#Slogans4Hillary "Don't check my record." --Dr. Jill 'The Green Savage' Stein
CAS/ADV/1x1/ASK w/ any range of genres. Although, decidedly I like slower burns, with strong characters, potential for romance, and experimentation within narrative structure and non-traditional story telling. I also like incorporating music, and will do that at any given opportunity.
(note; this just covers New Guild--I was on Old Guild for years and never once thought "Oh! I should save my characters!"-- and even then, this isn't quite all of New Guild-- I GUESS you could just look at it as general examples of how I do, I'll link a few RPs for certain characters I like for those platinum level stalkers.)
Colmillo certainly didn't like all the conflict that seemed to be rising like steam around her.
People were all trying to dominate each other or trying to suggest new things like apes battling for supremacy. Over what? A room full of scared teenager. Colmillo, of course, really liked what the small brunette had to say and almost immediately felt herself gravitate toward her. But she listened to the others. Xan's idea was technically useful. While the school was on lock down having maps of the places they had trapped the zombies in the building with. Of course... that was was if they could get past all the bickering.
The downcast girl looked over at Dontae speaking to the taller black boy in the room, this calmed her a little. At least amidst these tensions someone was making sure he was alright. Colmillo had always had an easier time speaking to people younger than her. Or, at least... less intimidating than her-- but Dontae had someone much more level headed then her to speak to right now. As she continued to think, the conversations continued around her.
Elliot-- that was the second blonde's name. Apparently she had a reputation around the school? Colmillo had never heard of her. But in her refutation of the Short Brunette Colmillo found herself in support of, Colmillo learned several things about her; 1) She either had a short memory or she was a hypocrite-- calling the short brunette out for foul language seemed particularly rude since Elliot's first spoken word since entering the room was literally GODDAMMIT! followed directly by Fuckin'-- she was pretty sure she had said something else-- and that wasn't to mention, she certainty hadn't come to the aid of her or Dontae's precious virgin ears when other's had cursed. Maybe it was just a joke? But it seemed like a power play to Colmillo, a subtle was of establishing dominance. 2) She was completely psychotic. To say we should just go outside and swing table legs around because it might make people feel good? She knew they had been calling them zombies, but Colmillo was only just now realizing none of the people so hungry for combat with these things might not have considered they behaved like fictional zombies.
Colmillo continued to stray further from Kay-- Kaylee was her full name-- ideologically as she agreed with Elliot. Though she did at least appreciate her suggestion that the underclassmen eat first, though, Colmillo wasn't particularly hungry. At least, that was what she told herself. Then the loud pretty girl spoke up-- expressing frustration, which was fair in this situation--- that was much healthier than rushing head first into violence with an enemy you knew nothing about, Colmillo thought. The girl could have Colmillo's share, if she wanted... oh, but how was she going to manage that? She was so pretty, and social interaction was really hard...?
Then (Colmillo hated casting this judgement on people) the only person who was an even bigger idiot than her in the room, Colmillo learned his name was Alex. He admitted his table leg plan was idiotic, then he doubled down on it, saying it was even dumber to run out without anything-- which isn't what the loud pretty girl had suggested at all? She had only really seemed to criticize the rationing plan-- which could easily be talked through if we just took a second to let tensions die. But of course, the apes had to fight for dominance. It seemed Alex was so insecure in his own idea he was resorting to being rude and mean to people who were just having natural panic responses.
Colmillo was a patient girl, and she'd be patient with everyone here, including Alex. Though, she was never particularly fond of... testosterone.
She'd noticed while all the talking was going on she'd kind of slowly made her way behind the short brunette girl, as if hoping the smaller girl would somehow protect her from the tensing chaotic conditions of the room. Colmillo noted Fitz and the boy who was crying earlier arguing, making sure everyone else was distracted with something else before making her move. Colmillo was practically a giraffe compared to the girl with the ponytail, by her estimation she nearly had a foot on her, anyone not focused on something else might notice evidence of Colmillo's vocal capabilities. Luckily Colmillo naturally tended to blend into backgrounds, so at least she had that going for her. With a sigh, she went for it.
"Hey," She whispered into the girls exposed ear with a shaky voice, "So um... I agree with everything you said, It's completely stupid to try fighting those things, especially since a lot of us are still in shock-- I honestly think some of the people so willing the fight things that can overpower grown men might be experiencing trauma induced psychosis or something, you know?" Her eyes darted around the room nervously as she let out a nervous breath, "Speaking of the others, um can you please not tell them... I spoke to you? Or that I can speak at all? I know it seems like a weird ask, it's just... I'm weird, and an idiot... and I don't know... I've never really done people? I've always tried to be very patient with people, and I'll keep trying, but some of them are really starting to scare me? If that makes sense? Probably not. You actually seem really-- ugh, nevermind. Just, please? Colmillo almost pulled away before adding, "Oh, right, my name is Colmillo, um, Russell-Jones if that matters. You can tell people that, if you want."
Madama Serpentine has gone about her existence wearing many masks-- there’s all sorts of masks for dealing with The Court, Madama Serpentine the smiling courtier, Madama Serpentine the light gossip over tea time, Madama Serpentine the bane of all of the lower planes of existence, Madama Serpentine the cog in a much larger plan of fate… then there was Madama Serpentine the lover, often confused with Madama Serpentine the whore, there were of indecent Serpentine, crazed Serpentine, killer Serpentine, plain Madama Serpentine and the Madama Serpentine who may as well be the court jester-- or CREVAN, anyway, these facades usually get made out into a single, complex masks. Each one unique, each one wearable for certain occasions. All of these masks make up the person she tries to exude today.
She strives to present herself to the world as a stark contrast to The Court, the only real world she's known, and the one she's come to resent the most, its mere aura seems to suck mirth from the life marrow of all the rooms that inhabit it. To contrast this, Madama Serpentine has cultivated the type of personality… or rather, something deeper than that, she’s cultivated an aura that has an almost drug-like effect to those around her. She’s relaxed-- a gifted conversationalist despite mostly listening to others, and someone most people will want around as a comrade within a few minutes of meeting.
It’s easy enough to see why, her near-constant smirk can make one feel fuzzy inside, while her dark eyes seem to be able to pierce whatever difference she has with anyone, making people feel she genuinely understands and cares.
A joker and drunkard, Madama Serpentine seems to walk with an almost drunken swagger, and is never far away from wine or lean-- to say she clumsily stumbles about is a mistake, however. Speaking with her, you may laugh at her jokes and sailor’s mouth, and feel hypnotized her overwhelming charisma and charm-- but below that, what most can detect is a certain calculation. This calculation is sad, and it signifies that this is not the complete Madama Serpentine-- there is a duality to the masks she wears, with the ones she hides beneath being a calculated choice, motivated by fear.
But who, you may ask, is Madama Serpentine beneath the masks?
Hey ppl, I've been in a horrible depressed fugue state for the past few days (weeks?) for several reasons. I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced anyone. You can move my character around if you want, if this is still up and running I should be back up and functional soon!
The troubled girl let out a silent sigh to herself as she finished looking through all she could look through in the room.
In her rummaging, Colmillo hadn't found much that the others might find particularly useful-- though, to her it was kind of a treasure trove. The coffee tin, the filters, and the unexpired milk-- all of that meant coffee! She didn't know about her schoolmates, but fresh coffee could keep her going for days! Who needed something as heavy as "food" weighing you down? Making you fat and unattractive, anyway? Less exciting, but still useful, she supposed, were the disposable cups-- though, they could be used to hold water, and by her count there were 16 more than enough for everyone to have one of their own. It wasn't the multi-gallon containers she was hoping for, but it was definitely a start-- everyone here was definitely dehydrated. Plus, once the milk carton and coffee tin were empty, they could be filled with water. Assuming the water and power last that long... or the others didn't just rush out of here... She tried to shake the negative thoughts out of her head, knowing that was impossible for her. As she did, she began to make herself, and whoever else wanted one, she supposed, a pot of coffee.
The Teacher's Lounge's coffee maker was a bit of a downgrade from what she had access to at Fred's house-- this was a simple auto drip-- back home she had a fully automated espresso maker, a moka pot, an aeropress, a Frenchpress, a chemex, a Vietnamese drip filter, a percolator, and a fucking Ibrik. Fred was a coffee buff himself, sure-- but he has surely gotten Colmillo all those different coffee makers as a way to see her out of her room more, his gentle way of 'prodding' at her. Using this reminded her of a her time in NYC-- as she moved from the cabinets, almost unconsciously remembering how much of the coffee grinds you needed to put in, in comparison to how much water she was using for a strong pot-- coffee and a coffee maker was one o the few things her mother never sold, even it seemed they'd become homeless. Her mother was working 3 jobs, she was barely getting any sleep-- she needed as much of it as she could get, as did Colmillo. Her mother would often take out her anger on the non-responsive Colmillo for having to dd to her workload, not that Colmillo blamed her, she definitely deserved it. Still, if it wasn't for the energy boost from coffee, which she eventually learned to make for the two on instinct, she'd have taken many more beatings.
Her attention snapped away from the hypnotic drip of the brown goodness and back to what the group was discussing when she caught the last of what someone was saying-- "--We can find improvised weapons all over the place. There also might just be a safer room in this place than this tiny thing. We can't find anything if we stay cooped up in this room though. Does anyone have anything that we could protect ourselves with? If anything we could break the legs off of that table and use them."
Colmillo had to turn around and brace herself against the counter to avoid fainting right there. He wanted to fight those things? Without even knowing if they could be killed? Without knowing how their illness spread? With blunt weapons? Without even knowing if they could still be human and cured eventually? The girl felt a sharp pain shoot up her left arm as she balled her scrawny fists against the counter tops, she lifted her right arm and gripped her right arm around the source of the pain. The injury from the fall was lingering, it seemed. Besides that, more voices responded to the other brunette boy with the insane plan.
The second seemed reasonable at first. He spoke on how we didn't even know the logistics of the disease, and how it clearly increased the strength of those who had it. He had rum... somehow? Gerald would have liked him. But then he went right on ahead, agreeing with the table leg plan. Colmillo would have screamed, if she wasn't sure she was physically impossible of it. Then came Kay-- it seemed the boy she thought was reasonable was offering her booze, she'd denied it, and said someone else needed it more, Probably me... She thought. Then Kay agreed with the two boys.
Were it not for the pain shooting through her bony left arm, she would have gripped the bridge of her nose in frustration at everyone quickly jumping onto this plan of violence.
She was surprised though-- the next person to speak she actually did recognize. Dontae Davis, the underachieving Colmillo shared a few classes with the Freshmen, actually. They weren't friends, of course-- but she knew him well enough to recognize him by his voice. Probably because she'd gotten a little curious of his after class boasting to his friends and listened to a few of his mixtapes. He had some bars-- if it weren't for all these zombies she thought the child could have gone somewhere with his fledgling rap career. It stung her a little when his offer for help was completely ignored by everyone, even if what he had to offer was mostly useless. This Further proved to her, at least, that tensions were still far too high to be making plans of any kind.
Like. You just didn't ignore kids in a time of crisis like this! She'd grant them that maybe they couldn't tell that she was an underclassmen considering her height, making her the tallest female here, and nearly as tall as some of the males, even though she knew none of them had probably never seen her before, most if not all of the were seniors, they probably just thought she was a junior or took "special" classes or something. They could definitely tell that he was an underclassmen though-- he was the shortest here, he practically had tears in his eyes, and he was looking to them, these people who were practically adults for guidance and direction. Of course he gets nothing, finding the quickest route to violence is obviously the most important thing. Fuck her vow of silence-- she was going to speak to Dontae, hopefully a familiar face would do him some good (if he even remembered her), see if she could say anything or do anything for him that would make him more more comfortable.
Comillo nearly face planted on the counter as another non-Fitz blonde with a crazy look in her eye cursed and kicked at the vending machine. Perhaps bracing herself against the counter the counter with her injured arm wasn't the smartest idea? As the pain her arm numbed, she moved to cross them over her stomach, as she did, the crazy eyed blonde made her way over to the fridge. MUCH too close to Colmillo for her comfort, the girl shrunk away as she did. Colmillo didn't pay much attention all she had to say after that, history after that, history was never her forte-- but she had gathered that there was another person on board with the plan to send people out into the hallway armed with table legs. There weren't even enough for everyone to have one! So were they just going to send the 4 'strongest' out and hoped they made it back fine?
The awkward girl noticed Fitz looking at her-- directly at her. That itself was enough to make Colmillo want to vomit. But then she spoke: “Anything useful in there? Like, outside of Diet Coke. Any kind of food, like Alex mentioned?” This pushed her over the edge, she was sure she was blushing-- hopefully the senior couldn't notice it at their distance. It... typically took time before Colmillo was able to directly communicate with others, so to be so directly addressed was...
Well, it took Colmillo out of her body.
She was now hundreds of miles away, performing a song on Broadway.
I know what's gonna happen I'll try to say a word With fear of failure flapping In my head just like a bird
I've slept for like 70 hours But somehow that's just not enough I'll forget my drowsiness as my stomach's filled with knots And of course I haven't had any breakfast Really just a little coffee Like when you have to go And get a colonoscopy Which incidentally isn't half As disconcerting or upsetting As when you just friggin know There is no way to survive fighting these zombies
But anyway I work myself up to speak with Fitz Where everything I'm dreading will be coming to the end of my wits And here's what's gonna happen I'll whisper weak with hunger And there's half a dozen girls Who look prettier than me but ten years older
I'll retreat into my head And I'll try to formulate And I'll be saying *blah blah blah it's mostly coffee and milk blah blah blah and some granola bars and cups for holding water blah blah blah* But I'll be hearing is Colmillo sucks She really sucks, she really, really, really blows And she's young, and she's lame And then Fitz calls my name
And here's what happens I'm suddenly back into the room The gross fluorescent lightning is inviting as a tomb And all the seniors smile, they'll say its good to see ya But all I see is judges And they'll all look like Scalia
And then a little banter as they look me up and down And somewhere through the fog of insecurity and hate I'll try to convince them that I'm smart And I'm clever and I'm useful to have around But I'm starting to unravel, in my head I hear the gavel
They're gonna throw the book at me 'cause I'm
Of coming in and wasting all their time
Of almost every other survival-horror crime Not old enough! Not strong enough! Not smart enough! Not good enough!
We hereby sentence you to a death by being zombie bait and debilitating self-loathing
But wait now someone's asking So can we hear what you found? I make a lame attempt at humor: Do I have to say it loud? I make the mistake of looking over at Elvina, she's got such perfect hair, It's been three days since she's had it done but there's not a trace of dandruff and it falls without a care
No sooner do I get my words And open up my trap Then inevitably some mealy-mouthed senior student's Eye's glaze over as they judge me And I know they're probably thinking Lmao, This girl is crap She's a fake She's a phony She could never kill a zombie
And now I'm in a place I know quite well I've left the world and I've entered hell I'm this far away from a fainting spell
But just before I die I finish a taking stock Which I oversell Fitz says thanks And wishes me well The next thing I know I'm at the coffee maker Stuffing my face with coffee
I'm trying to take it slowly I'm trying to be my best I'm trying to be more holy Less bitter and depressed I'm considering what Kay said She makes a lot of sense Maybe some booze would help me focus less on dread Gerald says it helps you be less tense
I'VE TRIED IT BEFORE-- IT DOESN'T DO A THING FOR ME
I sit there on the floor I watch a vivid sequence Of humiliating instances from my past go by And think what kind of masochist Keeps coming back for more
But you know what's gonna happen 'Cuz it never doesn't happen It's gonna always, always, always No! I know what's gonna happen Don't tell me that I don't I know I say I'll rise up to The occasion but I won't
And don't say I've got talent And don't say I've got heart And don't say that I'm clever 'Cuz I know I'm pretty smart I'm smart enough to know That I'm too stupid to admit You can't survive a diet That consists of eating shit The trick is knowing when it's time to pack your bags And say "That's it!"
You know what's gonna happen I know what's gonna happen Here's what's gonna happen I quit! I quit! I quuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuit!
Colmillo, of course, didn't quit. As much as she wanted to. But her escape into her head was definitely a welcome one from the stress of... well, everything. She wasn't sure how many seconds, or even minutes that internal musical number had taken her-- but Fitz didn't seem particularly annoyed, and she seemed like the type who didn't like to be kept waiting. Acting quickly, Colmillo opted to simply present what was in the cabinets and fridge to her instead of simply telling her. Quickly, she grabbed the milk out of the fridge, the 4 remaining granola bars, the coffee tin (minus some grounds), the filters (minus one), and the disposable cups (minus one) and dropped them all off at the table.
After placing all the objects, Colmillo just took a few steps back from the table, an awkward blush on her face and her eyes glued ti the ground.
"Yes yes yes, oh my god yes," The woman responded, almost immediately upon hearing Clementine's snark. Well she was definitely enthusiastic in her response, that much couldn't be denied. Another interesting thing, Clementine noted that the woman wasn't facing her-- she couldn't tell who was talking to her, so she was just speaking, loudly and enthusiastically, in her general direction of whoever she thought was helping her. That was fair, even in her bikini top, Clem hadn't completely turned to face her-- and she was still rather unassuming to most. She gave an internal shrug.
"First of all, I think 'desperate' is an understatement, if I'm being honest, and again, yes, I would absolutely love a place to stay. If you could recommend one, you-," She continued. Clementine knew the feeling well, the org had told her absolutely nothing about this place she'd be calling home for the indeterminate future. When the independent contractor... mercenary... whatever's dropped her off here, in the middle of Coalfell's main street, from the back of their black van. It had taken Clem at least two days of wandering around to discover the Cadillac. At least. It didn't advertise itself as a motel since the sign was so faded, no one spoke to you if you went in, and good luck getting the residents to tell you about it. Clem didn't feel like letting anyone else go through that hellpuzzle if they didn't have to.
"-you would would be the sweetest angel, and I will literally do anything to make it up to you--" 'Literally do anything,' she had said. Clem turned a little more in her bar stool at this, eerily featureless bottle of beer now resting on her thigh, instantly turning a spot of her jeans into a coaster. She wanted to get a closer look at the loud woman-- she was definitely pretty, she'd caught that at just a side glance-- but noticing the difference between the two was a bit unnerving. This girl could easily be a model! She was so tall! Probably a foot taller than her from what Clem could tell sitting from the bar. Her skin, her body, and her hair were all nicer than Clem's as well. Th--Clementine wasn't a particularly self conscious person, but it was definitely a reminder fully seeing this woman that she was closer to the plain side of the spectrum when it came to looks. Which she had no problem with, looking nice was for actors and her partners.
As the woman continued, "--I swear, because I'd rather die than sleep in my car again." Clem's mind followed a different train of thinking, almost completely ignoring that she'd been sleeping in her car. While that was tragic-- Clem also noticed that this woman was also very young-- much younger than her, for sure. She could still be in school-- high school, even. What had she meant by 'literally anything?' Had Clem just let her lustful mind go too far? While Clementine mulled over the potential of this possibility, before she could get out another response to the woman, she'd apparently lost interest and turned her attention to something else. "Ravi!" Ravi? A friend of hers? Small world. She turned to slowly finish her beer. Unconsciously turning the name over in her head as she did, until--
Wait, wait, wait... She was definitely a little buzzed, but she knew that name, she thought.
Ravi. She knew that fucking name.
Ravi... She fished out an indiscriminate amount of bills from her pocket and placed them messily on the counter-- a bonus of having a staff that just didn't care was that they really didn't keep track of tabs all that closely, she was positive she was underpaying them. Further, she'd get no complaints of it when she was back here for dinner and more booze later. Clem's not even sure their memories of her lasted that long.
But-- her attention turned to the pair, now talking a good ways away, Ravi, Ravi, Ravi... She continued to turn the name around in her head, placing her bottle on the counter-- she was fairly sure they brewed their own booze in this town, hence the lack of labels, the utter lack of a good taste, and why it was served in a fucking cafe of all places. Took her a few weeks to figure out that local secret. As bad as it tasted, she respected it as an art form, so she never threw away the bottles-- maybe that's why they let her get away with the discounts? She was getting distracted-- Ravi-- She got a better look at him as started dragging the brown woman with the nice hair away to a secluded corner of the cafe. Definitely recognized him from... somewhere...
Clementine got up as the two began to talk, she covered her blindfolded eye with her hat as she did. Narrowing her other as she focused on the pair's lips, attempting to read them. You know, it was moments like this that she wished she'd paid more attention to those lessons in basic espionage, like lip reading the Org had taught all it's higher ranking members who regularly went out on field missions. She should have put more effort in to things lip reading lips, but that skill simply didn't fulfill her need for artistic indulgence during her time in the Org. Annnnnnnd maybe if they had put a guy in charge of teaching her instead of Daisy, I mean... Clem was was certainly focused on a pair of lips during the lessons! Two pairs of them, in fact! She did pick some things up, she she supposed, but just barely above the bare minimum, like most of her skills gained with the Org.
The "SHHHH!" was easy enough to gather even for an amateur like her, what came next was... difficult. Before he continued though, he glanced around the cafe, clearly checking to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. Clementine was obviously out of earshot, but didn't want to draw any undue attention to herself and escalate anything, she quickly turned and leaned against the bar as his gaze came to her. By the time she turned around again, attempting to read the whispers from his lips with her minimal training he'd already begun speaking.
"I'm here... DON'T want... to know where... (and?) I need a break... ...if ... on the down-low... my car gets fix(ed?) and I can leave this dead-end town."
Hmmmmm. Clementine's eye shifted to the ground as she began to think. She couldn't gather much, since she could really only accurately read single syllable words from people's lips. But from what her alcohol and migraine addled mind could put together, it seemed like he didn't want to be here, but he had to be here because of his car? Getting his car fixed in a town like this... ha! Good luck with that one, buddy. Clementine wasn't sure the citizens of Coalfell had cars, or even knew how to drive-- let alone had a place dedicated to fixing vehicles. Clem was no engineer, but she'd always been a tinkerer at heart-- she probably had more expertise in fixing whatever was ailing this man's broken car than all these goons combined.
Who was he, though? The way the brown girl approached him and the subsequent pull to the side, they definitely weren't friends. Ex's perhaps? Then why did she recognize him? She looked back up at the man and things began to click. "I need a break." He had said. Clementine remembered getting a book from a member of the Org for Christmas a few years back by a breakout author, a certain Ravi Callum. She recognized the picture from the back of the book, some tale about about a woman who has the romance of her life-- the twist is that she was dying the whole time, and it was just a fantasy of what she wished she'd pursued. It was alright. He looked younger than her-- but much more aged, he'd been through a lot of stress, it seemed. But there was no doubting it, it was him. And apparently he'd made quite a name quite a name for himself since her time out of the States. This worried Clementine.
Ravi fucking Callum? HERE?
This was bad, right? The fact that her head was more pumping migraine than booze buzzing right now told her 'yes.' He didn't seem to want to be here, that was a good thing. But still, even Coalfell's bullshit barrier could only keep out the press for so long, and then it was only a matter of time before super fans were here, then next thing you knew the fucking pigs were here. She had it on good authority that they didn't have her picture-- but they did have description. She was practically a sitting a sitting duck! Beginning to approach the pair, she considered her options.
The most direct plan was just killing him. Might not be the cleanest option, given her 'methods,' but it would definitely get rid of him attracting anyone for the moment... Or would it? There seemed to be more new people coming into this shithole excuse for a town by the second. They weren't as desensitized to and weird as Coalfellites, they'd definitely try to to report the death-- death by explosion-- to the pigs-- and even if she could manage to kill them all, he definitely had his phone on him, and if he was that big of a deal probably had a car with a tracker in it. So people already knew where he was. If he just stopped here forever people would come looking eventually no matter what.
So, the better plan, it seemed, was the more tedious one. Helping him fix his car. Like she had said before-- Clementine was no classically trained engineer, but she respected it as an art form, as she did many things, and paid attention whenever instructed in it's intricacies. Usually. If it wasn't being taught to her by a woman. Luckily that wasn't often!
By the time she was closer to the pair, she managed to catch the pretty brown woman with nice hair, Kejirah's name as she introduced herself to Ravi. "Hey, is that your friend? She's cute. Is she single?...No, I shouldn't ask that, that's kinda rude...though I am curious." Kejirah said, prompting Clementine's curiosity, she followed her eye's over to where the woman in question-- another young woman that could have been some flavor of celebrity. It made her feel... really...
MotheRFUCKER SHIT SUCKING CUNT PISSING DICK EATING SHIT SMEARING FUCK FUCK DAMN FUCK ASS PISS COCK FUCKSHITCOCKWHOREFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Got that out of your system?
Turning her attention away from the humming brunette, she focused again on Kejirah and Ravi. Deciding she'd just pretend she hadn't gathered what she had, and that she didn't know what she did-- she injected herself into their conversation. "Hey, you, looking for the place to stay...?" Clem considered addressing her as Kejirah, but she felt that would've been giving away too much of her eavesdropping. So she opted for the option of just, being in her field of vision, looking up at her, speaking directly to her. "It's pretty shit-- the AC's only barely work sometimes because I've spent the past couple months fixing them in the empty rooms when I can, the entire place smells like mildew, cum, and dead bodies--" She rolled her eye under the shade of her hat, "Don't ask." She sighed, "But it's got beds, that pass for beds, carpets that aren't too sticky, TV that sometimes isn't static-- the staff and other people there will talk to you about anything random except the fact that it's a motel, and the vending machines will always be randomly full. It's definitely a place you can... exist." She paused for a moment, glancing over to Ravi, "I caught your name-- Ravi, right? I'm a assuming you're a friend of hers?" She lied, putting on a convincing polite smile to convey that she didn't know Ravi's true identity, "If you both need a place to stay I can definitely lead you there, it's a little out of the way... and poorly advertised... and good luck getting one of these racist ass natives to talk to you about something that isn't completely batshit." Turning back to Kejirah, she added, "And maybe I can get your name!"
Colmillo supposed being a slacker sometimes had its perks.
The lesson in Ms. Stevens' English class had been about... halfway through? She wasn't really sure, actually. Whatever book the class was discussing didn't particularly interest her, so she'd been sleeping in the back. This wasn't irregular for the girl-- Ms. Stevens' class was probably her favorite of this year, in fact-- but, books were long and boring, there were better ways to convey ideas and feelings to people. And Ms. Stevens, to her credit, was aware of this attitude-- she actually let Colmillo sleep through lessons like this undisturbed. Colmillo wasn't sure why; the woman was always encouraging whenever she lit up during certain lessons though, outside of class proper she'd tried to get her to see the guidance counselor, and was always allowing her extra time for assignments and giving her extra credit assignments that she seemed to just know would interest her-- all so she could at least maintain her 'C.' So it definitely wasn't that she just didn't care-- quite the opposite in fact. Most other teachers Colmillo had would just violently jolt her awake, yelling something they thought clever at her, often provoking some kind of response from the rest of the class. Ms. Stevens was just, really nice and sweet.
Colmillo hoped she was still alive.
So, the announcement had been made at some point during her nap and Colmillo didn't catch any of it. By the time the girl was being gently nudged awake by her teacher, the classroom was already completely empty-- everyone already well on their way to the auditorium. Ms. Stevens slowly explained, as Colmillo roused, what was happening-- a disease, or an outbreak, everyone needed to head to the auditorium-- the woman let Colmillo process things on her own time. When Colmillo asked why you'd want to gather everyone in such close proximity if the sickness or whatever was really such a big threat, Ms. Stevens let out a light chuckle. She was pretty when she laughed-- well, prettier, Colmillo supposed. The woman quickly added that they'd walk to the auditorium together, so Colmillo gathered her things and off the pair went.
Of course Colmillo would be late to something like this, Ms. Stevens joked, she'd probably be late to her own funeral if she could!
By the time they got there, pretty much every seat was taken, the principal or whoever was already speaking about... something. Cliques and friend groups were clustered together, with underclassmen getting a lot of the more undesirable real estate up front. Seats not taken by students seemed to filled in by some of the older faculty members. Silence swept over the crowd. Colmillo had scanned the room, hoping she could just hide behind Gerald and Ashley until this was over-- but Ms. Stevens put a protective arm around the girl's shoulder as the speaking continued, Colmillo's eyes went wide, but she didn't let herself shake under the terrible sensation of being touched by another person. Colmillo wasn't paying terribly close attention, but it really seemed to spook Ms. Stevens. Colmillo figured the woman needed someone to hold onto, or maybe just feel like she was protecting something-- if her being there could help the woman in some way, she'd certainly stand and be held. So, the two stayed in the back, close to where they had come in from.
Colmillo really hoped that woman was still alive. She'd saved her worthless life.
Days later-- after spending most of her time talking with, or really mostly listening, to Ms. Stevens-- the yell came. Colmillo had been napping at the time, it was pretty easy for her to fall asleep anywhere, but she hated yelling-- and quickly one panicked scream led to another. Soon enough people were standing, tripping over each other each other to get away from groans that grew louder by the second. Colmillo, expressionless, looked up at the terrified face her teacher wore, the woman who had stayed by her side, watching over her as she slept for days-- she'd mentioned to Colmillo in the lead up to this that she had a bad feeling, that they needed to be ready. Something bad was definitely happening and as Colmillo processed her teacher's prophecy finally coming to fruition, her heart began to rise in her throat, warming her body-- she needed to do something, but she didn't know what.
She spent time enough looking over the crowd for her step-siblings that students got wise and began to escape through whatever means they could. Ms. Stevens snapped out of her shock, clasping Colmillo's hands in hers, she turned the girl away from the crowd and looked into her eyes-- she told the sophomore to leave through the door they came in through before it became too clogged with other students with the same idea, to find somewhere quiet and hide. Before Colmillo could protest, that she had to get her step-siblings out of this mess-- an angry hand appeared from the crowd, gripping her braid, undoing her mother's handiwork from the days before with undead fury. Ms. Stevens, acting on instinct and adrenaline, kicked the zombified student away from the girl and practically threw her out the door, into the hallway. As far as she could tell-- she was one of the first out, in this particular hallway at least-- as she gazed back Ms. Stevens told her she'd stay behind and help some others get out, but that she'd find her later. Her last words to Colmillo were to 'run like hell.'
Colmillo definitely walked away from the mess with a bit of a pep in her step.
She wandered the halls like this for a time, second? minutes? Her thoughts began to race, as they often did when... well, anything happened. She knew she needed to do something, hide, but she couldn't figure out where. People quickly began pooling into the halls behind her, running away from the... zombies. They were fucking zombies. She'd been trying to kill herself for years, and this was what was going to get her? How stupid. Appropriate perhaps, for a girl as stupid as her. Lost in her thoughts, she was pushed and fell to the floor as people ran past, screaming, not sure of what to do. Students around her were acting on what mostly seemed like adrenaline. Making it easy to run, but harder to think things through. Colmillo wasn't sure she had adrenaline-- even before she had started seeing dead bodies every time she closed her eyes-- it felt like a reflex she was just born without. Usually when something bad happened she just froze and tried to think of a way to smooth things over. But there didn't seem to be any smoothing this over, she thought as she began to crawl, not then-- not for everyone having to suffer through this. She just wanted to help, if she had a quiet place to hide she could think this through...
Looking up, the downcast girl noticed the knob of the teacher's lounge, door slightly ajar.
And she was alive-- mostly-- due to sleeping in class and a sweet teacher who had kept her close. She watched silently as people came in-- all school mates she didn't recognize, save for maybe a face or two? She knew they didn't recognize her, though it seemed after what they'd seen in the auditorium most of them couldn't recognize anything, so many were trembling. Still, they were a proactive bunch, once the room reached max capacity, they began to barricade the doors. A student even took the chair she'd been sitting in to barricade against the door. She'd slumped against the wall after that, eventually falling to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed as her new companions worked, or panicked.
Then they waited.
As they did, Colmillo rested her head against her hand and occasionally got a look at the people around her, when she wasn't gazing at the ground. She probably looked bored-- she wasn't. While she didn't quite feel adrenaline, she did feel fear. A lot of it. All the time. Every day. Every second for the past half decade. When she glanced up, seeing the tears and shakes and desperate attempts to make calls, she could tell they were feeling it too. She wanted to comfort some of them, to tell them that they'd get used to this feeling, that if they all kept calm they could figure something out. Even as she thought it, it kind of felt like a lie-- it was entirely possible that they were all going to die here. They were, technically, in a worse situation than the auditorium after all-- they were packed in an even smaller room, they didn't know how the sickness worked, so if anyone had it-- they'd just die in here even faster than the carnage she'd barely gotten to witness. She kept this to herself, it definitely wouldn't help anyone to hear that, and if she'd figured it out then all of them definitely had.
She wondered if her family was okay? Colmillo figured they were definitely fine. After all, if her dumb ass could last this long, then they were invincible. Still, Gerald and Ashley gnawed at her... And Osiris was...
Someone spoke, breaking the long silence. Plan? Colmillo glanced briefly at the woman, not recognizing her at all. She blushed as she looked back down. A plan would be nice, it really would. But what did they have to work with? WiFi was down, so there was no hope of getting any news, their phones didn't seem to work in this room for some reason. So they couldn't gather anything about this illness, how to cure it, how it spread-- aside from the obvious way. So what information did they have to build a plan off of? The zombies seemed to have short enough attention spans, they left the lounge alone after a few minutes of silence, and Colmillo had gathered they retained at least some of their senses-- when she was on the floor they could have easily gone for her, but they seemed to prefer louder targets. Her experience in the auditorium taught her they'd also go after still targets, even if they were relatively quiet compared to other targets. Move silently and quickly? That was something, but it wasn't really a plan. Everyone had probably already gathered that much, anyway.
A boy spoke up from the corner, one of the people she'd seen crying that she wanted to comfort in some way. He said that he had a car and immediately Colmillo's anxiety spiked. Was that really the best idea right now? She thought it sounded terrible, but remained silent. Adrenaline high teenagers who had recently experienced a traumatic event probably shouldn't be driving-- especially if this was going on everywhere? All those panicked drivers... Well, they couldn't know that this was happening anywhere outside of the school... but she felt they could reasonably assume something was going on outside of the school, she thought. Someone would have been sent for them otherwise-- in fact, there was no way everyone's parents would just accept that their sons and daughters would be spending several days in Stockbridge's auditorium.
Either they hadn't been informed and were having a hard time getting getting to the school to find out what was keeping their children, or they had and... what? Everyone's parents had just accepted it? None of them had tried to pick up their kids from school? The more she thought about it, the more she felt confident that something much worse was outside the school. It couldn't even fit all of them, anyway. And Colmillo knew that they should definitely stay together... the more people thinking on a way to get out of this together the better. But knowing that the main entrance was crowded was useful-- they'd need to move quickly and quietly to some side exit or something.
"We're fucked, aren't we?" He said. Colmillo looked back at the ground. Of course he'd figured this all out already. Everyone in the room probably knew all this. She was struggling just to catch up. Why was she even trying to help? They've already figured out all she had-- definitely even more-- nothing she could add to this conversation would be worth anything. She scolded herself internally.
Another girl spoke after the boy with the car, one who knew the first girl, apparently. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to, but how many of us have any idea on what the hell is going on, other than everyone turning into cannibal freaks?"
Zombies. She mentally corrected.
"None of us know what's waiting for us out there, Fitz."
Something bad enough to have kept away everyone's parents for the past few days, Colmillo thought. Fitz was the blonde's name, she noted.
The brunette girl continued to speak, "No matter what we decide on, we'll have to risk it, but, I don't know, shouldn't we at least take a moment to get our bearings and let people calm down before possibly rushing headfirst to our deaths?"
YES. Colmillo agreed with this girl. Everyone was still freshly traumatized, they would only be able think of so many things in their current state-- if they took some time to let themselves decompress, let their instincts that had driven them here die down so they can all use their brains again, they'd definitely be able to come up with a better plan. Colmillo, despite herself, almost voiced her support of the brunette's idea-- but she couldn't get a peep out before a much louder voice chimed in.
"Huh?!" Another girl-- pretty, Colmillo noted-- immediately voiced, loudly.
Loud noises. Ahh. Colmillo shrunk against the wall as she spoke, glancing nervously at the window above her to see if the zombies outside had heard her. Her eyes returned to the floor as the pretty girl explained her reasoning. They'd be 'sitting ducks' anywhere though, wouldn't they? If things outside were as bad as they were in the school, they at least knew they were safe from the outside threat in here. And there was running water-- that was really good, right? If they capitalized on that while it was still running and divided it nicely, they could last... a while in here, right? Colmillo wondered if there were any containers they could hold water in, in here...
Then a brunette boy spoke. Mentioning that he'd seen this before. Like Zombieism? Like, he'd seen it outside of fiction? Colmillo didn't really watch much TV besides a few cartoons, so she wasn't terribly informed on zombie media, but she knew enough to recognize that that's what these were. She didn't know that they happened in real life! She wondered if he had any more information-- like, if zombieism or whatever happened in other animals and it could be reversed, then maybe they could save some people? Colmillo shook her head internally. This kid might be smart-- but there definitely had to be other people who had tried to fix it. She was being stupid again.
“I don’t give a shit what the hell is going on.” Fitz said, practically shooting daggers at the brunette-- Kay.
Fitz seemed... kind of scary? No, that was unfair-- she was dealing with stress like everyone here. Colmillo was just worried about her way of handling it-- she seemed to be lashing out at Kay. And further still, how could she not care about what's going on? What's going on seemed like a pretty unpleasant death by zombie-- or people panicking. Colmillo knew well how dangerous panicked people could be. As much as she had fantasized about her own death, she didn't want to become something that would hurt other people. That sounded terrible! Staying here for as long as it took for the initial shock to subside and to take stock of what they had, like the boy mentioned, and come up with a surefire way to keep everyone safe once they did leave should be the plan. As long as it took.
Oh god... Colmillo had to say something, didn't she...?
She felt her stomach knot up as another person spoke up-- one of the two black boys who had made it out, he looked a fair bit older than the other. He mentioned something rather sensible, Colmillo wondered if he had medical training, since he was asking about injuries. He might have even been in the pre-med club. Maybe he knew Ashley? Or maybe he was just asking because he was worried someone might... become a zombie? Colmillo felt a little bruised from when she was knocked to the floor earlier, especially her left arm-- but she didn't want to waste his time with something a benign as that, she was fine.
She looked back to Fitz, who appeared to be calmer, as she placed the things she had on the table. Calm was good. People arguing usually didn't lead to anything productive, and definitely induced more anxiety in the girl. If Fitz could accept that they'd need to spend enough time here for everyone to at least somewhat process what was going on without an argument, that'd be for the best, she thought. For Colmillo's part, the tall, slender girl got up wordlessly, silently agreeing with the brown haired boy's suggestion and following Fitz's lead, placed her thermos on the table-- it may have been useful as a blunt object, she supposed? Though, she really hoped it didn't come to that, with people who could potentially be cured-- next to her thermos she dumped the entire contents of her messenger bag on the table without thinking-- this was a mistake.
Out fell more useless batteries and crumpled up pieces of paper than she cared to mention, most rolled uselessly onto the floor of the lounge. Great job! You've only made everything in here worse. The few things she had on her that weren't literal garbage weren't of much use either. A single composition notebook filled with her chicken scratch, a couple of pens and pencils chewed on to hell and back, a beat-up but still functional walkman disc player, one of the last things she had of her father, some CDs, still in their cases (Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version, The Steven Universe Movie Soundtrack, A Fleetwood Mac Compilation Album, The Adventure Time Soundtrack, and The Mouse & The Mask), her earbuds, her phone (which she had turned off days ago, after a few failed attempts at calling her mother) and some chapstick. Looking at her pile of useless junk made her want to die, this only increased as she felt the weight of the glances of the others in the room bore into her like drills. For a moment, she seriously considered just snapping a CD in half and slitting her throat, then and there. But... she really liked those CDs, at least. And there was the whole question of 'if she died would she come back?' She didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Ugh.
Colmillo decided then and there that she'd just be mute around these people. At least they wouldn't bother her as much if they thought she was non-verbal, right? As she continued staring at her pile, she glanced over to Fitz's-- noting that there really wasn't much useful there either, just better organized than her own mess. This alleviated her stress a little-- but only a little. Colmillo also figured that their phones could still have some use, as her eyes flicked between her own and the blonde's. If the zombies were stupid-- and attracted to any noise... then they could maybe set off alarms on their phones? If they could leave the room without being seen, or maybe even just slide the phones down the hall...? And the phone with an alarm set was far enough away-- maybe it would draw some of them away? She narrowed her eyes at the phones, she knew she'd be willing to sacrifice hers for the experiment, she was never particularly attached to the thing, it was really just a device for calling her Mother and looking at memes. Turning slightly, she looked at the barrier the other students had made...
She couldn't just... start taking it down for the sake of some curiosity. She doubted she even had the strength to, and anyway...
It was a stupid idea.
With that, Colmillo let out a yawn. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she was up now. She figured may as well do something useful. So she moved over to the sink and began looking through the cabinets, and whatever other nooks or crannies the room held. Looking for anything useful or something that could hold water-- she was worried it could be turned off at any second. Apparently more worried about that than how many strange looks she was sure she was getting.
You remember that Dorthy Parker poem? I wonder what she'd say about suicide by zombie...?
Colmillo, despite constant insistence from her mother, refuses to accept that she is a naturally beautiful girl-- prettier than that, even. It's usually the first thing people notice about her, which is really something, given her height-- standing above some men at 5'10"-- and growing. However these two factors combine to give her an almost otherworldly allure to some, she's heard the comments before, with just a bit of grooming she could be a model. She certainly has the proportions of a model, being incredibly thin, barely having a bust, and long legs. Of course, she herself is rather insecure about her height and tends to slouch to try and avoid the unwanted attention. The girl has practically no muscle mass-- her habits wouldn't allow for it; consisting of sleeping, spending time doing nothing on the internet, more sleeping, staring at nothing for extended periods of time, even more sleeping, listening to the same five albums on repeat to maintain her sanity, and did I mention sleep?
She might have a bit of a gut and less of a skeletal frame, if her diet wasn't completely trash; consisting 97.854% of coffee of whatever variety she can find it in, and her mother's cooking, which is actually quite healthy-- unfortunately Colmillo has a terrible time eating 3 meals a day... or even once most of the time. Often times the food ends up as leftovers doomed to go bad. If she does make the rare attempt to ramble out of her room and eat with her family, she has a tendency to binge on seconds, thirds, and fourths-- before participating in, you guessed it-- sleep. While her metabolism does it's thing.
These bad habits, haven't quite caught up to her yet, failing to detract from the other factors of her natural allure. Such as her natural hair, curly and shoulder length, styled almost daily by her mother in a variety of styles and braids before school-- though she herself prefers to just wear it down, appearing as an almost "Afro-latino mullet" to some. Her mother, a bit of a (compulsive) style guru, at least when it comes to her daughter, also doesn't let her leave the house without at least a little makeup. Mostly to hide the bags under Colmillo's lethargic eyes, and something to compliment her full, plump lips, her skin, young and over-rested, is otherwise unblemished, both by acne and makeup-- barring the scars on her arms and legs from repeated attempts at cutting and outright suicide.
Her nose gives away the Black ancestry on her father's side, despite her love of the man, she is a bit self-conscious about it (like the rest of her body), having bought into Western beauty standards. Another point of anxiety would be her teeth, prematurely yellowed by her coffee addiction, her smiles, rare as they are, tend to be closed mouthed because of this. Her eyes are fully brown, so brown they almost appear completely black, her personal comparison is to compare them to black coffee. Her style can be pretty easily summed up as "unintentional poor goth." Dressing in blacks from top to bottom, her mother forcing all variety of types of clothing on her though. Her outfit of choice would be some variety of band t-shirt, an oversized hoodie, jeans that aren't too skinny, and black Timberlands, her father's shoe of choice.
tl;dr Colmillo has let her mother style her hair for her everyday for the past few years. Though, if given the chance she keeps it simple and just wears her shoulder length curly hair down. The girl can easily be described as beautiful, and given her height, large, doe-like "so brown they're basically black" alluring and mysterious eyes, and near size 0 frame, she's properly seen as modelesque by some. She isn't without flaws though, she tends to slouch, her teeth are a bit yellowed from all the coffee she drinks, her nails are an overbitten mess due to anxiety, and she has scars up and down her arms and legs from repeated suicide attempts. As to what she wears — she likes black, anything Wu-Tang, Fleetwood Mac or band related has a place in her wardrobe. She prefers oversized black hoodies, and jeans that aren't too tight, you know? Maybe even a little baggy. For shoes she sticks with a reliable pair of black Timberlands, just like her Father used to wear. She is a New Yorker at heart.
Dysthymic | Suicidal Ideations | Reclusive | Easily Distracted | Quickly Fatigued | Impossibly Calm | Very Patient | And... just a small bit Flirty...
Colmillo Russell-Jones was born to two loving parents, Tyrone Russell-Jones and Maria Baez, in Staten Island, New York some short 16 years ago. Though she was a surprise, her parents took it in stride, getting married shortly after her birth. Her mother, a Puerto Rican debutante looking for work in the city and her father, a New York native through and through, made quite the pair, and though they may have married more out of necessity and lust than actual love, love certainly followed, and the pair showered young Colmillo with it. They didn't have much, barely scraping by, with her father as a construction worker and her mother taking whatever gigs came her way to make ends meet. But the young family was happy.
Even as a baby, a toddler even, she tended to have a withdrawn nature, preferring the company of her parents above all else. This made leaving for day care difficult for Colmillo, and making friends there even harder. Luckily for her, her parents soon gave the friend she'd been longing for in the form of a younger brother. Her father was a Wu-Tang superfan, and had made an agreement with Maria (who had a bit of a love of Fleetwood Mac herself,) before Colmillo was born, that she could name a girl whatever she wanted, but if they ever had a boy, he'd get to name him. And so, as Colmillo was 4, Osiris Russell-Jones was born. The love was not split between the two, but instead doubled, tripled, even--as Colmillo was her own person by this point, walking and talking-- and she wouldn't let her parents forget that.
Often spending more time with the baby than the parents could. Colmillo saw Osiris as her only real friend outside of her parents. She learned to change his diapers, how to heat breast milk just right, getting a head start in teaching the boy how to speak and read and walk as the pair slowly grew. Her compassion and patience for the baby fostered a general compassion and patience for everyone in her from a young age. She often resented her time in school, as it was time spent away from Osiris. Many public school teachers, underpaid and overcrowded, didn't have the time to dig into why she shirked her studies as she went through elementary school. However, a few noted her exceptional leadership abilities, her uncanny calmness for someone her age, and her problem-solving abilities-- despite her tendency to get bullied through all of this. Though, easily distracted, she could work through any problem given enough time if the girl made the choice she wanted to focus on it, especially ones involving other people. Eventually, the teachers who made note of the odd elementary schooler sat down with her parents, explaining they believed that Colmillo quite possibly had ADHD, but that she was also gifted and given proper instruction, she could really excel.
Of course, in the Land of the Free, this meant her parents would need to pay money. More of it than they had-- to get her a proper diagnosis, so that she could get extra time on assignments, as well as get her into a school that could properly focus on a plan focused around her. A school where people might not make fun of her for being a bit slower in some areas, where she wouldn't feel left out, behind a pane of glass watching everyone else. How could a construction worker with occasionally jobs and a part-time caterer afford that? With two kids? In New York? So, it would remain unresolved if she had ADHD, and she could only get so much help from the teachers who actually cared, she floundered her way through elementary school, she was almost held back, even, were it not for her mother nearly threatening to castrate the principle. She has learned to ignore the lessons she didn't like, learned to ignore the bullying and just float through with just enough. After all, she was content, she had her mother and father, and she had Osiris.
If only things could have stayed that way.
When Colmillo was 12, she was out with her brother and father. She can remember the day as if she were living it in this moment. Of course she can, she practically relives it every second she's awake. It was a sunny, sweaty day. A real New York summer. Yellow taxis speed past, people were J-walking, down the block, some kids were playing basketball. Distant sirens and people yelling off their terraces could be heard. The air smelled of fruit stands, freshly fried churros wafting some from bodega. Her father had left them alone, as he wanted to go buy some bootleg movies and looseys from his friend on the corner opposite of them. A movie with the soundtrack by RZA had just come out, and he had to see it. That wasn't irregular, they were only a few blocks away from home, Colmillo knew where he was going, and how to get back home, and Osiris would follow her anywhere-- even so, she always held his hand.
Someone was yelling something about fake jewelry, making a grill for someone. But what caught Colmillo's attention was the distant jingle of an ice cream truck, barely audible above the police sirens, but there, about three blocks away. She knew her father wouldn't mind. She asked her brother if he wanted to race, knowing he did. He was cocky like that. She'd practically raised him, but he certainly didn't get that from her. Probably their father. The pair ran, giddy smiles on their face as they rushed past piles of garbage, junkies harassing kids in the park, and homeless people enjoying the sun. She was a few steps ahead of him, careful not to rush to far ahead, she wanted to let him win. She always did. Colmillo went for the Choco Taco when they arrived, because that was simply the best choice. Osiris went for the Sonic Popsicle, with the gumball eyes that looked nothing like Sonic. He was in that phase. The man manning the truck commented on her appearance, saying she could be a model. Colmillo ignored it, she had started getting comments like that once her growth spurt hit, she was used to them by now. Osiris looked like he wanted to punch the man. They paid and began to walk back, enjoying their frozen treats, Colmillo making sure to hold Osiris' hand as they walked.
The stroll back was peaceful, a gentle breeze had swept through. The pair took their time. Talking about something stupid, how Goku couldn't beat SpongeBob in a fight. Osiris was convinced a Kamehameha would end SpongeBob since punches would do nothing to him, Colmillo had to remind him that SpongeBob had survive a nuclear explosion. This sent Osiris into a state of contemplation as he chewed on one of Sonic's eyes. Then they heard it.
It wasn't the first they had heard, but this one was close. It rand and echoed off the building that surrounded them. Colmillo instinctively put an arm around her brother hand had them both duck to the street. When the ringing stopped, the pair got up, pace quickened to where their father was. From across the street Colmillo could see it-- the bootlegger was dead, blood pooling around him-- what could he have done? Nothing, Colmillo would later find out, except "refusing to comply" quickly enough. Whatever that meant. A cop had his gun pointed at her father. What could you do in a situation like this? She kept asking herself what she could do-- there had to be some way deescalate this, right? Her father hadn't even had the chance to raise his hand before she notice he was no longer holding her hand. Osiris wasn't holding her hand anymore. The 8 year old was running toward his father. Colmillo's eyes were as wide as tea plates-- that definitely wasn't what you were supposed to do. She'd lived here long enough to know that.
She raised her hand helplessly, her throat closed shut. She just needed to force out the right words, right? That would fix this. Say just the right thing and then this could be over, and they could all go back tot heir fun afternoon. But what were they? Why couldn't she say anything? Why couldn't she move? Why was this happening at all? Keep your head down and do what they wanted-- those were the rules. Why--
The cop rounded on Osiris. Shooting instinctively. Without care. The cop shot the kid. He was in survival mode-- what did he care that his target was 100 pounds soaking wet? Of course her father had seen this and reacted faster than her. Still frozen there. He'd seen his son running and began to shout at the cop-- the two probably couldn't even hear each other, blood rushing in their ears. Each for reasons of thinking they and their own were about to die. Osiris crumpled in the middle of the street. Her father tackled the cop the ground, he couldn't think anymore, it would be impossible for him to comply. The gun went sliding along the asphalt of the street as the two hit the ground. Her father pounding the officer's skull against the ground, until red started to appear, cracks and squelches could be heard, and then pink started to appear.
Colmillo, moving without thinking, had made her way to her brother, eyes still wide as the scuffle happened, literal feet away from her. People were shouting around her. More sirens than before could be heard in the distance. She thought her hands were sticky from the ice cream before, but as the warm, dark red blood pooled around her, seeping into everything. Her dress, her socks, her shoes, her hand-- it was everywhere so quickly, gushing out of one small hole. She pressed against the hole, keeping pressure on the wound. She'd seen enough dramas with her mother to at least have some idea that this was what you were supposed to do. And keep him elevated as well? She kept his limp body in her lap like this for what felt like forever. Maybe it was just seconds? Should she shout for a doctor? Or anyone? Why were there so many people doing nothing but looking? She didn't know how to check for a pulse, so she pressed a bloody hand against his shirt, looking for something like a heartbeat. The fact that blood was still slowly pouring out meant it still had to be beating, right?
Colmillo's recollection of this part is a bit fuzzy. At some point she was pulled away from Osiris-- or rather, not pulled. Pulled is too strong a word. Like a tissue being taken from the box, she was gently lifted away. Her father in cuffs, expressing more anger than she could ever know. Two dead men. A Black man shot and a cop with no head left, just red jelly. Her brother in the back of an ambulance. She was placed in the back of a separate car from her father, the two of them dripping with blood, but she could still see him, raging like something she'd never seen before. She didn't have the vocabulary at the time. Probably still didn't now. But as the engines started, he happened to look at her, through the barred windows, despite the red in his eyes he mouthed 'I love you.'
This would be the last time she would ever see her father.
Her mother, spilling enough tears to clean all of the blood off of her, told her she'd get to see him again. The two spent a long time in the police station. And an even longer time in the hospital, days, as she recalled. Her mother was confident Osiris would pull through, that things would be different, but they'd get through it. At least, those are the words she kept saying. Colmillo said nothing. She couldn't. Not for a long time-- it felt like she was still back there, with the chocolate ice cream sealing up her throat.
She spent months not speaking, her closest attempts at communication were when she would try to kill herself, always thwarted, obviously. Even when Osiris did eventually open his eyes again. Even when her father's trail was over and the two might finally be able to visit him in the penitentiary. Her mother was right. Things were different. The bullet had shattered a good part of Osiris' spine, leaving him paralyzed and wheelchair bound for the rest of his life-- not to add that the shock and sudden blood loss left him mostly catatonic. And her father had "killed himself" in his cell before they could visit him. She was silent through all of this, her mother's hope becoming replaced with the desire to merely keep her daughter close. She quickly made the switch from warm and loving to cool and smothering. Colmillo didn't mind, through all of this, she was all she had. Slowly she began to speak again, to her only at first.
Life goes on. Colmillo eventually went back to her middle school, and no one noticed that she didn't speak. She drifted through the grades, floating like a leaf sustained by D's and C's. Her mother took to making sure her daughter took care of herself, where she couldn't. Many of her interests faded, and simple things like waking up or showing became monumental tasks for her. For a time, and even to this day-- it was almost as if Maria had two children who couldn't take care of themselves. Despite this, Maria recovered quickly-- always finding just enough work to scrape the three by. They downgraded apartments once. And then again. Selling trinkets and heirlooms along the way. The bills piled, but somehow the woman managed. Working through her own grief, the new needs of her son, and practically dressing and bathing her daughter everyday, all while working 3 jobs-- and she even began dating online.
And you know what's weird? It worked.
A man of a much higher tax bracket took an interest in Maria-- and her two children. By the time Colmillo had failed Freshmen year for the first time in New York. The two were a serious item. Like, moving in serious. Like, let's merge our families Brady Bunch style serious. The man saw something in Maria, a spark of online romance became a flame-- he had her fly out to see him when she could. Even flew out Colmillo and Osiris so they could meet who would later be her step brother and sister. Frederick Westphalen was his name, but he told Colmillo and Osiris to call him Freddy. Colmillo called him Fred. He was ex-military, but you couldn't tell from his frame or demeanor. He was in real estate now. He and her mother bonded over tragedy. He'd lost men who were like brothers to him in the senseless fighting he'd gone through to afford an education. It still woke him up screaming at night. He'd lost his wife to cancer a few years back, it was terrible and slow, but in the end at least they got to say goodbye. He'd lost a lot, and he just wanted to find something with someone who got it, now, you know?
So, when she was 15-- they all moved in together. She began attending Stockbridge Academy as a Freshmen. A big fancy place in the suburbs-- with enough rooms that no one had to share-- she had never had her own room before, with the exception of her mother and her new step-father of course. Colmillo liked him well enough-- he didn't judge her for her sadness, and he never once commented on how 'pretty' she was, when he spoke to her, he treated her as an equal, basically. And while she didn't have it in her heart to love a new father, she could at least respect him. She could appreciate that they both loved her mother. He knew she needed help. Needed therapy and extra assistance with school after being behind in... everything for so long. But he didn't push it on her. He let her spend most of her time in her room, sleeping. He was old enough to know that change had to come from within. He may not have showered her with the endless love of deceased father, but he knew other things about fathering. Colmillo wished the two could have met.
She only passed Freshman year thanks to Fred. As said previously, he didn't push, but he did gently prod. His children, her step-siblings, Gerald and Ashley, were about her age, but had actually skipped a few grades and were close to graduating. Every night, they'd have a set aside study time. Occasionally, a light tap on her door would come from her mother, asking if she wanted to join them. She knew, every time, Fred had put her up to it, and every time Fred knew enough about her to know that despite the fact that she didn't want to, she wouldn't say no. Not to her mother. Those sessions didn't fix the years of academic malnourishment she'd endured-- but it made it easy enough to get consistent C's and even an occasional B. Enough to pass, apparently.
Skip to today. Her mother is a doting housewife, pregnant with her half sibling. Still fusses over Colmillo each morning to get her ready and out of bed, she's her best friend. Osiris, still wheelchair bound, is as close to Fred as he ever was to their biological father, he gladly took up Fred's offer for personal tutors and he's on track to skip 8th grade if he continues at this rate, he plays wheelchair basketball in a league Fred found, and has more friends than attempts Colmillo has made on her own life-- relations between them are strained, Osiris loves her, of course, but Colmillo can hardly look at him. It's her fault he's stuck in that chair after all. Her Step-siblings are cool, they've been nothing but encouraging to her since she's arrived. They pass each other in the hall and they always take the time to greet her, despite her desire to not be seen. And when the library is closed and she can't hide behind a computer for lunch, they let her sit with them, despite being fairly popular seniors. Still, they're not her friends.
Colmillo is the oldest sophomore in the school, she's fairly certain. Her 17th birthday is creeping up. She's yet to do any of the things teenagers are supposed to do. She still struggles in pretty much every subject. She's barely interested in anything besides dicking away time on the internet. She's never had a girlfriend, or even been kissed. She can't let go of the trauma of the past or her sadness in the present. She knows she should see a therapist. She still wants to die...
But, now there's zombies. Dope.
tl;dr Colmillo had a poor, but loving family in New York. She was often bullied in school for being a bit behind due to her penchant for getting distracted and unique ways of solving problems. At the tender age of 12, after witnessing an act of Police brutality that shattered her family, she developed severe clinical depression that has yet to be treated by a professional. This would only increase the bullying she endured, however her patience would allow her to endure it, suffering in silence, as it were. Her family somehow managed until she was 15, when her mother moved in with a somewhat wealthy man in Michigan, where she was enrolled in Stockbridge Academy. The bullying is less severe here, as she has learned to better stay hidden. She doesn't have any friends, but two fairly popular step-siblings who go here and invite her to eat lunch with them when she can.
Colmillo is an obviously depressed girl, who has a hidden inner well of deep compassion. She despises violence of all forms and would rather sacrifice herself in some way than have even someone's voice be raised at another. Unfortunately, she typically lacks the resolve to fully see such acts of self-sacrifice though, as she is very self-conscious and tends to overthink things. She rarely smiles, and when she does, it's usually for the sake of others. She's insecure about a lot of aspects of her body and her personality in general. Often feeling she is an "empty" person. She has very little interests besides sleeping, and smoking pot while browsing the internet-- or otherwise completely wasting time. Timid and reserved describe her best, though she can be pushed to action. She has the patience of a saint and has a weakness for pretty women. She secretly wants to be more than what she is right now, but doesn't know to even begin to change.
- A black messenger-bag containing: her phone, earbuds, an old school Walkman, 5 CDs, chapstick, used up batteries, a notable under-assortment of school supplies - A thermos with still warm coffee
CAS/ADV/1x1/ASK w/ any range of genres. Although, decidedly I like slower burns, with strong characters, potential for romance, and experimentation within narrative structure and non-traditional story telling. I also like incorporating music, and will do that at any given opportunity.
For stalkers who want to know how many RPs I am/was involved in, see; [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/83482-ariel-darcs-haunted-cs-pile/ooc]Ariel Darcs' Haunted [s]Graphiti[/s] CS Pile[/url]
[i](note; this just covers New Guild--I was on Old Guild for years and never once thought "Oh! I should save my characters!"-- and even then, this isn't quite all of New Guild-- I GUESS you could just look at it as general examples of how I do, I'll link a few RPs for certain characters I like for those platinum level stalkers.)[/i][hr][hr][center]~~~[img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/816a7fa0f8117de1b9503c217d5d5d1e/tumblr_ncfwyoPFgt1tife6ro8_500.png[/img]~~~[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><br>CAS/ADV/1x1/ASK w/ any range of genres. Although, decidedly I like slower burns, with strong characters, potential for romance, and experimentation within narrative structure and non-traditional story telling. I also like incorporating music, and will do that at any given opportunity.<br><br>For stalkers who want to know how many RPs I am/was involved in, see; <a href="http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/83482-ariel-darcs-haunted-cs-pile/ooc">Ariel Darcs' Haunted <span class="bb-s">Graphiti</span> CS Pile</a> <br><br><span class="bb-i">(note; this just covers New Guild--I was on Old Guild for years and never once thought "Oh! I should save my characters!"-- and even then, this isn't quite all of New Guild-- I GUESS you could just look at it as general examples of how I do, I'll link a few RPs for certain characters I like for those platinum level stalkers.)</span><hr class="bb-hr"><hr class="bb-hr"><div class="bb-center">~~~<img src="http://68.media.tumblr.com/816a7fa0f8117de1b9503c217d5d5d1e/tumblr_ncfwyoPFgt1tife6ro8_500.png" />~~~</div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><hr class="bb-hr"><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/eg60bj3.jpg" /></div><br><div class="bb-center">~~~</div></div>