ok. I want in. I haven't read any of the IC stuff yet, I did that to keep my character as pure as possible. She is as laid out as follows. I had to stop myself from writing any more. Player Name:
Whitney Samantha RaleighAlias (if any):
"Pony" An old nickname among friends.Age:
Whitney worked in retail at low level consignment stores for years. She was a student at one time, but she dropped out before she could get a degree. There was a strange period when she was in her early twenties. Pony left town to another city and got paid for a lot of things.Survivalist or Rescuee:
Rescuee. But it's complicated. Height:
5'5" (164 cm)Weight:
119 lbs. (54 kg)Hair colour:
dark brown, many years of black coloring Eye colour:
Hazel/Brown/Black depending on the seasonSpecial skills:
Whitney is a capable singer. She can roll cigarettes, dance, and fuck. This skill-set was useful before everything went to hell. Since, she's found out that she's also a fast runner, and gifted at hiding. She can fire a gun, but she can't aim one very well at all.Weapons:
She does have a Heckler & Koch MP5 that she was lucky to find a few days after the disasters began. Pony is much more effective with large blunt weapons. She improvises accordingly.Other equipment:
She's always on the lookout for cigarettes. She has a leather jacket, and a small assortment of other clothing. This is not a very well prepared woman. There is a reason for that though.Likes:
Heartfelt guitar solos, Dancing & good dancers, Expensive liquors, long nights, and long mornings.Dislikes:
Judgmental Psychos, driving.Personality:
Pony is a tough woman. She has tattoos and piercings, and she's been with men that have beat her before, and she's been in fights with those men. This woman stands up for herself, and she defends her ideas as if her life depended on it. Whitney has faced death before, one numerous occasions, in car accidents, drunken alley's late at night, bad hotel rooms, and zombies. Luck, in many definitions, has allowed her to get this far. She can handle herself, but she has always enjoyed life too much to learn how to survive in a truly horrific situation. She naturally treats everyone like a child. None of them could achieve her wit. None of them can see the shapes that she sees. In her core, Whitney has a huge heart, and she is extremely compassionate towards those that have earned her trust.History:
The most recent history, the events leading up to her arrival were a solid blur of running, hiding, blood splatter, and a rumbling stomach. Whitney was smart enough to stay not dead. She even learned to take her aggression and her sorrow out on lonely zombies by beating them to death. The MP5 was useful as well. She carried one bag that was about ten pounds of clothing and almost fifty pounds of bullets, of course getting to any one specific place or another was difficult. She had a map in her mind of every alley and every street, but zombies would kill her if she didn't tread carefully. So, it was by chance that she had ever come across the gunshop in the first place. It had cemented her survival, and if she needed to, she could probably make due on her own.
There in lies the complication, Whitney is a lonely woman, and she is not confident enough to be a fine survivalist. She has always loved conversation.
As a child, Whitney lived in a typical christian household, as a teenager that christian household crumbled apart. She sided with her conservative-turned-liberal mother. She became best friends with another girl named Whitney when she was still in highschool, and everyone started calling her pony to avoid social mishaps. The other Whitney had also been given a nickname too, "Wesley". It was ironic, Wesley was such a beautiful young girl that calling her by a boys name took the pressure away. It was mostly a coincidence. Pony took pride in her name, and her old friends alienated themselves from her by refusing to call her by anything other than her real name.
The name ended up having a few different meanings.
Pony liked to ride, noted, she didn't like to drive. She preferred the backseat without a seat-belt. As she matured, and distanced herself further from her father and all of her long-held christian beliefs, Pony started to play with boys. She was a singer at school, and it was easy to mix with her preferred flavor of the male species: the musician. She was piano player for one band, and a singer for the band that came afterward. Along with her false high-school stardom, Pony evolved in a lot of other ways. She started to fuck, she started to drink, she started to smoke, she started to look more like a woman physically, and she developed a keen sense of style. It was all relative. Her legend lived for years after she graduated. There were a number of girls that tried to take the name after she left by living the same lifestyle and imitating her decisions. None of them were successful.
Pony liked to be ridden, that is sexually, noted, long nights and long mornings became something of a mantra among friends when judging their sexual partners. Men were worth keeping if they could sustain a performance that was long, and enjoyable. There were a number of things that Whitney enjoyed sexually that the other girls in her circle weren't fond of: being hidden from male friends by lovers, blowjobs, public sex, doggy style, and excessive male body hair. The others grew into it as time came around. And that was when Pony disappeared.
she had been twenty-one for three months. She travelled across the country, and started stripping. She started gambling, and selling drugs. Pony had been given a different name: Sarah Hank. As tempting as it was to turn to prostitution, Pony never succumbed to it. It was something of a rule. She might as well have been though, like a weather-lady, she was worth almost nothing, and everyone around her was paying her truckloads. She spent a lot of her time on bathing and make-up. It was glorious.
She was thin before the men turned to zombies.