Oh hell no. Fuck that. Yasha continued to glare as the creature mentioned taking his blood. Yeah, he was sure it would love to have his blood. For 'testing' purposes. He'd sooner trust a politician. He noticed that Isam didn't even flinch at the creature. He probably had shit like that running all over the damn place in Iraq. Yasha distinctly remembered the man's description of camel spiders. It made his skin crawl.
"Omar is in the kitchen," Isam offered, "We're about to head that way if you want to come with us."
Yasha gave Isam a dirty look. Yeah, invite the giant spider to come with us, asshole. He gave a resentful grunt as he turned and headed up the hall, which he assumed, from the signs posted on the wall, led to the kitchen.
Omar was enjoying himself. The kitchen was a decent size, had plenty of cabinet space, and was fully stocked with every ingredient he could ever need. This could be heaven. He dug his recipe book out of his bag and flipped through the pages to find something that would make a good crowd pleaser. He wasn't sure what the crew's tastes were, given that some of them weren't even human, but he would try keep them happy. During lunch, he hoped to learn if any of them had any specific dietary needs -such as an allergy, religious aversions, or medical conditions- that would affect his meal making.
Omar landed on a page for shredded chicken tacos. He couldn't remember anyone ever complaining when he made these. He left the book open on the counter as he went work. There was a crockpot in the pantry, and whole chickens in the cooler. He roughly knew the number of people he had to feed, and he also knew that one of them was a very large, green man. Omar figured that Lug would need a whole chicken just for himself. He had his work cut out for him, that was for sure.
Within a couple hours, lunch would be ready.
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Was is possible for someone to fall asleep while walking? If so, Isam was pretty sure he was capable of it. Today wasn't near as bad as some, where he would let himself get so tired that he would begin to hear things. He knew, however, that that stage was right around the corner if he didn't rest. But every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he heard screaming. He would see blood and the faces of the people that died because of him. He would wake up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, because he could hear them begging him for their life back. Did Isam believe in ghosts? Sometimes, he was sure he did.
His steady steps on the gravel was just about the only man made sound he could hear. Not many people were up at this time of day, with the sun only just now peaking over the landscape. Isam was a man that liked his space, but that didn't mean he didn't like people. He often found that people were the best distraction from himself. If he could keep his mind busy, it wouldn't torment him as much. If he really got involved, sometimes it wouldn't torment him at all.
He looked down at his boots as he walked. The same boots he wore almost every day. Isam wasn't too into fashion. He usually wore cargo pants, like the grey ones he had on today, and dull colors shirts. The black tank top he wore now showed off a few of the scars that graced his arms, not that he particularly cared. His curly hair was left down, the unruly black creature almost reaching his shoulders. When he found the time to brush it, it would actually take on a silky texture, but Isam rarely had time to tame his hair. The closest he would come would be putting it up in a pony tail.
Isam was halfway between sleep and awake when he was hit by something. Someone. He was almost knocked off his feet, being taken by surprise. Isam wasn't a tall man, but he was solid. He staggered back a couple steps and looked up to see who had ran into him. It was a women; he was pretty sure he had seen her around before, but he couldn't place a name with her. She was pretty. Pretty rude.
"Sorry," Isam said, his voice thickly accented. He didn't have enough fight in him to argue his case. "I'll do better next time." The way he delivered the last line made it sound very insincere; sarcastic almost. He bent over to pick up his house keys, which had fallen out of his pocket when she ran into him, and stuffed them back into his jacket.
His steady steps on the gravel was just about the only man made sound he could hear. Not many people were up at this time of day, with the sun only just now peaking over the landscape. Isam was a man that liked his space, but that didn't mean he didn't like people. He often found that people were the best distraction from himself. If he could keep his mind busy, it wouldn't torment him as much. If he really got involved, sometimes it wouldn't torment him at all.
He looked down at his boots as he walked. The same boots he wore almost every day. Isam wasn't too into fashion. He usually wore cargo pants, like the grey ones he had on today, and dull colors shirts. The black tank top he wore now showed off a few of the scars that graced his arms, not that he particularly cared. His curly hair was left down, the unruly black creature almost reaching his shoulders. When he found the time to brush it, it would actually take on a silky texture, but Isam rarely had time to tame his hair. The closest he would come would be putting it up in a pony tail.
Isam was halfway between sleep and awake when he was hit by something. Someone. He was almost knocked off his feet, being taken by surprise. Isam wasn't a tall man, but he was solid. He staggered back a couple steps and looked up to see who had ran into him. It was a women; he was pretty sure he had seen her around before, but he couldn't place a name with her. She was pretty. Pretty rude.
"Sorry," Isam said, his voice thickly accented. He didn't have enough fight in him to argue his case. "I'll do better next time." The way he delivered the last line made it sound very insincere; sarcastic almost. He bent over to pick up his house keys, which had fallen out of his pocket when she ran into him, and stuffed them back into his jacket.
Cool :3
If anyone body would like to interact with Fen or Isam
It would make me happy ,_,
I would be a happy person.
It would make me happy ,_,
I would be a happy person.
Ooh :3 I like it. And here's what I like:
Mulan plot (we can PM ideas)
Mercenaries are cool
Soldiers are cool too.
I like researching culture, so my character may or may not be foreign.
If you wanna RP, feel free to PM me :3
Mulan plot (we can PM ideas)
Mercenaries are cool
Soldiers are cool too.
I like researching culture, so my character may or may not be foreign.
If you wanna RP, feel free to PM me :3
Kind of a shitty first post :( I was a bit rushed while getting ready for work.
The morning found Fen in bed, still sleeping soundly as the sun rose into the sky. He enjoyed his rest, in his nice, soft bed, in the quiet of his own room. Fen had thought it was pretty cool to get a house of his own, even if he did share half of it with some guy with a funny accent. His housemate was never a bother. Isam was sort of a quiet fellow.
Fen began to stir when the sun shined into his window. He rolled over onto his back and cracked his eyes open to look up at the plain, white ceiling. His stomach gave a soft growl. What was for breakfast, he wandered? Fen had never learned how to cook, so Isam usually did the meal making. But when Fen pulled on his basketball shorts and ventured out, no Isam was to be found. No breakfast, either. The wolf man gave a disappointed whimper. He went into the pantry and settled for a stale bagel that had been there for a while.
As he munched on his unimpressive breakfast, Fen headed out the front door and into the little paradise. There were several people out and about, but none of them were his housemate. Fen absently wandered where the man had gotten off to.
Isam had left the house when it was still dark. Maybe night he found himself laying in bed, awake, too tired to fall asleep. He finally decided to get up, get dressed, and maybe go do something useful. At the ungodly hour that he ventured out, the most useful thing he could think to do was sweep the front porch. It gave him time to get some fresh, to clear his head.
Once the sun had risen, Isam made his way over to his closest friend's home. Omar was usually who he went to talk to when things got rough. He knew the things Isam was forced to live with, and he somehow always knew what to say to him. The man's home was almost all the way across the city, which was fine with Isam. The walk was peaceful and refreshing. He kept his hands in the front pockets on his jacket as he walked along, halfway dazed with exhaustion. Maybe he should sleep soon.
Fen began to stir when the sun shined into his window. He rolled over onto his back and cracked his eyes open to look up at the plain, white ceiling. His stomach gave a soft growl. What was for breakfast, he wandered? Fen had never learned how to cook, so Isam usually did the meal making. But when Fen pulled on his basketball shorts and ventured out, no Isam was to be found. No breakfast, either. The wolf man gave a disappointed whimper. He went into the pantry and settled for a stale bagel that had been there for a while.
As he munched on his unimpressive breakfast, Fen headed out the front door and into the little paradise. There were several people out and about, but none of them were his housemate. Fen absently wandered where the man had gotten off to.
Isam had left the house when it was still dark. Maybe night he found himself laying in bed, awake, too tired to fall asleep. He finally decided to get up, get dressed, and maybe go do something useful. At the ungodly hour that he ventured out, the most useful thing he could think to do was sweep the front porch. It gave him time to get some fresh, to clear his head.
Once the sun had risen, Isam made his way over to his closest friend's home. Omar was usually who he went to talk to when things got rough. He knew the things Isam was forced to live with, and he somehow always knew what to say to him. The man's home was almost all the way across the city, which was fine with Isam. The walk was peaceful and refreshing. He kept his hands in the front pockets on his jacket as he walked along, halfway dazed with exhaustion. Maybe he should sleep soon.
Yasha, who had pulled out his phone to check the time, turned when he heard his name. The man gave a rather undignified sound as he jumped at the sight of the spider. Fucking spiders, man. Isam turned around as well, and although he seemed mildly surprised, his expression was more amused than anything. He knew Yasha hated spiders, and the sight of a giant one dressing up like a person was sort of funny to him.
"It's a pleasure," Isam said to the creature, always the polite one. Yasha, on the other hand, had turned a bit pale and was glaring at it with clenched teeth.
"It's a pleasure," Isam said to the creature, always the polite one. Yasha, on the other hand, had turned a bit pale and was glaring at it with clenched teeth.
:.Born As.:
Isam Hajjar
:.Appear To Be.:
Thirty-five
:.The Doctor Said.:
Male
:.I Swing Towards.:
Women
:.A Glorious Gift.:
-He's a born leader: brave, loyal, good at making tough decisions.
-He's a formidable fighter, having proved his proficiency in battle several times.
-A tinkerer. He's good at making and fixing various objects.
:.The Proud.:
Usually the guy people come to when they need dirty work done. He's not exactly proud of that.
:.People Say.:
When Isam began his journey to the Paradise Land, he was a good man. He had pure intentions: getting these people, strangers as they may be, to the safe haven and hopefully living a peaceful life there. But the journey proved harder than he could have imagined. At out the all the people of his group, Isam was the one that became the understood leader. He had to call the shots, and they weren't all pretty. The long, hard road to the safe haven was paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Isam did things he wasn't proud of, thing that he would likely never forget.
Once he reached the haven, he was spent. Isam was done being a leader, done being everyone's personal bodyguard, and done being a killer. All he wanted was time to unwind and get his head on straight. He suffered anxiety and paranoia, and the nightmares kept him up most nights. And despite his efforts to escape the violence, he was still the one people came to when they needed someone gone. When someone came to the haven with foul intent, or when someone got infected with the mysterious living dead illness. It seemed that Isam could never escape what he was: a killer.
To most people, Isam is a quiet and respectful man. He's calm, reserved, and mostly seen as the serious type. Can occasionally be seen practicing dry humor.
:.What You See.:
Isam is 5'6" and muscular. His hair is black, curly, and shoulder length. It was often unbrushed and unruly, sometimes worn back in a ponytail. He often sported facial hair. His skin is a medium brown, and his eye are dark brown. Isam's body bare extensive scarring, most of it from his years of travel. His fashion choices are hardly that; Isam is a utilitarian by nature. He wears army pants, earth tone t-shirts and tank tops, and combat boots almost every day of his life.
:.The Past Was.:
Isam was born in Afghanistan. His country was a rough place to live. Cities were in shambles, kids were getting legs blown off by old land mines, the land was arid and infertile, people were struggling in poverty...To be honest, not much changed. He grew up with very little family, most of them having died of illness or starvation. Isam learned from a young age what death and loss was, and after a while, he grew comfortable with it. People died all the time; it was just a thing that happened.
When he was 24, he heard about a group of people getting a ship ready to travel to the supposed Paradise Land. He honestly didn't have very high expectations, but it couldn't be any worse then where he was, right? While on the ship, it as discovered that he was the only guy in the group who could speak English, having learned it from his neighbors, who were of American descent. Isam was nominated the leader, seeing as most of the people on the Paradise land where likely English speakers. That's when things went downhill for the poor man.
The ship took four months to reach America. During that time, several of the passengers went mad with cabin fever. As the food supply began to dwindle, people started going at each other's throats, accusing each other of stealing and hoarding food. Isam had to keep his cool to sort the mess out. When one man finally lost his mind and started threatening the other passenger's lives, Isam was the one who had to kill him.
People slowly died off of starvation and disease, and Isam was the one who dumped the bodies into the sea, to keep the other passengers from cannibalizing them. By the time the ship landed, it wreaked of death. Isam couldn't get off the damn thing fast enough. They had started out with 97 people, and now they only had 63. They landed in eastern Canada, their ship having moved a few hundred miles off course. The people weren't prepared for the cold, and many froze to death. By the time they crossed the boarders into the United States, they were down to 41.
The caravan was attacked by thieves several times, and each time, Isam led his best fighters against them. Many of their attackers weren't all men; women and children were among them. Isam was the one who had to decide if they should keep the wives and children of the men they had murdered, and risk them seeking revenge, or to leave them to die. Usually, the choice wasn't one that left his conscience clean.
Over the years that it took them to travel to the Paradise lands on foot, the group was attacked by undead, raiders, and traitors. When one of them got infected, Isam usually had to kill them. When they took a raider captive, Isam was usually the one to pry information out of him. When their supplies ran low, Isam made the call to raid other survivor's camps, just to keep his own people alive.
By the time they finally reached the safe haven there were only 20 of them left. Isam was left with scars on his body and mind, and it may be years before they heal.
What country is the Paradise land in? I assume America?
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