Hidden Worlds OoC. Will this live or die? Only YOU can decide!

10:58 Pm, December 1st, 2012


A prologue of sorts, but for now our protagonist of this, is unimportant.

A man in his late thirties, stood in his apartment room. This man was six feet, two inches. With a small dark brown goatee and long hair that went down to his shoulders. With a gaunt face, and bright green eyes, and glasses. He wore black trousers, a gray tee shirt and a white lab coat. This man was scientist who discovered something he kept secret, from everyone and was probably going to be killed for hiding his findings.

The clock struck 10:59.

Better hurry, nothing to lose..

This man, opened a drawer pulled out some papers, these were the findings, he wrote them down.. He poured the contents of a bottle on them, and swiftly walked over to a window with a sense of urgency. He opened it and threw out the papers, and then opened another drawer and pulled out a Colt 45. He aimed at his head.. T....E.... I....N.... He whispered the acronym and held no regrets leaving this world, he pulled the trigger.. 11:00 PM


Story Time!

Basically, you guys, will be teenagers and adults except, there is a thing called the hidden hour. When it occurs at 11:00 PM to 12:01 AM you guys will disappear into a strange world. Maybe even multiple worlds. But there will also, be a few unnatural happenings. Also, in this strange other world, magic exists. Also there will be four worlds too. Two of them medieval society and two will be modern.



Sheets!

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Appearance:

Personality:

Bio:

Major flaws:

Other:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rules:

1: No metagaming.

2: No Godmodding.

3:No double posting IC.

4: Feel free to offer suggestions.

5: In the words of Sakky-chan, yes means yes, no means no, and maybe means shut the hell up while I think about it.

6: There is no rule 6.

7:Be reasonable.

8:Have fun!

9: Romance is allowed, but only up to kissing.

10: Only I can describe the places, when we first arrive.

Important Notice: CHECK THE OP OFTEN FOR ANY UPDATES I MAY MAKE.



Accepted Characters


Sakky:

Name: Milo Cross

Gender: Male

Appearance: Milo is the kind of guy who most women guess is at least bisexual at a glance simply because of his rather effeminate build. He's about 5'5'' tall and very skinny, weighing in at just a little over 100lbs, but has a pretty bad slouch and therefore looks noticeably shorter than he would if he actually stood up straight. Being scrawny as he is, he doesn't have much of an @ss, but he still looks really great in skinny jeans.

He has nice hair, and I'm not just saying that. It's a soft shade of brown that proves to have a surprising amount of highlights and darker streaks when inspected more closely. It's exactly what you'd expect from a gay guy like him; short, with a little upwards spikey swoop thing over his forehead, like a cockatoo or something. It's usually all tousled as if he's just gotten out of bed, which is actually quite an attractive hairstyle for him. Along the lines of facial hair, he seems to be rather incapable of growing it.

His eyes are really quite pretty, being a fascinating blend of brown and green. There are rings of yellowish-greenish-brown around the pupils that spike out into the rest of the irises and seem to change shape every time you look at them. He's usually wearing a pair of thick-framed black glasses that actually do serve a purpose, because he'd pretty fucking nearsighted, and can barely see what's in front of him when he isn't wearing them. It's just an added bonus that he looks like a hipster faggot while wearing them.

His favorite outfits involve a lot of colors, especially the rainbow plaid dress shirt (he rolls up the sleeves when it's hot) and neon-colored skinny jeans that he only ever forsakes when he needs to keep low for some reason. He has a tendency to wear either plunging v-necks or really tight wifebeaters, both of which stamp him as a homosexual right away. Same with that really thin scarf he's always got on. His shoes-- a rather plain pair of grey chucks-- are all beat up to the point where there are some pretty big holes in the fabric and parts of the soles are stripping off.

Did I mention he's a bit of a smoker? Yeah. He is. His teeth are slightly yellowed (but not nearly enough to make that adorably roughish little half-smile of his any less attractive) and his clothes always smell like cigarette smoke. He isn't exactly a hardcore smoker, more like the kind who slips out of school in between classes every other day or so. He can make a single pack last quite a while, especially when he's too busy in school to get outside. The one perk to this (unless you also enjoy the smell of smoke/are a smoker yourself) is that he almost always has gum on him, and really tasty gum at that. Sometimes mint (spearmint is his favorite) and sometimes not. His most recent favorite flavor is that Stride Mystery stuff with the rainbow pack and such. Mmmm.

Looking at him, you can probably tell that something is wrong. He not only looks constantly exhausted and confused, but also rather out of it, like he's not really paying much attention to his surroundings at all. Then there's that pervasive look of terror he's always wearing. Well. Not terror. More like unease. But same diff. He always looks mildly to majorly freaked out, end of story. Eyes flitting back and forth, shoulders hunched, teeth gnawing on his lower lip, nails biting into every inch of bare skin they can find.

Oh. And I didn't even mention his scars, now did I? He happened to get in a bit of a spat with the friendly neighborhood serial killer (who happened to be a friend's father) and that resulted in half a Glasgow grin and a huge scar that stretches from his left shoulder to his right hip. The Grin, in case you didn't know, is what the Joker's "smile" is actually called. So yeah. Poor Milo's got this scar that cuts from the left corner of his mouth, up his cheek, and right up to his ear, and it fixes his lips in a permanent sort of half-smirk. It's surprisingly smooth for such a nasty scar-- one would expected it to have gotten all puffy and/or knotted-- and it either dark pink or an almost pearly white depending on the temperature. It gets darker when he's blushing, pretty much.

Personality: When he's not freaking out, Milo is absolutely adorable. He's pretty damn stereotypically gay, and he's also tiny which makes it double cute. That combined with him being a hipster makes it kind of great. But then there's the mental illness. He's medicated and all, but he generally doesn't take it unless someone's there to make him. And people generally aren't there to do that. But yeah. He's schizophrenic. Afraid of everything. Hallucinates a lot. And stuff.

Bio: Um I can't even bio right now but he didn't have all that bad of a past, it's just there were some really traumatic things that happened when he was seventeen and then his schizophrenia started to manifest itself and then bad things.

Major flaws: He's a paranoid schizophrenic and is absolutely terrified of water. And everything else. He usually doesn't have problems, but when he relapses, he relapses hard.

Other: He loves tea.

~~~~~~~

MataRahi

Name: January Clements

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Appearance: January stands at an unremarkable 5’6”. Her face is dotted with freckles on both cheeks, and otherwise is quite smooth, if a bit compact. She has soft green eyes, but wears a red-orange contact in her left. Her skin is lightly tanned.

January has refused to have her long, brown hair cut ever since a young age, and will not put it up in a ponytail, bun, pigtails, or any other manner of ’do. Instead, she dyes the fringe every color she can get her hands on (though never too many hues at once), which urges her hair to resemble something of a rainbow when it is twirled in just the right way.

Her obsession with colors is reflected in not only January’s hair, but her choice of clothing. She commonly wears cargo pants with a sleeveless shirt that was her late older brother’s, along with a light blue half-jacket. Any stitch, rip, or tear in her clothing has been met with the application of a brightly-colored patch, and January takes special delight in modifying apparel to boast an excessive number of pockets, each a different color. The resulting apocalypse of fabric would undoubtedly look ugly on just about anyone else.

Her build is light, but not to the point where she could be mistaken for a male (thought her baggy clothes do not much contribute to January’s femininity.)

Jewelry-wise, she takes delight in possessing an assortment of cheap and hackjob rings and necklaces. From iron nuts to the tips of broken bottlenecks and everything in between, there is simply no handheld item that January could not polish up and string on her neck or finger. Most of these treasures are kept safe at home, but she takes quite a few of them with her each day, interchanging them often. One item that she never removes is her medicine bag, which hangs around her neck and contains a small block of salt, one of the most precious minerals (in her opinion).

Personality: In short, January is the sort of quirky person that you’d always expect to exist, but never expect to meet. She could easily be the ‘they’ in ‘that’s what they say,’ and never seems to act in exactly the same way twice. Her speech is quick and she doesn’t often like to stay on the same conversational topic for very long.

If she could ever be described, it would be with the words eccentric, social, and kind. She can be very intelligent, yet simultaneously seems to exhibit not a scrap of common sense. She is a gossip, an artist, a philosopher, and any other word the dictionary may throw at you. January seems to be a magnet for accidents, yet still manages to proceed with infuriating optimism. She can be forgetful, and indeed, seems to remember only the very LEAST important things.

Her laugh is both intolerably annoying and delightfully charming. Many people either like January quite a lot or loathe her intensely.

Bio: Her parents ran a coffee shop in a part of town that perhaps could’ve been better. January grew up in the friendly shadow of her older brother September (each child named for the other’s month of birth; either their parents were philosophical genii, or uncreative precognitives). They helped their mom and dad in the shop when not in school, and rarely fought, though they could not have been more different. She was a social weirdo, he was an average loner.

After their parents died, Jan and Sep took over the shop, though the latter passed away not long after from injuries contracted after a PCP overdose. January, seeing that the event had been private, that her brother had no real outside connections, and not wanting to bother with legalities, buried him in the basement and signed no death papers. The ethics of this move did not quite bother her; she knows she loves her brother very much, and she doesn’t have to prove it to anyone. She continues to pay his taxes each year, and as far as the law’s knowledge is concerned, September Jacob Clements is a live man who just doesn’t come out very often. January grows vines on his homemade gravestone.

To this day, she runs the shop by herself, and only stays in business because of her charm in the eyes of her customers. She has little experience in violence, though was never particularly sheltered.

Major flaws: Occasional moron, habitual packrat, forgetful, and above all, unwilling to let go of someone.

...

...sometimes physically, as well.

Other: In her arsenal of pockets, January may keep a compass, batteries, rubber bands, staples, staplers, staple removers, broken cell phone parts, a calculator, pens, pencils, erasers, several wristwatches, never-before-used hairpins, wrenches, post-its, scotch tape, broken glass, and a pocket journal (though not all at once! How much that would weigh her down, carrying all that around. Honestly.)


~~~~~~~~~~

The _ Unecrosus

Name: My name is Cheyenne Wolfe
Gender: Female, yep.
Major Flaws: Mainly, being sick, and anything that'll get you sick. I'm like super-major germophobe/hypochondriac. Along with this I hate hospitals, ugh, too many sick people, or hurt people. I have a fear of other peoples blood, in any amount, not because it might have AIDS or hepatitis or something, just because it's there and it shouldn’t be. Recently I the “Saw” movies and am now afraid of things on the other side of windows when it is dark out ((That is not supposed to make sense)). And for some reason I am afraid of getting mugged every time I go outside my yard.
Appearance: Well, according to this measuring tape and scale, I am five-seven and weigh one-hundred-and-nineteen point two pounds. My skin is pale, not like transparent pale, but pale enough that I walk outside it blinds small animals and children. My hair is a dirty blonde, with my bangs dyed blue with the going trend that I started, yet didn't make popular, its long, coming down to my shoulders, and is slightly curly. Its fairly soft and smells like burnt rubber and motor oil, with a hint of lemon shampoo. My eyes are gray every time I look in the mirror, and remind me of snow. They must look fairly hostile because every time I look in someones general direction they shrink back like I am glaring at them. I suppose my face is alright too, my nose is a little pointy and my eyes are baggy, but my skin is fairly clear with the occasional pimple on my upper lip and chin. My eyelashes are long, lips are thin, ears stick out farther than most.

I am well built for the daughter of a computer technician, but after he died I grew up with my mechanic uncle, I already liked cars, but this is when I really took interest. My muscle tone is fairly firm, and most guys and the occasional girl say I'm an eight, I guess that is good. My fingertips are callused over from working with tools, and my skin is constantly dry. I have many scars on my legs, arms and lower back from accidents in my uncle's shop. None of them are really big, but they are noticeable. There is one memorable accident which gave me a small cut on my forehead just above my eyebrow. My teeth are fairly straight and are a slight off white. There is a hole in my lip from my piercing, which I took out because everyone else started to do the same thing. Wish it were that easy with my hair...

Most of the clothing I wear is simple, pretty much all black except my jeans. Like right now I am wearing a black t-shirt with a Ford insult and a purple and black tiger-stripe camo jacket, My jeans are faded blue, non-factory torn and stained with grease, with black leggings underneath. My socks are usually white when I wear them, and my shoes are made for Parkour, which I do in my free time, although there are few places here other than parking garages owned by the state. Most if not all of the veins in my hands and arms stick out for some reason, my guess is low blood pressure.
Personality: Well, to start out with I tend to think a lot faster than I can well do things, so I am really clumsy with my words and if I am having a particularly bad day a studder. Most would say I am insane or crazy but most of those people don't know me. Those that do know me probably either wish they didn't or have been my friend since third grade and have just grown so attached its kind of a habit. I tend to be hostile, yet understanding, and hate to see other people in pain. Like I said before I have a fear of disease and things that cause disease, yet I am not afraid to get my hands dirty and get bloodied up, as long as it is my blood that is. I am fairly superstitious, but that is from my dad who would always cross the road if a black cat happened by on the sidewalk. I have few things that will make me more mad than people picking on other people just because they can, do that and you can immediately put me on your “Enemy” list.
Bio: Oh dear, where to start, I suppose at the obvious beginning. I was born on Friday the thirteenth, at Capitol Region hospital in Jeff. You can imagine the surprise of my father, who wouldn't even hold me for a week after I was born because he thought I was the devil's reincarnate. Of course that didn't last long, and as soon as we were out of the hospital and back at home I was asleep in his arms while he rocked away in his favorite chair. At least that’s what he and my mother said.

When I turned seven he died from lymphoma, I didn't understand at the time, but I blamed it all on my self for making him drop a mirror. I sank into a deep depression, one no one could get me out of for half a year. That's when me and my mother moved to my uncles on the west side of Jeff, I had to switch schools, but that's were I met my best friend Luke, we hung with each other everyday, and we would go over to each others houses all the time. I was happy then, distracted I guess, anyways this was about the time the Twin towers fell. I remember it well, that was when Luke's dad died, not in the towers or in the pentagon, but on that plane that crashed in a field on its way to another equally famous place to blow it and everyone in it to smithereens. He and me were like brother and sister now, both missing our fathers, both about the same age, and both with the same color hair. He went into the same depression I did when I lost my father, but he came out of his slowly, and with him came a hatred for Muslims. I tried to tell him later on that it was Extremists not plain old Muslims that killed his father, and that his father had saved countless lives in the White House. That cheered him up a little but I don't think he ever shook that hatred.

Years later when I turn eleven I get interested in my uncle's business. I start helping him fix cars and get paid a few extra bucks when I do a good job. My mother would always yell at me when she saw me in the shop, but my uncle always stood behind her with a big smile and a thumbs up. As I got better my mother wouldn't mind as much because I was happy I guess. She said as long as I could get my work done at school at make good grades, I could work with my uncle in the shop after dark on weekdays and as long as I wanted to on Saturday. I held my end and she held hers, getting better and better with my hands. With this came skill at several sports, like baseball, basketball, and football, but I never took interest even though the coaches seemed to. One day I came home and my mother was on the phone, that couldn't be good as mother never picked it up unless it was extremely important. Well it turned out to be a recruitment call from my PE coach asking me if I wanted to play on his team. I turned him down, for several reasons.

I turned thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen as is the natural order of counting age, I grew both physically and mentally, me and Luke were still Best friends, and we were both each others only friends. For good reason too I suppose, he looked like the kid that was going to shoot up the school or strap a bomb to himself and charge into a mosque or something where I looked like the unapproachable girl that if you said the wrong thing was going to knock you out in one punch. The older we got, the worse it became until we started to believe it ourselves. But I guess neither of us got into anything like drugs or alcohol, so we just kept everyone but each other farther than arms reach. We were both big on gaming, him a little more so than I, and we could easily take down nearly anyone on any game possible. I guess that was about when the rumors went around the school that we were going out, at first we denied them of course, but eventually the idea got a little warmed up. He came up with the idea to ask me out in the cafeteria, just to make everyone happy, and we were officially a couple. We did pretty much the same stuff as before except now that the teachers knew we couldn't sit by each other anymore, and half the time I brushed past him in the hall three or so would yell “PDA” and point directly at us.

And that is when I got a Referral, why, because while I turned to look at the teacher, my bag whacked a kid in the face and broke his nose. Blood got all over my bag so I dropped it, with three books in it, right on his toes. There was no noise after that for about five seconds, then another kid started to chant “Fight, fight, fight” and immediately a growing crowd emerged and it uproared in the new chant. The kid laid on his back while I was as far away as I could be from the blood. The principal broke through and looked directly at me with a glare so poisonous it felt like it was corroding every cell in my body. I just stood there as the principal looked at my hands which were coated in blood at the time, then at the kid with blood pouring down his face. At that point she must have thought I had stabbed him cuase she motioned for the resource officer to hand cuff me. I still just stood there.

Later they found out it was an accident, but I still got written up for three of the kids broken foot bones. My mom found out and I was grounded for a week. It didn't matter anyways, I got sick the next morning when I saw the dried blood in my bag. I spent the next week at home, and after going to the doctor it was decided I had the Stomach Flu. It was probably the second or so time I had gotten sick that I could remember. And those were the worst days of my life, I was stuck in bed throwing up the soup I had just eaten watching reruns of television shows that nobody ever watches anymore, and occasionally seeing Luke come and say “Get better soon” and “How are you feeling today?” and then leave. So I opened up my laptop and started to write. I don't know how long I wrote but when I stopped my fingertips were numb and twitching. I looked at the page count, seventy-five. I shrugged clicked save and typed in a random phrase as the title and went to sleep. I guess I left the computer on because when I woke up my mom sat on my bed enthralled in the giant wall of text I had just written, the weird thing was I didn't really remember half of what it said.

((Need I write more?))
Important Details: I don't have much to put here, I don't take any meds, have any allergies, or any chronic diseases. Unless you count Irritability. And I have a fear of other peoples blood.
Other: Finally I am done, now to exit the strange point in time where I write a sheet about myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Agent 9

Name: “Agent” (Yup, quotations. To be explained below.)

Age: 15

Gender: Female

Appearance: Besides a few close friends, Agent is a bit taller than most other teenagers her age (or at least, the ones that she’s seen). She’s 5’8”, weighing in at exactly 98 pounds. No, the girl doesn’t have an eating disorder of any kind; she’s been blessed with a natural skinny-ness. Because of this and her long legs she’s extremely lithe and has a small amount of wind-resistance, making her quite good at Track. The downside would have to be that she’s not the most reliable when it comes to physical strength. Plus, she can’t do a full split or touch her toes.
Agent has a light brown skin tone, similar to the color of caramel, along with a pair of dark brown eyes and hair that reaches down her back. Straightened, of course. It’s the only style she likes, but she’s willing to tie it back in a ponytail if it’s needed. She’s small-chested (though that’s never bothered her) and has a small, narrow face that’s pretty close to the shape of an oval. Normal sized mouth and almond shaped eyes (but not thin ones). Unlike other girls her age, Agent doesn’t bother to wear make-up, mainly because she sees it as unnecessary and that it would make her look like either a clown or a whore. Happily ignoring the popular brands, the girl has created a style and called it her own; she typically wears a blank black t-shirt, a pair of tan cargo pants, a pair of women’s combat boots (tons of straps!), and a purple scarf that’s almost her trademark. You know, one of those everyday-ones. She absolutely despises dresses.

Personality: Agent is one of those easy-to-approach type people. She’s extremely friendly to everyone and anyone she meets, even complete strangers – this is because of some inane rule she’s made for herself that she needs to make the best impression on everyone, so that she isn’t judged – and is happy to help whenever it’s needed. Despite her willingness to be nice, Agent tends to be quiet and shy around people she’s never met; she only blossoms around friends and other that she knows. This silence tends to make her fade into the background and be easily forgotten.
In general, she’s a very outgoing person. Her morals are very strict, and she’ll defend them to no end. She’s excepting of other people’s opinions (as long as she gets her word in) and tends to accept the simple answers to complicated questions. Ignorance is bliss, after all. She’s also stubborn, somewhat curious, and faint-hearted. By that I mean she can easily find herself crying over a story about a dead puppy and, on fewer occasions, a dead human.
I should mention that she’s a bit misanthropic.
Also a bit paranoid, which she shares with her mother. Due to their shared fear of zombies, Agent's forced herself to watch every single zombie apocalypse movie/outbreak film ever made, often more than once in a row. Because of this she considers herself an expert on what to due if such a situation ever occurred.

Bio: There isn’t much to say about her life. She was born prematurely into a loving family, raised by solely her mother after her parents divorced. Then her mother got married again, divorced a second time, and decided to stay single. She’s an only child but has never been lonely because of it, actually preferring to be alone on most occasions. She considers herself an average artist, specializing in mythical creatures, and loves to write.
At the age of four, Agent conjured up her own imaginary friend; a creature she calls “Oni”, whom she named after the Japanese demons from folklore. As described by her, Oni looks a lot like a lizard; large claws, glowing red eyes, and she moves very quickly. Agent tends to have conversations with Oni on a regular basis. She openly does it in public, ignoring the weird looks, because she’s convinced that her friend is 100% real. And Oni always responds.

Major flaws: In situations of extreme tension and stress, Agent tends to shut down and go into a state of panic, ignoring anyone and anything around her. It takes a while to break her out of that state. She has a good temper, but displays extreme anger by crying. Agent’s not bothered by the sight of blood, but overwhelming amounts of it could cause her to faint. She also has a terrible fear of spiders and hates guns of all shapes and sizes (dislikes violence).

Other: "Agent" isn't her actual name. It's her self-appointed nickname, but because she insists on it being used so much she barely uses her real name. She's actually forgotten it.

Yeah, now that I read more about it, it's not really that much like the Midnighters. Midnighters had everything frozen and such and this is like an entirely different world with magic 'n' shit.

I might join, but I'm also lazy so I could forget. Good luck.

EDIT: Oh, and if it wasn't obvious, I like the idea.

Thank you Crim.

Perhaps I shall join. I'll have to think of a new character because I really don't feel like bringing any of my existing OCs into this, so give me some time and I'll have a sheet eventually. (: Good work on the OP, bro.

Thank you.. I'm glad you like it.

Will Join.

... Your prologues are almost as equally confusing as Sakky's...

Despite what I said earlier about not really RPing much, this looks too interesting to pass up. I'll start working on a sheet soon, though it might not be finished for a while due to school projects >w<

Mat, I am glad to have you interested!

Also, Balu, I am honored to be have my prologue compared to Sakky's writing. Also glad to have you on board.

Name: Milo Cross

Gender: Male

Appearance: Milo is the kind of guy who most women guess is at least bisexual at a glance simply because of his rather effeminate build. He's about 5'5'' tall and very skinny, weighing in at just a little over 100lbs, but has a pretty bad slouch and therefore looks noticeably shorter than he would if he actually stood up straight. Being scrawny as he is, he doesn't have much of an @ss, but he still looks really great in skinny jeans.

He has nice hair, and I'm not just saying that. It's a soft shade of brown that proves to have a surprising amount of highlights and darker streaks when inspected more closely. It's exactly what you'd expect from a gay guy like him; short, with a little upwards spikey swoop thing over his forehead, like a cockatoo or something. It's usually all tousled as if he's just gotten out of bed, which is actually quite an attractive hairstyle for him. Along the lines of facial hair, he seems to be rather incapable of growing it.

His eyes are really quite pretty, being a fascinating blend of brown and green. There are rings of yellowish-greenish-brown around the pupils that spike out into the rest of the irises and seem to change shape every time you look at them. He's usually wearing a pair of thick-framed black glasses that actually do serve a purpose, because he'd pretty fucking nearsighted, and can barely see what's in front of him when he isn't wearing them. It's just an added bonus that he looks like a hipster faggot while wearing them.

His favorite outfits involve a lot of colors, especially the rainbow plaid dress shirt (he rolls up the sleeves when it's hot) and neon-colored skinny jeans that he only ever forsakes when he needs to keep low for some reason. He has a tendency to wear either plunging v-necks or really tight wifebeaters, both of which stamp him as a homosexual right away. Same with that really thin scarf he's always got on. His shoes-- a rather plain pair of grey chucks-- are all beat up to the point where there are some pretty big holes in the fabric and parts of the soles are stripping off.

Did I mention he's a bit of a smoker? Yeah. He is. His teeth are slightly yellowed (but not nearly enough to make that adorably roughish little half-smile of his any less attractive) and his clothes always smell like cigarette smoke. He isn't exactly a hardcore smoker, more like the kind who slips out of school in between classes every other day or so. He can make a single pack last quite a while, especially when he's too busy in school to get outside. The one perk to this (unless you also enjoy the smell of smoke/are a smoker yourself) is that he almost always has gum on him, and really tasty gum at that. Sometimes mint (spearmint is his favorite) and sometimes not. His most recent favorite flavor is that Stride Mystery stuff with the rainbow pack and such. Mmmm.

Looking at him, you can probably tell that something is wrong. He not only looks constantly exhausted and confused, but also rather out of it, like he's not really paying much attention to his surroundings at all. Then there's that pervasive look of terror he's always wearing. Well. Not terror. More like unease. But same diff. He always looks mildly to majorly freaked out, end of story. Eyes flitting back and forth, shoulders hunched, teeth gnawing on his lower lip, nails biting into every inch of bare skin they can find.

Oh. And I didn't even mention his scars, now did I? He happened to get in a bit of a spat with the friendly neighborhood serial killer (who happened to be a friend's father) and that resulted in half a Glasgow grin and a huge scar that stretches from his left shoulder to his right hip. The Grin, in case you didn't know, is what the Joker's "smile" is actually called. So yeah. Poor Milo's got this scar that cuts from the left corner of his mouth, up his cheek, and right up to his ear, and it fixes his lips in a permanent sort of half-smirk. It's surprisingly smooth for such a nasty scar-- one would expected it to have gotten all puffy and/or knotted-- and it either dark pink or an almost pearly white depending on the temperature. It gets darker when he's blushing, pretty much.

Personality: When he's not freaking out, Milo is absolutely adorable. He's pretty damn stereotypically gay, and he's also tiny which makes it double cute. That combined with him being a hipster makes it kind of great. But then there's the mental illness. He's medicated and all, but he generally doesn't take it unless someone's there to make him. And people generally aren't there to do that. But yeah. He's schizophrenic. Afraid of everything. Hallucinates a lot. And stuff.

Bio: Um I can't even bio right now but he didn't have all that bad of a past, it's just there were some really traumatic things that happened when he was seventeen and then his schizophrenia started to manifest itself and then bad things.

Major flaws: He's a paranoid schizophrenic and is absolutely terrified of water. And everything else. He usually doesn't have problems, but when he relapses, he relapses hard.

Other: He loves tea.

'Cepted. The bio is fine, it gets the point across.

Now we wait for other people.

RON I DID IT. I FINALLY DID IT. Tell me if I should make any changes!

Name: January Clements

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Appearance: January stands at an unremarkable 5’6”. Her face is dotted with freckles on both cheeks, and otherwise is quite smooth, if a bit compact. She has soft green eyes, but wears a red-orange contact in her left. Her skin is lightly tanned.

January has refused to have her long, brown hair cut ever since a young age, and will not put it up in a ponytail, bun, pigtails, or any other manner of ’do. Instead, she dyes the fringe every color she can get her hands on (though never too many hues at once), which urges her hair to resemble something of a rainbow when it is twirled in just the right way.

Her obsession with colors is reflected in not only January’s hair, but her choice of clothing. She commonly wears cargo pants with a sleeveless shirt that was her late older brother’s, along with a light blue half-jacket. Any stitch, rip, or tear in her clothing has been met with the application of a brightly-colored patch, and January takes special delight in modifying apparel to boast an excessive number of pockets, each a different color. The resulting apocalypse of fabric would undoubtedly look ugly on just about anyone else.

Her build is light, but not to the point where she could be mistaken for a male (thought her baggy clothes do not much contribute to January’s femininity.)

Jewelry-wise, she takes delight in possessing an assortment of cheap and hackjob rings and necklaces. From iron nuts to the tips of broken bottlenecks and everything in between, there is simply no handheld item that January could not polish up and string on her neck or finger. Most of these treasures are kept safe at home, but she takes quite a few of them with her each day, interchanging them often. One item that she never removes is her medicine bag, which hangs around her neck and contains a small block of salt, one of the most precious minerals (in her opinion).

Personality: In short, January is the sort of quirky person that you’d always expect to exist, but never expect to meet. She could easily be the ‘they’ in ‘that’s what they say,’ and never seems to act in exactly the same way twice. Her speech is quick and she doesn’t often like to stay on the same conversational topic for very long.

If she could ever be described, it would be with the words eccentric, social, and kind. She can be very intelligent, yet simultaneously seems to exhibit not a scrap of common sense. She is a gossip, an artist, a philosopher, and any other word the dictionary may throw at you. January seems to be a magnet for accidents, yet still manages to proceed with infuriating optimism. She can be forgetful, and indeed, seems to remember only the very LEAST important things.

Her laugh is both intolerably annoying and delightfully charming. Many people either like January quite a lot or loathe her intensely.

Bio: Her parents ran a coffee shop in a part of town that perhaps could’ve been better. January grew up in the friendly shadow of her older brother September (each child named for the other’s month of birth; either their parents were philosophical genii, or uncreative precognitives). They helped their mom and dad in the shop when not in school, and rarely fought, though they could not have been more different. She was a social weirdo, he was an average loner.

After their parents died, Jan and Sep took over the shop, though the latter passed away not long after from injuries contracted after a PCP overdose. January, seeing that the event had been private, that her brother had no real outside connections, and not wanting to bother with legalities, buried him in the basement and signed no death papers. The ethics of this move did not quite bother her; she knows she loves her brother very much, and she doesn’t have to prove it to anyone. She continues to pay his taxes each year, and as far as the law’s knowledge is concerned, September Jacob Clements is a live man who just doesn’t come out very often. January grows vines on his homemade gravestone.

To this day, she runs the shop by herself, and only stays in business because of her charm in the eyes of her customers. She has little experience in violence, though was never particularly sheltered.

Major flaws: Occasional moron, habitual packrat, forgetful, and above all, unwilling to let go of someone.

...

...sometimes physically, as well.

Other: In her arsenal of pockets, January may keep a compass, batteries, rubber bands, staples, staplers, staple removers, broken cell phone parts, a calculator, pens, pencils, erasers, several wristwatches, never-before-used hairpins, wrenches, post-its, scotch tape, broken glass, and a pocket journal (though not all at once! How much that would weigh her down, carrying all that around. Honestly.)

Well... I figured I might as well bump this, because it was an Excellent idea Bro. But... I got Writers block! So I looked through my extensive file of Character sheets and found one that I used for one of Sakky's RPs that never really made it off the ground. Note it is in First Person, and I attempted to edit everything I had made specifically for her. Here goes nothing.

Name: My name is Cheyenne Wolfe
Gender: Female, yep.
Major Flaws: Mainly, being sick, and anything that'll get you sick. I'm like super-major germophobe/hypochondriac. Along with this I hate hospitals, ugh, too many sick people, or hurt people. I have a fear of other peoples blood, in any amount, not because it might have AIDS or hepatitis or something, just because it's there and it shouldn’t be. Recently I the “Saw” movies and am now afraid of things on the other side of windows when it is dark out ((That is not supposed to make sense)). And for some reason I am afraid of getting mugged every time I go outside my yard.
Appearance: Well, according to this measuring tape and scale, I am five-seven and weigh one-hundred-and-nineteen point two pounds. My skin is pale, not like transparent pale, but pale enough that I walk outside it blinds small animals and children. My hair is a dirty blonde, with my bangs dyed blue with the going trend that I started, yet didn't make popular, its long, coming down to my shoulders, and is slightly curly. Its fairly soft and smells like burnt rubber and motor oil, with a hint of lemon shampoo. My eyes are gray every time I look in the mirror, and remind me of snow. They must look fairly hostile because every time I look in someones general direction they shrink back like I am glaring at them. I suppose my face is alright too, my nose is a little pointy and my eyes are baggy, but my skin is fairly clear with the occasional pimple on my upper lip and chin. My eyelashes are long, lips are thin, ears stick out farther than most.

I am well built for the daughter of a computer technician, but after he died I grew up with my mechanic uncle, I already liked cars, but this is when I really took interest. My muscle tone is fairly firm, and most guys and the occasional girl say I'm an eight, I guess that is good. My fingertips are callused over from working with tools, and my skin is constantly dry. I have many scars on my legs, arms and lower back from accidents in my uncle's shop. None of them are really big, but they are noticeable. There is one memorable accident which gave me a small cut on my forehead just above my eyebrow. My teeth are fairly straight and are a slight off white. There is a hole in my lip from my piercing, which I took out because everyone else started to do the same thing. Wish it were that easy with my hair...

Most of the clothing I wear is simple, pretty much all black except my jeans. Like right now I am wearing a black t-shirt with a Ford insult and a purple and black tiger-stripe camo jacket, My jeans are faded blue, non-factory torn and stained with grease, with black leggings underneath. My socks are usually white when I wear them, and my shoes are made for Parkour, which I do in my free time, although there are few places here other than parking garages owned by the state. Most if not all of the veins in my hands and arms stick out for some reason, my guess is low blood pressure.
Personality: Well, to start out with I tend to think a lot faster than I can well do things, so I am really clumsy with my words and if I am having a particularly bad day a studder. Most would say I am insane or crazy but most of those people don't know me. Those that do know me probably either wish they didn't or have been my friend since third grade and have just grown so attached its kind of a habit. I tend to be hostile, yet understanding, and hate to see other people in pain. Like I said before I have a fear of disease and things that cause disease, yet I am not afraid to get my hands dirty and get bloodied up, as long as it is my blood that is. I am fairly superstitious, but that is from my dad who would always cross the road if a black cat happened by on the sidewalk. I have few things that will make me more mad than people picking on other people just because they can, do that and you can immediately put me on your “Enemy” list.
Bio: Oh dear, where to start, I suppose at the obvious beginning. I was born on Friday the thirteenth, at Capitol Region hospital in Jeff. You can imagine the surprise of my father, who wouldn't even hold me for a week after I was born because he thought I was the devil's reincarnate. Of course that didn't last long, and as soon as we were out of the hospital and back at home I was asleep in his arms while he rocked away in his favorite chair. At least that’s what he and my mother said.

When I turned seven he died from lymphoma, I didn't understand at the time, but I blamed it all on my self for making him drop a mirror. I sank into a deep depression, one no one could get me out of for half a year. That's when me and my mother moved to my uncles on the west side of Jeff, I had to switch schools, but that's were I met my best friend Luke, we hung with each other everyday, and we would go over to each others houses all the time. I was happy then, distracted I guess, anyways this was about the time the Twin towers fell. I remember it well, that was when Luke's dad died, not in the towers or in the pentagon, but on that plane that crashed in a field on its way to another equally famous place to blow it and everyone in it to smithereens. He and me were like brother and sister now, both missing our fathers, both about the same age, and both with the same color hair. He went into the same depression I did when I lost my father, but he came out of his slowly, and with him came a hatred for Muslims. I tried to tell him later on that it was Extremists not plain old Muslims that killed his father, and that his father had saved countless lives in the White House. That cheered him up a little but I don't think he ever shook that hatred.

Years later when I turn eleven I get interested in my uncle's business. I start helping him fix cars and get paid a few extra bucks when I do a good job. My mother would always yell at me when she saw me in the shop, but my uncle always stood behind her with a big smile and a thumbs up. As I got better my mother wouldn't mind as much because I was happy I guess. She said as long as I could get my work done at school at make good grades, I could work with my uncle in the shop after dark on weekdays and as long as I wanted to on Saturday. I held my end and she held hers, getting better and better with my hands. With this came skill at several sports, like baseball, basketball, and football, but I never took interest even though the coaches seemed to. One day I came home and my mother was on the phone, that couldn't be good as mother never picked it up unless it was extremely important. Well it turned out to be a recruitment call from my PE coach asking me if I wanted to play on his team. I turned him down, for several reasons.

I turned thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen as is the natural order of counting age, I grew both physically and mentally, me and Luke were still Best friends, and we were both each others only friends. For good reason too I suppose, he looked like the kid that was going to shoot up the school or strap a bomb to himself and charge into a mosque or something where I looked like the unapproachable girl that if you said the wrong thing was going to knock you out in one punch. The older we got, the worse it became until we started to believe it ourselves. But I guess neither of us got into anything like drugs or alcohol, so we just kept everyone but each other farther than arms reach. We were both big on gaming, him a little more so than I, and we could easily take down nearly anyone on any game possible. I guess that was about when the rumors went around the school that we were going out, at first we denied them of course, but eventually the idea got a little warmed up. He came up with the idea to ask me out in the cafeteria, just to make everyone happy, and we were officially a couple. We did pretty much the same stuff as before except now that the teachers knew we couldn't sit by each other anymore, and half the time I brushed past him in the hall three or so would yell “PDA” and point directly at us.

And that is when I got a Referral, why, because while I turned to look at the teacher, my bag whacked a kid in the face and broke his nose. Blood got all over my bag so I dropped it, with three books in it, right on his toes. There was no noise after that for about five seconds, then another kid started to chant “Fight, fight, fight” and immediately a growing crowd emerged and it uproared in the new chant. The kid laid on his back while I was as far away as I could be from the blood. The principal broke through and looked directly at me with a glare so poisonous it felt like it was corroding every cell in my body. I just stood there as the principal looked at my hands which were coated in blood at the time, then at the kid with blood pouring down his face. At that point she must have thought I had stabbed him cuase she motioned for the resource officer to hand cuff me. I still just stood there.

Later they found out it was an accident, but I still got written up for three of the kids broken foot bones. My mom found out and I was grounded for a week. It didn't matter anyways, I got sick the next morning when I saw the dried blood in my bag. I spent the next week at home, and after going to the doctor it was decided I had the Stomach Flu. It was probably the second or so time I had gotten sick that I could remember. And those were the worst days of my life, I was stuck in bed throwing up the soup I had just eaten watching reruns of television shows that nobody ever watches anymore, and occasionally seeing Luke come and say “Get better soon” and “How are you feeling today?” and then leave. So I opened up my laptop and started to write. I don't know how long I wrote but when I stopped my fingertips were numb and twitching. I looked at the page count, seventy-five. I shrugged clicked save and typed in a random phrase as the title and went to sleep. I guess I left the computer on because when I woke up my mom sat on my bed enthralled in the giant wall of text I had just written, the weird thing was I didn't really remember half of what it said.

((Need I write more?))
Important Details: I don't have much to put here, I don't take any meds, have any allergies, or any chronic diseases. Unless you count Irritability. And I have a fear of other peoples blood.
Other: Finally I am done, now to exit the strange point in time where I write a sheet about myself.
/First-Person...
Hope I saw everything and fixed it. BD

Very nice. Accepted.

Dang I remember typing that up sometime in February... Stayed up all night... Good times.

Thank ya Bro.

As for the age... Ummm. I don't know... how old do you suggest?

You're welcome Bro.

Well, I don't really care, the characters were generally meant to be between 14-30

22 then. Smack in the middle. I'll just improvise the last section of the Bio if it ever comes up.

Alright, then.

So how many moar people we need?

I was thinking about one or two more.

I think I'm lurking. Am I allowed to do that? Give me a moment to think of a character.
A non-magical or somehow deranged one that I tend to use a lot...Lolz.
Maybe I could be myself again. 8U

Yeah you can.

Ah, quick question. My character (myself, Lolz) has an imaginary friend that tags along with her. Usually. Of course, it's not some magical thing that everyone else can see. Only her.
Would I be allowed to include it in here?

Yeah, sure.

EXCELLENT.
Sheet shall be up....hopefully today. XD

Oh, cool.