Hey I'm interested in joining, but before I start working on a sheet, would it be acceptable to have a prepper who wasn't ready for an apocalypse, and was more just a little extra stocked up incase of a regular natural disaster. Or do the preppers have to be expecting the apocalypse?
That's the route I've gone down too. Hope it's okay.
I have gone a slightly different route to others, I hope my character styles will still be able to fit into this story. I thought these characters would add a unique flair to the story away from the prepared characters, two people struggling who didn't preplan! Please let me know if this isn't OK, I feel they'd fit in with more the Road Warriors/Lone Ranger play style.
Life After -
The Stronghold:
A roof tent on top of a 2012 Toyota Hilux. It was rough and aging, the material patched together in numerous places and the fold down ladder rusty. The young couple lived out of the tent whenever they were on the road and couldn’t find a motel to crash in. Since the disaster a motel that still operates is very rare but they occasionally bump into a madman that’s still in business; ofcourse they no longer use cash as currency, it’s all smokes, booze and drugs.
Living out of a tent wasn’t exactly like living in a five star hotel, but the ability to travel freely while avoiding any links to society made it worth it. Nobody could trace them, no postal address , no police that could come knocking. Complete Freedom.
The Toyota Hilux looked like it had been through a tough life but mechanically it was sound. The body worked bumps, knocks and holes. It was more scratched that the face of a penny and the rust was a similar colour. The three litre engine had 250,000 KMs on the clock but had never missed a service, the oil changed regularly and the coolant kept to the correct level. When a vehicle is your home you don’t want it breaking down.
A Glock pistol is attached to the inside driver side door, held on by a makeshift duct tape holder that Byron had created himself. On the passenger side dashboard a pump action rifle lays, ready to be grabbed by whoever was riding ‘shotgun’. Behind their heads held up by a metal pipe is a rarely used hunting rifle, it’s old and prone to jams but with a bit of TLC could be operating as good as new. A hundred rounds of ammo for the pistol sat in a box inside the glove compartment, next to a box of fifty shotgun shells and twenty-five loose rifle ammunition. Not a lot in comparison to some people but before the disaster they rarely used the guns, often finding the the sight of them scared people more than actually shooting.
In the back of the truck locked away in a ‘dog cage’ is several cartons of Marlboro cigarettes, holding six hundred cigarettes in total. The writing on the front of the cigarettes is a health warning in Spanish. They had purchased these in bulk in Mexico tax free in the hope of selling them for profit back in California. In a duffel bag held a variety of narcotics and medicine. A few boxes containing four hundred asrins and two hundred ibuprofens they used regularly to fight away hangovers. Two hundred codeine pills and three hundred Tramadol pills he had stolen from his mother before leaving. He had photocopied and forged his mothers prescription to receive a vast load of this medication from different chemists on the same day. Two kilograms of Cannabis that had once belonged to the Cartel and two hundred grams of Ketamine in pill format that he had stolen from a Veterinary office in South California.
In a large cooler box located at the rear of the truck is twelve Corona beers, six pints of milk, two loaves of bread, two packets of ham and a wedge of cheese. The staples of a great diet. Three twenty litre jerry cans sit side by side, one filled with water and the other two filled with petrol.
Survivors:
Byron and Riley co inhabited the truck. Two young try hard wannabe Bonnie and Clyde’s who drunk daily and would take any drugs they could get there hands on. They have lived the start of their adult lives on the road, evading the police and traveling back and forth between Mexico and California running drugs and weapons for the Mexican cartel. They were low level and didn’t hold a lot of trust by the cartel but were seen as expendable so often used.
Byron is six foot two, leaning towards the slightly skinny lanky side. He has dark hair that hangs just over his eyes and is comparable to a messy mop, it’s unclear whether he chooses this style or hasn’t had a good haircut in a long while. He grew up with a single disabled mother who was bedridden due to a back injury. He had nobody to wash his clothes or teach him how to dress and as such was bullied at school. To deal with his childhood trauma he began stealing his mothers pain killers, getting high regularly at a young age. He often got into fights and had to learn fast how to defend himself in a cruel world.
He eventually ran away at the age of fifteen, and began to roam the streets. During his time on the streets Byron learnt how to sleep rough in an urban environment, he learnt where he could sleep without being found, where he could easily find and steal food and where he could find water. He fell in with the wrong crowd and flitted between homelessness and jail.
Riley is five foot six inches with dirty blonde hair that was once brown, the original colour has started to grow out from her roots and split ends cover her shoulder blades. She has a pretty face but you can tell she leaves a rough life. Dark bags hang from her eyes and her skin is prone to outbreaks. Riley also became homeless at an early age, growing up in an abusive household with two alcoholic parents that treated her violently regularly and blamed her for all there economic and marital problems. She was meant to be the baby that saved the marriage but ended up taking the blame for every problem before and after her birth.
At the age of fourteen she escaped from the house after a particular brutal fight with her dad, she had started to lash out and fight back against her parent causing him to hit her even harder. She flitted between older mens homes and dark alleys as she hunted for a secure and stable place to call her home. Learning early to use her charisma to get herself out of sticky situations, by putting on a vulnerable female act she could bend people to her every whim then exploit them. She convinced people to take her in then stole everything they owned.
Riley and Byron met through a mutual friend, a drug dealer. The couples similar experiences drew them together and they bonded quickly, becoming partners in crime and going on to spend years on the road together.
The Lore:
Byron drove with a joint in his hand and a beer in the center console, he believed that while wanted for numerous federal charges that would put him in prison for the majority of his life a DUI is the least of his worries. Riley sat in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dash, staring into the mirror half day dreaming half looking for blue flashing lights. They’d lived this way for nearly eight years.
Riley tapped out a cigarette from the packet, reading the warnings but not understanding the language. “How much do you think we’ll get for all of these?” She asks, snapping out of her trance and looking over to Byron.
Byron exhales smoke as he replies“I’ma try get ten dollars a packet at least, we need to undercut the reservation. I hope the government bans that shit, more money in my pocket.” “And what about the dope in the back?”
“Fuck all, we still owe the Cartel the initial principle. If we don’t pay them back by next week we’re done for. I don’t think even an apocalypse or some big disaster could stop them chasing up debts.” Laughed Byron, chucking the smoked roach out of the window. He continued driving, Lo-Fi rap was playing through the radio, his iPod connected via an Aux cable.
Riley leant over and turned down the music, causing Byron the scowl. Ignoring the scowl Riley sat up straight, looking over with a pleading look in her eyes. “I’m getting sick of this, baby… Let’s just shift this gear and go on the lamb, get on a plane and go to some foreign country, somewhere cheap like Thailand. They’ll never find us there! I don’t know how much longer I can live off tinned beans and mouldy bread.”
Byron snapped back coldly, causing Riley to flinch. “Are you fucking stupid? What did I just say about them never stopping? Whatcha’ want to do? Go into the forest and set up some kind of camp, I’ll hunt while you stitch clothing? It’s delusional, this is the twenty first century. You can’t just disappear.”
He fumed silently for a while, swigging on his beer as he continued to drive down the long stretch of road. He calmed down and glanced over to Riley sobbing silent tears. “Look… I’ll plan something big. A job that will pave the way for our future, no more little scores.. We’ve got each other and that’s all that matters, no matter what happens.”
I am SurvivalistJ, I look forward to writing and creating a story with you all. I am a male originally from England, however I am currently backpacking around Australia (so I may have patchy WiFi!).
I first started roleplaying around 2007, starting my career on MSN with a group of Harry Potter roleplayers, looking back it was super cringie filled with half line actions, awful writing and tons and tons of smut. I then moved on to Harry Potter roleplay forums where the roleplay improved and actual stories devolped. In 2008/2009 I found San Andreas Multiplayer, a mod for the popular San Andreas game that allowed multiplayer on a single player game and custom game modes. I played on two of the main roleplay servers on and off for nearly ten years! When GTA:V multiplayer modification was released I moved onto the new very buggy roleplay servers to continue roleplaying.
At the end of 2017, I sold up all my worldly possessions apart from a mobile and a laptop, ended the lease on my home and flew one-way to Australia to start my backpacking travels. I am on the road with patchy internet, often working in outback farms so please excuse my disappearances and late replies, I'll always get back to you when I can!