Group RP ZDF: The Zombie Defense Force Characters

[Necca]

ZDF: The Zombie Defense Force
Cast of Characters

Post your character sheets for the ZDF below. Feel free to use pics, prose, or abstract modern art for appearance descriptions! NPC's are free game (anyone can write/ interact with them without my permission), and are listed in this post. More NPCs will be added as we encounter them.

Necca's Character:

Spoiler: Jack Murton

Name: Jack Murton
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation(s): Ice Cream Truck Driver, Substitute Teacher (English)
Role in Group: de facto Leader, Cook
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Jack stands 6'2" and has shed a considerable amount of weight since Z-Day, now weighing 210 lbs even. That's the exact height and weight of Batman, which he rarely shuts up about if given the opportunity. His light brown hair has sandy highlights from working the farm, and his hazel eyes are friendly and approachable. Thin eyebrows, a large, straight nose, and oddly feminine lips give him the air of an everyman.
Personality: Jack's an all-around decent guy. He's fairly extroverted, but needs his moments of quiet, too. He's helpful and selfless to a fault, and is nearly incapable of saying "no" if he thinks the results will be awkward or tense. Jack also apologizes for everything, even if he did nothing wrong. He's somehow become a de facto leader of the group, but always leaves the big decisions to someone else's advice.
Likes: Cooking, food, creating things, reading, driving, walking, hitting zombies with sticks, singing old Sinatra stuff, his ice cream truck Sally, writing the plots of his favorite TV shows for posterity's sake, shoes, the mellow smell of gasoline, cheese
Loathes: Assholes, "dude-bros," hornets, washing dishes, liars, really hot weather, screamo music, fixing plumbing, being nagged
Finds Annoying: Barry Manilow, intellectual snobs that actually don't know very much, the sound of velcro, out of tune instruments, uncomfortable furniture, being interrupted repeatedly when in the middle of a project
Finds Endearing: Clumsiness, corny jokes, elaborate handshakes, dimples, easy laughter, happy endings, children's books, '90s nostalgia, singing in cars, kazoos, other people being tongue-tied
Vehicle (if applicable): Sally, a heavily modified ice cream truck that serves as a primary mode of transportation for the group. She has a turret gun mounted on the side window and a spiked snow shovel attached to her front.

NPC's:

Spoiler: Aunt Jenny

Name: Jennifer "Aunt Jenny" Rootwood
Age: 84
Gender: Female
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Retired Court Stenographer
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Jenny is 4'10 and nearing 90 lbs., with age lines that indicate smiles, frowns, intense brow furrows, and a little too much sun exposure in her past. Her frosty hair is usually tied up in a bun, though she occasionally puts curlers in and forgets to take them out. Her sea-green eyes are a little smoky with cataracts, and her lips are line-thin. She has a button nose that looks like a ski slope in profile.
Personality: Aunt Jenny is generous, kind, giving, and selfless but she masks it with a facade of eternal crankiness. She is the epitome of actions over words - she has opened her farm to many survivors, but constantly complains about temperature, bad food, the way people dress, the music folks listen to, and if people don't clean up after themselves. She comes across as judgmental, but actually knows she's legitimately the most sensible person in a room.
Likes: Knitting, late '60s interior design, doo-wop music, pre-1960 musical theater, wall-to-wall carpeting, cats, hearty mums, poached eggs, long- winded philosophical debates, legal great areas
Loathes: Bad fashion, poor cooking, those who lack common sense, lounge music, noisy vehicles, hot weather, cold weather, elevators, driving, people who don't immediately clean up after themselves, bad grammar
Finds Annoying: The sound of that one confused songbird chirping at 1am, body odor, stained furniture, dirty dishes, wet laundry, incorrect spelling
Finds Endearing: Purring, being given coffee, sunrise, taking the time for small talk, gossip, speaking one's mind
Brief Backstory: Jenny never married, and stayed on the family farm when her siblings moved out and after her parents passed away. She worked 38 years as a legal stenographer, was a stoic pillar of the community, was heavily involved with charity organizations, and never wavered from her moral compass. She honestly cares about Jack and the other survivors, but rarely tells it to their faces. Nobody ever learned from compliments, anyway.

Spoiler: Blue Moon

Name: Blue Moon "Moony"
Age: 10
Gender: Female
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Cat
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Moony is a morbidly obese, 25-lb cat. She is a stubby, short haired gray tabby with gold eyes, white face, and pink nose.
Personality: Moony is a cantankerous creature with arthritic joints. She is basically a couch pillow with teeth.
Likes: sleeping, lounging, eating
Loathes: walking, jumping, hunting for food
Finds Annoying: being pet, being poked, being affectionately referred to a "The Fatness"
Finds Endearing: being fed, being complimented
Brief Backstory: Moony is Aunt Jenny's favorite cat. She has had her for 9 years.

Spoiler: Lollipop

Name: Lollipop "Lolly"
Age: 6
Gender: Female
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Cat
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Lollipop is a sleek black cat with glowing green eyes and a small white patch on her neck.
Personality: A huntress through and through, Lollipop is almost exclusively responsible for riding the farm of vermin. She is extremely independent, but will jump up on a person's lap is she's in the mood for affection. However, you can only pet her as often as she permits.
Likes: Fresh kills, the chase, dark hiding places, delivering gifts to the front stoop
Loathes: Being indoors, Moony, furniture that hasn't been scratched
Finds Annoying: overly-affectionate people, being fed
Finds Endearing: those who just let her do her thing
Brief Backstory: Lollipop was a stray that Aunt Jenny never fully succeeded at turning into a house cat.

Spoiler: Mr. Sandman

Name: Mr. Sandman "Sandy"
Age: 8
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Cat
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: A big tomcat, Sandy is a rusty calico with a light tan patch over his eyes and very large paws.
Personality: Amiable and affectionate, Sandy is a lap cat through and through. However, he is also playful, and has been known to kill the occasional mouse.
Likes: Being pet, being snuggled, being scratched under the chin, chasing toys
Loathes: Mean people
Finds Annoying: When toys go too far under the couch
Finds Endearing: being picked up
Brief Backstory: Sandy is the favorite cat of most survivors. Aunt Jen adopted him when one of her friends moved and couldn't take him with her.

 

[Dream Catcher]

Spoiler: Valentine "Val" Ferrier

Name: Valentine "Val" Ferrier
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: None. Lived off the land by farming and hunting. Lived off the grid.
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics:

Height: 6'2
Weight: 185lbs/ Fit
Eye Color: Blue
Hair: Blonde. Wavy/ Medium length. Short full beard.
Clothing: Typically wears black t-shirts. Blue jeans. Brown work boots. Wears a black leather belt. Wears a blue jean jacket during cold seasons.

Personality: Val gave up on most of society and lived off the grid, alone. He doesn't dislike other people but he prefers his privacy. He is a hard worker on his farm and his accomplishments show on how he lives. For being primitive, he lives comfortably. He is a temperamental man who often falls victim to bad luck. He has bursts of anger that can be humorous most of the time. He is not violent. He is considerate and helps people in need. He maybe a loner but if someone friendly shows up at his cabin in the woods, he would invite them in for some tea and food. If someone unfriendly shows up; he is ready to fight. He is honest.

Likes: Being outside. Growing food and hunting/fishing. Likes drinking homemade moonshine on his front porch. Loves playing chess. Strong black coffee.

Loathes: Know-it-alls. Arrogant people. Liars. Thieves. Gnats and mosquitoes.

Finds Annoying: People that smack while they chew food. Constant clicking of an ink pen. His bad luck.

Finds Endearing: Early Spring. Autumn. Honeysuckle. Rainy days. Sunsets.

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing:

The sun beats through the window at dawn. The ray of sunshine strikes the outside of his window; blocked by the make shift cloth he weaved together from strands of vines and sticks. All was blocked except for a one inch hole from a bent stick that allowed sunlight to pierce Val in the eyes. The only light in his entire dark bedroom. He squints as he shifts his head to avoid the sunlight and lets out a frustrated sigh. Moments later, the cloth falls off one side of the window; hanging by the other corner of the cloth and completely illuminating the room. Val covered his eyes with his arm.

"Kidding me?" In a rough annoyed tone. "Hell with it. I'll get up." he said as he sat up and got out of bed. He took a few steps and stubbed his toe on the foot board of the bed. The sound seemed to echo in the room. Val let out a loud defeated groan as he sat down in the floor and braced his toe.

"Son of a- God! Mm. Oww... mm." he said with his teeth gritted and the anger flowing. He rubbed his toe and stood back up. His walk was impeded by the sting of his toe causing a limp. He winced every time he took a step. Val slowly walked towards the kitchen where he grabbed a container of coffee to make his go juice. He opened the container and looked inside. His face changed from a tired and annoyed look to a look of horror. He immediately dropped the container; throwing his hands up in the air and spilling all the coffee grounds onto the floor.

"Holy hell!" he shouted as he stepped back from the mess. From the pile of grounds emerged a large spider that began to crawl. Val grabbed the nearest object he could to destroy the menace. A white glass plate. His only last surviving plate from the set. All others were broke due to his clumsiness. Val thrust the plate on top of the spider; killing both the spider and the plate. Shards of the white plate flew all over the kitchen. The only large fragment that survived was held by Val. Val looked at the broken plate and tossed the fragment down as he sighed at his stupid maneuver. His coffee was ruined. His only plate was destroyed but the menace was annihilated. Val grabbed the broom that was leaned up next to a table. He applied a firm sweep to the mess; when the bristles fell out of his broom.

"What the hell is THIS!?" he shouted as he threw the broom handle down; causing it to flip end over end and impacting the window of his living room; leaving a crack in the glass. Val threw his hands up in defeat and let them fall down at his sides; slapping the sides of his legs. He turned around and went back into the bedroom and laid back down. He covered his face up with his blanket to block the sunlight. He was going to stay there for the rest of the day.

 

[SilentVoice]

Name: Stan Pines
Age:65
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Door to Door Salesman, low-level conman (nothing too extreme)
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Large ears attached to a square balanced on top of a thick triangle held up by bendy straws. Older, grizzled, hardened by life long before the dead started to get out of bed.
Personality: Gruff, brash, always looking for a way to get ahead, always looking for the easy way. He is slow to trust, but those he calls friend or family, he will do whatever it takes to protect them.
Likes: Deals, comfy chairs, watching fights, betting on said fights, being in charge, being left alone
Loathes: Zombies, the words "Please" and "Thank you," losing money or possessions, exerting energy, rap and hip-hop music (he blames rap and hip-hop for raising the dead)
Finds Annoying: Hippies, peacekeepers, helpless people, whiners and cry-babies, warm soda
Finds Endearing: Fiesty kids, ice cream, suck-ups, money

Spoiler: Stan Pines Picture

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing: see below


Name: Mabel Pines
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Working at a fast food restaurant
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics: Ridiculously long, ridiculously thick brown hair, big brown eyes, petite frame
Personality: Ever the optimist, always smiling, always running to the next adventure, a little too quick to trust but not totally nieve
Likes: Grass, sprinkles, rainbows, unicorns, running, sleeping, candy, sugar, sweet things, friends, all baby animals, grappling hook!
Loathes: Mean people, bullies, nasty surprises
Finds Annoying: Bugs, cold, sad things, reality
Finds Endearing: Personalised sweaters! Piggies

Spoiler: Mabel Pines Picture

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing:
Mabel bounced over to Stan Pines. "Whatcha doing, Grunkle?" she demanded.
Stan nearly jumped out of his skin. "Mabel!" he snapped. "How many times do I gotta tell you. Just because you live in my house doesn't give you the right to scare the giblets out of me!"
Mabel pouted cutely at her great uncle. "But Grunkle Stan! I'm huuuungry!"
"Then why don't you pick one of them pigs to fry up," Stan asked, hooking a thumb toward the back door.
Mabel gasped and slapped a hand to either side of her face. "Grunkle Stan! You can't possibly mean eating Gracie or Wobbles or Curly!"
"It's us eating them or the zombies, kiddo," Stan growled, moving away.
"Uuuuuggghhh," Soup the Zombie moaned, dragging himself toward them. "Brraaaaiiins!"
Mabel idly stepped around Soup and used a nearby chair to guide him in the other direction. "But Stan!"
"What do you think I've been feeding Soup?" Stan asked, deadpanned.
Mabel had no response to that. "You... You'be been feeding pig to Soup?? What if he gets sick? Pig isn't for zombies!"
Stan just stared at her. "There's no winning with you, is there." He turned and walked away. "Soup! Stop chewing the doorframe!"

Soup the Zombie, pet of Stand and Mabel Pines

Spoiler: Soup

 

[Sanity43217]

]Name: Ace Gibson
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: mechanic
Appearance/ Physical Characteristics:
View attachment 3133
Standing just under six feet tall, Ace has a lean, well defined, athletic build. Running from zombies will do that to you. With dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin, he is rugged looking. This is emphasised by the way he keeps his hair long and messy, and always has a few days stubble.
View attachment 3132
Personality: There's a lot to say about Ace, but if nothing else you should know he's honorable and persuasive. Of course he's also focused, idealistic and intelligent, but they're in shorter supply, especially considering they're mixed with being deceitful as well.
His honor though, this is what he's most popular for. Friends frequently count on this and his planning in times of need.
Nobody's perfect of course and Ace has plenty of character faults too. His anger and prejudices risk ruining pleasant moods and just affect all around negatively.
Fortunately his persuasive nature usually softens the worst of it.
Likes: Alcohol. Cars. Driving. Rock Music.
Loathes: Sand. People trashing cars that he keeps having to fix. Zombies.
Finds Annoying: Having to fix the same car more than three days in a row because some people can't drive. Awkward Silence.
Finds Endearing: Bad Puns. Puns. Really just any puns. Corny One Liners. 80s/90s/early 00s things.
Vehicle: Knight XV. The Knight XV was a personal treasure. Ace always liked to joke about being ready for the apocalypse. As a mechanic, it always came down to which vehicle he would use. One day he got drunk, sold his normal car and bought the Knight XV. When he sobered up, and his friends explained what he had done, he just sort of rolled with it. It was a nice looking car. It helped him pick up chicks. So the vehicle he bought as a joke, ended up saving his social life. Then his actual life on Z-Day.

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing:
A man dropped dead. A knife sticking out his back. Behind him stood a man of average height, with blond hair. The man, who had presumably just done the stabbing smiled at the person tied to a chair. Bending over, the blond man took the knife out of the man's back and cut the other person free. "How in tarnation did you get free, and where did you get a knife, Jake?" The man who was tied up questioned. "Well, as I always say, always carry a knife, in case there is a cake that needs to be cut or a man that needs stabbing," Jake explained. The person who was tied up just sighed. "You have never said, and you don't even like cake." Was the response. Jack just chuckled. "Oh, Scott, I love cake. Everyone loves cake." He said.

Scott looked towards the door. "Is this really the best time to be discussing who likes cake?" Scott said with a cynical note in his voice. His brown hair ruffled up from hours of torture. "You were the one who brought it up." Jake retorted as he moved towards the door. Scott took a handgun from the torturer and followed suit.

As Jake kicked open the door, he came face to face with death. Well not literally, but he damn near shit himself. The hallway was full of enemies. All had sub-machine guns or assault rifle. Jake's pig poker wasn't going to cut it.

 

[WishBone]

Name: Allan Parkes
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Recently unemployed, was previously a customer service rep in a contact center.

Appearance/ Physical Characteristics:
In the zombie apocalypse, you wouldn't expect this 6ft 2 nugget of a man, to be geared in a padded gambeson, medieval plate and chain mail, along with steel cap boots, armed with a hefty sized mace and a fabricated spiked shield from half a car door. In short, he's beefy, long hair due to it being uncut since he was fired. Dark grey eyes, hints of a broken nose covered by a Thomas the tank engine band aid <He didn't have a choice at the time> over the bridge of his nose.

Most times he is in this kit, a black thick gambeson over a shirt designed to absorb sweat. Fighters pants under plate tassets and upper leg armor. Other times, he's wearing shorts and a shirt with bandages up both arms to his elbows.

Personality: First impressions he's the most jovial person you'd meet, fearless, brash, haughty and for the apocalypse the best person you'd meet. Break his trust, hurt an animal or worse another for selfish gains however. That nice persona reveals a much more sinister person who prefers to show his rather heavy handed approach to those that dare lay a hand against another. Or break his trust, lie to him or worse deceive him.

The fact that this is the apocalypse has left him more trusting to animals than people, as people often tend to lie more than speak the truth. Newcomers find him standoffish, or keeping most at a wary arms length. Those who earned the trust, know given the chance he'd rather be bitten than them. Mainly because zombies cant bite through steel and watching them try is fucking hilarious.

Likes: Honesty, Kindness, courtesy, Honor, fighting zombies the more the merrier.

Loathes: People talking about before the apocalypse, people talking about those they lost
Those who harm others/animals in numerous ways, physically or worse. Torture.
Being approached from behind or startled.

Finds Annoying: Guns. People who talk about guns. Whiney crybabies, screaming kids and drama. Game of Thrones ref, people taking the piss because he prefers this kit to 'modern' alternatives.
Finds Endearing: Kindness, indirect or direct. Teaching others, or being taught something new.

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing:
"Who the fuck are you? Some wanna be knight from game of thrones?" The man shouted. Yellow teeth, bloodshot eyes and pale clammy skin. Allan knew the man was infected, pitiful, the man had used his wife as a lure for those like him. The worst scum and villainy yet, just another day in the office of the apocalypse.

His mind went back to before, it tended to do this sometimes with the wavey typical tv trope of a scene.
The managers office was a mess, stacked cardboard boxes were around it like a small stockade, loose papers from before the internet littered surfaces. Old 'self help books' from the worst gimmicks of sales lined shelves the paper bringing a smell of mustiness in this room. He'd been here for five fucking months on probation, yet here a rather large, balding in an almost sickening white see thru office shirt was his manager.

"Who the fuck are you huh? Some wanna be knight from game of thrones?" The man said, with a drawl of a southern accent thrown in. Allan had been brought in for a dispute between him and another work colleague. The smile on the managers face was the typical plastic presentation of 'its just buisness'. Allans bag was under his chair, yet he remained oddly silent. "Look, after five months, I think you just aren't suitable for the job." Continued the manager after a long awkward silence as he slid a large envelope towards him. This contained his termination letter and about how much he was going to get paid.

"You fuckin come in here, try to change things and shake things up. At the end of the day, hanging a man by his ankles out a window for 'allegedly' hitting a work colleage who says she didn't. Refusing our way of selling because its unfuckin ethical and now, breaking a mans hand because he was intimidating an elderly customer. Allan, I think you have anger issues that need to be looked at." Again, Allan's eyes hadn't moved from the mans own.

"Do you have anything to say Allan?" The manager pressed, "Any-"

"Go shove that termination letter up your patronising ass," A scream, followed by noise echoing down the office space. Followed by running of staff, "I ain't ever gonna be selling your fake zombrex insurance,"
Something pressed against the glass of the office they were in, could have been Helen, though half her face was obscurred. The manager, smiled through the verbal abuse.

"Helen from HR will see you out." Going to open the door, Helen moved forwards gabbing the man and sinking her fingers into the mans sockets before biting into the throat, conveniently as Bad day by R.E.M kicked in. Removing his tie, a smile cracked over the mans face. Least it was getting interesting and he'd be out of here, maybe at a pub for this shit to blow over.

"Oi!" Then the present crashed in, bringing him back to the present. "Ohhhh its been a bad day." He sung softly, what came next was sadly not the best zombie kill of the week. But certainly the most enthusiastic, the once infected man was now going to town on his compatriots. Leaping from one, to another, before setting its now bloodshot eyes on him. Fresh zombies were the worst.

"Dunnah Dunnah dunaa nah nah naahhhhh" A rather corney Final Fantasy X battle theme sung out from his lips as the zombie attacked. Soon accompanied by a crack of a skull and a rattling dying breath. "Fuck I hate game of thrones...."

 

[Phoeniana]

Name: Jazzmyn "Jazz" Been

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Concession stand guy at Movie Theater.

Appearance:

Spoiler: Jazz

Personality: Outward Personality: "Don't worry, guys! Those bastards won't know what the fuck hit them!" Always outwardly positive and ready to get the show on the road. Jazzmyn comes off as being laid back and ready for anything, confident enough to know that she and everyone else are going to come out victorious. She will go so far as to make up makeshift facts about how they can not possibly be killed. All in good spirit.

Inward Personality: Scared shitless. She's 19 and his life has not even kicked off yet. Working at the movies, she's seen a lot of films about these certain types of situations, and she never thought she'd be in one herself. She is a panicker in the inside, latching onto the first idea in her head and blurting it out without even thinking clearly on it. Jazz doesn't want everyone to know she's really a soft piece of tissue in the inside, so she bonds as one of the popular chicks outwardly, showing everyone she has the tits to do this.

Likes: Music, Mexican food, Anything that has to do with Math, Fire, Gummi worms, Hats, Swimming, Eating, Swimming, Running, Soda, Challenges, Trivia

Loathes: Loud noises, Thunder, Onions, pointless conversation, Staring, Being belittled, The smell of cigarettes, Sour things, Bugs

Finds Annoying: That actress who played on The Nanny, When people talk with their mouth full, overcooked food, tears in her shirt, bluegrass music.

Finds Endearing: Leisure time, people who be the bigger person, silence, comic relief, respect, hearing stories, knowledge of nerdy things.

2-3 Paragraphs of Funny Writing:

Spoiler: Its way more than 3

"You garbage guzzling, tar drinking piece o' shit! Get the hell back over 'ere!" Maxin couldn't keep the smile off his face. Garbage guzzling. Woo, that was one for the books. Leaping over a rolling cart with one pal, Maxin sent the rampaging, bearded man to his right a three-fingered salute.

"Thank ya for the booze."

"IT WASN'T FOR YOU! YOU DIDN'T PAY FOR IT, YA HORSE'S ASS!" As soon as his feet hit the ground, Maxin took off in a full on sprint through the town, taking care not to drag more attention to himself than he already had. Well of course he didn't pay for the booze. Who in their right mind was going to give Bilson Beston 4 silver coins for some of his cheap-ass, watered down beer? Not him, that was for sure. Leave it to the rest of the town to be a bunch of imbeciles. Where the common-folk paid in currency, Maxin paid in good deeds towards the town. While everyone were all nestled in their cots in the thick of the night, it was Maxin who put a stop to thieves coming up and hording all of their precious things. Yulna's vegetable garden would be nothing but weeds, Keemu's Clothing Shop would only have shelves left, and big ole Bilson Beston's beer would be all hunkered out. Hell, he didn't deserve a 289 pound man hobbling down the street after him shouting obscenities. He deserved a damn thank you! An eye for an eye, really! A lone ray of sunlight pierced through Maxin's straw hat, dousing him in the warmth of a clean get away. Ahhh, nothing quite compared to snatching a bottle of the finest beer for fre--

"Look out!" Maxin whipped his head in a sharp 90 degree angle towards the source of the sound. The only thing he saw was a blur of midnight black and cocoa brown. Then?

Nothingness.

* * *

Maxin's body jolted straight up like a mummy in a tomb, slamming the lids of his eyes shut when a blinding light raped his pupils. What in the hells was up with that? Peeling a lid back to reveal ashen gray eyes, the triple decade old man's jaw dropped into his lap. There, in front of him as clear as the sky, were two very, very large pillars of gold. Both monuments were in the shape of a gate, bars glistening against the array of sunlight that swept around the sky. Paralysis seeped into his body, plastering him to the spot. Not an inch of him moved, nothing but the eyes that continued to try to make sense of what he was seeing. Chancing a glance below him, Maxin was met with more sky. Sky. Sky! He was in the fucking sky!

"What the hell..."

"Woah, woah, watch it! None of that language here, thank you!" Panic forced his body to face the sound, head snapping to the right to see a woman with a short crop of golden hair leaning against once of the gates. She was donned in nothing by milk white dress that flowed down to her ankles, the rest of her feet sitting snuggly atop a fucking cloud. Maxin made a sputtering sound, eyes finally linked onto the large, cream and golden colored wings folded across her back. Ohhhhh man, he was going insane. A shaky hand reached up to wipe his brow although there was nothing there.

"Where am I?"

"Heaven," the wom--er, angel--- answered simply.

"You're shitting me."

"Stop! Stop it, gracious! Language!", she retorted, looking behind her like someone was about to materialize out of thin air behind her back. He wouldn't have been surprised if someone did. The angel took an inhale and retrieved a packet of parchment tucked under her eyes. "Name?"

"'Scuse me?"

"What's your name?"

"Oh. Uh, Maxin. Maxin Jefferson." The angel made a click with her teeth and flipped through several pages. Maxin watched her, waiting patiently to wake up because he could not be seeing what he was seeing right then. After what felt like an eternity, the angel made an "ah" sound, blue eyes searching the page.

"Yes, Maxin Jefferson. The man who was trampled by the horse buggy."

"The man who-- Wait, hold up. What? The man who was what now?" The angel blinked at him, innocence catching on her face.

"A horse buggy? Says here you were trampled by a horse buggy about 3 minutes ago. Now you're here."

"In Heaven."

"In Heaven."

"Jesus fuck."

"Oh my GOODNESS! Could you just... What is with you? You are in the Land of the Lord!" The angel opened both arms out wide to prove her point. "You can't just swear up and down all willy nilly like that!"

"Like hell I can't!" She twitched at the 'H' word but said nothing in response. "I was just killed, for Go-- For Gosh sakes. I think I deserve a little it more than your constant bitc-- I mean nagging, don'tcha think?" The angel did not retort for a long while, sizing the man who had just stood up wobbly on both feet. At last, she hummed in derision.

"Alright, fine. What would you like?"

"A beer," he mumbled. She raised a single eye.

"So be it." And with a flick of her fingers, a mug of the golden brew appeared in the palm of his hands. Jaxin almost pissed himself.

"You're kidding. You can just make whatever you want here?"

"It's Heaven. You lived your life however you choose to up until this point. Now the High One has brought you up here to spend eternity watching over the world and--"

"I can just make beer whenever I want to!" Maxin fixed his beam on her, waving the mug-like goblet around triumphantly before a his smile fell onto his wrists. "Wait a second. Isn't alcohol like a sin or something? Why am I allowed to have it up here if it's so ungodly or whatever?" The angel huffed, wings sagging down along with the action.

"There isn't real alcohol in it."

"Then it ain't real beer then, is it?"

"It is real beer," she bit in response, tampering her anger down before it riled up again. "Alcohol is just a substance made to make you feel the way you want to feel and ignore the things you want ignored. It stimulates your senses as you see fit. Here in Heaven, beer makes you feel the way you want to feel with none of the consequences of doing something sinful or hell worthy." Maxin sipped at the drink gingerly, surprised that it tasted nothing at all like Bilson Belton's but refreshingly 'alcoholic', in a way.

"Huh. Waddya know. A guy can get used to this."

"Well, you kinda have to. You're stuck here forev--"

"Okay, again, lemme get this straight. I can have beer whenever I want to?" The angel opened her mouth but Maxin cut her off by waltzing up to her, wrapping a hand around her dainty little shoulders. "And all I gotta do is snap my fingers and think really hard about it?" Before she got the chance to answer, Maxin chugged the beer and stared at his fingers, breaking them across one another in a crisp snap. "Beer." And there it was, emerging out of literally thin air, a goblet of beer landed at the sole of his feet. "Beer. *Snap.* Beer. *Snap.* Beer. *Snap.*"The angel squeezed the sheet from under her arm, searching violently through the long lists of names, looking for some kind of typo or something, because Maxin Jefferson was definitely not angel worthy. On cue, the man slapped a full palm on her back though eliciting no pain because of where they are.

"Imma get used to this place." With a gruff exhale, she turned away, purposefully slapping her wings against the hand that leaned up to his lips while he reached for a sip, spilling the liquid on his clothing.

"How's it feel so far?" she said snidely. Maxin wiped his chin with the back of his hand after taking another swig of beer, a wide smile reaching to each ear.

"Heavenly."

 

[ZantasticFantipsy]

Name: Alice Holt

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Pre-Z-Day Occupation: Trained Assassin/Petty Thief

Appearance/Physical Characteristics: 5'6, rather buff and hella good looking, 160 lb, medium-long brown hair, blazing blue eyes, pale skin. She wears a white tanktop, a black and blue zipped up hoodie, hood usually up, loose fitting gray jeans, and black combat boots. Carries two combat knives, two desert eagles, and a sniper rifle.

Personality: Usually she's pretty serious, due to her training and background of abuse, but she can take a joke now and again. Sometimes she plays with her prey to have fun, maybe sits on a rooftop and picks off zombies for the hell of it. Get on her good side, you have a loyal dedicated and hard working friend at your back. Bad side, you have a bullet in your back.

Likes: Her sniper, Cooking, parkour, killing things, her sniper, a challenge, friends that are just as loyal as her, and did I mention her sniper?

Loathes: Awkward jokes, a trashed living space, close combat, burnt food, torture, and people touching her sniper.

Finds annoying: Awkward jokes, a wild goose chase, people staring at her, swarms of undead while she's on a ground level, and tight spaces.

Finds endearing: Children, animals, weapons, a good sense of humor, climbing things, and her boss (whoever that may be)

2-3 Paragraphs of (not very) funny writing: "Finally, he's dead," Alice whispers to herself. Just moments ago, she shot her target dead, a rather large man with malicious intent to those who step foot on what he claims is his property. Ever since the breakout of zombies, small groups banned together, some welcoming and naïve, others tough and judgmental of new people. This group was one of those judgmental types, but moreso that they just killed anyone who stepped foot on their territory. Now that the leader is dead though, it's about time to raid the place.

Alice stays up top on a roof about a mile away, and waits for the word over her radio. She turns it on, as it was off to leave her with no distractions while shooting, and she's met with a familiar voice or two. That of her friends, Rye and Oliver. They're complaining about something...

"Well what was I supposed to do, huh?! Just let him turn?" Says Rye.

"Well no, but we could've just cut his arm off! He only got bit there!" Says Oliver.

"I'll sever your arm if you-" Rye is interrupted by Alice, who says, "Listen up, fucknuts, the guy's dead, time to go. Also, who died?"

The two fall silent, then mumble a bit. Then Oliver speaks up, "Janis was killed, but she had it coming, never listens to us. She went out on her own, cake running back to base, and had a bite on her arm. Rye just straight up killed her, we could've just cut her arm off and saved her!"

"Who wants to live with just one arm?" Says Rye. Alice sighs and says, "She was a burden, but now we're down a person. Should I call back and we regroup later?"

Another voice comes on the radio, booming and deep. "Yes, can't risk our best sniper, come home."

Alice nods, "I'm headed back then." And she puts the radio away. "Pfft, home my ass, that place is a dump... maybe I'll just find us a new place" She mumbles. She puts her sniper away, packs up, and starts leaving.