* ♱ ﹙ my soul ? so cynical ﹚ o , joining !

[marsy]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.2;"]finding a place to stay was , without a doubt , very difficult , especially for someone like himself . he wasn't used to all of the new territory , and he didn't much care for it . he missed the salty breeze of the coast and digging his toes into warm sand , and wading in the water while the sun beat down on his face — he missed the people , most of all , but the peace the sea brought was unbeatable by miles .

those days were still clear in his mind — when his mother would give him her brightest smile , take his hand , and walk him down to the beach so they could build sand castles and splash each other in the water . it was a nice getaway from cade ( dad ) and the intense energy in the house . he could still remember the day she died , and the last time he went to the beach with her . he wished he would have seen how tired she was .

the smell of ocean made his head whirl , and his footsteps increased in speed until he was in an awkward half-jog with his backpack slung around his shoulders , bo-staff carefully zipped in tight . he rolled up the sleeves of his loose button-up , eyes as wide and hopeful as they were when he was eleven or twelve and first met the street gang he considered siblings .

a smile spread across his face as he ran through the mountains , fully realizing this could be someone's territory , but not much caring . all he could think of was ocean , ocean , ocean . when he could finally see it , he slowed to a walk , staring in awe at the simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar sight . he gripped the straps of his backpack tightly , squeezing them , and then started to tap excitedly on them .

the tapping stopped immediately at the sound of footsteps other than his own , and the sight of a figure ( or were there more ? ) approaching , too close . his smile dropped and he furrowed his brows , coming to a stand-still . narrowing his eyes , he straightened his back and held his chin up high . he clenched his jaw and stood with his arms by his sides , fists clenched tighter than his jaw . the confidence of his stance and posture greatly contrasted his rapidly beating heart and racing thoughts .

without really thinking , he called out , " m'lookin' to join . " it wasn't his original intention , because he had the feeling he could never belong anywhere even partially , but he couldn't say no to the beach . where else was he going to find a group situated on the coast ?

// OOF this is Not Very Good but :eyes: i am much excite

[CATALYST]

Back in the days of their youth, before they ran away, they hadn't gone anywhere. They'd mostly stayed in the house, playing and learning and doing most of the things any kid should. Most of the things. They didn't have friends, for the other kids in the neighborhood had always had a strong dislike for them. Despite this, there was still a sense of nostalgia. There was a bit of nostalgia for their teenage years too, though only select moments. Sitting on the rooftop with Susie, feeling some false sense of camaraderie with Gerald, Louie and Honey, the exhilaration after winning a fight.

They'd say that their best (and arguably worst) moments had been here, though, in the Badlands. Reuniting with their mother, finding and falling for Gavril, adopting Mo, becoming friends with Creed... all of that was important to them, it's why they got up every day despite the constant pain from the injuries they had gotten by virtue of their position and dumbassery. Yeah. There were definite downsides to their life right now, and it was bad enough that they weren't so cheery or patient, but not so bad they'd actually change anything.

Cat could relate to not feeling like he belonged anywhere. For pretty much their entire life up until the Badlands, even in places where they were accepted, they were an outsider. But they'd found a community here, and that was yet another reason why they were sticking with this place. "Oh are ya?" They asked, looking over the stranger calmly. Hah, got to him before Sheogorath. Good. Maybe this guy's first impression of this place could be a sane one. "You got a name?"

//this is late and bad but hello

[spoiler=IF YOU DONT KNOW NOW YOU KNOW && INFO && 04/15/19]GENERAL  welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life
⇥ Given name is Scott Mathew Darrow ⇥ Goes only by Catalyst or Cat
⇥ Assigned male at birth ⇥ Agender ⇥ They/Them pronouns only
⇥ Twenty-one ⇥ Born 11/27/17 ⇥ Sagittarius ⇥ Real time aging
⇥ Boss (leader) of the Badlands ⇥ Ex prisoner of the Badlands
⇥ Ex cultist (Mourningstar) ⇥ Ex member of the Young Rogues

RECENT EVENTS  done my time and served my sentence
⇥ 04/16/39 ⇥ Was saved by Sheogorath
⇥ 04/15/39 ⇥ Took the Badlands brand
⇥ 04/08/39 ⇥ Had a huge fight with Molly
⇥ 04/06/39 ⇥ Returned to the Badlands badly injured
⇥ 04/03/39 ⇥ Temporarily left with Creed to try to find her brother

APPEARANCE  dress me up and watch me die
⇥ Catalyst is 6'2" tall; they possess a lean and muscular body, one that has a variety of old scars adorning it. One of the easiest to notice is one that stretches down their right cheek. While not a scar, one very notable marking on their chest is the "BL" brand. They have two piercings, one in their tongue and the other in the cartilage of their left ear. They typically dress in dark colors (favoring jackets with some sort of writing on the back), and their hair is black. They're not all dark, however, as they have pale blue eyes that peer out from beneath medium-sized eyebrows.

PERSONALITY  if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine
⇥ Catalyst is ambitious, with the cunning and ruthlessness to reach their goals by any means necessary. They can be brutal when they feel it is needed, however when it's not they won't bother. They tend to be rather aloof and apathetic to most things and people, with some very rare exceptions. Provided those around them don't cross a few specific lines, they're content to leave them be, though they've been known to take an interest in some people, which seldom has a positive end for whoever their interest is in. They can be manipulative, and will often encourage people to make bad decisions. Those that stick by them will be rewarded, but those that do not will be cast out, as they've been outcast for their entire life and have learned to appreciate loyalty wherever they can find it. Even during the most stressful of situations, they usually keep a firm grip on their temper and keep their calm, though when they do snap and lose their temper, it is uncontrollable. They're remarkably observant, often able to deign much from subtle clues in what people say, how they say it and how they act.

RELATIONS  dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight
⇥ Molly Darrow x Austin Darrow ⇥ No siblings
⇥ Adopted parent of Molly Valentina Darrow-Lupei (Mo)
⇥ Pansexual/Panromantic ⇥ Very much taken ⇥ One Crush
⇥ Not looking but it happened ⇥ Rarely forms romantic attachment
⇥ Holds most people at arms length and doesn't get close

INTERACTION  i'm taking back the c r o w n
⇥ Hard physically ⇥ Hard mentally ⇥ Doesn't let their guard down
⇥ Is most comfortable with close ranged-weapons ⇥ Dislikes guns
⇥ Brass knuckles ⇥ A variety of knives ⇥ Carries a handgun
⇥ Will kill/capture/maim in certain circumstances
⇥ Will leave things be in others ⇥ Will start & finish fights
⇥ No kill/capture/maim without permission
⇥ Peaceful powerplay allowed but they may react negatively
⇥ Dislikes almost any sort of touch unless they initiate or agree to it
[/spoiler]

[MICHAEL.]

[align=center]

[div style="borderwidth; width: 400px; padding: 1px; text-align: justify; color: #4B3E2D; line-height: 14px; font-size: 11pt; font-family: timesnewroman; letter-spacing: 1.1px;"]"speech" 'thought' text
tw: mentions alcohol, blood, profanity, violence, religion

The dark haired man took a deep breath, he'd been injured for a week now, and while the wound was healing, it was healing slower than he would have liked. However, due to a bit of pressure and possibly a threat or two on Sheo's side, Mike was now using a pair of crutches that the slightly unstable murderer had found during the hospital raid.

Michael sighed as he stopped a foot or two away from Cat, he was still a bit wary of the leader, possibly because Cat seemed to think they had some power over him, and something to hold over his head. They weren't wrong, but Mike still didn't like that train of thought. He knew he was a soldier, that he was going to follow orders, and he just didn't like the idea of being manipulated into doing so.

He held on to the base of the crutches, and let his full weight rest on the good foot and his arms that were supporting him. Since Cat had already asked the name of the man, why would he need to say anything more? There was a touch of a blood stain on the left side of his jean where the wound had seeped a bit blood a few days prior, and it was now dried and crusted, but still visible because Mike had yet to do laundry... something to add to his list.

[south]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]TW: blood, mentions of death

The ocean's beautiful rage quelled both men to it. Her whisperings were forever tethered to them, beckoning with a forgiving nature. They were raised around it, and with their shared lack of proper homes, the boys found one in the coasts' comfort. Warm, gentle sand, and powerful, gorgeous tides provided them a comfort they never truly knew elsewhere. It made perfect sense both men would follow the coast in pursuit of that sense of comfort. Somehow, the sea had helped them find one another again.

Santos was naive to this. How long had it been since he had seen Deacon? Eleven, ten years? His last memory was of a twelve year old boy, with long blonde curls and fiery eyes. Forever biting the hand that fed him, forever defiant even in ease- Deacon was a fire, and Santos did not mind the burns- in fact, he had likely thrown in a few logs. He had come to find a sense of belonging in the street gang of battered boys, and though it took time, the boys accepted him with open arms. Santos had practically raised the boy with Ryder's help, teaching him how to survive and defend himself. Everything Santos had learned, he passed onto Deacon with clarity and bluntness. Under his wing, Deacon grew tremendously in those few years, and the two had become inseparable.

The morning after the blackout struck, Deacon did not come back home to that crowded apartment. The bed Ryder had made for him in their shared room was left empty, growing cold for weeks. The boys grew concerned, and Santos went out looking for him time and time again, but to no avail. The boy did not come back, and the world continued to turn much to Santos' devastation. Worries and grief clouded the man's mind ever since. Ryder knew best- telling him Deacon had returned to his family, reasoning the blackout likely scared his family. Though, in no way did this quell Santos' worries, not after hearing of the rage that dripped from the man who created the fire.

A month had passed since the blackout when the shootout happened. When Santos lost Ryder and all those he cared about. When the man had kneeled in his lovers' pool of blood, clutching his chest as life drained from it. Covered in blood and grief, shaken by the absolute shock of the events, Santos had walked from the destroyed convenience store, down the street in silence. That night, he knew a silence he had never before. The street was dark and poorly lit in the night, the only sound the crunching of shattered glass under his boots. His eyes were empty, his face blank as he neared that apartment. Blood dripped from his sleeves as he pushed the door open. The man had allowed himself to slump onto Deacon's mattress, closing his eyes, and letting himself fade into the black.

After that, Santos grew blinded by his grief. The man became reckless and violent, often sabotaging the gang's missions due to his prolonged rages, or his blatant disobedience. It took him about a week before the gang finally picked up and abandoned him that one night. Ever since, the man had been on his own, travelling from one place to the other with no real attachments. He found The Badlands by following the coast, searching for the comfort of the sea, hoping in some way he could find a home there again.

He was still working on that. The dark haired man approached the beach side, nearing Catalyst and Michael with vague curiosity. It appeared they had a joiner, and at first glance, Santos thought nothing of the stranger. He rested his hand upon his handgun that was tucked snugly in his waistband, eyes narrowed as he scanned the other. The blonde held himself upright, his stance defensive, his staff tucked away. He did not seem to be a current threat, but he radiated the nature of a fighter. His eyes told the story of a man who had seen plenty, a quiet fire in them-- a fire Santos knew. The man's face softened- he knew that fire.

"Conejito," he breathed, hand falling away from his gun as he took a step forward. The man rushed towards the blonde, moving to embrace the other, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, his other hand cradling his head, as if scared the other would disappear again. His little rabbit. "Where did you go, Deacon?" He spoke softly, eventually parting the embrace to look at the other, searching his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm so sorry..."

[spoiler=TAGS / INFO]GENERAL — Biography
▪ Santos Castellano | Formerly called Castle by those he was close w/
▪ Cisgender male | He/him
▪ Twenty-nine y/o | Born Oct 30 | Scorpio
▪ Newbie of Badlands | Traveller

PHYSICAL —
— 6'4, 220 Lbs. Tall and broad build. Spanish descent.
— Dark wavy hair, full beard, warm complexion, freckled, angular face. Covered in scars and faded tattoos (small, stick and poke tattoos obviously done when he was younger) Tattoos range from his face to his feet. Scars along chest marking his kill count from previous gang involvement.
— Current Injuries: Old bruises and scars, healing left black eye

IMPORTANT NOTES —
▪ Haunted by the ghost of his former best friend/love interest, Ryder. Santos associates his death with guilt and unfullfillment, and often sees his spirit lingering in the background. Does not speak about this to anyone, though.
▪ Has a pet female California kingsnake named Kyros. (Ref.) She is fairly friendly, though has a tendency to bite and not let go. (Non-venomous)
▪ Opinions, motivations and thoughts are always 100% in character and do not reflect the roleplayer's opinions

PERSONA — Lawful Evil
— Distant, detached, introverted, often quiet, defensive, protective, territorial when close w something/someone, proactive, cautious, observant, fairly close minded, capable of apathy, easily stirred/angered, likes to think he’s driven by logic but when vulnerable very much driven by strong emotion, etc.
— Easy to approach, but hard to converse with. Very distant and walled off- does not trust easily.
— Easy to aggravate. More defensive than offense, but it takes very little to make him snap.

INTERACTION — Plotting Thread
— Physical Difficulty: 9/10 | Mental Difficulty: 7/10
— Learned most weapon combat from street gang days // Self-taught in hand to hand
— Currently equipped with an assault rifle (low ammo) and a pistol (low ammo) as well as his weapon of choice, his wooden bat with barbed wire wrapped around it
— To attack, @ user & attack in italicized bold

[marsy]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.2;"]tw: some cussin' , very vague mention of death and violence

that familiar feeling coiled in his stomach , tighter and tighter the closer the figure approached . tall and scarred and lean was never a good combination , in deacon's experience , and he took a small step back without completely realizing it . he wouldn't run for the hills , especially with the coast right there , water lapping at the edge of land , but every instinct in his body told him to turn and let this tall , scarred figure eat his dust .

the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed a little at the calmness the other showed , though he uncrossed his arms and held them by his sides , ready for anything to happen . the calmest people could often be the most dangerous ; he had to keep his guard up . he grinned -- that mean , no-good grin -- at the inquiry , and would have made a smart remark had it not been for the second figure that approached .

his grin faltered and his nose twitched into a brief scowl before it settled back , grin meaner than before . he took another step back .

not even the ocean could calm the waves of thoughts , or the twitches in his hands , begging to slam into something or someone .

" dj , " he answered , eyes locked on the second figure . his heart pounded in his chest , eyes narrowed but grin set . he nearly reached for the knife tucked in his boot , but as scowl and grin combined like the wild animal he'd become -- or always had been after his mother left him in the world , worse than alone -- another figure creeped into his line of sight .

his chest hurt .

he didn't recognized him as he stood near the other two , every motion cautious . instead of taking another step back , he took on forward , clenching his fists tighter .

the familiar word struck him like a thousand bolts of lightning , and his fists and grin fell , narrowed eyes widening . he froze until he felt arms wrap around him , flinching at the surprising contact , and swallowed . he made no move to reciprocate the embrace , emotions and memories flooding in all at once . he let his head be cradled , and squeezed his watering eyes shut . holy shit .

" holy shit , " he breathed into santo's chest , and let out another shaky breath as the other man spoke . it'd been too long since he heard that voice , and he almost laughed at the thought of santos scolding him like he used to when deacon was barely a teenager . he shook his head and smiled a little bigger , hope filling in his eyes in place of the anger and caution that once clouded them not just a minute before .

he scoffed and shook his head , grabbing either side of santos' face just to make sure he was real . " what're you apologizin' for ? huh ? fuck , i missed you . "

deacon pulled santos back into another brief hug . " where have you been ? where's ryder ? you two are usually attached at the hip . " he smiled brightly , forgetting about the presence of the other two people . his eyes might have sparkled if it were possible . he figured ryder would have come with santos because of how much they loved each other ; they were inseparable . god , he couldn't wait to see ryder again , too .

[CATALYST]

Reunions typically made them antsy. Sometimes they were wonderful, happy things, but the world was full of bad blood and more often than not they were complicated and Cat couldn't be sure that one wouldn't attack the other. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any of the sort of bad blood they normally looked out for here. Good. Navigating those foamy red waters was never pleasant.

"Do you two need a minute?" They asked, crossing their arms. Dj, Deacon, whatever, didn't seem to be some sort of threat, even if his smile left friendliness to be desired. So did Cat's, those rare times when they did. So did about half the population's. A mean smile wasn't anything they were going to get worked up about.

[spoiler=IF YOU DONT KNOW NOW YOU KNOW && INFO && 04/15/19]GENERAL  welcome to the end of eras, ice has melted back to life
⇥ Given name is Scott Mathew Darrow ⇥ Goes only by Catalyst or Cat
⇥ Assigned male at birth ⇥ Agender ⇥ They/Them pronouns only
⇥ Twenty-one ⇥ Born 11/27/17 ⇥ Sagittarius ⇥ Real time aging
⇥ Boss (leader) of the Badlands ⇥ Ex prisoner of the Badlands
⇥ Ex cultist (Mourningstar) ⇥ Ex member of the Young Rogues

RECENT EVENTS  done my time and served my sentence
⇥ 04/16/39 ⇥ Was saved by Sheogorath
⇥ 04/15/39 ⇥ Took the Badlands brand
⇥ 04/08/39 ⇥ Had a huge fight with Molly
⇥ 04/06/39 ⇥ Returned to the Badlands badly injured
⇥ 04/03/39 ⇥ Temporarily left with Creed to try to find her brother

APPEARANCE  dress me up and watch me die
⇥ Catalyst is 6'2" tall; they possess a lean and muscular body, one that has a variety of old scars adorning it. One of the easiest to notice is one that stretches down their right cheek. While not a scar, one very notable marking on their chest is the "BL" brand. They have two piercings, one in their tongue and the other in the cartilage of their left ear. They typically dress in dark colors (favoring jackets with some sort of writing on the back), and their hair is black. They're not all dark, however, as they have pale blue eyes that peer out from beneath medium-sized eyebrows.

PERSONALITY  if it feels good, tastes good, it must be mine
⇥ Catalyst is ambitious, with the cunning and ruthlessness to reach their goals by any means necessary. They can be brutal when they feel it is needed, however when it's not they won't bother. They tend to be rather aloof and apathetic to most things and people, with some very rare exceptions. Provided those around them don't cross a few specific lines, they're content to leave them be, though they've been known to take an interest in some people, which seldom has a positive end for whoever their interest is in. They can be manipulative, and will often encourage people to make bad decisions. Those that stick by them will be rewarded, but those that do not will be cast out, as they've been outcast for their entire life and have learned to appreciate loyalty wherever they can find it. Even during the most stressful of situations, they usually keep a firm grip on their temper and keep their calm, though when they do snap and lose their temper, it is uncontrollable. They're remarkably observant, often able to deign much from subtle clues in what people say, how they say it and how they act.

RELATIONS  dynasty decapitated, you just might see a ghost tonight
⇥ Molly Darrow x Austin Darrow ⇥ No siblings
⇥ Adopted parent of Molly Valentina Darrow-Lupei (Mo)
⇥ Pansexual/Panromantic ⇥ Very much taken ⇥ One Crush
⇥ Not looking but it happened ⇥ Rarely forms romantic attachment
⇥ Holds most people at arms length and doesn't get close

INTERACTION  i'm taking back the c r o w n
⇥ Hard physically ⇥ Hard mentally ⇥ Doesn't let their guard down
⇥ Is most comfortable with close ranged-weapons ⇥ Dislikes guns
⇥ Brass knuckles ⇥ A variety of knives ⇥ Carries a handgun
⇥ Will kill/capture/maim in certain circumstances
⇥ Will leave things be in others ⇥ Will start & finish fights
⇥ No kill/capture/maim without permission
⇥ Peaceful powerplay allowed but they may react negatively
⇥ Dislikes almost any sort of touch unless they initiate or agree to it
[/spoiler]

[south]

[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify; line-height: 110%;"]TW: mentions of death and blood

Santos did not fight the smile that graced his face, golden eyes bright with joy as Deacon touched his face in disbelief. A soft, choked exhale left him in a rumble- he was reeling with shock and happiness. DJ was here- he had come back. For a moment, Santos felt like he was eighteen again. Reminiscing the memories the duo shared brought him a strong sense of nostalgia that left his throat hoarse. "I missed you too," He chuckled quietly as Deacon pulled him in for another embrace. Fuck, had he missed him. Santos long ago had come to terms with the fact that he may never see the blonde again. Their reunion was no short of heartwarming.

"Where's Ryder?"

The pure joy and seemingly out-of-place nostalgia seemed to shatter around him, and everything came rushing back- the blood, the bullets, the flickering lights. Santos looked over Deacon's shoulder-- there he was. Ryder's spirit stood in the distance, waves lapping at his feet. He looked silently upon the two, his usual cold expression replaced by warmth. His dearly loved ghost. Golden gaze flickered back to DJ's, smile gone. His chest felt heavy, and his throat unbearably tight.

He shook his head, eyes searching Deacon's, as if apologizing. He still couldn't say it- not to Deacon, not to the boy Ryder had adored so dearly. "I couldn't--" Shook his head again. "I'm so sorry, Deacon..." Maybe they could talk about it later- Santos would explain everything- just... later. Not when everything was so sudden and raw. Jaw clenched; teeth grinding.

"Ryder's dead."

[spoiler=TAGS / INFO]GENERAL — Biography
▪ Santos Castellano | Formerly called Castle by those he was close w/
▪ Cisgender male | He/him
▪ Twenty-nine y/o | Born Oct 30 | Scorpio
▪ Newbie of Badlands | Traveller

PHYSICAL —
— 6'4, 220 Lbs. Tall and broad build. Spanish descent.
— Dark wavy hair, full beard, warm complexion, freckled, angular face. Covered in scars and faded tattoos (small, stick and poke tattoos obviously done when he was younger) Tattoos range from his face to his feet. Scars along chest marking his kill count from previous gang involvement.
— Current Injuries: Old bruises and scars, healing left black eye

IMPORTANT NOTES —
▪ Haunted by the ghost of his former best friend/love interest, Ryder. Santos associates his death with guilt and unfullfillment, and often sees his spirit lingering in the background. Does not speak about this to anyone, though.
▪ Has a pet female California kingsnake named Kyros. (Ref.) She is fairly friendly, though has a tendency to bite and not let go. (Non-venomous)
▪ Opinions, motivations and thoughts are always 100% in character and do not reflect the roleplayer's opinions

PERSONA — Lawful Evil
— Distant, detached, introverted, often quiet, defensive, protective, territorial when close w something/someone, proactive, cautious, observant, fairly close minded, capable of apathy, easily stirred/angered, likes to think he’s driven by logic but when vulnerable very much driven by strong emotion, etc.
— Easy to approach, but hard to converse with. Very distant and walled off- does not trust easily.
— Easy to aggravate. More defensive than offense, but it takes very little to make him snap.

INTERACTION — Plotting Thread
— Physical Difficulty: 9/10 | Mental Difficulty: 7/10
— Learned most weapon combat from street gang days // Self-taught in hand to hand
— Currently equipped with an assault rifle (low ammo) and a pistol (low ammo) as well as his weapon of choice, his wooden bat with barbed wire wrapped around it
— To attack, @ user & attack in italicized bold