Group: Members
Posts: 24
Member No.: 16
Joined: 5-March 07
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Player
Name: Katie
Contact: AIM: xXxFyreByrdxXx
Anything else? Not that I can think of. Eh, may as well mention a bit about myself. I also love rping X-Men. And I'm really interested in filming, film editing, producing, etc, etc. And I'm in dance. And I like acting, as well.
Character:
Name: Birth name: Rachel Wallin. Now says her name is 'Venus'; is usually called 'V'
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Human or Undead? Human
Group: Nomads
Family: Father, James Morton Wallin, deceased. Mother, Deborah Marie Wallin, deceased. Older brother, Isaac Mathew Wallin, deceased. Older sister, Jessica Sariah Wallin, deceased. Uncle, Montgomery 'Monty' Wallin, deceased.
Appearance: V has long, dark hair, which she does not keep short nor in a bun out of fear that a zombie might grab it in a fight. If one ever does, they can rip it out, because it sure as hell won't stop her from getting away. That's her mentality. She has sacrificed too much already for their sakes to sacrifice her appearance as well.
Though she spends much of her time under the sun, she is almost always covered from head to toe in leather, so the sun doesn't hit her. Therefore, she has maintained a fair shade to her skin. She has high cheekbones and plump lips, and clear green eyes.
She always wears a small vial on a chain around her neck, filled with a twig of dried myrtle. It sits on her chest as a part of a meaningful design. Directly below it is a tattoo of a sparrow. To the left of it is the tattoo of a dove, and to the right is the tattoo of a swan. It seems to represent something, rather than being a random choice of design.
Personality: With her bold and frank attitude, her fierce independence, and her siren-like ability to seduce, V may have once been considered a femme fatale straight out of a horror flick about the end of the world. But now that the end of the world is drawing near, she is simply seen as one who has accordingly risen to the challenges and adapted in order to survive.
Though tough, V is not the toughest woman; she is no thoughtless killer or heartless traitor. She values life, and she values loyalty and alliance - which is as close to friendship as she has allowed herself to get thus far since the world fell apart. But she has become a clever woman, able to see the way to get out of a situation, or to get out of a situation what she needs.
One way she gets what she needs is by seduction. She exudes sexuality with every movement she makes, and she is extremely comfortable with all things sexual. She is comfortable with her body, and in fact in the rare times when she is not in her leather jacket, she is in nothing but the bra she wears underneath. She is frank about the fact that she will meet a man's needs if he has the means to pay. However, she does not have a one-track mind. She is a sharp-eyed, intelligent woman who looks out for herself, and will look out for others if she feels the need.
V has lost much of the value that humans by their basic nature place on such things as love and family. She views families with mixed feelings; on the one hand, she will do what she can to protect a family, moreso than she would to protect a loner, perhaps. But on the other hand, she views them with jealousy and can get bitter because of the memories that she has of her own family. She has become so desensitized to sex that it no longer has any meaning with love. Though it wouldn't be impossible for her to love someone - in fact, that is probably what she needs (and wants) the most - her views on those basic things are skewed. Also, because of her abrasive attitude, she tends to get on people's bad sides, especially women. This happens less so with the nomads, but many outside of their group, such as the St. Mary's citizens, would probably view her with disgust and pity.
It isn't as if she is a bitch impossible to befriend or know. She loves to laugh, and she loves the beauty of nature. But in times such as these, such weak things are shoved behind a tough skin of confidence and independence in order to survive.
History: Rachel Wallin was born in New Orleans, Louisiana, and lived there until she was fourteen. She lived with her father and mother, and her older brother and sister. She learned the city like the back of her hand, and by fourteen spoke fluent French, could cook many creole delicacies, and could talk her way out of any situation. She was a lively and headstrong young woman.
She was fourteen when all hell broke loose. Her family didn't understand how grave things were at first, as many didn't. While the rest of the family was commanded to shut the doors and windows, stay in the basement, and not open for anyone, their father went out to go to the bank and draw out all of their money, expecting the bank system to collapse shortly.
He never returned.
Ordering Rachel and her sister, who was older by two years, to stay in the reinforced food pantry in the basement, Rachel's mother and twenty-two-year-old brother left the basement to find some information on what was going on in the world - either from the TV, their neighbors, or something. It was two hours later that Rachel and her sister could hear their brother storm into the house, roaring at the top of his lungs as he stumbled through the house, things crashing around as he moved. He was screaming, wordlessly mostly, but also commanding them to get out of there and come to him immediately. Rachel was terrified, and she refused to go, but her sister ignored her pleas and left the pantry. Rachel heard her sister run up the stairs to find him. She heard her sister scream, and heard thudding at the top of the stairs. Then thuds that came down the stairs, as a body fell from the top to the bottom. Then there was silence.
Rachel remained locked in the food pantry until sleep took her, and then for hours into the next morning. Then, mid-day, she heard noises once again upstairs. These were different; they were normal, except that the voice she heard called out, sadly and slightly panicked. It was her uncle, who also lived in New Orleans.
He sounded so normal that Rachel finally got up the courage to leave the food pantry - with a gun, though she knew she couldn't shoot her uncle, even if she had to. But upon approaching the basement stairs, she saw the body of her brother, crumpled at the bottom in a pool of his own blood, and her sister in the doorway at the top of the stairs. She had bled enough for the red trails to run down three or four steps.
Rachel fell into a screaming, crying heap, and her uncle (luckily unaffected) found her easily. He took her in, and they left town immediately. They left on his motorcycle, with only one bag each, packed with clothes and essentials. The city was in chaos, but they managed to get out alive.
Her uncle taught her much over the next three years. She became skilled at wielding a gun, though once he ran out of bullets, it became obsolete. She learned to steal and to be deathly silent. She learned where to sleep and together the two of them found the best tactics to fend off zombies. They had many close calls, but none so close as one night, when a small colony in New Jersey they were living in was attacked. Her uncle was affected, and one of the other men killed him immediately, saving Rachel's life but ending the life of the last person that she knew in the world.
Somewhere along the way after that, Rachel stopped using her name. She took the name Venus, and as she drifted around the country, she was mostly called 'V'. She stayed in a colony until the faintest rumor of nearby zombie activity arose, at which time she was gone by the next nightfall, on to the next settlement. She became over the next years very sexual, and as she had no supplies of her own, she found that many men were more than eager to pamper her in exchange for a few hours to forget their troubles. Thus, she essentially became a prostitute - a rare thing in today's world, and not viewed with nearly so much disgust as the occupation once was, especially by the nomads.
Belongings: Her motorcycle. Two small bags, with a couple of changes of clothes, a spare pair of boots. A couple of books, some pictures, and a journal she started when she was thirteen. Also, weapons such as knives, a gun with no ammunition, some fireworks to scare the bastards off or set them on fire. A lighter, and the arrows she's made, along with her bow.
Sample Post: (This is for an X-Men rpg, and her powers are to control bodily functions, essentially. The character is similar in personality.)
This was the most fun her job got. The lead-up, as it were. By the time the man had shut the door to her room, she was kissing his neck, pulling off his jacket. He was one of those businessman types; probably hadn't even gone home yet today. No doubt he'd told the wife he was working late, that's what they usually did. Whatever the story, and whatever his reasons for searching out a little bit of excitement, Stacy didn't care. He had the money, it was already in her purse, and that was all that mattered.
Off came the tie, her shirt, then his. They were moving blindly toward the bed as they kissed and sucked on each other's lips and skin, hands groping everywhere and anywhere they could touch. She usually let things go just as far as they could before she let her powers kick in and do the job for her; after all, she had to get some fun out of it.
She was completely taken aback when she felt his hand close on her throat. Before she had a chance to react, she was thrown back onto the bed. Her sultry, sexy manner was gone instantly. She scrambled to sit up, even as he came at her again, and fixed him with a steely glare. "I don't work like that, buddy--"
She cut short as her hands lifted to wrap around the wrist of the arm he swung at her. It was an iron grasp that she had him in, and she twisted his arm enough to make him cry out. For good measure, she shifted, sliding her leg out from under her. She didn't have to kick far to drive the bottom of her heeled shoe into his crotch. "F***in' b****!" he growled. "--Mutie b****--"
Stacy's anger flared, her eyes flashing and a hard, unforgiving look appearing on her face. "What did you just call me?" she asked, her voice low and controlled, but seething with anger just below the surface.
She didn't wait for an answer; didn't give him a chance to give her one. She turned on her powers with more force than she'd ever given them, and yet still not to her full potential. The man cried out again, in shock and in pain, and keeled sideways onto the bed. Stacy X let go of his arm and watched him as he began to vomit all over the bedspread. It reeked, and Stacy stood, her lip curled in disgust as she moved toward the small bathroom.
She left him to puke until he had nothing left to bring up, and was only dry heaving in a pile of his own vomit. She'd done something she'd never done before, which was stimulate many body functions at one time in a person. Her powers controlled orgasms, vomiting, nausea, and rectal malfunctions (to put it nicely), and Mr. Tough Guy was now lying in a pile of his own all of that.
When she left the bathroom, she held her breath and walked over to him. His chest was still moving; he was still alive. She went to the phone by the bed and picked it up. Within moments, the owner of the brothel picked up. "Mr. M? Guy just got sick all over the place in here. Uh-huh. He already paid. Just send somebody to get him out of here."
rusty cage
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'Venus'
She was one of my femme fatales, actually. 
