Necropolis

NAME: Dave Neilson
AGE: 20
HEIGHT: 6.4
WEIGHT:
EYES: Glassy Jade colour
HAIR: Short ginger hair, made into spikes
PHYSIQUE: Lean
EDUCATION: Excluded from High School for hacking into exam files, is a pro at hacking.
PROS: Has a vast knowledge of the insides of computers, can break through most security systems. Is quite fast, as he needed to run alot.
CONS: Can obsess easily about computers, and is very stubborn and arrogant believing no system can beat him.
BACKGROUND: Abandoned when he was young then taken in by adoption agency. He was ignored so taught himself to hack, getting "A's" in everything at school. He only gave info for money and began to smoke and drink. His biggest crime was hacking an ATM. It was then he had his first spot in prison. Dave sold info still in prison and some how survived. Now he's out and is planning to hack city grid system so a few of his prison pals can escape.

**************

Dave stood in his old ripped jeans, a tacky pair of Nike trainers and a black hoody embossed with words "Don't Mess With Me!". His hair was ginger with short spikes made throughout it. He stood outside the prison gates and let out a hearty sigh.

He was free, time to cause some horrendous disorder, starting with his biggest hack. He wasn't trying to get into Guinness book of records, no he knew this was only a start. He'd not let any system stop him. Dave smiled at the thought, he'd need a place to live and some way to earn money. For now he'd keep his promise.

It sure was a long walk back, but luckily he'd been provided a taxi The prison was on outskirts of town. The road next to the prison was used rarely it was forest covering for miles surrounding prison. Dave sat down on a rock off the path and wondered, why build a prison in place where it was so easy to lose people escaping. He sighed thoughtfully and waited for the taxi.

NAME: Anne Baxter
AGE: 23
HEIGHT: Short
EYES: Grey. Wears glasses.
HAIR: Black, curly.
PHYSIQUE: Comfortably curvy.
EDUCATION: Graduate student, currently taking a year off.
PROS: Intelligent, good at keeping secrets and keeps a cool head in a crisis. Rather dry sense of humour.
CONS: Has a tendency to get impatient with those who know less than she does. She can also be a little flighty about normal things, like where she left the car keys and whether she fed the cat this morning. And she always takes things just a little too far.

BACKGROUND:
- Born in the UK, Anne and her parents moved to America 6 years ago.
- She now lives with her fiancé, Stephen, who is out of town on business.
- Has a Bachelor Degree in Ancient Languages.
- Is the youngest of three: her brother, Mike, is an accountant and her sister, Sharon, a dentist. She really, really hates it when people ask her what she’s actually going to do with her degree.
- Was arrested aged 17 for her part in a less-than-peaceful protest rally.
- Part of an animal rights group and is passionate about environmental issues.
- Owns a Persian cat named Daffy, a present from her parents when she moved away.

Keri slowly walked around the college campuus., she could do whatever she wanted with out a stupid degree but the goverment wanted her to have one and they had been running her life sense she was eight. 'why not just destroy the goverment?' She thought laughing to herself. 'Or just stop doing what they say, your old enough to be on you own now.' She hated argueing with herself but she had nothing else to do at the time. She watched as a few college students walked by.

"Joanna, get back here!"

Not a chance, you pig, Joanna thought to herself. She continued walking toward the front door. A lamp shattered on the wall in front of her.

"Joanna!"

She whirled around, eyes gleaming furiously. "I've had enough of you! Ever since you divorced my mother you've acted like you can control every aspect of our lives! You can't earn respect if you don't show it."

"I am your father!" he barked, staggering slightly, a beer bottle in his hand.

Jo's eyes turned to slits. "You are no father to me," she hissed, then turned and walked out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Her brave facade fell as soon as she reached the sidewalk. Legs trembling, she forced herself to make it around the corner before collapsing in a heap on the ground. She only allowed herself a few tears before picking herself back up. Dusting herself off, she looked down the road and began walking briskly.

This time, she was not going back.

NAME: Maurice Thunder
AGE: 31
HEIGHT: 6'0"
WEIGHT: 195lbs
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Black
PHYSIQUE: African-American, Ghanian descent. Very dark skin. Muscly.
EDUCATION: Not much, left school when he was 13.
PROS: Tough, strong, uncompromising. Has a familiarity with guns since he was brought up on the street. Knows how to react to danger.
CONS: Not a very nice person. Has a history of violence and abuse. Usually only cares about himself or people very close to him. Is a former criminal and so has a distinct lack of respect for authority.
BACKGROUND: Was born in the crime-filled area of Ashville. Parents gunned down when he was young. Grew up in an orphanage. Fell into drugs at a young age, arrested several times for carrying and selling narcotics. Quit school at the age of 13. Spent his time drinking and robbing convenience stores for money. Wasted it on a heroin addiction. When he was 20, he was caught robbing a store and jailed for four years. He spent his whole time there, his parole refused for fighting in prison regularly. When he was 26 he was charged with armed robbery and jailed for 7 years, and was released after 5. It has been two weeks since he was released. Maurice returned to his old street and has been squatting with his childhood friends.

"If I have a mark on my record involving firearms, would that stop me from buying one?" Kevin was quickly losing his patience with this idiot.

What do you think, dumbass? "Yes sir, it would." Kevin had been standing behind the counter talking to this dirty hick for almost fifteen minutes, and he knew it wasn't going to go anywhere. The guy obviously couldn't buy a gun, and he was still wasting Kev's time. He glanced at the clock. Two minutes till he was off. He looked back to the man and sighed inwardly. Come ON you dumb shit!

"Okay, well...thanks anyway," the guy said. FINALLY "Thanks a lot guy--have a good one."

"You too, sir," Kevin said cheerfully. Putz

As the man left the store, Kevin ran a hand through his hair and looked over to his manager, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, grinning.

"Tough customer?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," Kev said with a big sigh.

"Go ahead and clock off--you've earned it," his manager said with a laugh.

Kev looked at the clock in time to see it change from five twenty-eight to five twenty-nine. "Gee....thanks Mike; a whole minute early!"

"Like I said; you earned it!" Mike again.

Kev walked over to the time clock and punched himself out. Freedom at last. And on a Friday evening, that meant party time.

Kevin grinned as walked out the door, winking at the cashier working the desk on his way out.

"Grif!"

"Yes Mr. Winslow?"

"I just received word that my wife has been in an accident."

"An accident? Is she okay?"

"I don't know. She was driving my daughter to the hospital before she started her new job as a knife salesperson."

"That isn't the daughter with the suicidal tendencies was it?"

"The very one. I need you to look after the shop for the rest of the day, can you cover me?"

"You're paying for my overtime, sir."

"Here are the keys to lock up. I really need to go."

"Okay Mr. Winslow."

And with that, Grif Albatross was in charge of "Winslow's Old Bookstore."

Lilliah was not at all concerned with being "ladylike". No, right now, she just wanted to get a whole lot of dirt in a lot of guys' faces. How sweet it would be.

The quarterback did that "hut-hut" thing. What a stupid tradition. At "hike" she took off running. She wasn't particularly fast, but she made for it by duking and dodging like some damn ballerina, if a ballerina wore ripped jeans and a free t-shirt instead of a leotard and tutu.

She didn't expect Jake to throw to her. But he was the new kid, and apparently had skipped the memo which read, Do not be nice to the school lesbian. The ball was flying her direction, and after some effort, she managed to kinda catch it. Well, it bounced off her head and into her hands. That sort of thing happened to her.

Undaunted, she took off. She concentrated on the touchdown zone. Several guys caught up to her, but she managed to evade their tackles. When she got to the 20, she started doubting. No way was she going to score the final points and win the game. That was not her life. Yet she was now at the 10, and all the guys that could've caught her had done a nose-dive by now and were pretty far behind. She counted the yards off in her mind. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

"TOUCHDOWN!" she screamed. Oops. She had not meant to say that out loud. But while she was at it, she might as well rub it in their faces. She did the funky chicken, the running man, and the worm. "In yo FACE, SUCKAS!" She knew they'd never let her play with them again. To hell with that. For once in the however many years of school she played football with the boys, she had been passed to, and she had SCORED. They should've done that sooner.

Jerkwads.

Day 0. 5.24PM


I shook her hand. "Thanks for inviting me out here today, Dr. MacTavish."

"No problem," she smiled brightly. "The pleasure is all ours."

I nodded and questioningly glanced to the brooding girl standing a few feet away from us.

"Oh," Dr. MacTavish laughed, high-pitched and awkward. "This is Angie. She's my daughter."

A moment of MOM! shot between them as Angie turned and nodded at me. "Hi."

"Good to meet you," I said quickly, regretting this spark of tension. I wanted nothing more than to be out of this situation. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

She nodded and half-rolled her eyes. "Later. Maybe."

Later--it was a word, a voice, an attitude. I'd never heard anyone use the word "Later" to say goodbye before until I came here. It sounded harsh, curt, and dismissive, spoken with the veiled indifference of people who may or may not care to see or hear from you again. But this one was a different Later--it was not in isolation. I smiled as she began to turn away. "If not later, when?"

She seemed not to notice I was talking to her until her mother didn't answer. "Huh?" she turned to face me. Her mother cast a scalding look. "Um, excuse me?"

"I said," I cleared my throat, "if not later, when?"

She was confused, either by my question or my willingness to talk to her.

"You said 'Later. Maybe.' So if maybe not later, then when?"

A smile slowly crept across her face as she shook her head and shrugged.

Her mother, sensing this tension, answered for her, "We should be getting to the McGriffin Lecture Hall."

"Yes," I nodded, also willing to dismiss the awkwardness. "When is it, again? I'm afraid the jet-lag has...how do you say, confused, me?"

"It starts at 5.30," she ushered us out of the office and towards the lecture stadium.


I cleared my throat and thanked Dr. MacTavish for her kind--maybe too kind--introduction.

"I am here today to talk to you about several things. As you know, the conditions for the possibility of my giving a talk today revolve around the title of this seminar series, which is, Ethics. It seems only natural to begin a talk on Ethics with the idea of, if you will, Utopia. Utopia has always been a political issue, and as such it is an unusual destiny for literary form: yet just as the literary value of the form is subject to permanent doubt, so also its political status is structurally ambiguous. The fluctuations of its historical context--and surely there have been many, as in, during the Cold War, and especially where I am from, Europe, Utopia had become a synonym for Stalinism and had come to designate a program which neglected human frailty and original sin, and betrayed a will imposed to uniformity and the ideal purity of a perfect system that always had to be imposed by force on its imperfect and reluctant subjects--these fluctuations do nothing to resolve this variability, which is also not a matter of taste or individual judgment.

"Let me set this aside for now and go a step further: surely if to speak of Ethics is to also speak of Utopia, then what is it that unifies both of these concepts? Why has Utopia become an obsolete fantasy, scoffed at today by cynics and both the Left and Right? Let's make a quick detour through history: Ethics concerns, in Greek, the search for a good 'way of being,' for a wise course of action. For the Stoics, Ethics entailed the very core of philosophy--no philosophical endeavor could occur without a consideration of the ethics involved. For the moderns--and surely we can agree that Descartes is, if not the first, then certainly close to it--ethics was more or less synonymous with morality, or, as Kant would say, with practical reason--as distinguished from theoretical reason.

"Modern Ethics, then, is the principle that judges the practice of a Subject, be it individual or collective. Hegel, in the 19th century, will introduce a subtle distinction between Sittlichkeit--ethics--and Moralitat--morality. He reserves the application of the ethical principle to immediate actions, while morality is to concern reflexive action. He will say, for example, that 'the ethical order essentially consists in the immediate firmness of decision.'"

I opened a bottle of water and sipped from it. I could tell this was boring the group of students to no end, and that if I didn't get moving soon, they'd be lost entirely. "According to the way we generally use the term today, Ethics relates above all else to the domain of human right, 'the rights of man'--or, by derivation, the rights of living beings.

"We are supposed to assume the existence of a universally recognizable human subject possessing 'rights' that are in some sense natural: the right to live, to avoid abusive treatment, to enjoy 'fundamental' liberties--of opinion, of expression, of democratic choice in the election of government, etc.. These rights are held to be self-evident and the result of a wide consensus.

"Michel Foucault outraged his readers with the declaration that Man, in the sense of a constituent subject, was a constructed historical concept peculiar to a certain order of discourse, and not a timelessly self-evident principle capable of founding human rights or a universal ethics. He announced the end of this concept's relevance, once the kind of discourse which alone had made it meaningful become historically obsolete.

"Likewise, Louis Althusser declared that history was not, as Hegel had thought, the absolute development of Spirit, nor the advent of subject-substance, but a rational, regulated process which he called a 'process without a subject,' and which could be grasped only through a particular science, the science of historical materialism. It followed that the humanism of human rights and ethics in the abstract sense were merely imaginary constructions--ideologies--and that we should develop, rather, what he called a 'theoretical antihumanism.'

"At the same time, Jacques Lacan strove to disentangle psychoanalysis from all its psychological and normative tendencies. He demonstrated how it was essential to distinguish the Ego, a figure of only imaginary unity, from the Subject. He showed that the subject had no substance, no 'nature,' being a function both of the contingent laws of language and of the always singular history of objects of desire. It followed that any notion of analytic treatment as a means for the reinstatement of a 'normal' kind of desire was a fraud, and that, more generally, there existed no norm that could ground the idea of a 'human subject,' a norm whose rights and duties it would have been the task of philosophy to articulate.

"What was contested in this way was the idea of a natural or spiritual identity of Man, and with it, as a consequence, the very foundation of an 'ethical' doctrine in today's sense of the word: a consensual law-making concerning human beings in general, their needs, their lives, and their deaths - and, by extension, the self-evident, universal demarcation of evil, of what is incompatible with the human essence. This is where we are, then, today--we live in a so-called postmodern era which should, rightly, I might add, be revised to read: the posthuman age. The twenty-first century did not bring with it the terrifying millennarianism and eschatologies of the twentieth, nor did it show that these worries were arbitrary and simply models of capitalist fetishism...the twenty-first century has instead lent its hand to the Virtual, to the inhuman and the posthuman, and this is where we are today: at the death of Man."

[OOC: Leave it to Brad to actually write a lecture for a storybook. ]

Angie stared at the young academe as he lectured the students on--something. She wasn't really paying attention, to be honest, and a large part of her was disappointed by that. The rest of her, though, was bored out of her wits. If she didn't get out of this godforsaken town soon, she didn't know what she'd do. Still, as she let her mind wander, she began to enjoy the lecture; every now and then a phrase would drift into her consciousness, but for the better part she was just relaxing, slumped against one arm of the uncomfortably upholstered lecture hall chairs, her legs crossed to one side. Dr. Kojeve had a soothing sort of voice, soft and heavily accented, though his English perfect; she spent a few minutes trying to pinpoint it. Eastern European?

Wherever he was from, the man was certainly an enigma. What was a bona fide genius like Alain Kojeve doing in a backwater town like Ashville? She'd heard about him at NYU; the man was only twenty-four, a mere three years older than her, and was known in academic circles across all of Europe and North America, and many parts of Asia. And he was here, in Ashville, giving a lecture for the townies. She couldn't really wrap her brain around it.

And had it just been her, or had he been flirting with her earlier? If not later, when? What sort of question was that? She couldn't help but break into a small smile as she watched the dark haired man pacing the floor, using his hands to emphasize his quiet statements (most of which appeared to be, for the better part, ignored by the listening students, who had probably only attended for the promised extra credit).

She hadn't spoken to him since, but she was hoping to once the lecture was over. Though she sincerely hoped he didn't ask her opinion on the lecture, since she honestly couldn't remember much except some morose statement at the end about the death of man, whatever that meant. To be quite honest, ethics had never really interested her. There was right, and there was wrong. What was so complicated about that?

*Aren't we all in the same town sense that is where the zombies will be???? sorry this is so short*

Keri walked around the college, she was supposed to have made a lecture from some guy but lectures always put her to sleep, so why go. She hurried down teh street looking for one of her friends. Everyone seemed to be at the lecture so she gave in and quietly snuck in the back.

Day 0. 7.14PM


I noticed Dr. MacTavish standing at the entrance with her daughter. The reception had gone reasonably well, filled with the expected sniper-shots from other (more modernist) academics and the annoyingly painful questions from a small, obstreperous collective of students. I had never really been interested in either of these responses to my speeches; I much preferred, to some shock, to hear from those who don't fully understand the coordinates of philosophy, since they are often the ones who give the most fruitful responses.

I slid among a group of kids holding up cups of punch and laughing - and thereby avoiding another confrontation with an angry or inquisitive professor - until I reached the outer limits of the auditorium.

"Great speech," Dr. MacTavish extended her hand and smiled. I shook it and nodded.

"Thanks," I said, taking my place alongside them and glancing out over the small but overwhelming group of people present. "How'd you like it, Angie?"

She parted her lips and then closed them, examining me carefully. She might have suspected ulterior motives on my part, but she could've just been unsure how to respond. "It was good," she finally said. Then came the others.

"Hey!" A group of several (presumably) students corralled us against the wall. There were four of them: a fit girl with long brown hair; a short boy with dyed hair and eyeliner which (I guessed) were supposed to, to put it in Californian, tell us he had a real attitude-problem; a tall blond haired guy who quietly surveyed me; and, last, a spectacled grey-eyed girl who at the very least acted like she knew something. It looked as though the first two knew each other, walking close, while the other two seemed more interested in my than each other.

"Uh...Dr. Kojeve," Angie started. "These two are Mev and Adara." Evidently she didn't know the others.

"Nice to meet you," I said, nodding to them. I expected Angie to be whisked away--such seemed to be the reaction to a nearby professor--but they all seemed quite content to stand right next to me and chat.

"It was so nice of you to come," Dr. MacTavish repeated. Maybe she hadn't said it before, in words, but her tone always conveyed the same sense of gratitude.

"No, it was no problem." I shook my head. "I needed a break from London. It seems like all that you get over there are a bunch of zombies, after a while."

She said nothing but smiled up at me expectantly.

"I guess..." Her expectation confused me. "I've always liked coming to America--not to say I would move here, God, no--but the culture is always fascinating to me."

She nodded as her eyes darted from mine to someone's over my shoulder, and I realized her expectancy was directed at the natural pauses in conversation that would allow her an escape--from what, I wasn't sure.

"Excuse me," she finally said, touching my shoulder as if to move me aside. I watched as she walked over to one of the men who had vehemently opposed my idea of the death of man and consequently the destruction of ethics, universal rights and politics, in general.

"Hey," I heard someone say. I looked and saw Angie and the small group of students staring at me.

"Yes, I'm sorry?"

Angie rolled her eyes at Mev. Adara giggled.

"How'd you get two PhD's?" The grey-eyed one asked, brow furrowed, suspicious.

I smiled down at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name..."

"Anne."

"Anne...It's a...long story, but I prefer to tell inquirers that I've made it up and my entire career is a fraud."

They all laughed nervously. I guess they were unsure how to take me.

Anne started another question but Angie suddenly, what it looked to me like, reached between her breasts and revealed a small cell phone. She squinted down at it, and the others watched in bewildered intrigue at the call she apparently chose to ignore, sliding the phone back between her breasts.

"Who was it?" Mev asked quietly, eyes ruefully glancing between her and me. I didn't know what to do in the presence of these Americans, always so suspicious of intent.

"Oh, it was Ryan," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "He's always so--"

"Excuse me," I said, leaning forward a bit and furrowing my brow, "but...did you just pull your phone from...your...bosom?"

They all five burst into laughter at me.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding my hands up, "it's just quite fascinating where people store those things."

"Bosom? No," she finally stopped laughing. "Look." She pulled her blouse down a little and revealed a small space at the center of the neck where a phone could be inserted. This only aroused more laughter from her comrades, and I pretended to be interested in the phone-slot. "See? They make girls' shirts so that there's a spot for their cell phone."

I nodded and leaned back against the wall. They all seemed to have dropped their suspicion and were now vaguely amused at my presence.

"So." I scratched my head, imagining the endless possibilities. "I guess if you're a lady of the night, this is very good news."

More awkward laughter.

"I mean, your boob can be like a lantern--very handy. I suppose you could also put an iPod in there?"

Even the quiet young man smiled at this point. "So, uh, Dr. Kojeve--"

"Alain, please," I corrected Angie.

"Yeah, right. We're going to IHOP--have you ever been?"

"Angie!" Adara elbowed her friend and simultaneously smiled and batted her eyes at me.

"What?" she said incredulously.

I watched with interest as the group shared a moment of reconsideration.

"He's only a few years older than we are." She shook her head and looked back at me. "Plus, he had lunch with mom. He's probably starved--just look at him!" She gestured at me. "Starved."

I smiled. "If that was an invitation it was quite elaborate."

Mev and Jamie shared a moment of mutual disgust at my remark.

"She gets that way," Adara explained suddenly. "She's prone to complexity."

Angie smirked and remained quiet. The dynamics of the group interested me. To the best of my ability, Angie seemed to be the leader, or at least what held it all together. I looked at Mev and rolled my eyes. "That's what they all say about each other."

He smiled, unimpressed at my attempt to bridge the gap. "What they really like is to tell you you're an uncaring asshole."

There was a bitterness in his tone I was not unfamiliar with. "Indeed," I offered.

"Ohmigod, Mark! Did Cas break up with you?" Adara cooed.

He shrugged, clearly uninterested in pursuing the conversation any further.

"Ohmigod, honey, I'm so sorry!" She reached over and hugged him.

"Uh..." I realized my bridge-forming opportunity was now. "Where's the IHOP?"

Angie smiled up at me. "Do you have a car?"

I realized this could be a problem in Ashville. It was not a problem in London, and Angie's mother had kindly driven me to and from where I needed to be in the previous two days. "Um, no."

"You can ride with me," Adara interjected, forgetting about Mev. He smiled gratefully (though also perhaps a bit reluctantly) at me.

"Adara," Angie moaned. "Kev is gonna flip if he sees you."

"Oh, he won't," she said, grabbing my hand and already dragging me from the group. Angie mouthed a quiet 'I'm sorry' at me as she and Mev turned and followed.

Angie paused a moment, then turned back and said the Anne and quiet man," Would you like to come with us?"

After a moment of consideration, Anne agreed, and the other nodded his head.

I was a bit terrified of riding with a girl I'd only just met, and would probably decline the offer if things continued in this manner.

She pushed her way through the crowd and out the front doors.

"Hey!" someone shouted at us. She let go of my hand and turned slowly. A well-built man approached us, gait forceful but not arrogant. "Who the hell's this clown?" A grin sat on his face.

Adara blinked up at me and shook her head. "Kev, this is Dr. Alain Kojeve."

He sized me up and smirked. "Uh-huh. Nice to meet ya. What are you doin' with him?"

"We're going to IHOP," she said.

"'We'? We, including me, excluding him."

"Oh come on," she whined.

"No," he shook his head. "I don't like him."

"You don't know him," she said emphatically.

"I don't have to."

"It's okay," I finally said, stepping away. "I, um...I have some--"

"He's riding with me anyway." Angie appeared to my right, brushing hair from her face. The other three were traipsing through the parking lot to a car.

"Kev" gave me what was sure to be an infamous sidelong glance. "Going after as many as possible tonight, huh?" His tone was not flattering.

I shrugged and laughed lightly. "Gotta catch 'em all?"

Angie jerked me from the two of them and didn't let go of my shoulder until we got to her Mustang, but I could still feel Kev's confused glare penetrating me from a distance. "Don't mess with him," she warned before getting in. "I'm not kidding."

"Okay," I nodded and swallowed. I was aware that traditions in America were different than Europe, so I gladly took her advice to heart and sat down. She started the car and began backing out of the parking spot. "Is this 'when'?" I smiled.

“The stars are still clouded?”

Raya was gazing at the dark sky, blanketed by the ebbing clouds. The garden was illuminated throughout by night lamps, placed in each of the flower beds. At the farthest corners of the garden, there stood two larger lamps. She was dressed in a pink bathrobe that her friend provided. Her hair was still dripping with water and it tossed and turned from the gale. She closed her eyes to the soft trickling of the waterfall at the fish pond.

“Am I not pretty enough?” she whispered gently. The waterfall continued to trickle. She missed the beach. The waves gently riveting the sands and returning, the ocean glistening from the summer sun. But what she missed more than the beach was being at the beach with the ones she loved. She would lie next to them, wearing bikinis, bathing their skin in the sun’s light and just simply talk about what’s on their mind, sharing their deepest thoughts and laughing together. Then they would swim together in the waters, splashing one another and playing any water sports that came to mind. The waters were so smooth, so innocent and so pretty.

“Of course you’re pretty.” A girl was leaning next to the windows, partially hidden from the shadows. She had tanned skin and long dark hair, just like Raya, except she was taller. She was dressed in a pink night dress at knee length. It was decorated with lace appliqués, which formed white flower patterns on her dress. Her face was stern as though she was disappointed by what her sister had just said.

Raya took a deep breath, absorbing the sweet scent of the lilies which wafted the garden. Her eyes began to water and a tear rolled down the side of her cheek.

“Espona.”

NAME: Tazin Miyamo
AGE: 18
HEIGHT: 5’5”
WEIGHT: 150 lbs.
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Black
BUILD: Thin and deceptively small, but very toned
EDUCATION: In his senior year at Ashville High
Pros: Very smart, good with computers and knowledgeable about war history, since his dad was in the marines. A student of kendo, he can handle his sword well, though he’s no master.
Cons: Tazin’s sense of humor tends to be overly flippant, causing people to think he takes nothing seriously. He is usually hard to anger, but when he feels insulted or degraded he sometimes lets his temper get away from him.
Background: Tazin’s grandfather, Tazinza Miyamoto, first came to America from Japan to escape a scarred social reputation of violence. As a result, his father hates violence and rejects anything that seems to promote it, from movies, to music, and to martial arts, and only joined the marines to try and impress his father. Tazin’s mother, herself the grandchild of German immigrants, tends to be more supportive of Tazin’s interest, which is how he was able to start kendo lessons. She died a year ago in a freak accident, and Tazin’s father has become a hardened, reticent loner, lately letting Tazin do pretty much whatever he wants. Tazin’s remained dedicated to his schoolwork and despite his father’s displeasure trains hard at his kendo dojo. When Tazin isn’t busy being a smart alleck or training, he usually blares hard rock on his MP3 or reads violent comic books about ninjas, samurai, demons, vampires, ghouls or whatever else looks interesting.

NAME: Derrik Clement
AGE: 17
EYES: Blind in his right eye, it’s a cloudy white colour. Left eye is ice-blue.
HAIR: Shoulder length dark brown hair. Both eyes are visible at the front.
PHYSIQUE: Small and thin (I’d rather not say weedy ). Not particularly strong.
EDUCATION: Learnt most of his knowledge from Dave Neilson in prison. He was never any good in school and barely attended, preferring to practice shooting and drown his memories in stolen booze.
PROS: From being born with sight in only one eye, he developed a great sense of smell, hearing and sight in his left eye. He’s left-handed and an excellent shot with a pistol. He has a hard to find, but redeeming, compassion for friends. He’d never leave a man behind, or a woman for that fact.
CONS: Finds it hard to use any other weapon apart from his pistol due to his eyes and left-handedness. Has a major weakness for any type of alcohol. Whisky is preferable but he’ll take anything that’s near. Consequently, he’s unconfident in any of his skills leaving him as more of a sheep than a shepherd. Porbably the most annoying character ever. He's not at all tactful.
BACKGROUND: Rarely attended school and so always looks to Dave for advice. Grew up with a gun at his belt but never used it away from his target. Not a violent man by nature, in fact, rather foolish in his unconfident way, but can be depended on to try. Is in prison at present where the security is increased due to Dave’s escape. Even so, he’s coming to the end of his sentence.

[s]Could anyone check if this is all ok?[/s] Sorted.

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