PINEAPPLES IN MY HEAD || OPEN, INTRODUCTION

[renard]

[align=center]

renard was a pretty traditional badlands member. his parents left him to fend for himself when this all started, leaving him alone in this new society of kill or be killed. this world was fairly easy to get used to for renard though, a life crime from his old life had earned him his place in the badlands. with that said, his life was not a pleasant one. it wasn't for anyone in the badlands fighting and crime ruled this separate world, a world free of morality, but not of mortality. one had to always be on their guard, because any wrong move could earn you a knife in the ribs.

this world was better with allies. an extremely valuable resource that renard was sadly barren of. see, renard wasn't the best at initiating or maintaining a conversation, especially when everyone was jousting against each other for the chance of life. there was also the whole thing about renard kind of being a devious a*shole, but lets skip past that bit.

standing on the side of a street, leaning against a building, renard waited. he knew people would be coming soon, this particular building happened to be a hotspot for badland citizen activity. there might be someone there, maybe just one person, who could stand renard and vice versa.

//super short because i really need to sleep

[spoiler=tags]
♦ renard monta | ren
♦ male | he/him
♦ 19 years | born 29th of november | real time
♦ bisexual | biromantic
♦ badlands | grunt of war

♦ appearance:
..

♦ personality:
..

♦ important:
..

♦ relationships:
..

♦ interactions:
..[/spoiler]

[DEXTER.]

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

a form with sunkissed skin and honey brown optics jauntily approached the teen.. or was he a man? he looked borderline both, maybe 18 or 19.. still a teen, in dexter's mind. old enough to safely flirt with, for sure. dark pupils dilated, surveying the man.. teen.. in front of him. he looked new, maybe he was joining at that very second, even.

dexter's jaw clenched and unclenched while he silently stood for maybe half a second, sizing him up. with the dagger in his pocket, dexter could beat him unarmed. but if he was armed.. shit, who cared anyway?

"what's your name?" dexter asked, offering a cautious but charming smile. should he insert a wink in there as well? no, that would be going to far.. "haven't seen you around here.."

---

[spoiler=info — updated 1/28/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ DEXTER MOREAU | DEX | CISGENDER MALE
★ panromantic | pansexual
★ 22 years of age | august 12th | ages one per year, on birthday
★ the badlands | grunt

IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ speaks both french and english and isn't afraid to show off.
★ is slightly obsessed with fireworks, sparklers and other explosive pyrotechnics.
★ at night, you can find him looking at the stars although he doesn't often invite others.

PHYSICAL:
★ HUMAN [8.12 / main] | health: 100%
— a sharp jaw and high cheekbones line this young man's face, tracing defined bones on his sunkissed face. dark brows and chocolate-colored locks frame his face, forcing his honeybrown eyes to pop. his frame can be described as muscular but slightly lithe as well. he's worked hard to avoid beinng beaten up in the badlands, and doesn't take kindly to offense. his outfit usually conists of a white shirt and dark jeans, occasinally paired with a leather jacket.
— [i]major injuries: none

PERSONALITY:
dexter is, well, easygoing. he takes life with stride, savoring it and trying every single aspect of it. he's extremely loyal, without a doubt and would die for friends and family. he is ambitious and pursues his dreams without a second thought, although this may come back to haunt him in the future. at first, most people label him as the 'flirty player' or the 'lazy pervert' of the badlands, but once people get to know him they realize that that's not true (okay, maybe a little bit true). he's a dreamer inside, one who will look at the stars all night long and not even realize that it's morning until the galaxies above fade into a new day. he may seem completely self-confident, but he's afraid. he feels as if he can't trust anyone in the badlands, and the stars are his only escape. if people really knew him, they'd know that he wasn't either of the above titles; he's an 'easygoing loser'.

RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ NPC x NPC | generation 2
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest

INTERACTION:
★ easily interacts + cautiously friendly
★ difficulty: 8/10 in battle | + strength & speed | - stamina & agility
★ begins battles, even if attempts to avoid
★ speech in bold #d3ac78
★ attack in bold #78a6d3
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]

[ALYSSA,]

[align=center][div style="border:0px transparent;width:480px;text-align:justify;font-size:9pt"][font=verdana]It wasn't a surprise to find someone who was older than her wearing an unfamiliar face. She had given up on the idea of finding friends her own age and tried to focus on surviving each day successfully, not having petty arguments about fashion or gossip. Those things had never appealed her-- they probably never would, not now, not in a world like this.

Despite Renard being a stranger and Dexter only slightly familiar, she found herself approaching anyway. Barely reaching 5 foot nothing but wearing a scowl strong enough to make a grown man cringe, Alyssa decided to bite the bullet and say something. Socializing was a key aspect of life that had crumbled throughout the years; before she found the Badlands, the last person she had spoken to was someone she had shot with her fathers shotgun for a loaf of mouldy bread. The pale skinned girl let her unreadable gaze flicker over the two older men."Hello. I'm Alyssa." She greeted with her usual monotone expression; one of her small hands patted gingerly across her French braids on the top of her head. Due to her short hair, the ends of the braids stuck out awkwardly at the nape of her neck, but she didn't mind much.

[spoiler=TAGS]+ Alyssa
+ Fourteen years old | Born February 6th 2002
+ Lives in The Badlands | Grunt of War
+ Female | She/her
+ Asexual | Single, not looking
+ Carries throwing stars with her at all times
+ Faceclaim: Isabelle Fuhrman
+ APPERANCE: Alyssa is described as being only 5'0 in height and very skinny for her age. She has dark brown/borderline black hair that is braided up into French braids, however her hair only reaches her collarbones so the ends of the braids stick out. Her eyes are dark and wide; she used to get bullied by her siblings and called Anime freak because of it. Her skin is very pale and unhealthy looking; across her cheek is an unevenly stitched scar from a knife attack. She has three piercings on each lobe and is often seen wearing black jeans, black boots and a green bomber coat. Never is Alyssa seen smiling or looking happy.
+ PERSONALITY: Unsympathetic, cold-hearted, quiet, strategic, blunt, child solider, unapproachable, always on edge, unintentionally rude, lots of trust issues, has a deep hatred for her parents, pessimistic.
+ HISTORY: Alyssa was only young when the world changed, so her memories of "the normal world" are hazy and (mostly) incorrect. After her siblings died from gun related violence, she witnessed her pregnant mother commit suicide. It was only few weeks into the apocalypse when she was orphaned and ever since has been travelling to find the right place to stay. Being a lone wolf from as young as eleven has made her stronger and colder towards normal life. She accidentally stumbled upon The Badlands and now resides there, living in an empty apartment by herself.[/spoiler]

[renard]

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renard regarded the man for a moment. he could tell that the guy was trying to figure him out with the time that they had. dark brown eyes stared, waiting, watching. a smirk danced across his gentle features temporarily, leaving an empty smile in its wake. he put his hand in his pocket temporarily, a small pocket knife wouldn't do much, but it was better than bare fists.

drab brown eyes glanced down when the other started speaking, listening to see if the words were being sent as a threat. when he realized that a confrontation was not imminent, he looked back up and took his hand out of his pocket.

"hah, i'm surprised," he exclaimed, chuckling a bit. he had lived in the area for a few years, but had never seen the other either. "i'm renard, but you can call me whatever you want." the man replied nonchalantly. just as he was speaking a young girl walked up to them, a blank expression on her face.

renard sized up the girl quickly before he spoke to her. she was too young for this life, for the badlands. it was difficult enough for him when he was older than her, and she seemed to be alone. "hi alyssa, renard." he replied, nodding at her when he spoke his own name.

[spoiler=tags]
♦ renard monta | ren
♦ male | he/him
♦ 19 years | born 29th of november | real time
♦ bisexual | biromantic
♦ badlands | grunt of war

♦ appearance:
..

♦ personality:
..

♦ important:
..

♦ relationships:
..

♦ interactions:
- speaking in #ddc1af
..[/spoiler]

[GUNSLINGER.]

[align=center][div style="width: 430px; font-size: 8pt;text-align: justify;color:#363636;line-height:115%"] why did there have to be so many members popping up out of nowhere? hell, jamison had enough to deal with being a worm, but as more and more people came to join or came from hiding spots he grew to find his life as a dirty scavenger worm was getting ever more difficult. it didn't even help that he never shut his mouth for more than five seconds, making his towering 6'6 stature, nearly neon orange prosthetics that could be seen from a mile away, the trademark clank of his peg leg slamming against crumbling concrete and his even more trademark cackle and bomb obsession have him be even more noticeable amongst the crowd of other badlanders and the like. jamie was no ordinary member, and even though he probably had the perfect demeanor to be some type of high position, he was just stuck as the scum of the badlands. a vile, wriggling worm.

but even still, he still showed himself to others as if he would instantly make friends with them if he did. hell, he already made friends with john and even a bit with mettaton. so why not try over and over again to make friends? yeah, he knew that it would make him much more vulnerable to getting killed - being well known in a place like this was always the case - but fuck, he was attention hungry. clingy as hell when it came to allies. some would say that he was even thirsty to get attention that wasn't completely negative.

which was why he made his way over in the first place, the sound of his peg leg and boot make his approach ever more present. "oi!" his high-pitched, australian accented thick voice would be heard, a grin slapped on his rat like face as he stopped near the others. "who're you?" a bushy blonde brow would raise as he looked towards renard, his grin still there but filled with innocent curiosity rather than manic glee. his eyes still trained on him, jamison would straighten himself up with a rather loud crack of his back - everything he did was loud, so it was no surprise - and reach out his prosthetic arm, the orange metal and leather most likely dwarfing renard's hands. it seemed as if he was looking for a handshake. "name's jamison fawkes, mate! nice ta meet ya, whoever ya are!" his smile had shortened to a more genuine one, and with his other arm he wiped some snot from his face.

//oops muse burst??

[lolalancaster]

ooh track