LIKE A FUNERAL / OPEN, JOINING sorta

[BRUCE H]

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/ oops this got a lil long but basically he's badly injured and just sorta hovering.

Bruce knew exactly where he was, and that, above all else, was insanity. While he had understood the concept of monsters completely by the time he reached nine years old, he had always thought that he would do anything to dissociate himself from people like that. The urge had grown stronger in recent days, though it would seem that he had failed. Things went sideways, as they always appeared to when he was personally involved. Two people were dead on his side, and at least three more by his hand — the count would likely rise to four in a day or so, it didn't seem like the last person would survive. He can't even say that he felt decent about it being done mostly from a distance. Close combat made it real. It made those injuries visceral. Every action was his own, as were the consequences. But when he sat on the damaging end of a scope, it didn't seem quite so... Personal. He needs that aspect. He needs to feel himself bleed alongside them. And it's not as if he isn't now. Every inch of Bruce seems to be covered in either a fresh wound or a scar. From thin lines on his fingers to thick, raised cuts on his side, he had long since lost both a childlike flawlessness in appearance and personality. To be entirely honest, he had lost it before he could even be considered a child for too long.

Dark red seeps through denim and cotton alike. His jacket had been torn in one of the earliest fights, but he'd been glad to lose it. Now it was in tatters somewhere behind him, and his overshirt had been torn apart to create some sort of bandage for his thigh. It worked, at least partially. He wasn't dead. Walking was hell, and he was openly limping, but — alive. Alive was good, for the most part. His heart is heavy and his shoulders are tired; his ribs are already protesting, they surely don't need the added guilt that presses against his chest. It's only mostly good.

One hand, palm still sticky and half-stained with partially coagulated blood, pushes through short hair to keep it out of his face. It's been perhaps a day or two, and the young man is more than a bit of a mess. It's both a positive and a negative that this area is warmer than Flintlock. Sweat soaks the back of his shirt from earlier exertions and the beat of the sun, short hair slicking to his neck and forehead. The idea of being unclean had always bothered Win, and it's only worse when it's under his fingernails, on his cheeks and chest and hands. He needs to find some way to scrub everything off, but considering where he was — well, that didn't seem quite like a perfect possibility. Cold blue eyes are obviously wary, scanning the area around him. It brings the feeling of being stuck with needles, icy and harsh. He's been softer in the past, when he was waking up to a human octopus with bright blue eyes, when he had a family to take care of and a kid to smile at. (Kids, if he's including the other ones there. He'd gone soft a while ago.) He'd broken a million promises to get where he was now, and Bruce hated every second of it. But he had outstanding debts and people to protect, even if it feels hollow to say such a thing now that he had already done it. Why didn't he say goodbye?

A soft grunt leaves his mouth when he leans back against a building, teeth gritted as he adjusts the makeshift splint on his arm. Looking back, he doesn't know how the hell it happened, but it fucking hurt. It wasn't that bad. Minor. (Or maybe his pain tolerance is fucking with his judgment, who the hell knew anymore.) Bruce carefully rests his gun next to him — it's not like it would be much use in close combat anyway, unless he's planning to use it like a baseball bat — but doesn't close his eyes as he catches his breath. This isn't the place to relax, it would seem.

[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 517px"][spoiler=I DON’T GET SURPRISED | INFORMATION; 02/25/2017]‣ Bruce Gideon Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Cisgender Male
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / 89% Monogamous / Possessive / Taken by Dick H.
‣ ½ Boysoldier [OTP] / Father & ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Dami, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Twenty-Four / Feb. 19 / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Brother to Jason / Son: Damian
‣ Resident: Flintlock Lodge / Currently: the Badlands / Biography / Pinterest Board
‣ Generally in a very bad place mentally and refuses to interact kindly with anyone.

‣ Important Tropes: Death Glare, Disapproving Look, & Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steely blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. Achromatic undershirts, long sleeved overshirt, hoodie or field jacket.
‣ Constantly wearing a black promise ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Reference.
‣ Carries a Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle | Remington M40 | Uses .308 Winchester Cartridges

‣ HEAVILY INJURED & STRUGGLING TO RECOVER; STUCK IN THE BADLANDS.
‣ Various cuts and bruises over his torso, mostly the front. Mostly stitched and healing.
‣ One long cut across his left thigh, not stitched and more recent than the other ones.
‣ Broken and bruised ribs, spiral fracture in his left arm. Growing bruise on right cheek.

‣ [b]ATTITUDE / Broken Ace / Friend to Children / Deadpan Snarker / Defiant to the End
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, seems calm. Can sometimes seem blank or may hyperfocus on one thing.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.

[Sel]

[align=center]

sel

Sel knew what monsters was, and she was intimately familiar with the feeling of being one. For a while she hadn't known that she was a bad person since she'd been raised to be this way, and it was all normal. Poisoning people for their s**t, killing people, stealing, imprisoning, Christ, Geoff's crimes didn't even stop there. She'd begun to understand that they were bad people even before Lessandra's betrayal, but that was what really drove it home. And she'd needed an escape, but not from being a monster, it was the monsters she lived with that she needed to escape. Just for a while. If she wanted to get away from it all she'd go to St. Peters or the Flintlock Lodge or anywhere but the Badlands.

Her knuckles were bloody from putting a mouthy Grunt of War in his place earlier that day, and while it wasn't the only hint of red on her skin or clothes, it was the only fresh blood. Dark stains were on her sleeves, her hems, blood was crusted under her fingernails. She generally tried to keep herself and her belongings clean, but it wasn't her highest priority. Besides, clean clothes weren't easy to come by.

Sel's blue eyes raked over the stranger and she tilted her head, a look some that knew her well might recognize. She was appraising Bruce like an object someone had come to trade, no, like the trader. Assessing injuries and weaknesses but also weapons and strengths. Even when she looked people over she always patiently waited to see what they could or would do. She might be observant but appearances could be deceiving (she depended on that at times). "Whatcha doin' around these parts, stranger?" She asked, flashing him a lazy and relaxed smile. Indeed she was the picture of calm, not afraid in the least despite keeping an eye on his gun. She couldn't dodge a bullet at such close range, but she'd been taught how to disarm people, so there was a 50/50 chance of her getting her shot and her getting his gun if he decided to bring it up.

//*hugs Rev*

[spoiler=Tags - Updated 2/18/17]General:
▪ Selena Felix | Sel or Lena depending on situation
▪ Biological female | Identifies as female | She/Her
▪ 23 years | Birthday is 12/18 | Real Time Aging
▪ Warchief of the Badlands

Relationships:
▪ Biromantic | Bisexual | Poly
▪ Single | Flirty
▪ Crushing on Blake
▪ Would hook up with almost anyone in Flirtlands
▪ Lives with Mettaton | Hired John as her manservant
▪ NPC x NPC | No adopted kin
▪ Generally very friendly but not easy to become close with; flirty and defiant; loyalty is hard-earned and easily betrayed

Important Facts:
▪ Trained medic but prefers the war and/or social branches.
▪ Usually untrustworthy, everything is calculated, ambitious as f**k, nefarious motivations.
▪ Opinions, motivations and ambition are Sel's and Sel's alone and are not shared by her roleplayer.

Physical:
★ HUMAN | health: 100%
— She's small, but not too small, about 5'4" or so. Slender and always moving, pretty blue-green eyes with a mischievous glint in them and you know she's gonna get you into trouble. Dark hair, no doubt dark thoughts as well. Red lips curve into a lazy grin that reveals white teeth - they won't stay pearly for much longer, though, as she's often seen smoking.
— major injuries: none
— minor injuries: none

Personality:
— Sel is a very bold, competitive and stubborn person, with a wild side that is shown frequently as well as flirtatious tendencies. She is easily bored and is always on the lookout for adventure, with a spark of curiosity that she hopes will lead to what she seeks: adventure and romance. She seems to not be a very serious person and would rather have fun than be productive, and failing entertainment she can be quite productive and get quite a bit done. She's loud and lacks discipline. While Sel is irresponsible (and oddly bossy) and wild, she is very family-oriented and loves her family dearly. She is usually a cheerful, friendly person but she definitely has a passion for the weird, dark and creepy. She is somewhat vain and egotistical. She has her secrets and one of them is her intelligence and ability to collect information; most dismiss her as a dumb party girl (or something like that) and that's part of her cover, she has her fair share of sins and has to have a way of hiding them, and because she is a good liar and good actress, she succeeds.
— curious; friendly; bold; friendly; intelligent; brave; stubborn; competitive; flirty; sly and cunning; ambitious; wild; irresponsible; bossy; vain; arrogant/egotistical; cruel/sadistic; dark; deceptive

Interaction:
▪ Trained with knives and poisons | Medium physically | Hard mentally
▪ No kill/capture/maim without permission | Will kill/capture/maim with permission
▪ Prefers to fight with poisoned daggers | Relies largely on speed and agility
▪ To attack, [member=183]Sel[/member] and attack in underlined #440349

Links:
— Bio v.1
— Bio v.2
— Plot v.1 (Badlands)
— Plot v.1 (TNW)
— Storage v.1[/spoiler]

[ashen]

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text

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[div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 350px; font-size: 8pt; font-family:arial; text-transform:lowercase; text-align:justify; color: black;"]

////aureate i saw 'bruce' and i zoomed over here AS FAST AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND THEN I READ THE FLINTLOCK THREAD And bO Y O H BOY johannes is gonna be pissed rip///

She was a warchief, and Mettaton supposed it made sense for her to be around to greet newcomers. Greet being friendly or otherwise.

Still, it was hardly fair that she was always on top of things, was it? He was sulking a bit as he neared her and the stranger--though really, if this man were unfriendly, he had to admit he'd be glad if it were Sel who found him. He looked....intimidating. He was about Mettaton's height--shorter, but only because of Metta's heels; and very, very definitely larger. His expression shifted as he felt a more serious attitude was warranted, and when he noticed the gun, his sulk fully vanished, replaced with alert intensity on the man. He didn't speak, as Sel was, but he spared her a quick glance--and as usual, she looked..calm. Good gracious, she was at ease, considering he had a firearm--and looked like individually, he could kill them each.
Well, size didn't equal skill. But something told Mettaton this man had skill, too.

---

[spoiler=info — updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ METTATON DARLING | METTA | afab male (gnc)
★ panromantic | pansexual
★ 24| oct/15 | real time
★ the badlands | headhunter


IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ cute
★ glam
★ has a stash of makeup

PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 90%
— 6'3'' & 195 lbs; slender torso but muscled, great posture but narrow shoulders. Long, thick black hair that's wavy and shoulder length, often tucked behind an ear, rarely in a ponytail. Often covering up the eyepatch over his right eye. Blue eyes and generally wears black, accented with pink, purple, and blue.
— [i]major injuries: (missing an eye, affects peripheral vision and depth perception)

PERSONALITY:
- mettaton has a huge fear of being genuinely hated, not cared about, not being good enough. he is pretty good at masking this but he has anxiety.

- mettaton has black hair and blue eyes, he's caucasian. he has two studs above his eyebrow and he wears very dramatic clothing as well as wearing makeup quite frequently, as he has compiled a stash. He is about six feet, three inches tall, and is pretty average of weight. He has one eye and wears an eyepatch.

- Mettaton is extremely dramatic, flamboyant, and glamorous. He loves making a statement--of any kind. He's friendly, though quite self-centered, and likes to use pet names a lot--notably, calling people 'darling' quite often. He gets extremely enthusiastic about quite a lot, and thinks of himself as above most earthly things. Though he can seem shrewd and is certainly intelligent and creative, he can be quite idealistic, naive, and even gullible, easily manipulated. It can seem hard to shake his confidence, but he can be made an unwitting pawn of someone's game if they know how to play him.


RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest

INTERACTION:
★ interacts with literally everyone he sees + quite friendly, even flirtatious
★ difficulty: 7/10 in battle | + strength, speed, agility | - stamina
★ tends to negotiate, but if he feels that's impossible, he likes to make the first move
★ attack in bold #D600BA
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]

[BRUCE H]

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/ HI PYRE. and ahahaha yeaahhh,,,, win got himself into some pretty bad shit lmfao.

It was strange to lose a sense of morality. He hadn't become aware of his own mistakes as Sel had — Bruce had known that what he was doing was wrong, but he'd been a child at the time he learned to do what he did. Eight years with amazing parents had saved enough of him that Dick could draw it out of the woodwork later, it had simply taken a lot of work and a lot of patience. He didn't want to consider himself so dependent upon their relationship that he had lost too much ground like this, but he'd killed and he'd watched people die. And in the end, it didn't really feel as if he had made any improvement in all of these years. (It would feel better when he had his partner at his side again, if that was even a possibility.) At the end of the day he's still leaning up against some random fucking building with a rifle and a bloody nose. There have been few happy endings in his life, and it seems like he's prone to ruining them as they come. His parents died, his brother hates him, he left Apollo — twice (they weren't even friends anymore), he'd disappointed his son and the girls he considered closer than blood. And the one person in his entire life other than his parents that has manged to look him in the eyes and promise him that he's loved. It aches, the small notes in his pocket a constant reminder of what he had lost for this fucking mistake. 23. You are the best man I have ever known and ever will know. 24. You’re mine and I’m yours. (It's been ruined with his own blood. Bruce had nearly had a panic attack over familiar handwriting on old paper.)

He doesn't mind the appraisal. If anything, his own eyes match as she skims over him. While the weight of his tend to be far colder, as if he's already poking and prodding, they're both the dangerous sort. There's blood both new and old surrounding him. Part of Bruce finds it disgusting, but part of him respects it. She wears her deeds without shame. Perhaps she's trying to unnerve him or something, though she fails in that endeavor. The attempt speaks to a position of authority. Well enough, then. He relaxes rather pointedly, a certain laziness to his eyes even though he's still ready to move on a moment's notice. Very few people manage to unnerve him, and he doesn't know if it speaks of her acting ability or his personal character that Sel in particular doesn't. Because she's certainly someone who seems less than right.

"Waiting for the next bus. Do you have the time?" His lip curls with the answer, clearly sarcastic. Boarded up windows and doors, graffiti, shattered glass and crumbling bricks. The world had ended a long, long time ago, and he didn't think to miss it until he was standing just like this, looking back on how things had been when he was a child. He doesn't remember the exact date everything went to hell, but Bruce knows that it wasn't like this all the time. Most of the concrete memories he can claim are of the world after. There are a few, just a few that remind him that the world isn't always about pain. Not that he takes that much to heart. This is a dog-eat-dog world, and he's more than ready for a fight. While he estimates her chances of disarming him much lower than fifty-fifty — she was trained for disarming, he was trained for not being disarmed — it's down to luck, skill, and the fact that this really isn't meant for close combat. Still, that could be fun. (Maybe he would start something, if he already wasn't cut to hell and back. Instead, he scoffs.) "Not in the mood for any more walking," he answers, only marginally more honest. Beat up doesn't mean useless, obviously.

Pale eyes shift towards the second, silent stranger, brow raised appearance and attire. It was only the added inches below his feet that kept Win's head tilted upwards to meet his eyes, but he's hardly frightening, and that's hardly practical. He doesn't find it at all offensive, of course, not with everything — well, whatever. The point here was that he had never seen someone quite like him. It's impossible to dismiss someone even if they appear as if they would be pretty much useless in a fight (at least dressed in heels, he supposes, though they would be easy to kick off), so the man's gaze periodically flicks between the two of them. These numbers aren't quite against him yet, but it would be a good idea to keep himself in check until he could slip away or something. "I'll be sticking around, then." It's not a request, blue eyes hard and unyielding. It would only be for perhaps a few weeks anyway, and he'd be taking care of himself. That, and anyone who tried to cross him would probably get shot — his fuse is running short.

[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 517px"][spoiler=I DON’T GET SURPRISED | INFORMATION; 02/25/2017]‣ Bruce Gideon Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Cisgender Male
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / 89% Monogamous / Possessive / Taken by Dick H.
‣ ½ Boysoldier [OTP] / Father & ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Dami, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Twenty-Four / Feb. 19 / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Brother to Jason / Son: Damian
‣ Resident: Flintlock Lodge / Currently: the Badlands / Biography / Pinterest Board
‣ Generally in a very bad place mentally and refuses to interact kindly with anyone.

‣ Important Tropes: Death Glare, Disapproving Look, & Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steely blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. Achromatic undershirts, long sleeved overshirt, hoodie or field jacket.
‣ Constantly wearing a black promise ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Reference.
‣ Carries a Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle | Remington M40 | Uses .308 Winchester Cartridges

‣ HEAVILY INJURED & STRUGGLING TO RECOVER; STUCK IN THE BADLANDS.
‣ Various cuts and bruises over his torso, mostly the front. Mostly stitched and healing.
‣ One long cut across his left thigh, not stitched and more recent than the other ones.
‣ Broken and bruised ribs, spiral fracture in his left arm. Growing bruise on right cheek.

‣ [b]ATTITUDE / Broken Ace / Friend to Children / Deadpan Snarker / Defiant to the End
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, seems calm. Can sometimes seem blank or may hyperfocus on one thing.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.

[Sel]

[align=center]

sel

Sel didn't know how to not be on top of things, she didn't know how to lose control of herself or her situation. She'd spent more than a decade learning how to keep her calm, but perhaps even more than that she'd learned how to not lose hold of her emotions. It was the same thing really, yet the latter always was more important in her mind.

Morality was a strange topic for Sel. She knew certain things were wrong and even understood why, she just... didn't care. She hadn't grown up around anyone that would be a shining star of morality. Maybe Eliza if she wasn't so passive and allowed bad things to happen without objection. She was like both her parents, she supposed. One would sin and the other would watch the sin in silence. With Sel it just depended on what the sin and situation was.

She depended on other people sometimes, but only to a certain extent. Like with Mettaton - without him she didn't doubt that she would have lost the house by now, and without John she probably would have skipped a few meals. Emotionally she didn't depend on anyone in the Badlands, really the only one she might have such a dependence on was her father but he'd ensured she'd still be fine without him. There was perhaps one other person, but that person was still somewhat shapeless in her backstory for the time being.

The Warchief enjoyed unnerving people, but there was no reason why she should unnerve Bruce and she wasn't really setting out to anyway. Either he could pick up that she could do more than it seemed or he didn't - she could work with either. Surprising people was always fun, but avoiding conflict was smart.

"I'm afraid my watch stopped working 'round about time the buses did." Sel replied lightly, glancing back at Mettaton. She had a couple memories of the world pre-apocalypse, though there were times she wasn't sure if they were real or just faded dreams. "There isn't much walkin' left, assuming you're headed to the Badlands." With his next statement, it seemed that was the case. "Welcome to the Badlands, then. Y' got a name, stranger?"


//y'all stop giving me muse jeez

[spoiler=Tags - Updated 2/18/17]General:
▪ Selena Felix | Sel or Lena depending on situation
▪ Biological female | Identifies as female | She/Her
▪ 23 years | Birthday is 12/18 | Real Time Aging
▪ Warchief of the Badlands

Relationships:
▪ Biromantic | Bisexual | Poly
▪ Single | Flirty
▪ Crushing on Blake
▪ Would hook up with almost anyone in Flirtlands
▪ Lives with Mettaton | Hired John as her manservant
▪ NPC x NPC | No adopted kin
▪ Generally very friendly but not easy to become close with; flirty and defiant; loyalty is hard-earned and easily betrayed

Important Facts:
▪ Trained medic but prefers the war and/or social branches.
▪ Usually untrustworthy, everything is calculated, ambitious as f**k, nefarious motivations.
▪ Opinions, motivations and ambition are Sel's and Sel's alone and are not shared by her roleplayer.

Physical:
★ HUMAN | health: 100%
— She's small, but not too small, about 5'4" or so. Slender and always moving, pretty blue-green eyes with a mischievous glint in them and you know she's gonna get you into trouble. Dark hair, no doubt dark thoughts as well. Red lips curve into a lazy grin that reveals white teeth - they won't stay pearly for much longer, though, as she's often seen smoking.
— major injuries: none
— minor injuries: none

Personality:
— Sel is a very bold, competitive and stubborn person, with a wild side that is shown frequently as well as flirtatious tendencies. She is easily bored and is always on the lookout for adventure, with a spark of curiosity that she hopes will lead to what she seeks: adventure and romance. She seems to not be a very serious person and would rather have fun than be productive, and failing entertainment she can be quite productive and get quite a bit done. She's loud and lacks discipline. While Sel is irresponsible (and oddly bossy) and wild, she is very family-oriented and loves her family dearly. She is usually a cheerful, friendly person but she definitely has a passion for the weird, dark and creepy. She is somewhat vain and egotistical. She has her secrets and one of them is her intelligence and ability to collect information; most dismiss her as a dumb party girl (or something like that) and that's part of her cover, she has her fair share of sins and has to have a way of hiding them, and because she is a good liar and good actress, she succeeds.
— curious; friendly; bold; friendly; intelligent; brave; stubborn; competitive; flirty; sly and cunning; ambitious; wild; irresponsible; bossy; vain; arrogant/egotistical; cruel/sadistic; dark; deceptive

Interaction:
▪ Trained with knives and poisons | Medium physically | Hard mentally
▪ No kill/capture/maim without permission | Will kill/capture/maim with permission
▪ Prefers to fight with poisoned daggers | Relies largely on speed and agility
▪ To attack, [member=183]Sel[/member] and attack in underlined #440349

Links:
— Bio v.1
— Bio v.2
— Plot v.1 (Badlands)
— Plot v.1 (TNW)
— Storage v.1[/spoiler]

[recycling bin]

/ i dont even know if this is coherent or not but hi hello im dying

Boudica left her backpack behind, somewhere safe. The empty space on her back makes room for her rifle, which remains, almost since the Blackout, unused and unfired. But the gun holstered on her right side isn't enough to make her feel secure— or as secure as she can get here in the Badlands. Which is to say, not at all, not fucking ever, watch your Goddamn six, Darling, you don't have your people to watch it for you. No, she lost them long ago in the chaos, the men and women and persons who fought with her and alongside her. Trust us, Darling, we ain't going nowhere. Trust no one, Darling, they all leave. A lesson she never learns, never hardens enough to look elsewhere when someone gets hurt. These people— not just in the Badlands, but they're prime examples— they take advantage of any weakness, breaking down the less fortunate and less able and reveling in their ill-gotten strength.

And then there's her, unable to turn away a hungry face, a festering wound, a frightened voice. No matter how gruff she grows, she ends up giving in and giving away. Those supplies she hoards, ungently shoved in grateful hands, and more than a few nights go by with a parched throat and a clamoring stomach. Damn weak of her; it's a miracle she hasn't died yet. But she can't help but care. Boudica's stance on morality goes thus: fuck that. Who cares about right and wrong? People are fucking people, plain and Goddamn simple. The blood on her hands never felt good, not to her, but she did what she had to defending her country. And maybe somewhere else it's not survival of the fittest, which is a bullshit concept anyway, but if she left she'd be leaving behind infirm who're barely scraping by. So here she is, and here she stays.

Though stealth isn't her intention, her approach is silent, eyes quickly assessing the situation. Selena's a familiar face. Nearly a month of living in the Badlands has acquainted her with the significant people 'round the place, as well as several of the less important ones (but no one needs to know that part). Being one of the warchiefs— Christ, what a title— Sel has a good amount of influence over some of the grunts, including Bou herself. But the younger woman never struck her as a trustworthy person, and so she walks carefully in Sel's presence. It's unlikely she could ever overpower Boudica on her own, but there's the keywords— "on her own." Someone as charismatic as Sel, who's already a warchief, would have many coming to her aid. Tread lightly.

Mettaton looks easy to underestimate, but she's long since learned to expect the unexpected. Him, she doesn't know as much about, but it's best to be cautious. Even if his choice in dress tends to be... less than sensible. He's one of Selena's friends (for lack of a better term), if she recalls correctly, and Sel's already classified as "dangerous" in Bou's book.

This stranger, now, who says he'll be "sticking around." He's a definite threat, even with his injuries. Her eyes skim over the rifle he's carrying and she wonders who he is, which of them's the better shot. He's taller than her by a couple of inches. Metta, with his heels, stands at a greater height, and all three of them tower over Sel. Since Sel already has this under control, she remains silent. She stays a little apart from the three, but close enough to hear and watch the proceedings, and intervene if necessary.

---

[spoiler=information — 2017/02/27]— pm main account to plot.
— all opinions + choices ic.

recent news
— n/a.

general | pinterest board
— boudica mallory darling | "bou, gunny" | dislikes nicknames
— female | she/her pronouns | dyadic dmab | presents masc.
— demiromantic pansexual | has extremely high standards™
— about 32 years old | date of birth: september 15th [virgo]
— the badlands: grunt of war | prev. u.s.m.c. gunnery sergeant

important notes
— difficult to befriend; prefers to stay distant and aloof.

physical
— health: 80%-90%; decent condition | face/voice-claim: malese jow
— tall, fit, muscular. built for strength and endurance. 6'1 [1.86 m].
— mixed: english/italian father; chinese/native american mother.
— olive skin with light, sparse freckles, and chestnut brown eyes.
— dark brown hair with a reddish tinge. currently kept in crew cut.
— button nose, high cheekbones, defined jawline, athletic figure.
— simple black semper fi tattoo written across her shoulder blades.
— injuries: minor bruises and scrapes.

mental | good is not nice | good is not soft | deadpan snarker | the stoic
— health: 80%-90% | sleep-deprived, paranoid; in decent condition
— hufflepuff primary/hufflepuff secondary | neutral good | isxj-a
— aloof and asocial. keeps her personal life as private as possible.
— extremely critical of herself and of others. comes off as caustic.
— will grudgingly offer her assistance if other people require help.
— purposefully standoffish; tries not to become attached to others.
— usually follows the rules; won't hesitate to break them if needed.
— self-disciplined and self-controlled. calm and decisive in crises.
— perceptive, shrewd, opportunistic. quick to gauge chances, risks.
— reliable, trustworthy; will follow through with tasks and promises.
— authoritative, self-assured. a natural leader, and a good one, too.
— unwavering in her loyalty once it's earned. steadfast, iron-willed.

possessions | running low on ammo, medical supplies, and water
— a m40a5 sniper rifle, rarely used; and a beretta m9, seldom used.
— a camouflage assault backpack. a med kit. a ka-bar combat knife.
— a water canteen. a folded picture of her, her parents, and her siblings.
— dog tags worn around her neck; never taken off, even when sleeping.
— sensible, durable clothing; mostly well-worn + some form of damage.
— cargo pants, bomber jackets, combat boots. function over fashion.

relationships
— single | no crushes | no "maybe" crushes | prefers short-term flings
— 1/? of the darling family | 1/? of the extended batfam [hardass aunt]
— npc x npc | gen 1 | middle child | immediate family presumed dead

interaction
— physically very hard | mentally hard | highly trained [former marine]
— prefers guns over hand-to-hand combat | ruthless, reliable, resilient
— may rarely start fights | will finish fights | may [seldom] show mercy
— won't sexually assault | will maim, torture, and kill when necessary
— highly skilled sniper | has basic medical skills; decent w/ minor shit
— nonviolent/peaceful actions can be powerplayed.
— • will most likely react aggressively.
— attack in BOLDED BLACK CAPITAL LETTERS.[/spoiler]