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 Brett Solstice from DRYH

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Corbael
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Join date : 2012-01-15
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PostSubject: Brett Solstice from DRYH   Fri Aug 30, 2013 11:46 pm

My name is: Brett Solstice


And i am: 24 years old, male, and probably not going to make it past 30. If stress, cigarettes, alcohol, and depression don't kill me it'll be a goddamn miracle. I'm 6'3'' and lean, so I've got that going for me. My hair is so black that it looks blue under the right lighting...Romantics call it "Raven Wing Black", I call it hair. It's always messy because I've lost all will to do anything with it. My eyes are mismatched. One blue, one honey colored. I'm almost always at work, so I'm usually wearing my work clothes: Vest, tie, white shirt - Bartender attire, they call it. Casual wear for me is boxers and a t-shirt. Not that I ever have time for casual wear.

What has been keeping you awake?: What hasn't been keeping me awake? Every little noise, vibration, light, or sensation wires me. I can't even drink myself to sleep - God knows I've tried.

What just happened to you?: The world never stops. I find myself more and more distant. Sometimes I lie in bed for hours without realizing it. My doctor thinks that I'm either a liar, or a medical miracle, but there you have it. A month and a half without sleep. Apparently it would be a world record if I could prove it. Sort of ironic. My nights are hell, but this one was something worse. The noises that keep me awake were louder. The lights brighter. They must have had fireworks or some shit going on because let me fucking tell you... But they didn't stop. The booms went on, and on. They kept coming till i thought I was being bombed. The light outside was blinding, the sound was pounding my head like a drum, and then, it all stopped. Then, the windows shattered, the walls split, and in less than five seconds i wasn't standing in a room anymore. The rubble around me was a good testament to that. The sky was red, the color of congealed blood. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

What is on the surface?: An over-worked thirty year old bartender. Boring, tired, whipped. No more hopes and dreams. Defeated.

What lies beneath?: You know what lies beneath? The desperate desire to be heard. I've always wanted to be a journalist. I've always wanted to share my story, to share everyone's stories. I want someone to hear my crack-pot ideas and say "That just might work!" I want to be a great mind...I want someone to notice.

What is your path?: The only "path" left for me is survival. The only thing that keeps me sane is fear, believe it or not. I'm not religious. I don't have a God to look to or an afterlife to believe in. So the fear of death keeps me alive. I'll do anything to survive. Anything.

Responses

Fight: 3
Flight: 0

Exhaustion Talent= Alert; When you work in a job as fast paced as Brett's, you tend to get aware of your surroundings real fast. As lack of sleep progresses, it tends to wear this alertness away, but for Brett, it's quite the opposite. Those soft footsteps that you couldn't hear, the watching figures on the rooftops? You likely didn't even notice them, but then again, you aren't able to be nearly as alert, are you?

Madness Talent= Venting; Oh sure the world around you is fucked up, hell, it's screwed beyond compare, but does it irritate you? Does it make you angry and scared and confused? YES! Of goddamn-course it does! But if you have to deal with it, why shouldn't everyone else?

1-2: Stress is annoying. Stress makes you nervous and angry, and scared all in one, so to hell with it, let them deal with it! If Brett has mild injuries, or is extremely scared/angry/whatever, he can take that and give it to his opponents. Punched in the nose? Not a problem when you can just apply the issue to your enemy and watch them stumble around in pain.

3-4: Fucking shit you're mad! It's like you're on fire. But screw that, You aren't the one in danger, at least not anymore. After all, if you're gonna burn, might as well share with everyone that happens to be pissing you off. Make them burn too...but literally.

5-6: The world is shit. Why do you even try? Well that's the last straw. If the world is against you, you'll tear it all down. But maybe you don't need to. The bile and fury that you spit begins to drain away as the city crumbles before your tirade. The world may not be your oyster, but it's sure as hell your bitch.

Dice: 6 Dicipline, 6 exhaustion, 8 madness needed total, just in case.

Your curse: It's fun to explode sometimes. Keeping everything bundled inside can be a real pain. what if you were to just...let it all go? What if you let the world know just what you think about it all the time. Well what can they do? If you get mad, they all scuttle away. As they should! As they have to! YOU CALL THE GODDAMN SHOTS AROUND HERE! AND IT'S ALL FUCKING WRONG!!! And just like that, you've become "The Talking Disaster" Somewhere between a walking hurricane and an angry twelve year old, nobody really crosses the Talking Disaster. That said, when there's nothing to rage about, and everything is finally quiet and peaceful, there's nothing left to destroy, but yourself.
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