongue he speaks is whore; and he’s been known to give his body up into the care of anyone that asks.
Over ten years ago he gave up human interaction to trail after Mars, wearing that metaphorical pink frilly 'Worried Mother Hen' apron and picking up the pieces if the kid so much as scratched his knee. "Mother Hen" remains, to this day, the perfect synonym for him, because he is fucking vicious and wildly overprotective of Dipshit Jr. Emory believes it's his life's purpose to make sure the kid doesn't fall flat on his face and successfully (and accidentally) has been both smothering the kid and depriving him of a chance to figure out life on his own two feet. Barely in his twenties, he believes that he's already endured every trial of parenthood, and advises this is the farthest thing from a glamorous job. To all those that think otherwise--prepare for an earful.
His perception of the world is morbid and bleak; filled with cynicism that shouldn’t have come to someone so ‘young’. It is in a desperate effort to protect his brother from the world he knows--filled with paranoia and useless phobias--that he smothers him so much. Nobody knows what this world could possibly do to the little ball of sunshine known as Mars.
ALL ALONE YOU BOUGHT TICKETS FOR
[/font][/sub]THEHISTORY
THE NIGHTMARE AS YOU WAKE THE DEAD! WAKE THE DEAD! OH![/font][/center]
PARENTS Noah & Elizabeth Siinfel (MIA)
SIBLINGS Brother Marius--the basis of his existence.Sexykins McKeaganface; a half-brother he has to thank his whore father, a 'business trip' in Vegas, and a 'meeting' in the Pink Flamingo Casino and Hotel for.
OTHERS Nada, zip, zilch. As if there would be enough room in his heart for any additional relatives.
HISTORYLife technically begins on a chilly November fifth for Emory Siinfel. But it's not until he's waddling and toddling at the merry age of three that he witnessed the birth of his kid brother (ew) and finds his cause for existence.
Growing up, Emory's life has been intricately entwined in Marius's. Emory has always had this protective complex over thedipshittyke, and decided that he had to be the first to learn to talk, walk, crawl, and waddle simply so he could show Mars the way to do it right (and make sure he didn't kill himself in the process.) Life was quaint and humbling and there was hardly a reason to have to step outside of their dust-painted cottage door. Its residents lived well below the poverty line, but as any family that wishes to survive in this world learns to, they made due.
The protective thing swallowed him whole once the father figure in their lives found ways to alienate himself from his children. Emory would stick out his neck so much for Mars as a kid--and would go so far as to take out schoolyard bullies for him even though the guy (naively) wouldn't notice. Mars, not out of selfishness, but out of general obliviousness, wouldn't question the multiplying numbers of bruises that his elder brother started to come home with. Emory's paranoia took root in these early years, because he was constantly being exposed to the worst sides of humanity and had to bury it deep beneath the surface so that Mars would never see. Social walls went up. Emory became more reserved. Started to file away all his fears so they couldn't be found. And he basically ended up sacrificing any shot at a social life for a brother he'd decided to parent.
Emory eventually forgot how to react to people because he spent all of his time protecting his kid brother. Eventually the only trademarks he had were a gruff sense of humor, intimidating aura and complete assholery. (These were the only things he learned from locking himself away emotionally.) Times got harder and Emory's fear of human nature peaked when his family fell into debt--because apparently daddy dearest had been playing with money they didn't have and it had made him delve even further into the depths of social isolation and poverty. But rather than let this affect Mars, Emory had to decide that he'd sell himself to provide for this kid.
Sleeping around put food on the table again; whittling himself away paid their fare to Texas, and whoring himself out paid the fees to a new school. Life was supposed to be getting better.
Though the Siinfel family was pulling itself back to its feet, good fortune still found little reason to visit. Instead, its crueller brother misfortune took the wheel and sprinkled a healthy dose of the Ebola virus over the entirety of America. During the panic of the epidemic a confused and disoriented band of brothers lost their parents (amazing how a horrified mob will take that from you) and were forced to trek to what they believed would be safety, picking up ammunition (hey, they have the right to bear arms) and unfortunate first-handed updates on how this has mutated from Ebola to something infinitely more sinister. Ultimately this has resulted in the serious killing of some zombie bitches.
To keep him going, he tells Mars that they're looking for Disneyland.
That if they don't find it, they're going to carve out their own personal Happiest Place On Earth.
And he prays to - - well, he doesn't know, seeing as he's the farthest thing from religious - - but he prays that zombies aren't a part of it.
What he doesn't know is that he's become a carrier, and that during his unwitting exposure he’s become a host to the disease. The 'virus' that turns people from pleasantly flushed and breathing to saturnine and decaying lies just beneath the surface of his skin. He could be the biggest threat to his brother's safety and
he doesn't even know it yet.
THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE! AN EMPTY HOLE IN YOUR
[/font][/sub]THEROLEPLAYER
CHEST WHERE YOUR HEART USED TO BEAT! DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?[/font][/center]
YOUR NAME KRINA.
AGE SWEET SIXTEEN.
OTHER CHARRIES None yet, but Karina remains a recovering character whore. D|
SAMPLE ONE SEC FILE DIGGING WOOOOH
SWITCHED THIS BACK TO GINGO THREAD. I MISSED IT SO.
Kyle was confused. Kyle was sleepy. Kyle was a dumbass for thinking this was a good in the way of modern decor, and bipolar or not, one fact remained: that Emory was going to make Kyle pay for this. If he couldn’t rid the room of flamingos he could--and would--shove some down the oblivious man’s throat to make them disappear. The fact that the guy had tried to lighten up his life had kind of flown over his head. Maybe it’d hit him like a ton of bricks later in the middle of the night--maybe he was so unaccustomed to good intentions that he couldn’t think of this flamingo thing as anything but an attempt to ruin his life (ortoscaretheshitoutofhimbecauseflamingoswerehisworstenemies.)
As Kyle gahh’d and was reduced to little more than a sophomore stain on the carpet, Emory started to navigate this flamingo jungle, prodding them as they went. The flamingos closest together started a chain reaction, like dominoes. And soon he had a clump of twenty plastic birds laying in a pile (they’d conveniently collapsed by the base of Kyle’s head. Poor kid.) A smile lit up the older guy’s lips--this could be fun. Maybe half of him was starting to hope there would be flamingos to spare--for ‘stress relief’. Hey, at least he wouldn’t be taking his anger out on something human--read, Kyle, who was already admitting that he didn’t know what to do with the flamingos. He started to stroke the top of Clarence’s head in consideration--oh god, that was a creepy image. He was drumming his fingers against the pink scalp like Dr. Claw to his pet cat in Inspector Gadget. It was an intimidating image when said baddie was standing something like six inches above you. The piteous look on Kyle’s face was lost on Emory. His thoughts were ‘elsewhere’. Flamingo-murdering elsewhere.
At least, until that cat-yawn of Kyle’s was brought to his attention. Was the guy going to slaughter his room in pink, curl up on the floor and sleep?! The tone Kyle gave him didn’t seem to be helping his case. i don’t knowwwww. He’d rubbed his eyes for a second there, wondering what to do what to do what to do. A sigh was about all that could be drawn from him right now--bipolar was right; he’d been pouncing Kyle three seconds ago and was now in that eerie intimidating state of calm (which was likely a thousand times worse.) A state of calm where he was propping Kyle’s sleepy head up with the scythe-beak of a flamingo and shaking his head. Giving them away was the only option. uh... find them a home. there’s gotta be someone else as weird as you that needs a hundred ‘gingos. we’ll talk about it once you’re coherent again. He decided, torn between offering the guy a blanket and a place on the floor and shoving him and his eighty-four(?) flamingos out into the halls of Esperer. Why did every one of his decisions had to hinge on opposite sides of the spectrum?! He guessed Kyle needed to make one more dumbass move before he could evict him from the dorm room. He growled unconsciously as he withdrew the flamingo from underneath the other guy’s chin, pointed his beak at the couch, pried a blanket off from where it had been so beautifully abandoned and flamingo-transferred it to the other’s shoulder (as if it would burn him to actually touch Kyle's skin again). Finally, he put Clarence (or was it Gregory?) back into his respective belt loop, almost satisfied with the action (an attempt at being a real human being.)
His head then found an angle to observe Kyle’s neck from--curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d been wondering what the guy had been picking at. Damn. Kyle’s small, feminine hands managed to hide whatever it was from view, and Emory wasn’t that persistent, so let it slide. would you like to keep ‘em, Em’? Emory looked a way for a second, to the eyes of the nearest upright flamingo. Flash to Kyle. Flash to ‘gingo. Like he’d thought--they’d be great mechanisms for stress relief, but... that was assuming he could stand continually looking at them.
uh.
This was a ‘maybe’.
Maybe, but Kyle was going to have to be damn convincing, because Emory didn’t want to have the campus thinking he had a soft spot for flamingos. they’re all yours..
