[align=center][table]
♛ — Richie t. Xellbrat-Tozier |
[/table]
The clouds above rolled hard, on the heels of god no doubt. Casting shadows that rippled along the ferns, brushing the oak trees, caressing the foreign territory he trekked. The gangling man weaved through the overgrowth, growing nearer to the known stomping grounds of the Badlands. A businessman in worn shoes, ripe from wheeling and dealing within the loner lands. Having traded two carvings of wooden birds for a blanket, he wore a slight smirk on his pointy countenance. Kids, he thinks back to the teenage tree-hugging weirdo he traded with. How they drank in his promise of ‘luck’ that came with his poorly sculpted birds. He shrugs, because though they were but dumb ‘kids’ he relished the company of others, despite his bitter quips and constant criticism.
He flicks a walking-stick in his wrist, a newfound friend in his journey. It prods the ground and relieves some weight he supposes, but his attention to such trivial detail was trumped by the coastal breeze and the song of seagulls. His pale skin laughed at the kiss of the sun, knowing damn well he’d never see that desirable tan hue. Richie couldn’t care less of his appearance, hell he’s long forgotten the color of his eyes. He’d tell you the’re “ I don’t fuckin’ know… brown?” , looking right at you with those blue-green blinkers.
The border of the Badlands rubbed the horizon, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek in thought. He rode on rumors, so he hadn’t a clue what to really expect. Raising a wrist to swipe the sweat from his raven-hued brow, he pauses against a scarred oak eyes scanning the wilderness. [b]" Hey- uh.... if there's anyone out there... don't shoot. I'm uh.... allergic to getting shot " his nasally tone eloquent despite his gentle pants.
[spoiler=INFO & INVENTORY]
✖ - biography — theme music
personality — sarcastic, flippant, caring, deadpan
brief descrip. — 6ft3in. lanky snow-skinned, raven-haired and blue-eyed. His features are sharp and his cheekbones are high.
weapons —
Throwing knives
Machete
—suffers from depression, hides it with levity.
relations
Rodney Xellbrat x Sandra Tozier
offspring Rayne "rollie-pollie" Tozier (deceased)
No Crushes - divorced
easy difficulty physically - difficult mentally
inventory — suture kit & cigarettes
[/spoiler]
[color=transparent]
I'M FINISHED MAKING SENSE , DONE PLEADING IGNORANCE
[align=center] [table] | trigger warnings alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion.
tags 45 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
| [/table] "speech" 'thought' text
His arm was still in a sling, it had to be. The infection was getting worse, and Mike wasn't exactly sure what the hell he was going to do about it. With Salem gone, and him in charge, Mike didn't know what he should really do, he might still go to Northstar, though there was a possibility that he'd just ignore the infection.
Dying didn't sound all that terrible, or good. He heard the sound of a person, and slipped his pistol out of his pocket. Then continued forward, hearing the voice of the man a few minutes after the sound of someone around had registered. He chuckled quietly, under his breath.
"I'm not all that partial to getting shot myself." Michael responded, the gun still in his hand. He didn't trust most people these days, there were reasons for him to distrust, and very few for the ex-military man to put his faith in anyone else. "What's your business out here? A'int exactly safe to travel much."
Michael cocked his head to the side, studying Richie for a few moments, before putting the gun back in its holster. Perhaps it was premature, but the man didn't appear to be a serious threat, at least not at this moment. "I'm Mike, leader of the establishment you've just stumbled across." The older man added.
[align=center] MICHAEL FORD Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.
[align=center][table]
♛ — Richie t. Xellbrat-Tozier |
[/table]
His mind twisted with the clouds above, restless and always moving with the wind. To dwell was to sink in the mud, that murky pit that promised that familiar lull. That numbing depression that wilts his smiles and waters down his humor. Richie itches idly at the back of his scalp, jaw clenching and body going as still as a statue when the classic snap of twigs and the steady song of footfalls. Heavy, indicating a force worth reckoning. Then again, a twelve year old could probably kick his ass these days he must admit. It’s been too long since sniper school. Even then his combat skills were sour, he was better at all things distant and logical. He wasn’t impulsive, he wasn’t tough, and he sure as hell had no chance against the man that emerged from the wilderness.
The stranger wore his skin like armor, and though his words share humor, the glint of life-taking steel was enough to make Richie swallow down against his nerves. He wore his arm in a sling but that probably didn’t count for advantage. This guy was a bible of warfare, and he wielded a prayer. Let this moment not dub Richie Heathen. Richie lifted his arms away from his weapon belt, his walking stick dangling from his hand.[b] “ yeah well… a bullet might just bounce off you. ” he jested with a huff, blowing out through his teeth nervously. “ you’re right about that ” he adds with slight contempt. Recalling the cluster of wanderers he had run into, all presenting the hospitality of starved tigers. “Luckily for me… I’m good at talking. - … AH, just that actually… business… those sorts of things” he furrows his brows, eyes dropping to the man’s hand as it discards the pistol.
Leader, Mike. His brain files this information, but his thoughts are brought back to the sling. The leader of this notorious gang was injured? either a testament to security, or this guy didn’t feel like sitting on his ass throwing out orders. “I’ve heard of you guys. My name’s Richie… I’m kind of a drifter, but- .. I wanted to stop and see if you guys were looking to uh… hire - no… recruit lanky middle-aged out of shape men? ” he puffs a chuckle and wears a sideways smile.
“ I’m thinkin’ maybe I have some skill-sets that might prove… eh, useful” he flicks his wrist to shoo a fly but his eyes never waver. “Aside from carving doves out of wood for hippies in exchange for a blanket. I uh -…your arm, what happened? ” his attention flips on a dime, dragging the topic with it.
[spoiler=INFO & INVENTORY]
✖ - biography — theme music
personality — sarcastic, flippant, caring, deadpan
brief descrip. — 6ft3in. lanky snow-skinned, raven-haired and blue-eyed. His features are sharp and his cheekbones are high.
weapons —
Throwing knives
Machete
—suffers from depression, hides it with levity.
relations
Rodney Xellbrat x Sandra Tozier
offspring Rayne "rollie-pollie" Tozier (deceased)
No Crushes - divorced
easy difficulty physically - difficult mentally
inventory — suture kit & cigarettes
[/spoiler]
[color=transparent]
I'M FINISHED MAKING SENSE , DONE PLEADING IGNORANCE
[align=center] [table] | trigger warnings alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion.
tags 45 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
| [/table] "speech" 'thought' text
The fear on the stranger's face was evident, one of the reasons Mike had holstered his pistol. There wasn't much of a reason to shoot a guy, especially in cold blood (though Mike had done plenty of that in his prior years). Had he still been drinking, he might have tried to start a fight with this newcomer, break a couple of his bones, just to feel better about himself.
But Mike was past that now, at least he hoped so. He hadn't drunk in over a year, and he hoped to continue along the path of sobriety. Even the gruesome, and untimely death of his son had not driven him to drink. He listened bemusedly to Richie's blathering on, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
But, he refrained from showing amusement. One, it wasn't polite, and two, it rather ruined his image of a stone cold wall of meat. Then again, he did have brains to back him up (though they'd seen better days) as had his body. Richie had heard of them, well many had heard of them, hell, even Mike had heard of them before he'd joined.
He struggled to choke back the laughter that threatened to burst from his lungs as Richie inquired if they were looking to recruit "lanky middle-aged out of shape men". And instead, coughed two times into his free hand. Quite amusing that was to Mike. He continued to listen. Aside from carving doves, what? The man changed topic in the middle of his sentence, and Mike raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
Diverting the conversation, and changing it's course to something more personal, at least, about Mike, wasn't something he was a fan of. He didn't really feel like telling anyone what had happened to his arm. It would most likely cast a negative light upon himself, as he'd been caught off guard, and shot in the arm. Almost murdered by his assailant, and the only reason he was alive, was because Lake had been around and had bashed the guy with a stick.
Mike sighed softly, then spoke. "I got shot. You should see the other guy." While it wasn't his doing, it went to show that if you messed with the Badlands you probably would end up no longer on the face of the earth, at least, alive. "I must say, you don't exactly sell your abilities all that well, thankfully I'm not a prick. So, feel free to join up with us." He replied relatively aimiably.
"I'll give you the rundown and a tour in a bit if you'd like. We've got a hotel casino with rooms if you'd like to claim one. Otherwise there are some empty houses. Some pretty fucking rundown, but livable, if they aren't claimed, go ahead and claim 'em." Well, that was about it. Mike extended his hand in a motion to shake. It would be nice, really, to have someone closer to his own age around.
Not that he minded all the younguns, but sometimes he just wanted to chat with someone who understood life before the blackout.
[align=center] MICHAEL FORD Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.
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![[Image: 1mb9tlz.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/1mb9tlz.gif)