Jasmine had been seated on her wool-draped couch, tilting her head up as the announcement sounded throughout the building. She'd been told about it beforehand and, honestly, she was looking forward to it. Perfect excuse to just sit around and not do a damn thing.
She had her TV remote in one hand and a can of Sprite in the other. When the announcement made out the word of a banquet, her brain immediately boiled it down into several other words. Free, food, and bloodsports.
God she loved the idea of bloodsports. Wished they were still around.
"Feast." She whispered to herself.
She shut her TV off without checking whatever channel she'd mindlessly flipped to. The standard cable selection here never struck her fancy with any programs. She downed the last of the Sprite and tossed the can into her little kitchen's garbage bin. She contemplated washing her hair or putting deodorant on for about two seconds before remembering who she was as a person. Armed in some baggy jeans and a few layers of shirts, she made her way out her apartment door to begin her long and arduous journey up to floor fourteen.
And while completely unnecessary, she mentally prepared herself to die historic on the Fury Road.
I'm half-expecting some kind of morality tracking here with every man-turned-monster the cast put down. Like once the month is up everyone turns back to normal or the towers are almost completely vacant, right before the FBI rolls in and we get the good ending or the bad one.
I wanna prematurely establish Jasmine as "that girl who screams VALHALLA and punches the mail system operator in the face whenever she picks up a package".
Appearance: Jasmine is Caucasian. She's a stunted girl standing at 5'1. Lean build, flat as a board, clear complexion. Very light blond hair, braided extensively and reaching down to her chest and shoulder plates. Pale blue eyes, with eyebrows almost always etched into a scowl. Average nose, thin lips. Never seen without her rasta beanie, which her dad bought for her some time back. Has a button with the number thirty-seven pinned to it. Accustomed to warm, baggy clothing on all occasions.
Name: Jasmine Plunkett Age: 20 Gender: Female
Years in Whittier: Five months Occupation: Unemployed Room Number: 1107
Personality:
+ Consistently honest, not one to lie about much. + Handles hostile situations fairly well. + Trustworthy, follows through on deals and promises always. - Adamant, even when proven wrong. - Quick to make a play before thinking it through. - Subtlety is an alien concept to her.
Small Biography: Jasmine was born in the upper part of California under fairly normal conditions. However by some happenstances she's not privy to the specifics about, she was put up for adoption and moved out of the state during her earlier years. After some time of growing up into a rambunctious little girl in an average orphanage, she was taken in by a single father earning a modest wage and moved to Seattle. There she stayed for a good bit, further developing her tomboyish, constantly angry nature. Her new dad didn't seem to mind, but nonetheless she made sure not to cause too many problems for him. She got a cheap education, but managed to excel in most of her classes, particularly those of a literary variety. She displayed a, some would say, "colorful" choice of words. In Jasmine's own description she'd say, "I will scry the letter etches off my think-pan if I goddamn FEEL LIKE IT."
As time went on there was a gradual falling out between Jasmine and her guardian. He was incidentally the one causing problems around the household, getting involved with some shady individuals. Scams to nab some cash, mostly. He'd turned from a decent guy who wanted to raise a child after losing his first one into a wannabe criminal, thinking it was a better option to support the family of two than the odd jobs he was already pulling. Jasmine put up with it for the time being, hoping he would wise up and knock off his shit.
He didn't.
The turning point came when Jasmine's dad showed up one night with a gym bag full of money and no inclination to explain where it came from. Yelling ensued, with Jasmine threatening to call the police. The heat boiled down to an impromptu compromise - Jasmine would take some of the ill-gotten cash and move out to fend for herself, keeping silent about the ordeal, or she'd pipe up. Either way, she didn't want to be around anymore. Dad wished she'd see things from his perspective, but nonetheless, he let her go without incident, with both promising that they wouldn't rat each other out. Jasmine was left with one last bit of advice - move somewhere out of the way. Nice, cozy, safe.
Whittier was just the place. Jasmine always liked cold weather.
@MissCapnCrunch Yo I read all the stuff about vampires and wendigos and what have you but what about the "outside forces flocking to the towers". Are they gonna be more of the same or do we got some eldritch pancake mongers to worry about.
Member
ML
Enarr