"An army of sheep led by a lion is stronger than an army of lions led by a lamb."

Name
Ramona

Age
21

Gender
Female

Sexuality
Bisexual

Rank
Vice

Personality
Ramona is a courageous kid, with too much bravado and a strong sense of showmanship. She thrives under attention, and often acts recklessly to earn it, masking her need for acceptance under a daredevil attitude. When faced with a situation that calls for action, Ramona is heavily inclined to act, and think upon her feet. She's a highly motivated woman, with high activity levels, and sitting still does not bode well with her. She lives for the thrill of a hunt, and rarely allows a party to depart without her. She believes it to be a strong bonding experience, and bonds are what she thrives for. (She also loves the dogs). She's an eloquent creature, with an eye for flair, and an optimistic outlook on life. She's fiercely devoted to her family, maybe to a fault, and she would die for them without a second thought. She has no doubt they would do the same. Though she has a difficult time forming lasting bonds, due to her tendency to fling herself into danger, those she does manage to forge are forever.

Another piece of her multi faceted personality is her charm. She's a charismatic bastard, with a chipped tooth grin and cocky, devil- may- care demeanor. To those who don't quite know her, she's a bit full of herself. To those that do- she's a bit full of herself. What can she say? She's funny, and she knows it. She loves to talk, and loves the sound of her own voice, though she also loves the ideas of others. She finds herself captivated by other people- the way they walk, the way they talk, anything is fascinating to her. She once watched a bug simply go about its day for several hours. Ramona occasionally has episodes of intense focus, where everything she sets her mind to gets done. The rest of her time is split into two categories: to finish later, and to finish after this.

She's a cunning creature, should she decide to stop moving and think, which is rare. Her wit is as sharp as her glare, and she never hesitates to let a quip dance from her tongue. The reactions are varied, but typically range from annoyed grunts, to polite, but fake, chuckles, and a full fledged belly laugh. She jokes regardless. Ramona's secret talent is making jokes about the worst things at the worst times. She once made a stab at bringing light to the loss of one of the group's beloved elders, mentioning how she must hate being dead or something along those lines, only to find most of the group still hadn't quite recovered from the loss. She accepted that defeat: a rare occurrence.

She's a stubborn kid, and not one to give up easily. Ramona loves creative solutions, and her drawings, done with a cactus needle in the packed sand of the tent, are often spiraled around where she sleeps. Once you have crossed her, she will never forget. She's one to hold a grudge for a very long time, and she's never one to let things slip her mind. Despite this, she's a brave, showy woman, with a fierce loyalty towards her family and a fascination with all things that might catch his eye. A powerful ally, and a dangerous enemy.

Appearance
Ramona is tall, standing at five foot nine, and with a lean build. She struggles putting on weight and muscle, and she's often the first one to show physical symptoms of starvation when food becomes scarce. She keeps her dark hair short, cut to halfway down her neck. She often brushes it back from her face, or tucks it behind her ears, but tendrils often fall over her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes are intense, and a mottled sea green color. They rest within a childish face, and already small wrinkles branch out from the corners of her eyes. Her face is tanned a dark color, making her eyes all the more striking.

Her fingers are nimble, long, and thin, perfect for grasping the cactus needles she loves to draw with. She uses them to make tattoos as well, though she herself is relatively unmarked. She offers this service free of charge for any who wish to look a bit more 'rugged'. The only spot of black ink she has upon her deeply tanned skin is that of a snake, twisting up her left arm. It is rarely seen unless she doffs her outer clothes and bares her arms. Her fingernails are short and uneven, from years of anxiety fueled biting. Two small, raised red dots on her left arm hint subtly towards the story behind the tattoo- a snake bit that should have killed her.

Ramona often wears a dull, once red scarf around her face when she ventures outside, along with a thin, pliable buckskin jacket, turned dark after years of use, and a pair of loose pants made of cactus fibers. They are none too soft, but she isn't used to luxury. When she's in the tent, she strips down to a cactus fiber shirt, dyed black with the same ink she uses for her tattoos. Her muscles are thin and sinewy, better equipped for running than for fighting. One of her front teeth is chipped, and it gives her cocky grin a signature appearance. Barely discernible freckles dance across her tanned face and bridge across her nose, ending in messy puddles on her cheeks. When she smiles, she has dimples.

Overall, Ramona is a tall, lean girl, with no striking beauty about her appearance. She's simply average, with average clothes, a cocky smile, and short, dark hair.

History
Ramona was born to parents in The Irredeemables. They weren't Originals, but they were part of the first generation. She lived a rather uneventful life. She learned the artful craft of hunting, honed her skills, building on her strengths and working through her weaknesses. When she was sixteen she went on her first real hunt, startled a snake, put her hand out in self defense and found its fangs sinking into her skin. She and the now dead snake were rushed back to the healer, who shook her head and mimed the poisonous qualities of the snake.

Ramona lay in excruciating pain for hours, twisting and turning on the tent's only cot before passing out. She woke up a week later, much to everyone's surprise. She was weak, but gradually built back her strength and returned to the hunt. She bears two small dots on her left forearm, and a debilitating fear of snakes. About a year after that happened her father went missing. People say he died, but Ramona can't help that little worm of doubt that writhes in her chest. Her mother died a short time later.

Relationships
Lance "Pilot" Haynes- Younger brother figure
Elias Dawn- Best friend

Other
Ramona's hands are peppered with small, thin marks. One small, dark scar runs down her eyebrow, and the hair there grew back white. It gives her a roguish look, but as a child she was often mocked for it.

Name
Aleksy

Age
Twenty-five [25]

Gender
Male

Sexuality
Pansexual/questioning

Rank
Civilian

Personality
To put it simply, Aleksy is a bit of a stereotypical lone-wolf. He strongly prefers to keep his distance from those around him and has never been a fan of things like intimate conversation and constant company. While he does make an effort to be friendly and welcoming, he often comes off as standoffish and blunt and doesn't typically attempt to apologize for the questionable behavior. That's not to say he doesn't appreciate having relationships; he's simply not very good at making them, and thus doesn't make much of an effort to try.

There were a few unfortunate traits that Aleksy adopted his parents: for example, their kleptomania. While he always means well, sometimes he will impulsively pick up something shiny and tuck it into his pocket, regardless of who it belongs to. There is never malice in his actions, of course. He still doesn't apologize but he won't hesitate to return said object... probably. Depends on how shiny it is.
Speaking of which, he's practically addicted to shiny things, and this doesn't just pertain to jewelry. He could be mesmerized by the glint of sunlight dancing over someone's lips as they speak, or the way the water in a cup reflects the dim glow of a dying light-bulb overhead. It often causes some awkward staring that makes him a tad flustered whenever he gets caught.

Appearance

art was made by me.
Despite his quiet, introverted personality, Aleksy is a man who would be quite easy to pick out in a crowd. For one, he's nearly 6'5'' [around 2 meters] tall, with an equal parts broad and willowy frame: powerful but elegant, intimidating but careful.
He also possesses a well-groomed mass of coffee-colored, shoulder-length hair that is often parted to one side and brushes over his face, accompanied by a kept chin-strap of a slightly darker hue. His medium grey-blue eyes are framed by dark lashes, which make a nice contrast to his evenly tanned skin and sparse assortment of light sun-freckles.

His skin is free of most blemishes such as scars or other conditions, aside from a couple of small white nicks in his knuckles and upper arms from knife-fights with a certain older brother back in his younger days. Due to the infliction being so long ago, most of these minuscule lines are faded. There is also a small beauty mark above the left side of his upper lip.

History
There isn't much about his past that Aleksy can remember honestly, not without accidentally filling in gaps with the lies he told himself as a child to excuse whatever he saw. What he can remember is that his parents were thieves. Natural psychopathic kleptomaniacs, uncaring towards those they stole from and what it did to them. Their greed hurt people, but they were hellishly intelligent and were able to fake enough charisma to convince people that they meant no harm. After having Aleksy's older brother, though, their insensitive habits did mellow out, and by the time Aleksy was born these tendencies had reduced to damned near nothing.
They tried to teach their children well but, being the abused pessimists they were, all they'd really done was cause the boys to become accustomed to a sort of "trust no one" mentality. Even so Aleksy doesn't look back upon his memories of his parents in disdain. Not fondness, either - indifference is more accurate, really. They didn't play much of an active role in his life so he really can't remember much about them.

His brother, who had actually ended up going through a horrendous teenage rebellion phase, disappeared after a heated argument about God-knows-what. A week or so after his disappearance, their parents set out to find him, and Aleksy hasn't seen any of the trio since. He doesn't really like to think about it. In all honesty, the thought that they might've just abandoned him is easier on his heart than thinking they were dead, but everyone who knows the story can see the truth as clear as daylight.

Relationships
Elias Dawn, with whom he shares a sort of frenemy bond.

Anyone is free to PM with ideas for relationships and such.

Other
Nothing particularly important.

What Brought you Here?
Saw a post about this roleplay in the RP chat and figured it could be interesting.

Role Play Sample
an excerpt from an old mafia roleplay.

It was almost endearing watching the poor boy try so desperately to communicate, especially when he'd hesitate so he could go look things up in a desperate attempt to avoid accidentally making a gang sign, most of which Enrique would have to smack him upside the head with the butt of a gun for. He’d never had someone so desperately try to accommodate to his so-called “set-backs”, as the boy had called his deafness earlier. Even his own brothers occasionally forgot that they couldn’t talk to him with their backs turned, unless they weren’t looking for a reply.
Despite however sweet the gesture might’ve been, it didn’t stop Enrique from wishing this boy would go far, far away from the room and just let him sleep. This little crush was as annoying as it was cute. And dangerous. Very dangerous.

He raised his brows at the comment Oscar made aloud; apparently, the boy had forgotten his boss could read lips.
At first Enrique felt he shouldn’t say anything so he wouldn’t end up embarrassing the poor lad, but he eventually felt the need to pipe up - perhaps just to entertain himself in case he didn’t wake up from the nap he planned to take. “This isn’t a Disney movie, kid. You’re welcome to try and kiss it better, but all you’re gonna get is a bunch'a blood in your mouth.”

He then reached out and placed a heavily bandaged hand on the cadet's, his words slurred as he tried his best not to screw up the tight stitch-work lining one corner of his lips, "I haven't been able to hear for shit since I was seventeen and you're still managing to talk my ear off. Now scram, would you? I just got my face kicked in and, I don’t know ‘bout you, but I could use a nap.” And with that, he flopped back onto the bed like a defeated fish, barely being able to stifle his grunt when he was painfully reminded that his face wasn't the only part of him that had been damaged.

"𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓪 𝓭𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓮?"
【Name】
Elias Dawn

【Age】
"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓘'𝓶 𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵."
24 years.

【Gender】
"𝓝𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓲𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓼. 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷."
Presents as male; however, he doesn't particularly care about pronouns.

【Sexuality】
"𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼, 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓮?"
Pansexual- Male leaning.

【Rank】
"𝓘'𝓶 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓭𝓼; 𝓘 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓭."
President.

【Personality】
"𝓜𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓸𝔀𝓷."
Elias often sees the glass as half empty rather than half full, generally assuming the worst of situations or the worst from individuals as a whole. His outlook can be described as grim, although, there is those sliver of times when he attempts to rectify his perspective, to bet he'll be optimistic is a losing one, in most circumstances.
Being full of intrigue, Elias oft has piqued interest over something, be it a person and their secrets to a specific field of knowledge, to something as simple as the forecasting of tomorrow's weather. They say curiosity killed the cat, and Elias will counter with satisfaction brought it back. The world is a place with roots of learning, and Elias is eager to pluck the sprouting buds.

At that, Elias is a creative soul, able to paint or play what rudimentary instruments can be created within the desert wastes with keen skill. Although, much to his chagrin, his muse is lacking, and dust has gathered upon the tools in which he used to produce art.
Something that can be considered a flaw and a trait that does indeed make Elias hard to read is his inability to express certain emotions. Elias is not open emotionally; instead, in fact, his doors are shut behind a multitude of facades, mainly, ones of cockiness and confidence. Such feigned composure hides his real emotions and, often, his intent, and this can make Elias seem to be a secretive individual and for some, hard to trust.
In the same breath, it can be stated Elias does not know how to show certain emotions, two of which hinders him most being love that is either profound or intense or sadness as both make him feel vulnerable.

Perhaps due to his upbringing, Elias is an embittered individual, and at times, a venomous person with a fanged bite. Caustically sardonic while vexed, Elias can be a force to reckon with when it comes to a battle of words. Slights oft go unforgiven and grudges are held deep like blood in his veins. In the meanwhile, Elias is intensely loyal to those he holds close. Be it defending them, or maintaining a secret, there is no wavering in Elias’s loyalty unless you’ve done something immense to hurt him. This loyalty, however, can be exploited, leaving Elias prone to getting involved in relationships not so idea on many fronts, being much akin to a kicked puppy, with no real sense on what the balance of a healthy relationship to an unhealthy relationship is whenever he falls loyal to an individual.

A compulsive liar, while this trait tends to weed itself out once he becomes close to an individual to a certain extent, to those he does not know well, he habitually lies and feigns stories on compulsion, often without meaning to (hence, the compulsion element). Of course, this tendency leads to dramatical tales or facts born from pure imagination. However, once one breaks past his stony exterior and to his core, this trait, oddly enough, tends to dissipate.

With a quick wit and a sharper tongue, Eli is something of a smooth talker, and a tad bit of a comedian. While his humor is cynical, it’s humor all the same. Eli can seem to know what to say and when to say it, allowing him to weasel out of the many tricky situations he finds himself in, despite odds. It’s not foolproof, but his mannerisms of speech have pulled him out of many a metaphorical gutter.

While not religious in particular, Elias is intrigued by the ideas of an afterlife, if not what stems from different cultures envisionings of what occurs after death. A bit of a morbid fascination.

As a leader, Elias makes for a curious choice. While exuding the confidence and self-assuredness one might expect from one voted as "President," alongside marked charisma, his motives can, at times, be questionable.
Regardless, he keeps up just airs and plays the role well. Whether this is a good thing or not for The Irredeemable remains to be seen.


【Appearance】
Elias is a willowy fellow, with a notably thin frame exaggerated by his height, standing at 6'3". Skin a bronze hue, with dark rings around his eyes, the man looks wearied with prominent dark circles lingering beneath his eyes, and to be frank, his tired looking state speaks of his insomniac nature.
Beauty marks speckle his face in various locations.

With eyes line by thick lashes, they are blue in coloration, with fleckings of greener hues. Beneath Eli's clothes, he is somewhat emaciated looking, thin to the point to where you can see indents with prominence between each rib, and along the length of his collarbone.
His hair is shorter with shaved sides and is ebony in its coloration. On his back is a tattoo of a moth with dissipating wings and along his chest is a long scar with tattered looking edges. Scars mar his arms; however, when asked about them, he has a million stories behind their appearance on his body. His back is blemished from nervous picking, alongside his arms, although, his tattoo obscures some of the occurrences of blemishing.

Elias oft dresses in simplistic in darker wear crafted from decayed fabric, often baggy to hide his meager form, now, although, he does tend to like looking more styled with clothing made from hide or leather if the mood strikes him. Per tradition, he will wear the pelt of a lion- a sight that can be intimidated if not expected- although, he finds it a bit cumbersome, so it is often only during meetings or when necessity calls.

His features are considerably chiseled, with higher set cheekbones and a rugged jaw, with a nose that curves upwards slightly.
Elias keeps himself clean shaven, free from pesky stubble.

Perpetually, he looks irked about something, and the probability is high that he is, indeed vexed at something or another.
Elias has an industrial bar piercing on both ears, crafted from recycled metals, and, at one point, he had a tongue piercing, of which he phased out of rather quickly.
It would be apt to say he is an individual who embodies a certain mischievousness in terms of his visage and mannerisms, down to his posture.

History
Elias' lineage falls back to the originals, or that is the assumption.
Born to Justina Dawn, with the heritage falling back to the originals on Justinia's end, and Elijah Dawn, Elias, at first was the joy of their life, the knot tying them together, and their pride and joy.
However, as he aged, her father became more aloof, his mother more coddling, and the relationship between his parent's accumulating turbulence.
In eventuality, the two decided to split, with his father opting to avoid not only Justinia but Elias as well, despite the closeness of the group.

Of course, this left Elias, even though at the young age of ten, brimming with bitterness, and he, in turn, ignored Elijah's existence.
While that rift yawned and festered, Justinia grew acutely ill, so much so, the healer tended to her every day. Beyond that, Elias himself was rather sickly himself, suffering from a suppressed immune system, likely genetics from his mother who, too, was feeble.
So, making friends did not come fast for Elias, and as a child, he was withdrawn and shy.
Forever a target for children with a mean streak, Elias endured a lot of bullying in his youth.

To compound things further, Justinia eventually succumbed to her disease, although, in a morbid sense, Elias saw it coming.
Afterward, Elijah attempted to reconnect with him both wrought with grief. However, Elias, sixteen at this point, refused to acknowledge him.
Reared by the community, Elias began to thrive, recovering from the recoil of grief.
It is during this point that he developed his predisposition towards manic states, and thus came his confidence.
A walking embodiment of 'fake it until you make it,' Eli did just that and made it.
For a while, things seemed okay.



Relationships

Other
Any interesting tidbits about your character.

What Brought you Here?
:> Vesp pointed this roleplay out to me, and I saw it while browsing the roleplay forums, as I do.

Role Play Sample
{Incoming}

---—————————————««
ᴠɪɴᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄᴇ
»»—————————————---

»»——————————---
The Basics
---——————————««

ᴀɢᴇ
24 years old.

ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ
Male.

sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ
Pansexual.

ʀᴀɴᴋ
Dog Master.

»»——————————---
Reflections
---——————————««

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ
6'0".

ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ
160 lbs.

ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ
A considerably tall fellow. Between a somewhat boyish face and mild demeanor, his height is possibly the only imposing thing about Vincent. Reddish freckles dapple pale skin, prone to burning under the harsh desert sun. His build is quite average, not overly thin yet possessing only slight muscle definition, most noticeable in his arms and they aren’t often left bare.

He isn't quite as helpless as his gentle face and otherwise, unassuming appearance likely implies, proving fairly hardy despite his flaws. Ginger hair is kept trimmed short, as well groomed as it can be when you're living in a post-apocalyptic world and his clothes are often just as practical, made from a myriad of thick, dull-colored, decaying materials. His eyes are shockingly a vibrant shade of amber, a highly uncommon hue in humans.

Faded bitemarks mar his hands and arms, easily recognizable as being canine in nature. Vincent’s relationship with the dogs may be remarkably close now, but taming them hadn’t been as easy, and the formerly feral hounds have left more than their fair share of marks on him.

»»——————————---
Delve a Little Deeper
---——————————««

ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ
Vincent is a timid man. Soft-spoken and reserved, most of his spare time is spent solely in the company of his dogs. This isn’t to say he is anti-social, however. Often Vincent isn’t comfortable seeking out attention, and as he doesn’t stand out all that much when not hunting the dogs it is quite easy to forget he’s around. Charitable, sympathetic and one for wearing his heart on his sleeve, it’s a wonder Vincent has managed to survive the downfall of humanity this long. While suspicious of strangers and easily spooked, it’s undeniable he’ll take risks to assist another person in trouble even if he’s never met them before the moment of their distress.

Such qualities might be considered admirable, but they leave him dangerously vulnerable. Despite being fairly passive in personality Vincent is surprisingly confident when it comes to his work with the dogs. Killing is something he remains unfound of, but survival often dictates doing things one isn’t particularly thrilled about, as such he’s become a skilled hunter, which is perhaps the reason for his continued survival. Talented in both the use of a bow and a knife, Vincent is far more formidable than he appears, perhaps a remnant of an unpleasant past he would much rather forget.

ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ
Born into one of the few rogue settlements scattered across the desert, his childhood was tumultuous and wrought with violence. Vincent never knew his mother, barely anything of her lingering in his memory. She died when he was no more than four, picked off by a lion his father claimed. He was never quite sure about that but knew it best not to ask questions when it came to that man.

Despite their meager existence, the nomadic tribe thrived, perhaps more so than other communities, due to their propensity for thievery, murder and a number of other unpleasant things. How someone with such a sordid upbringing could turn out so meek is anyone's guess, inquiring after Vincent's backstory never seems to reveal much of anything.

He showed up in Irredeemable territory a year prior, at the time only three dogs at his side. Mistrust of strangers ensured they kept him at arm's length for many moons, but eventually, his subservient temperament and the fact he was useful earned him a bit of trust.

»»——————————---
Relationships
---——————————««

None beyond a basic acquaintanceship with the other Irredeemables. Feel free to PM me if you have anything specific in mind.

»»——————————---
Other
---——————————««

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ
Be Calm - Fun.
You Got It In You - Banners.
Fear and Loathing - Marina and the Diamonds.

ɴᴏᴛᴇs
His fives dogs are all named after flowers; Rose, Poppy, and Azalea (all female) along with Hibiscus and Orchid (the two males).

He owns several books from times long past, the pages so brittle they tear quite easily, the bindings worn and barely holding them together. It’s likely from one such book he took name inspiration for the hounds.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇʀᴇ?
You did. ~

ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ sᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ
I assume I don't need one, but have this regardless.

Name
Hartop "Bugsy" Stanton

Age
22

Gender
Female

Sexuality
Bisexual

Rank
Civilian

Personality
Hartop, more commonly referred to as Bugsy, is a difficult character to place. She is extremely extroverted, and is not deterred by other people's annoyance when initiating bizarre and often meaningless conversation. Not one to take anything seriously, Bugsy finds it difficult to empathise with the plight of anyone else, and can never fully grasp the true danger in a life-and-death situation. Speaking of life and death, although Bugsy enjoys befriending others, when facing a threatening foe or location she'll abandon the world's greatest companion in a matter of minutes. Selfish and cowardly, self-preservation ultimately decides how she will act in any given situation.

Hartop is almost irritatingly content with how life is, as though not living in a hostile environment full of things that strive for her destruction. She never does more than she has to, and even then her work ethic is low. Lazy and inconsiderate, she often gives more than she takes, despite being more than capable. Instead of doing anything productive, she takes great pleasure in spinning complex, whimsical and often factually incorrect stories, spewing these tales of giant bugs, peril and death to any children that will humour her, who often end up wishing they hadn't.

Like her namesake, Bugsy is extremely interested in anything that creeps or crawls. With the abundance of creatures the desert has to offer, she can frequently be seen digging through the sand, or dismantling her latest catch. Though her hobby commonly either repulses or disturbs other people, Hartop doesn't appear bothered in the least. Despite it being obvious that she takes an unnatural interest in bugs, it isn't clear as to why. Regardless of her motives, she can recall most bugs by name, and oddly enough, knows if they can be eaten.


Appearance
Bugsy has warm tan skin and sandy blonde hair, which is just above the shoulder and unkempt in nature. Her teeth are slightly crooked, and she's missing her lower left canine tooth. Her face, whilst thinned by the occasional lack of food, is by no means malnourished. Hartop is a standard weight, though slightly shorter than average, with a body built for running. She has heterochromia, with one eye a dark brown, and the other a light blue. Overall, her mismatched appearance gives her a strange, comical look.

Bugsy dresses in a rather outlandish manner, matching her peculiar appearance. Her worn shirt is a tattered, bright emerald, her pants are a clashing deep blue, and the bandana around her neck is a yet again contrasting ruby red. To fend off the sun, she wears a hooded cape, stitched from multiple muted colours of fabric, that looks similar to an ugly quilt. Though her clothing choice makes her an easy target, Bugsy is yet to be spotted and consumed by any desert predator.


History:
Not one to dwell on the past, there is little Bugsy can recall, especially when involving her parents. She had a fairly normal childhood, though it's a little cloudy here and there. Begonia had little influence on her as a child, with her upbringing being primarily credited to Atticus. Her father was a kind and carefree soul, yet her mother was strict and controlling of both her husband and daughter, which made it twice the surprise when Begonia was found dead one morning, with nothing but Atticus' bandana lying crumpled on the floor beside her. Many believe that her father was the culprit, fed up with Begonia's strictness, turned half mad by the desert heat, however Bugsy would adamantly disagree.

Relationships
Begonia - Mother - Deceased
Atticus - Father - Whereabouts Unknown

Other
Equipment:
→ Rusty Pocketknife
→ Beetle Wings
→ Flat Rock
→ String


What Brought you Here?
Found it scrolling through the forums

Role Play Sample

[ Format and possible art TBA ]

Name
Lance 'Pilot' Hynes.

Age
19.

Gender
Male.

Sexuality
Panromantic Bisexual, slight male lean.

Rank
Hawk Master.

Personality
[ Will develop further throughout RP ]
To sum up Lance's personality in two words: quiet charisma. He had never been excessively outgoing, preferring the company of Svana only, but the young man is so likable and sociable that it's kind of difficult. Don't get him wrong, he loves the community, they did take him in from the risky deserts after all. He is a wonderful listener, and believes that making small talk is one of his skills. Open-minded, honest (sometimes brutally), and creative are some of his favorite traits about himself.
Of course, the redhead has his flaws as well. He is absolutely indecisive, a trait that ruins any sort of leadership in him. Lance even jealous sometimes, though it's rare that he shows it. When he does, it usually shows as a sulky, silent aura. He's also obnoxiously stubborn, hard-headed to a point where he is totally unmovable when his mind is made up.

Appearance
Lance stands tall and lean, the tips of his hair brushing 6'2. He falls to the slender side, having no real bulk to him except for wiry muscles formed through hours of holding Svana on his arm against the harsh winds of the desert. The copper-ginger shade of his hair is unusual, with undertones of auburn and just a hint darker than the desert sands. Despite the hue of his hair, the aspect that stands out the most throughout his build must be his eyes, after the intimidating bird usually sitting on his shoulder or forearm. Lance has sectoral heterochromia, a condition not affecting his vision and the intelligence pooling in his irises. A dash of faint freckles is sprinkled across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, a dead giveaway to anyone that he is constantly in the sun, if the olive tan wasn't one already.
On his eighteenth birthday, Lance asked for a tattoo from the talented Vice, and was set in the tent to have it done. The young man returned to the sun a few hours later, a pair of intricate wings drawn onto his collarbones. It is barely visible, but the tips of the feathers can sometimes be seen when he stays in his tent with a loose t-shirt hanging off his shoulders. Other than that ink, the only markings Lance bears are faint scars on both forearms from the two bird's he has handled in his lifetime.
It's common knowledge that fine clothing cannot be worn in the desert. Lance wears a cured deer leather jacket, thicker padding sown onto the shoulders to protect the young man against Svana's talons. The sleeves are usually rolled up to his elbows, where a pair of falconry gloves start to protect his forearms and hands. Unlike most Masters, Lance can use both arms to keep his winged companion steady. The gloves are a darker brown than the red dirt color of his jacket. His pants are of tough woven cactus fibers, stiffened and softened in a way similar to denim. The makeshift fabric is dyed black, though the knees are worn to a dark grey. Underneath the layers, Lance wears a shirt of dull grey-green, the natural un-dyed color of the well-used cactus fibers. It scratches a bit, but he's grown to get used to it. To shield his face against the wild sands and winds, the young man covers his lower face with a dusty red bandana, folding it over at least once depending on the roguish environment.

Svana is easily one of the most majestic and showy members of the community. Lance never liked to refer to her as simply a bird, as her feisty personality and sass shouldn't be limited to hawk behaviors. With a wingspan stretching almost 1.8 meters, she seems almost awkward when standing, for her wings are twice as large as her body. The red-tail is rather streamlined, a master at diving and dancing across the skies. Her feathers are the usual mix of red, brown, white and grey, heavily streaked below, with a bold barring on the wings, dark wingtips, and light barring on her tail. Her talons are dull ivory in color, with dark red leather jesses tied around her ankles. Occasionally, Svana wears a hood, also made of soft leather, but Lance dislikes covering the bird's brilliant golden eyes for very long.

History
Lance was a the orphaned son of two rogues, long gone. He was taken in as a child, a scrawny, pathetic mess with dried tears always staining his face, rags and copper hair turned dusty and torn from the constant sand. Even his sharp eyes had been dulled during childhood. After being taken in my the Ireedeemables, his dead soul was slowly revived, being put in cleaner clothes and being able to bring back the unusual red in his tresses. He was nine when his eyes regained their queer shine, that inexplicable shifting in the colors suddenly back after a blank morning of staring at the sunlight passing through The Dome.
Lance had always been intrigued by the glass bubble. He used to spend his dawns watching the clouded hemisphere, despite the well-known hate for the life living inside. He would watch from miles away, until one day he got too close for the community's comfort and was drawn away from that source of curiosity. Lance was introduced to the former Hawk Master, a middle aged man with a scruffy beard an kind eyes. He was bound soul to soul with his hawk at the time, a beautiful female with a name lost among the red-headed boy's memories. To the Irredeemables' relief, Lance gave up The Dome in favor of the bird, eventually growing so close to the Master that he became the young boy's father figure. It was he who taught Lance how to hold the jesses, the anatomy of a hawk's wing, how to keep the bird alive. The Hawk Master and his beast was the closest thing the rogue child ever had to a family.
The Master's hawk laid four eggs. No one knew how she became pregnant in the first place, but the new mother sat on a nest of torn rags most of her time. By the time they were ready to hatch, two eggs had already been destroyed by the howling winds and sand. Only one chick out of the remaining duo survived to peck her way out of the shell, a large female with a soul that sparked joy in her mother. Lance and the Master paid their respects to the late chicks by keeping the fractured shell pieces wrapped up in a scrap of fabric, which the boy still owns.
The former Hawk Master and his companion were next. No one knows what happened to them, perhaps they were abducted along with the others disappearing in the dusty dunes. But Lance was alone again, at the age of sixteen. He was quickly deemed the new Hawk Master, being the only one with that knowledge of winged beasts. And he already had a companion. The surviving fledgling.
The boy grew with the bird, naming her and watching her grow out of her fuzz feathers. They learned to hunt and survive side by side, just like the Master in the past and the hawk's mother.

Relationships
Biological Parents; Deceased.
Father Figure; Unknown, presumably deceased.

Svana, hawk companion; Alive, well.
Ramona, sister figure; Alive, well.

Other
- Lance has an excellent sense of direction, rarely getting lost. That is where his nickname 'Pilot' came from, being able to navigate through the clouds of dust and sand.
- Young Svana was the reference for his tattoo, therefore it is her wing patterns traced onto his skin.

How did you find us?
The Role Play chatbox. :)

Role Play Sample
[ Some would recognize this, it's off of Revelations of the Reaper ]

Out of all places, Zach had chosen the window ledge overlooking a situation.

Wonderful.

On most days, the young man stayed effectively away from all remaining traces of living, breathing humanity. He was quite fine with Zeta as his only companion. Despite the cat's chilling silence and even more unsettling sight of her mutated form, she had provided him with someone to whisper to during long nights avoiding storms and faraway gunshots. Even before her eyes grew white and her tail wasn't lined with quills, Zachary had relied on Zeta to be what kept him sane. She was doing her job rather well, her slender, lazing form wound over his shoulders with her prickly tail occasionally twitching against his collar, like a bristling black fur scarf. The only sign of life she gave off was the subtle up and down of her body as she breathed and the irregular purr that sounded more like a dog's growl.
Following his cat onto a closed dumpster and up a rusting ladder, the boy had found himself perched on the sill almost feline-like himself, with his legs dangling idly over the edge and his hands resting casually at his sides. The apartment building had been abandoned long ago, before the virus hit and tore destruction through the world. It was one of his preferred getaways when he messed around with the street gangs, a haven that only his limber, agile structure could get to. It's just that he never expected to return to the spot.

His position also offered a magnificent view of the forgotten store across the street. Which also housed a fair number of survivors playing a little bit too loud for his liking. He had first been notified of human presence when a young man had stumbled in with another person hot on his trail. Zach stayed uninterested until a panicked voice passed by his ears and the store emitted a faint amber light as well as a strange growing heat. With it's crumbling walls and steady warmth, Zachary immediately thought of one of those old stone ovens, a memory that made the corner of his mouth quirk just a bit, an almost undetectable smirk that disappeared soon after the pursuer had left with few items held in his grasp. The light and heat had died down, yet the first man who entered the shop did not emerge. Perhaps he had missed him? But no, from his hidden place cloaked in the buildings shadows and a tearing, old black bandana concealing the lower half of his face, whatever was left on the boy's scrawny frame would have noticed if the redhead had exited the building. No, by the subdued noise and periodical racket of argument, it seems that the red-headed light source had been joined with a few other survivors.