forum o/o With @its_tom_riddle

Started March 16, 2021 by @Becfromthedead group

tune

@its_tom_riddle I made the thread!

Yess, ok, are we doing templates?

Yes, I'll put one up!

Name/any nicknames:
Age:
Gender/pronouns:
Sexuality:
Personality:
Appearance:
Background:
Outfits:
Hobbies/talents:
Weaknesses:
Gear/weapons:
Other:

Name/any nicknames: Luke/Luca Grey
Age: 20
Gender/pronouns: Male - He/Him
Sexuality: Homosexual
Personality: Luca is a soft-spoken, rule follower, a goody-two-shoes pushover. He tries to please everyone around him and follows the governmental rules to a tee. But deep down, he wants to be free. He wants to just be himself. But social pressure and peers force him to be otherwise.
Appearance: He was tall and toned, but not ripped. He wore bland colours, not wanting to stand out too much. Browns, beiges, greys, nothing too exciting. His skin was pale, but not dead-looking. Chestnut eyes and short, clean-cut black hair.
Background: He was raised in a strict home. He wasn't abused, or anything like that, but the emotional trauma from trying to be perfect remains engraved into his brain. His father was an upstanding man in the community, and his mother was an elementary school teacher. They molded him into the nail-biter rule follower that he is today and pressured him into a medical career. He had always heard rumors of the expiraments but he never thought that they were true. That is until one day he saw on the television that there was a highly powerful, highly dangerous individual that escaped maximum security, and it was your duty as a citizen to turn him in. This made him question the integrity of this so-called 'perfect society.'
Outfits: Bland, stale colours. Sweaters, turtle necks, and such. He wore somewhat tight jeans, mostly black but he had some brown as well. He didn't really wear any jewelry because again, he didn't want to stand out.
Hobbies/talents: Luca was an artist. He had never really told anyone because he was becoming a doctor. He wanted to be viewed as an upstanding citizen. He didn't want to be viewed as a lofty idealist. He wasn't made for that. But the very few people that saw his art was captivated.
Weaknesses: His pride, his shaky mind. If pressured too much, he shuts down.
Gear/weapons: A pistol hidden in his bedside drawer. He didn't really know how to shoot it though. He didn't know how to fight either. If only he knew how so he could protect himself.
Other: He really likes mustard.

(Sorry this took so long >~<)

Name/any nicknames: Castor (Cas) Gallea
Age: 21
Gender/pronouns: cis male, he/him
Sexuality: Bisexual
Personality: Castor is mostly pretty outgoing and friendly, but very wary of others nonetheless. He's a bit rough around the edges, and pretty prone to trouble, if only because he's always making questionable decisions. However, he is very perceptive and usually is pretty good at judging when to skip town. Castor is a free spirit and perhaps a bit of a loose cannon at times, but ultimately, he's a pretty good guy. He's usually very calm and cool under pressure, but sometimes blood and injuries cause him to freak out- a lot. Especially those involving needles, knives, and other things reminiscent of his days as a lab rat.
Appearance: About 5'9, and very heavily muscled, more so toned than bulky, though. He has an olive complexion, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that curls just a little around his ears.
Background: He was part of the experiments on kids that happened some years back. He in particular was supposed to be a sort of supersoldier, and ended up with superhuman strength, and increased speed and agility, as well as superior reflexes. He had a twin brother who was also part of the experiments, but he has a lot of trouble remembering much about him, aside from his absolutely brutal death. A few months ago, he managed to escape with a couple of the other kids, and he's been laying low ever since, working odd jobs to keep afloat and trying not to overdo it with his strength. If he shows it off, it's only a matter of time.
Outfits: He always wears pretty loose clothes, usually sweatshirts and sweatpants to hide his body. While other normal people have muscle tone too, he always worries it might give away what he is. He likes bold, dark colors, so blues, purples, blacks, etc. He doesn't stand out a ton in a crowd, but he has some sense of style. He has a few piercings on each ear, but otherwise doesn't wear any jewelry. Castor usually wears a pair of dark brown boots that have seen better days.
Hobbies/talents: He has superhuman strength, augmented speed and agility, and superhuman reflexes. He doesn't really have any hobbies, because he wasn't really allowed any when he was captive. He is an excellent fighter, even if he does often cause a lot of collateral because he doesn't quite have a handle on his own strength.
Weaknesses: Impulsiveness, a little destructive on accident, emotionally closed off and inexperienced in forming deep relationships even though he is extroverted by nature
Gear/weapons: A revolver (that he definitely didn't steal), 3 different knives for various purposes (both utility and some self-defense), a lighter
Other: Has some degree of PTSD, which mostly manifests in insomnia, nightmares, keeping an emotional distance from others and mistrusting them, and sometimes flashbacks or intense waves of anxiety when exposed to certain triggers (eg: medical knives, needles, the smell of a hospital or of rubber gloves, white rooms with bright light, cold metal on bare skin besides his hands, etc); he also smokes some, even though he knows it's not good for him. He swears it takes the edge off.

Castor was pretty buzzed. But it felt good to be able to let go for a change, to socialize without that immediate fear of being found out. He still could be found out, but that typical inhibition was drowned somewhere beneath all the alcohol.
Castor was all smiles and very social that night. He had some ongoing banter with the bartender and the two girls sitting next to him.
His brain felt warm and fuzzy, and for one of few times in his life, he just felt like a normal guy.

Luke walked into the bar, being startled slightly by a man stumbling out of the door as he himself walked in.
He was surprised that he even found himself here, he wasn't the type to drink, but after today, he thought maybe he should.
His parents had just gotten done making him feel especially inferior about himself, even destroying one of his paintings, and Luke just couldn't take it anymore.
He wasn't sure what he would drink, but it would be something to make him forget.
He walked in slowly, avoiding drunken bodies here and there. He sat down at the bar and looked around nervously, still a little tense.

As Luke took the empty seat next to him, Castor turned from his conversation to greet him.
"Hey there," he said, setting his drink on the counter, "Nice night to be out, isn't it?"
He was clearly pretty intoxicated, but he had at least slowed down to just sipping on drinks so he wouldn't completely lose himself, or even worse, hurt himself by overdoing it.

"H-Hey." Luke scooted over a bit nervously. The man was muscular and drunk. Two things that don't really mix well.
"Yeah, it is rather nice."
He raised his hand a bit, trying to get the bartender's attention, "Scotch please." He cleared his throat and glanced nervously around him.
He had only ever tried Scotch once before and he remembered it hurting his throat and he coughed a lot, but he was wasted the rest of the night.
He needed it tonight.

"Oh, so it's that kind of evening, huh?" Castor murmured, picking up his glass and shaking it around so the ice rattled a bit.
"You're here to get absolutely smashed, huh?"
He waved his hand a bit.
"All the folks here are pretty nice though. I'm sure you'll have a good time. I came here alone too, and I've already found good company."

"Yeah, I-I'm not too used to getting," Luke cleared his throat, "Smashed persay."
The bartender slid a small glass across over to him and he stared at it apprehensively.
"Well, I'm glad everyone here is nice, but, still."
He glanced around him a bit before settling his gaze upon the glass in front of him.

"Ah, well, me neither. Don't get out a whole lot myself," Castor admitted, "Although I take it you're here less so because you wanted to have fun, and more so because you have something on your mind?"
He shook his head.
"Not my business, though, is it?"

"Respectfully, no it isn't."
He looked over at the man and sighed, "Sorry, I don't mean to be short, it's just been a rough day."
He pushed the glass away, deciding that he didn't want to get drunk after all and sighed.

Castor shrugged.
"Fair enough."
He lifted his glass again and turned from the bar to say something else to the woman next to him, but that's when he lost his grip a bit.
Castor's hand was just a little too tight around the glass, and it shattered. To most onlookers, it probably just seemed like he'd dropped it. But to anyone really paying attention, he'd broken it with his bare hands.
"Ah, shit, I'm sorry!" he said, looking over at the bartender, "Do you need help cleaning that up?"
"No," the bartender replied wearily, "I'll take care of it. You're too drunk."
"Oh, okay. Guess I'll go clean myself up."
Castor swung his legs down from the barstool and got up, stumbling and unsteady. His grip on one of the metal bars of the stool had bent it slightly, but he didn't notice.
Castor walked towards the bathroom, a bit uncoordinated, but still able.