forum Not your mother’s zombie apocalypse (o/o)

Started November 02, 2022 by Deleted user

tune

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Repost because I want an actually literate rp, not to throw shade or anything.

In a long line of necromancers, my mother was the last. Every single one of the family’s daughters was gifted with this strange and terrible power, however my mother had two sons (I being one of them). Thus, the power died out.

But in the weeks and months following her death, I began to discover things about myself and my mother’s legacy that made me question everything, and especially question myself and my standing.

Anyways, Victorian transfemme meets murder mystery ft. necromancy powers and a lot of gender crisis. For fun of course.

Plot is…

Your character is an investigator of a crime scene. A murderer worse than Jack the Ripper has come to the serial killing scene, and my character is found right in the middle of the biggest murder yet… resurrecting the victims. She’s taken in, of course, questioned, but nothing leads to her being the killer or even her being anything but a poor woman found at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing out of the ordinary, you see. Still, your character did find her resurrecting the victims, though nobody believes them and nobody thinks anything of how she keeps showing up to the subsequent crime scenes.

This could be a romance it could just be good buddies, up to you lol. Expect murder, gore, violence, etc. just like… a lotta dark stuff. Have fun. I’m open to taking this to dms in order to get all my thoughts out of my brain as I have a twisted and violence oriented mind lmao. Feel free to choose what you’re comfy with.

Also! Your character probably shouldn’t have powers. This is mostly just like. My character having the brawn and yours the brains. Or possibly some shared brains. Either way my character isn’t all powerful and you should feel free to have your character be able to do some things that mine can’t!!

Anyways. Have fun!

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Pronouns:
Orientation:
Appearance:
Personality:
Briefest of Backstories:
Manifesto: (like, what is their primary goal in life? What’s important to them? What do they want others to know?)
Other:

Name: Clarissa “Claire” Marigold
Age: 56 in age, early 20s ish in appearance.
Gender: Trans woman
Pronouns: She/her
Orientation: Pansexual
Appearance: She’s 5’8”, with warm brown cheeks, faintly flushed. Brown eyes, but one sclera is white as usual and the other black like coal. Curly hair always in some sort of nice updo. Usually wears last year’s or even five year’s ago dresses, doesn’t keep up on fashion until she’s told to. Freckles. Claire is soft, soft, soft all over, and is a comforting presence. Wears round-frame glasses due to nearsightedness.

Personality: Inquisitive, and always challenging those who wish to see her downfall. Claire has to, she can’t go through life not being recognized as herself. She’s very kind though, when people recognize you as a human being nine times out of ten even out of pity you’re usually not too jaded.
Briefest of Backstories: Mom died, brother works in gov’t. Clarissa mostly just does mystery stuff. More on her necromancy powers later.
Manifesto: (like, what is their primary goal in life? What’s important to them? What do they want others to know?) People need to see her as human, as worthy, and as loveable. She is not an impure devil, she is a person and she is only here to help those less fortunate than herself.
Other: Necromancy powers, she can’t die until she passes on her powers to someone and she won’t age until she does. A bit of a crazy rat lady, has adopted the local population of sewer rats and honestly just thinks rats are so cute. Likes helping people with her powers.

Name: Antonios Clark Knight
Age: 43
Gender: Cis male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: Omnisexual
Appearance: Antonios is someone who always stands out whether it be on purpose or not. Whether it be his 6'3" stature, sculptured features, or hooked nose, he just tends to stick out. He has raven colored hair that is short in the front, but long in the back. It parts down the middle, but due to its wavyness, it never stays neat. His skin is a natural tan shade. Antonios has dark brown eyes, and wears circular glasses for reading. He has a scar across his left palm. There's another, much smaller, one below his right eye.
Personality: Most would describe Antonios as "bleak yet gentlemanly" which is true, but he only shows so much. Although having a stone-cold face, he is quite approachable to anybody. He is a kind, caring man but in his own way. Anonios is not one to step back and let things happen. Despite his constant urge to jump to action, he does enjoy sitting back and watching from afar. In whatever it may be, he is persistent as much as he is curious. Secretly Antonios carries a soft warm heart, but he likes to say that he has the calloused hands of a fighter.
Briefest of Backstories: Antonios is the son of a wealthy Turkish businessman and a Greek peasant woman. He was abandoned after him and his mother emigrated to London. Luckily was found by a well-off English couple who took him in. Usually going by "Clark", he became a detective to help the unfortunate and to resolve cases often going cold. (All he knows was that he was abandoned and adopted, that's it.)
Manifesto: Being someone deemed as an "undesirable" in society, Antonios wants to be a detective for those who are often ignored by everyone else. He wants to seek out the unthinkable for the better of everyone. The only undesirables are the ones who gatekeep information and justice from everyone else.
Other: Antonios is a big nerd. He actually relies on an eight year old orphan named James for news and gossip. James is like a colleague/son to him. While he knows it's bs, he likes monster and ghost stories. Also he only goes to his flat to sleep; the rest of the place is covered in dust.

Clarissa could see ghosts. She could commune with the dead. And most importantly, she could raise them.

Clarissa was sneaking into the factory now, hiking up her skirts around the heavy machinery and climbing about it. The police would be here soon, and even with the Queen’s protection, she wasn’t sure if she could whisk up an alibi for necromancy. Nobody really could, even if that was the whole reason the Queen trusted her. Claire despised the monarchy but she had to admit, that support was the whole reason she could keep going the way she was.

So she kept as quiet as possible, and kept an eye on her watch. Pockety clockety, as she called it, she often forgot the real names to things in her “old age” (or at least that was her excuse, it had been a problem since her youth) and it didn’t matter as long as she knew what she meant. She slipped down to where the bodies were, gruesomely torn apart and sewed back together oddly, like in Shelley’s old book. The Demon Butcher was what they called the presumed perpetrator behind these murders, and how right they were. Whatever had done this had to be a demonic force, humans didn’t do this stuff. Yeah, yeah, the crazy occultist rat lady speculating on the murders. But there was likely some truth to that, even if Clarissa hadn’t met many of her own supernatural kind. Too much of a city girl, she supposed.

She made haste to put the bodies back together, communing with the dead only applied when they were the peaceful kind of dead and it was hard to raise butchered parts of people. After a bit of searching in her satchel, she found a needle and some spools of thread for stitching up patients. Oh, yeah, right. Whilst living as a man, she’d picked up a bit of doctoring and lawyering and scienceing so she knew what she was doing. She fixed up the bodies, she could only bring them back for so long before someone found her so time was of the essence. She raised her hands, and her dark eye glowed gold…

It is always something whenever a performer comes into the city saying they can do the unthinkable. Whether it be resurrecting the dead or contacting spirits from beyond, Antonios remained to be a skeptic, but always found himself at these shows whenever he is not working. Now it all is colliding, someone who can bring the dead back, his work, a case more brutal than one of the world's most infamous ones….He doesn't know what to say.

Wind blew through his hair as he rushed down the pavement; he forgotten his top hat at the station. Antonios decided to go another route while letting the others go by other means. If he meanders through the people fast enough, he can get there just in time without causing any trouble.

A small leather-bound journal rested in his pocket. Every now and then it would be burning a hole in his coat, eager for what will be written down. Today must be one of those days. As long as no one else has to read his wobbly rushed writing, then he will scribble down the most intricate detail.

When he reached the factory, he entered through a side door. His glove covered fingers wrapped around the handle as he steadily closed the door. It still made a slight clink sound, but it is out of his control. Time is of the essence. He mustn't waste another second.

Antonios did his best to avoid bumping into anything all while being swift. Eventually he came to a stop. His eyes laid on the woman then down at the bodies. Slowly, he moved to stand against the wall. Silence was still upon him, though he hoped that his presence would not disturb the lady. Carefully he took out his journal and pen, flipping to a clean page. He stared at the woman, at her eye glowing gold. No, this not some performer at all. This is reality.

The bodies shuddered on the floor, then their eyes opened. Well, one of them had lost their eyelids and Clarissa didn’t think of that as too important of a detail. But she felt something was off. She’d have to make this quick.

“What happened? And who are you, miss?” one of the bodies asked.

“I should ask the same thing, you just died. No, no, don’t start screaming. You’ll make things harder for both of us and we don’t have much time before either I get caught or you lose your head.”

The bodies obeyed her more domineering personality. She always took it on when working with the dead. You couldn’t be nice to dead people. It was just a rule, and Claire followed the rules. Continues to follow. Will follow in the future.

“Now, names. We need identities, and while I’ve pieces you together again… Butchers make it much harder to reidentify the bodies.”

The bodies shook, but not of Claire’s accord. “You mean- nevermind. I’m Stuart, and that’s Craig. We were walking home, halfway across town. You probably wanna know how we both died but it all happened so fast and I didn’t see anyone-“ Stuart sobbed. The one without eyelids, Craig apparently, grabbed his shoulder.

“Not the time, mate. The lady has questions.” Craig said. “Yeah, so we die, we wake up here, and wake up to you. Don’t remember much else. Don’t even think we was tortured, but… it’s foggy, miss, I do have to apologize.”

Clarissa knew all she needed. She could probably piece together where the two used to work just by asking a few questions, and she was out of time. She let the bodies fall without any further ado. Again, can’t be nice to the dead. It makes things harder. She turned to run, but bumped into another instead.

The grip on his pen tightened. His heart stunned in his chest. And just like that people who have crossed the threshold of death have turned back into life. They can speak! They can say things that detectives like him have to examine their bodies to figure out. Would it be possible to have them stay alive for a minute or two longer? How can this even be?

Antonios buried his nose into his journal. With God's grace, he did his best to scribble down every single word that was uttered. It wasn't as pleasant as a formal transcript, yet it should be sufficient enough for the case. All of this, he would keep sacred to the case and the case only.

He frowned. Not at the two poor victims. This is rather unfortunate just as it always is. When the bodies fell, he flickered his gaze back to the notes he had written. Technically this is informal for him to do, yet he wished there was more time for more questions.

The journal fell out of his hand. Although he had the natural instinct to pick it up right away, he knew that action wouldn't be best for the situation. Holding his left hand up, he used the other to fetch his badge out of his inner pocket.

Flicking it open, he revealed his badge. The name next to it says "Clark Knight", not Antonios, but he preferred to keep it that way. It's enough to get him information and trust when need be; that's all that matters.

"Sorry, miss. I mean no harm, and all of this is safe with me," He assured. "Are you alright, miss?"

Clarissa stopped, stepped back. “How much did you see?” she asked, knowing something had felt off. Stupid, stupid. She should have looked behind, should have left sooner. Should have left beforehand. Dammit, she might have to kill this guy, and she’d never had to do that before and she’d feel so guilty afterwards and-

Ahem. That was a tad spiraling. “Moreso, how much did you understand?” she asked. Her feet itched to just run, but she knew that was a bad idea. If she needed to run, she would, but she also needed information. Fuck this, she was going to run as soon as her questions were answered and she knew it.

“Hmm, Clark Knight. I heard that name before. You’re an inspector of some kind, right? Well, obviously. Anyways, don’t you have boots to lick?” she asked, not knowing the face but hearing the name be tossed around by some kids in the slums. Kids never cared whether or not you could raise the dead, they just wanted you to meet their beloved street dog and that was about it. “I mean, you work for Her Majesty, kind of.”

Clarissa backed up a bit more. Well… maybe he could be useful? No, we’re done trusting men. They’re universally terrible, especially those that call you brother. Or sister, when they forget themselves. Dammit, he’s getting to you again. Claire just realized she’d said all that last paragraph out loud.

The wall felt bleak behind him. He pressed against it. Quickly he put his badge away then went to pick up the journal. "Only enough to make me wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me," He replied plainly. Basically, he saw everything that one would (or wouldn't) need to see. Even he's still wondering if what he saw was true.

Understand? His brows pressed together, forming wrinkles on his forehead. Sadly he understands those performers more than this woman's special abilities. "Pardon my French, my lady, but I have absolutely no fucking clue what happened." It's somewhat true. "You brought back those two for a moment and now they're back in the afterlife. That's all."

The rigidness brought by the situation slipped. "Not unless you want me to lick yours, miss," He winked. Looking off to the side, he chuckled while covering his mouth. Not professional, yet he found her question to be hilarious. His hand fell down to his side. Compared to the other bootlickers, he is far more human, although he carries the badge, so what's the difference anyways? All he does is work more with the people in the East End and all the slums.

Antonios shrugged. Any officer or detective does. They may not be a commissioner or a royal guard, but they are all men of English authority therefore they all work for Her Majesty. Technically James, the little boy who gives him outside information, works for Her Majesty too.

"Pardon?" His head turned to face the lady. With eyes squinted, he tried to make sense of what she said. By the looks of her eyes, it was meant to be said in her head. Antonios took a step forward. "I would not say I am that terribly, my lady. How would I be useful? Would you be using me? Who calls you brother or sister?"

Claire shrugged to the last question, and didn’t answer the rest. “Come with me. The police will be here soon. And it doesn’t do a lady any good to be caught snooping around where she don’t belong.” she said. Clarissa wasn’t the type to reveal something without a cause, even unintentionally.

“So, Mr. Knight. What’s your real name? There’s got to be more than just Clark, you sound like a character out of a fiction.” she said, making her way through the machinery and not waiting up for him to follow. She assumed he would, if only to learn more.

(Short post I know, very busy as of late sorry.)

Antonios rolled his eyes. Technically he is the police, yet he is aware that they'll single him out when given the opportunity. Not to mention it wpuld not be greag for the both of them to be caught in the same place, even if it's for different reasons. So much for asking those questions.

His glove covered hand brushed through his hair before he followed along. The spaces between machinery made it rather difficult for him to think. His curiosity was kept at bay by the fact that he'd rather not hurt his aging body just by falling into one of these stupid piles of machines.

Real name? His brows pressed together. Slight wrinkles formed on his forehead. That's the first time anyone has asked him that question. Well, no one suspects a thing or they just don't care. So why does this lady care enough to ask?

"Why can't a man of my nature just go by Clark? Is that not realistic or handsome enough for you, Miss?" He asked, laughing a little. Really he doesn't see there to be a point in anyone knowing. Colleagues, wealthy men, nobles, the poor; they all have no reason to know. Not like he killed a man.

“Just curious.” she said, smiling a little. Never too much, not with unfamiliar men around. She chuckled to herself at that thought, and kept moving. “If you won’t answer that, then answer this. Are you scared of me?” she said, moving through the machines and finally to the back exit where you could easily count on nobody being there inconveniently. Nobody catching you, for that matter. “I saw a funny look in your eyes, is all.” she opened the door, and made her way out into the crisp autumn’s night air.

There was a breeze that cooled her face. It set into her bones and made a home there. She was used to the feeling at this point. Clarissa continued into the night, making a point to move quickly. She could already hear people coming in, crowding through the front.

"Scared of you?" He scoffed. The chances of him being scared of a lady is low. Well, aside from Her Majesty, yet that is a different case and different story. "I am not scared of you. I am scared of the blokes who have asked the same question you did. That's all."

Some sort of relief overcame him once he reached the exit. He could already hear familiar voices from the station heading inside. In the nick of time, he made it. Thank God. Exhaling, he gently closed the door behind him. Antonios chuckled. "Are you one of those people who tries to read minds too?" He asked. "You've only met me, but I can assure you that there's always a funny look in my eyes."

Antonios rushed up to her side. "People sure know how to get to places in an instant." He sighed then glimpsed over at her. "Hey hey…No need to rush, my lady. They're not going to notice you if we stick together. Let's take a stroll unless you plan to use your witchcraft again soon."

Claire laughed at all three remarks in turn. “You’re a funny man, Mr. Knight. Not all men can pull off funny, methinks. You’re a special one.” she said, slowing her pace. “And witchcraft? I’m offended, I’d never work for Satan. I have standards. At any rate, he’s been begging for an apprenticeship for the longest time and I’m not in need of a partner for now.”

She made her way around the building, not slowing her pace. When she came to an alleyway she made her way within and climbed the grimy, rusted ladder that was sure to sully and defile her already bloodied dress. If the detective managed to keep up, he’d have to pick up the pace as she was only moving faster if only to keep from the indignity of him gazing up her skirts.