Name: Alexander Polawski
Aliases: Al, Alf, Chatter
Age: 58
Birthday: 8th of March, 1952
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Birth Place: Chicago, Illinois
Location: Somewhere between the Bamahas and Miami
Gender: Male
Major/Minor: Electronic engineering
Occupation: Store-owner, electronic appliances. Formerly Specialist, US Army radio-operator.
Languages: English
Height: 5ft 9 inches
Weight: 170lbs
Build: Aging, but still somewhat fit
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown, now mostly greyening
Skin Tone: Light
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Small gunshot wound at his left thigh, various cuts and bruises at his hands and arms.
Cool-minded * Enclosed * Caring * Compulsive
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Widowed
Personality: Alexander has seen some shit through his life, which clearly affects him. Alexander has his ways of getting through his issues, one being a man of ritual. He has several proceedures for almost everything that he does now-a-days, making him seem compulsive and in constant need of order to keep himself in check. Hiding his emotions is another way of coping with the world and himself. Conversation about personal issues he stears away from as far as humanly possible. He speaks of the present and to a very small degree of his past, but not enough to understand the grey bearded man. And for that he seems cold to others, as if not wishing to show himself to them.
That doesn't mean he dislikes others, for Alexander still knows how to laugh, how to smile, how to talk and how to live, if just a little. As long as he doesn't have to talk like he's with a pshycologist, people will slowly find an eldering man who can find joy in conversation. Especially those he feels he can trust, and perhaps even those he'll find worth fighting for. At good days, you might even be able to find him joking about himself. At bad ones, he'll stay away from others and won't talk to anyone.
Habits: Fiddles with a rosary, unbuttoning and buttoning his clothes repeatedly, counting his ammunition and staring blankly.
Hobbies: Tinkering with anything he can get his hands on, especially electronics.
Fears: - Losing his rosary, pictures and the likes.
- Getting intoxicated.
- People knowning his whole past.
Likes: 6 minimal
- Fish
- Tinkering and working with his hands
- Walking around
- Cleaning
- Alone-time
- The Rolling Stones
Dislikes: 6 minimal
- Disorder
- Enquisitive people
- People touching his stuff
- Rice
- Heights
- The Kinks
Pre Outbreak Skills: Max 5 - History must reflect these knowledge's
- Rifle
- Radio operator
- Electronic engineering
- Sailing
- Fishing
Post Outbreak Skills: Max 7 - Each Type of Gun Counts as 1 skill, Machete and Sword each are separate. History must reflect learning these skills.
- Axe fighting
- Pistol
- Navigation
- Basic farming
- Route-planning
- Basic carpentry
- Jury-rigging electronics
Current Supplies:
- Current Clothing - Brown hiking boots, black pair of jeans, light grey t-shirt, blue sweater, brown winter coat, dark blue camp with a boat-logo on it.
- Rosary
- Fire Axe
- M9 Beretta
- 1 Magazine, 7 9mm rounds + 1 in chamber
- VXD-720 handheld radio
- Spare handheld radio
- Spare batteries
- Can of spam
- Water bottle
- A small bundle of pictures of various people, most including Alexander and a woman
Your First Walker Encounter: The lack of response from the local coast guard on the Bahamas was met by a growing feeling of something being wrong. That's why Alexander turned his boat around from his wife's and his annual boat-trip around the Caribbean, and headed to the closest port he could find. Earlier news on the radio about riots had concerned the couple, but this was different. Alexander called over and over again over the radio, stating his boat's name and coordinates, but received no reply what-so-ever. It wasn't until they saw the harbour itself that they saw that something was indeed very wrong.
At first Alexander thought it was the Bahamas Coast guard that was watching them approach land, but they were too many to be simple them. Then he thought it was a group of tourists waiting for their boat. They all seemed to shout at their boat, but it wasn't until they got ever closer that they saw it; Them. Around the group of people all cluttered up, Alexander saw people all bloodied up, attacking those in the middle with vicious ferocity. Biting, clawing, grabbing and eating them. They weren't simple shouting at them; they were crying for help. As quick as he could, he managed to get some of the people onto his boat and sail away, leaving behind those now lying dead at the pier and the rest, moaning and grabbing after the boat as it sailed away.
History Before Outbreak: Born into what can only be described as a pretty normal, American family in the 1950's, Alexander was raised by his father alone in the smack-middle of Chicago. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to, which had its impact on both his father and himself. The following years were a big mix of angrily shouting at one another for various reasons, and the peaceful fishing-trips they took on Lake Michigan. That was were his mother had wanted them to be, sitting in a boat and talking happily to each other. Life was good, at least out there. Back home it just got worse.
After turning 18, Alexander wanted to show that he could do whatever he wanted, especially when his father repeatedly told him what he expected of his son. Get an education, get a wife and settle down, just like he had done. Alexander on the other handed wanted excitement and a sense of purpose. His father told him to stop dreaming and listening to his friends. What did they know of adult life after all? That's why, alongside his buddies, he signed up for the army and went to Vietnam. It was to give his father a big "Fuck you". He regretted that decision ever since. Sufficient to say, he found Vietnam ever devestating, even for Nixon's slow withdrawal of US troops. Alexander was assigned and trained as a radio-operator, doing whatever his NCO told him to do and calling in air-strikes at those sorry bastards in the jungle. He survived, though not without scars, both physically and mentally.
Coming back home after three years overseas, he went straight to his father's funeral. Hit by a car on while drunk, a quick and painless death he was told. He hadn't cried during combat, but now he could hold back the tears no more. And so he promised to do what his father told him. Get an education, find a wife and settle down, which was exactly he did. He graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in electronic engineering, which earned him a decent job with a radio-manufacturer on the East Coast. That's where he met his wife, Judith, and where he also set up his own store for electronic appliances and repairs. But one thing didn't change; his life in a boat and love of sailing.
History Since Outbreak: The small group of survivors, now sailing away from the Bahamas pier, soon had more trouble than simple overcrowding. People began to turn, leading to several bites before the infected either got thrown overboard, got their heads caved in or both. It was soon apparent that while they could be somewhat safe on Alexander's boat - the inability of their attackers to get onboard from the water being one proof -, it was far from a long-term solution. Who could tend to the wounds of those attacked? Where could they go to find the army? Government? Anyone who could help? What would they eat? Soon they all agreed to sail for Miami as quick as possible. Surely things couldn't be worse there.
To a certain extent, it was worse. They were met with the same sight Alexander and his wife had seen days before. Larger crowds of people at the docks, all angrily grabbing after the boat as they remained just out of distance. Docking in Miami was scrapped, and they decided to sail northward to find a more suitable harbour. As hours passed, more of the wounded began to turn, forcing Alexander to do something he hadn't done for years; kill someone. He had kept a pistol in his boat just for safety, but never dreamed of using it. When he did, over and over again over the coming days and weeks, he felt the black hole grow bigger inside his chest. Once they found a suitable pier somewhere north in Florida, their group had shrunk from 21 to 13. It would only shrink ever more.
They made a plan. A simple plan, but one that might work; gather up supplies of various sorts, sail out to an island off the coast, and try to live out there in isolation. The previous plan had been scrapped after a few days of staying on land, showing the dangers of living in close proximity to highly-populated areas. Both the infected and those still sane - as the group thought of it before the term "Walker" reached the group - posed a threat to them. It was best to live away, isolated and alone. The first months were harsh due to a constant lack of food and water, not helped in any way by the fact that none of the group actually had experience with farming beside gardening. Fishing helped, but only so far before they slowly began to grasp the concept of agriculture. They were hungry, but alive and safe for now. Walkers didn't appear that far out.
That was two years ago, before someone on that island died. Before anyone could react, the corpse sprung back to life, mauling its way through his wife's neck and others. Nobody knew how it had happened, at least those still alive after the incident. Regardless if the island was safe or not, Alexander couldn't stay there anymore, not after that. Some remainded there for various reasons, Alexander did not. If the island wasn't safe anymore, then why should they shy away from the mainland? More land, more people and more resources. It was a gamble worth taking.
Alexander and his now smaller group travelled through Florida, up north into Georgia for a better climate, though that was as far as their planning went. For Alexander it was just good enough to get away from past, and from his mistakes. They would have to learn to do better, to adapt or die. Some died, but the others learned. Scavening on their way north, they found whatever they needed to survive and more. Alexander himself found the use of walkie-talkies that he fixed when splitting the group into smaller parts. It was easier to sneak around the Walkers that way. Then the snow came, and an already weakened rag-tag group of survivors didn't fare well in the winter cold. One wandered off into the night in search of food, another was bitten by a Walker during sleep. The rest were killed when their shelter were overwhelmed by Them, while Alexander got away. Of that, however, he isn't proud.
Character Quote: "I'm getting too old for this shit..."
"The past we cannot change, but the future we can. Let us focus on that."
"Sure I can fix it, just give it to me!"
Theme Song: Gimme Shelter - The Rolling StonesHow Many Walkers Have You Killed: "Lost track back in Florida."
How Many People Have You Killed: "Personally, five or six since it all began. Indirectly? Well, you could say that napalm is one hell of a way to go out."
Why: "Back then it was war. Kill or be killed. But now...mostly out of mercy. Better let the experienced Vet do it, right?"
Anything Else: I'm just going to leave this here for no apparent reason.*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy.
