QUESTION WHAT THE TV TELLS YOU - open

[JOHN WHISKERS]

[justify]He glanced at the next to approach and saw the somewhat familiar face of Liberty. She looked better then before, which was good. He snorted out a laugh at the mention of cliches; gods, he fucking hoped so. It'd be nicer to smoke with these people then to go face Mettaton empty-handed.

He took the half-empty box Dylan handed him and pulled out a cig, before setting the box back onto the hood of the car. He took the lighter and silently lit the cigarette, nodding at the mention of his lack of luck hunting. He took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke with a sigh.

"Yeah, shitty fucking luck out there." John responded before going quiet as Dylan and Libby spoke.
"You doing better, Liberty?" He decided to ask; after all, she'd been in horrible shape when she joined and he hadn't seen her since.[/justify]

we're swimming with the sharks until we drown

[DYLAN,]

[align=center][div style="background:transparent;width:500px;text-align:justify;font-family:verdana;font-size:9pt;line-height:120%;"]He hadn't seen a day so cold until now. There was ice hanging from every tree branch, like frozen spears ready to puncture his paper-thin skin. The sky was inky black despite it being the middle of the day; Dylan would've liked to photograph the scenery around him, but his fingers were numb and his camera lost. The only protection against the relentless Winter weather was a pair of jeans, his sneakers and two hoodies, plus a thick parka coat he stole a few days ago. His gloves were ripped to shreds and useless; a beanie hat was positioned every inch of his wild, brown hair, but he was still cold.

The dogs came out of nowhere. A pack of six - they were giant, their ebony fur rippling with muscle and their jaws dripping with saliva. He was only fifteen, barely 5'10, with no upper body strength and no skills to take them down. The leader of the pack charged at him and tore into his jeans, throwing the surprised boy into the snow. Dylan didn't bother screaming; he had endured worse by his own family, and the cold beneath was eerily refreshing. He let the dogs throw him around like a rag doll, their teeth piercing holes into his skin and his layer of warmth, their jaws snapping and grinding on his bones. After beating him to a bloodied pulp, the dogs began to drag him through the snow by his ankles; they barked and yipped at each other, satisfied with the catch of a human. The wounded teenager watched the crimson trail follow him, staining the alabaster snow with every droplet. Everything was upside and opposite to how it was meant to be; he felt dizzy. It looked like a crime scene.

Dogs were scary, he decided. Dogs and this world and his father and strangers: they were all scary, and he didn't want to do this anymore. He missed the way life used to be, even if it had been shitty. The only positive of this new world was the fact he was in charge: no more sister, no more mother, and definitely no more father.

Another twinge of pain rocketed through his left leg. Dylan cursed under his breath. What was he doing? He was too young to die just yet. He twisted quickly and kicked the nearest dog in the face. The sound of its nose crunching and the howl of pain was enough to make the others pause; Dylan winced at the effort, but flicked out a switchblade from his coats pocket, scrambling through the thick snow on his spare hand and his knees. One by one the dogs came leaping at him again. Their actions were fueled by annoyance and hatred for the brown-haired teenager. He began to stab with the rusty blade, his mind whirling and his fingers so dumb he could barely grip the handle, praying the stabs hit their targets.

"Is this a fucking joke?" He hissed as the final dog attached itself onto his lower ankle. The pain was agonizing, soaring through his veins like venom, and he almost dropped the knife. Dylan kicked his foot but the dog stayed clamped down. On the verge of passing out, Dylan knew he would have to throw the blade. "Please." He begged to the dark sky, throwing the switchblade straight for the canine's eye.

- - -

Now he was sitting on the top of a car. The metal was scorching hot, almost too hot, beneath his skinny jeans and white tee. For the last half an hour, he had been smoking out of boredom. Dylan watched the tendrils of smoke disappear with the mild summer breeze and tilted his head slightly. For some reason, Dylan kept thinking of that dog attack, how he had been so close to letting them finish him off, the closest time he had come to killing himself. He had laid with the six dead dogs for a few days afterwards, too injured and out-of-it to move. Four years later he was still living, breathing and attempting to make the most of it. Fifteen year old Dylan would've scoffed and rolled their eyes, but that didn't change the fact he was here. He really had come quite far.

The Grunt of War swung his leg out, kicking the edge of the car with his heel, hazel eyes squinted against the sun. He tipped some ash of the end of the cigarette before taking a drag; smoking wasn't the most pleasant hobby, but it kept him busy and that was enough.

[sorry that its a bit long for a normal thread!! i've had this idea in my head for months and finally got the muse to write it. basically, when he was 15 dylan was attacked by dogs and almost let them finish him off because he was so depressed. he just had a flashback of it and is currently sitting on a car with a cigarette]

[spoiler=TAGS]
GENERAL |
& Dylan Phillip Hearst
& 19 years old | Born December 22nd | Capricorn
& Male | Bisexual (leans towards girls)
& The Badlands | Grunt of War
& Completed bio is HERE!

BATTLE TAGS |
& Attack in BOLD BLACK or be ignored
& Hard in hand-to-hand combat | Much better with weapons
& Choice of weapon: Seekins precision full auto .223 rifle REF although he no ammo so he goes for a set of throwing knives. REF

APPEARANCE |
& 6'0 in height with an equal proportion of arm, leg and body.
& Brown eyes | Brown hair | Light freckles across cheeks/nose
& Scar across the bridge of his nose | Scars across his back and limbs from past abuse
& Faceclaim is Ivan Martinez | REFERENCE
& Both ear lobes are self-pierced, the left lobe is a sparkly stud and the other a black one
& On his right hand, located on the middle finger, he has a small tattoo of a match REF and on his ring finger he has another tattoo, this time of a knife REF
& Most of his outfits are his black hoodie, black jeans and tattered Adidas sneakers. During the summer he changes his hoodies for flannels.

PERSONALITY/OTHER NOTES.
& Often smiling. Can turn anything into a joke, will always be the optimistic one.
& Most of the time he sticks to himself, hiding away in his apartment. This is because of his haunting memories of his childhood.
& Loves animals. Mostly dogs.
& Although friendly and smiley, he will not be afraid to get his hands dirty if need be.

RELATIONSHIPS |
& Daisy Hearst + NPC father
& Twins with Maisie Hearst | Older brother to Genesis Hearst
& Single | ½ of ___
& Friend to all
& Enemies with his father

BRIEF HISTORY |
& He lived with his twin sister, younger sister and parents. His father was very abusive. Eventually his mother and little sister left; a year later, so did his twin sister.
& A few days after his twin left, he turned thirteen. That same night he ended up "accidentally" almost killing his father with a broken vodka bottle. To hide the evidence, Dylan torched his own house and smoked a cigarette on the front yard while his father screamed inside.
&. He then lived in New York for a few weeks. He joined a gang to survive and lived there for two years, although he never really belonged.
& When he was sixteen, he made it to The Badlands. They were hesitant to accept him and he has been in the group ever since then. Most of the time he keeps to himself as he is haunted by his past.

[JOHN WHISKERS]

[justify]Memories were useless, at least to him. Thinking about the harsh things you'd lived through served no purpose but to get you nostalgic and eventually killed. Least, that's how John thought; and most people knew John didn't exactly have a normal thinking pattern.

He trudged through the streets, his cougar-fur cloak thrown over his shoulder instead of worn. It reeked of the smell of blood, and dried crimson splatters were visible on the tan fur. He'd just gotten back from an unsuccessful hunt; a stupid buck had stopped him from finishing off the doe he'd cornered in a trap. Now he was hungry and in more of a fowl mood then usual.

He noticed a somewhat familiar face laying on top a car, smoking a pack of cigs. John wondered for a moment where he'd gotten them; luxury stuff like that wasn't the easiest thing to obtain, but he supposed everybody had their ways.

"Got an extra?" John asked, leaning against the car lazily. He wasn't a big smoker, but he could use one after such a shitty day.[/justify]

we're swimming with the sharks until we drown

[TATIANA]

track!
'god damn tv's why does everyone know about them but me wtf'

[rosey.]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8.8pt;"]YEAH, I'M EMPTY INSIDE —
Two faces, one familiar and the other unfamiliar. Dylan seemed like an interesting character, troubled, but a survivor. They were similar, she supposed, although their personalities probably differed greatly. On top of that, the way they dealt with trauma was probably also vastly different. She'd cleaned up well since the day before, less messy and covered in blood and dirt. Sleep and bathing were one hell of a cure. Her hair in a bun, and the blood washed out of her clothes, Liberty was almost unrecognizable. She was curious of the others that she now shared an alliance with, so it was natural for her to approach Dylan and John with a curious look on her face. She's never been addicted to smoking, because drinking was more of her poison, but she hadn't had a drink in a while. She probably needed one.

"Is this like a cliche scene in a book where we all sit and chain smoke until the sun goes down?" She tries to lighten the mood with a joke as she moves to sit down cross-legged on the ground in front of the two boys, doe brown eyes casually glancing between them. John she knew- he'd seen her before, when she was out of it and fucked over. But Dylan, she hadn't met yet. "What's your name? I don't think we've met. I'm Liberty, but Libby's fine." She was a little bit too friendly for the Badlands, but so far it hadn't gotten her killed, and for the moment she was safe from her ex, so all was good in her books.
[spoiler=TAGS / JULY 4TH]i just don't feel alive —✧ general
liberty ophelia nazaretian / female / "libby"
17 yrs/old / november 12th / scorpio / nurse mom
generalized anxiety disorder / just needs a hug and a drink
fluent in english & armenian / reverts to armenian when highly stressed or anxious
the badlands / member / newcomer & wary

and i don't wanna live but i'm too scared to die —✧ appearance
ref tba / health: 68%
— liberty is a bit above average height for a woman, standing at 5'8", but this doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. starting at the top of her body, her hair is very dark brown and shoulder-length, and she usually wears it up in a bun or a ponytail. very rarely will her hair be down, and then it's straight and usually pushed to the back. her head is oval-shaped and her jaw is round. her brows are thick and defined, and are a darker shade than that of her hair. below are her eyes, which are a mesmerizing doe brown with subtle golden flecks here and there, which aren't really noticeable unless you're looking her dead in the eye. her skin is a brilliant shade of caramel and there are hardly any blemishes aside from the occasional bruise and some freckles dotting her cheeks and shoulders. she's thin and is actually quite physically strong, most likely because she hunted for herself and her family most of her life, and still hunts for food now. she only has one outfit at the moment, but she regularly washes her clothes along with herself. she wears a ripped t-shirt(ripped to create a bandage), a black hoodie, pale green cargo pants, and black combat boots. her mother's dagger is tucked underneath the belt on her pants and her quiver along with arrows and her bow are fastened to the back of her jacket with a homemade sling. she has limited arrows because they're homemade, but she always retrieves them after firing.
— injuries: black eye, cracked rib & lots of bruising across abdomen, large gash in side

wish i could erase my memories —✧ personality
melancholic / candor / infp-t / true neutral
— liberty is quite closed off and generally keeps to herself. since joining the badlands, she's started being less dependent on her ex and takes pretty good care of herself. she makes an effort to take care of others as well, which is useful considering her medical knowledge and how many fights her groupmates get into. she uses flirtation as both a defense mechanism and also a coping mechanism, and she can be seen as too overly flirtatious or even promiscuous in some cases. she is not ready for another relationship and she knows this, so any back and forth flirting probably won't get serious. she is pretty lenient and not easily upset, unless someone reminds her of her ex or the things he did to her. she's generally a caring person, although quite reserved and distrusting of others(for good reason). she works best alone, and tries to remain neutral on most things.

so i could stop feeling so empty —✧ relationships & interaction
heterosexual / single / not looking, recovering from abusive relationship
npc x npc (both killed) / no siblings or other known family members
self-taught / uses a dagger and occasionally a homemade bow with arrows
moderate physically / easy mentally / medical knowledge
attack in #7D6879 / powerplaying nonviolent actions is allowed[/spoiler]

[DYLAN,]

[align=center]

[color=transparent]YOU ARE LOVELY <3

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