THE QUEEN OF ALL THE BOYS // o, joining
#1
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H
eat. That's all Rudolf could think about, really. of course, it was always quite warm in the bunker, but out here was a little more than toasty. He had discarded his jacket long ago, and was now contemplating removing the sweater vest that clung to his body and made his shirt sticky. Then again, that would mean he'd have to stop, and use the little energy he had up in what he figured to be a fruitless attempt to cool down. The young man had been walking for what felt like ages now-- before he had acquired a bicycle, but one miscalculated rock took out the tires a few miles back. now, with dust-coated trousers and scuffed leather shoes, he was wandering through the blistering heat. A gust of wind that felt no cool than steam threw some more sand in his face, causing him to wipe the grains out of his eyelashes. He'd been squinting for so long that it felt relieving to finally give his muscles a break, even if it were only for a moment. taking the time to slick back his sweat-soaked bangs, he peered at the sight he'd been staring at for the past few hours. In the near distance was the edge of a city, growing closer and the closer the further he went. Since he initially left his family's bunker in new york, he'd heard word of a certain society that had everything he could ever want. Of course, apart from the necessities, the term that was thrown around the 'badlands' was something that had sparked his interests immediately, and without much more thought, he had set his journey in their direction.

Now, rudolf was by no means a stupid man. He was jittery, excitable, and sometimes over-dramatic, he could admit, but not stupid. If people were to think of him in that way, he wouldn't mind much. It was simply underestimation, and he always felt the most satisfaction when he was proving someone wrong. Of course, he looked quite stupid-- and incredibly lucky, he thought-- travelling such a long way alone without any revealed means of protecting himself. He was short, skinny, and wore expensive things that only brought attention to his person. Anyone could have killed him without a second thought, just judging by his appearance. However, he was much smarter than he appeared. That was the thing with intellectuals; while they didn't have to worry about being handsome, they could spend more time calculating everyone else and hold all the cards in the end. Power was much more important. 

By the time he reached the edge of town, the sunburned male stopped, shielding his eyes from the sun to see any scouts nearby. He had heard that the badlands members were cross and territorial, so he assumed there would be at least somebody waiting for him. "Hello?" he called, keeping his opposite hand relaxed next to his pocket, where he kept his pistol. It was, in fact, empty, but only he knew that.
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[spoiler=OH LORD TELL ME :: tags 9/28][i]I WILL NEVER HAVE A PROBLEM SURVIVING,
☆ rudolf irving penningdale | 'penny'
☆  questioning male | masculine pronouns
☆ 26 | august 9 | leo
☆ badlands | member
[i]POCKETS LOOKING GREEN LIKE TROPICAL ISLANDS.
☆ human | health: 90%
☆ [i]injuries: n/a
☆ 5'6 and slender, very pale, freckly skin | straight black hair | watery turkish blue eyes | scars along wrists, and legs
☆ tends to wear expensive, mobster-like suits with pointed shoes and fur coats
☆ carries two switchblades and an empty pistol
face & voice claim: robin lord taylor | standard american accent
VILLAINS CAMOUFLAGE THEIR EVIL WITH KINDNESS,
☆ entj | "the fieldmarshal" | chaotic neutral | choleric
— [i]positive traits:
creative, passionate, thoughtful, protective, bold, ambitious, clever
— negative traits: insecure, short-tempered, cruel, demanding, inpatient, deceitful, unpredictable, arrogant
suffers from: mild antisocial personality disorder, paranoia,
☆ fears death, humiliation, drowning, loss, being forgotten
☆ maya williams x jameson penningdale | gen 1 | family status: deceased
☆ single | closeted homosexual homoromantic
☆ ½ _
[I]TO CATCH YOU OFF-GUARD AND RUN WITH YOUR DIAMONDA.
☆ medium physically | difficult mentally | easy emotionally
☆ no current debilitations
☆ attack in #525252

[/spoiler]


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it's how im feeling inside that's annoying my vibe.
Hoot tells you a joke :^D
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#2
CHARLIE "LUCKY" LUCIANO
won't stop 'till we're legend — BIOGRAPHY
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Out of the many problems that the Badlands had, the weather was certainly a prominent one. A drop of rain was a miracle. Cloud-cover was a blessing. The cool winds that the night brought dried the sweat upon their skin. The arid region was like hell on earth, though the only reason they had remained in the abandoned city was likely because of the resources that were still available to the survivors. If it had been up to Charlie at the time, he would've chosen a different place to live a long time ago. Now that he was in charge, though, he found that it would be too inconvenient to move the whole group somewhere else at this time. The numbers of supplies and members were dwindling, and such a migration would probably prove to be more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps when they were all more prepared, and perhaps when Charlie got his shit together. There were other matters that he had to tend to first, such as foreign relations and training and keeping everyone fed and on their feet.

Charlie spotted the figure in the distance, like a silhouette contrasting against a bright light. In this case, it was a dark-dressed man standing against the pale and bare background of the desert. He was approaching from the outside of the city's borders, and he couldn't remember giving anyone permission to leave within the last few days. This meant that this was a stranger, someone to be cautious of. Charlie found it difficult to welcome anyone with open arms and no questions asked, so of course he would be a bit of a hardass when addressing the newcomer. That was the way things were, now, with tensions so high.

Little did Charlie know, he actually had a bit in common with this guy. He had hailed from New York as well; Manhattan, specifically. They obviously had the same clothing style; Charlie also preferred wearing suits and blazers and vests and button-ups over casual clothing. Why? Well, they were the only clothes that fit him. Besides, wearing such clothing made him feel wealthy and professional, and Charlie was nothing but that.

The Italian man, dressed in a black suit and tie and wearing a dark gray fedora atop his head, slowly but surely walked towards the man. A handgun was hidden within the folds of his torso just in case this guy pulled anything stupid. Charlie appeared neutral as of now, his dark brown eyes settling upon the other. "Who're you?" The deep-voiced New Yorker questioned, coming to a stop as he awaited a response from the shorter man.
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#psychosocial.


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THERE'S NO RETURN FROM WHERE I'VE BEEN
❝ TRIED TO PRETEND THAT I'M AROUND . . .
————————— BIOGRAPHY / FORMER BOSS OF THE BADLANDS
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#3
[align=center][div style="text-align: justify; width:500px;font-size:9.3pt; line-height:15px; color:black;"][font=arial]Dylan didn't mind the heat itself but despised the complications it brought to his outfits - his hoodies were forcefully plucked from his skinny frame and the jeans peeled away, leaving him in the baggiest tee he could find and a pair of shorts if he was lucky. The worst of his scars lined up perfectly with t-shirts and shorts, meaning every time a heat wave was added on top of the normal heat, he died a little bit inside. His dignity died, too. Nobody knew how he got the scars but eventually they would know, that was inevitable. And as for the rest of the group in terms of moving around and being productive, the heat usually slowed them down. It made a lot of people careless and dumb, but not him. He was used to it now.

Dylan was already at the outskirts of the city when he spotted Rudolf in the distance. He stayed in the empty building, smoking a cigarette, legs hanging out the window frame, and watched in curious silence. He then watched as Charlie went to speak to him and counted to one hundred in his head, deciding if Charlie needed backup just under two minutes was enough time to decide or not. He reloaded his handgun and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans before leaving the empty building into the blazing heat. His scuffed sneakers creating small clouds of dust as he sauntered towards the pair. "Well, if I'd known we were dressing up fancy I would've made an effort." Dylan said as he arrived, one hazel eye glancing down to stare at his dirty black tee and black jeans. He had never seen anyone dress in so many suits than in this group despite travelling for a couple years.

[spoiler=I CAN THANK YOU FOR HOW STRONG I HAVE BECOME ✦ TAGS, UPDATED SEPT 30]GENERAL. Wrap me up in Chanel inside my coffin
& Dylan Phillip Hearst
& 19 years old | Born December 22nd | Capricorn
& Underboss (Deputy) of the Badlands
& Originally from Toronto, Canada | Often speaks with a British accent
& Suffers from severe Pyrophobia (fear of fire) from a past trauma
& Identifies as male | Biologically male | He/him

APPEARANCE. Might go to Hell and there ain't no stopping
& 6'1 teenage male | Skinny and slightly underweight
& Physical health: 90% | Broken right hand/wrist and grazed ribs from a gunshot wound
& Hazel eyes | Brown hair | Scars across back from abuse
& Faceclaim is Ivan Martinez | REFERENCE
& Pierced ears | 2 finger tattoos REF and REF
& Dylan's mangled right hand resembles something from a horror movie more than real life. The limb is practically unusable and sometimes covered with a bandage, sometimes not. Most Badlanders are used to the ugly sight by now.
& WARDROBE REFERENCE

RELATIONSHIPS. Might be a sinner and I might be a saint
& Daisy Hearst + NPC father
& Twins with Anya (now goes by Samantha, Dylan is unaware of this)
& Bisexual biromantic | Single | ½ of ___
& Will react negatively to motherly/fatherly actions directed at him but loves physical interactions such as hugging and holding hands
& Has no problem in meeting new people but its impossible to get any personal information about him or his past

BATTLE TAGS. Sweet little baby in a world full of pain
& Very hard difficulty with weapons | Medium in hand-to-hand
& Skilled with guns and throwing stars/knives
& Attack in bold #cc0000 or ignored
& No maiming/death. PM [member=66]Wishy[/member] for capture plots
& Peaceful actions may be powerplayed


[align=center][div style="font-size:14.4pt;line-height:.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black;padding:4px"]HEART MADE OF GLASS, MY MIND OF STONE
TEAR ME TO PIECES, SKIN AND BONE [color=transparent]— ——-

HELLO, WELCOME HOME [color=transparent]— ———-—-————--
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