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HEX

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Sep 1 2015, 02:06 PM
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940. open</div></div> </div>
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gone to bed, god is dead
lies and truth are in my head
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In recent weeks he preferred the moderate seclusion of the beach. It was rare that anyone came out this way, though many probably wanted too. Besides that, the space was typically vast enough to segregate. Hex camped most often in the tree line, out of sight out of mind for any potential trouble. More so, it was a place for him to get himself together. The boy wasn't entirely aware of himself in a way to know a lot of the things he did made him feel like hell... he didn't always take care of himself the way he should. Not like it was incredibly simple, but he knew damn well how.<p>
Hex did nothing to subdue the withdrawals, he allowed his body to ache and falter between hot and cold. After many occasions of dealing with this sort of thing he managed to attribute it to the things he ingested on a regular basis. Poison leaving his body. A low growl escaped as he became frustrated with what he was doing. Hands shaking and fingers numb he attempted to fix one of the fishnets he had found some time ago. Parts were dry rotted or torn from previous catches. Just a few holes to patch, but he just couldn't quite do it. Finally giving in he leaned back against one of the handful of barren trees skirting the beach. He wasn't in dire need of food supply... he had managed to snag three fish earlier, before his spear swam away. It had been a fun experience. An old family friend used the method years ago but Hex had only recently attempted it.<p>
The sand here was different than anywhere else, he noted as he pulled the heel of his boot through it. This wasn't home, it wasn't the same dry dusty sand. With his head back still his eyes began to close. The net dropped onto his lap and he reached up pulling his hood down over his eyes to block some of the sun. His mind wandered as he drifted in and out of consciousness, mostly toying with the idea of making a more permanent move to this area. It would never happen. Hex was a drifter and couldn't be trusted to stay somewhere for an extended period of time. But, sleep. Sleep was not something restful, a half-sleep. His eyes were closed but his brain ran off in many directions. More often than not the more horrifying experiences of his short life would replay in his head where he couldn't escape it. Not without help, anyway.<p>
In the midst of one of these fever dreams, something echoed through the back of his mind. The sound moved, something unidentified as it edged closer and closer to reality. It got louder then disappeared. When the worn down man finally willed himself to wakefulness he jumped to his feet at one final cry. On the verge of a heart attack, he looked around not knowing what he heard. Some sort of screaming, something human. Or so it seemed. Thoroughly startled, he retreated into the tree line and began picking through the sundry underbrush and remains that intertwined the trees. Was it real? Or just his imagination? Walking parallel to the ocean he kept an eye out and saw nothing. A colony of seagulls. They were fighting over the remains of something, landing then taking off again with their high pitched screams. Hex crouched down squinting whilst he watched. <p>
Forever curious, Hex waited in the trees watching the scene unfold. They were ravenous, and oddly enough he’d seen humans do the same thing. Tear at each other, scrapping over carcasses. His legs ached, calves throbbing he stood up again. Hex was still alone, and that was all that mattered at the moment. Hollowed eyes scanned the beach once more before he took a few steps out into the sand. The sun blared down persistently so he drew up his hood, pulling it forward to help shield his eyes. His weight shifted, body feeling weak and unwilling. Then there was something.<p>
Small spurts of adrenaline threatened to burst forth flooding his veins. A human figure in the distance, traveling alone... Cautiously he trotted back to the trees, weaving through towards the visitor. He squatted down again with a fair distance between himself and the unknown. His eyes flashed as he felt the stressful surge in his lungs. Why he moved closer rather than away was a good question. Hex was in no condition to put up a fight. For now, he had to keep from giving himself away until he could figure out who it was. With that he clasped his hands over his mouth and inched himself closer to the sand outlay. Fumbling and shaking he fought with the bandana he kept around his neck, roughly pulling it up to cover his nose and mouth. Again his hands went back a controlled cough sputtered and he held his breath. It was a stupid position to be in, he should’ve gone back to his little camp and hid away. He shouldn’t have run – stirring up his lungs. There had been so many things he shouldn’t have done, but did anyway. The consequences of his actions would remain to be seen and for the time being he held onto that last breath as the grainy blackness closed in on his field of vision. Either he would have to breathe, or he was going down. Hex chose the latter as the figure grew closer. Blackness consumed his sight and he went limp, slumping face first into the gritty sand.


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Aug 15 2015, 08:44 PM
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1114 WC, OPEN to anyone. For anything. yay</div></div> </div>
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gone to bed, god is dead
lies and truth are in my head
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The sky turned through several shades of red. Hex groaned, his back tightened and tensed in pain. The railish man tossed about ears pricking to the sounds of well rusted metal shocks and springs near failing. His stomach churned and his lungs itched, to him the world was still dark as he hid below many layers of fabrics and whatever refuse he found useful. Parched tongue snaked out over his cracked lips and he inhaled sucking the handkerchief he wore into his mouth. Why was sleep such a struggle anymore? Maybe if he would ever choose to rest somewhere a tad... safer.<br>

The itch grew unbearable now. His chest shuddered as his lungs billowed to release whatever nastiness had settled in them. It was happening again. Hex twitched to action, every motion jerking. Closed mouth, he coughed through his nose trying to hold it all back. His head burst as the little bit of light struck his eyes. Whatever concoction he had taken the past several nights really did him in at this point. His fingers fumbled over the old broken door handle of the van he was sleeping in. Frantic he shook and jiggled until it all came loose, spilling him into the sand of the Mojave. Crawling on three limbs, he wrapped one arms around his bare rib cage as though his bones would rattle loose. The frail boy sucked wind, and expelled his lungs with more force than anyone ever should - blood spattering the dry dusty terra only to be absorbed within seconds. <br>

His fit came to a head and both hands rested palm down on the ground. Breathing deep, gasping as though oxygen deprived. Elbows shaking he allowed his body to fall and roll so he could lie on his back, the gray and black edged tunnels slowly receded from his line of sight so at least he'd see the sunrise today... and so he thought I have survived another day, and perhaps there will be one more. Cracked lips glistened with blood, he tried to remove it with his tongue but most of it already stained. The metallic tang stung his mouth for a moment then disappeared to something that felt stale. A moderate sorrow rolled through his mind... at the moment he was the only one available to give a damn about himself and maybe he wasn't well. Blinking slowly he adjusted his breathing, a foolhardy attempt to calm his battered nerves. Now would be the time for anyone to pick him apart, this was always his weakest moment. Body ached and poured sweat, it was getting rid of something. Hex most certainly found it interesting at the moment that he would frequently ingest poison just to feel at peace even just for a few moments. In through the nose, out through the mouth and the jitters dissipated. Lightly he moved his arms pushing the sand around with his hands, grasping it in his fingers every so often just to release it slowly. Home. This was his home but he could always fantasize about the world ages and ages ago, before whatever catastrophic bullshit occurred. Perhaps it had all been just as deadly as now, just in a different form.
<br>
Sighing, Hex prepared himself to move. The sun was coming up and he would require a shirt at that point. Temples throbbing he brought his fingers to them, a feeble attempt to massage away the pain. A whimper escaped his lips as an unfamiliar wetness occurred in his eyes. More water to leave his body. Broken, Hex rolled to his side and pushed away. Grumbling with frustration he torqued his head about straining his eyes to see his back. Sand and sweat. Finally on his feet he dug through the car finding an unimportant nondescript article of what may have been clothing at one time. Reaching back with it he dusted the sand away just to toss the rag to the ground. More fussing and he managed a shirt. It had once been white, but had become beige over time. It was filled with thread of different colors due to numerous stitch jobs. It was Hex's favorite shirt... light and airy but long sleeved and hooded.
<br>
For a moment he stared at the ground his eyes growing heavy, irises slowly rolled across the sand to the now black chunks that had once been only his blood. Now the iron disease infested fluid belong to the desert. A light chill tickled him, evolving into a full shiver. The reason for this had been so unclear for a long time. The young man hadn't been around enough people recently in any state to pay attention to whether or not this was a common problem. His head snapped up and he looked around quickly. Alone, of course. With one swift kick he swept his boot across the substrate wiping away any trace of his leakage. Satisfied with just that, he returned to the task at hand.
<br>
Sure enough he felt more lively than earlier, body warming up to the idea of life and functionality. Skeletal fingers wiggled and ripped through a pile of his belongings. Brow knitting as he noticed most of his things haphazardly strewn across the van. Either he had been robbed or he had had a really good time last night. Carefully he sought all the most important pieces to his daily puzzle. It seemed everything was present as he re-packed his napsack. The canteen surfaced and he greedily snatched it up shaking it lightly to make sure something was in there. A small amount of liquid sloshed about and without thought he ripped the top away to suck down half of what he had for the day. As he finished, gasping his throats relief, his stomach churned threatening to remove what he so sorely needed. Feeling frustrated he rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his closed eyes.
<br>
Eventually he calmed down and continued to prepare for his trek to check his traps he had set a day ago. Eyes narrowed, he looked to the sun again... at least he'd be able to see what he was doing. Checking traps at night was always bad news, but at the same time he wanted to get his catch before someone or something else did. Hex flipped his hood up over his head and bowed down again digging through his pack. Coughing lightly he found his cigarette case that he sniped from one of these lovely abandoned cars. Snapping it open he plucked one of the half ass cancer sticks and the mangled matches to light up. He inhaled deeply, savoring before exhaling and scanning the shabby desert scene.
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Aug 12 2015, 11:42 PM
HEX
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<center><div style="width:450px;height:450px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/6Dx8Ebg.jpg?1);"><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><div class="title"><div style="font-family: oswald; color: #8B795E; opacity: 1; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: 400; font-size: 25px; text-align:center;">HEX</div><br><div style="line-height: 60%; text-align: center; font-weight: normal; font-family: arial; font-size: 9px; letter-spacing: 0px; color: #6E6E6E;">JM, 26, SHE/HER, EST, PM</div></div></div></center></div></div>

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The dark is best... cool. The sun isn't sucking the water from your body so much. Of course, I'm made of more booze than water these days. Hex chuckled dryly. His head swiveled, squinting to watch the sun slowly fade away. Although he preferred night to day a chill still ran his spine forcing goose flesh across his body. The dark felt good, but nothing good came out of it and he knew first hand. Well I don't know about you but I've already had one too many run ins with fuckin' raiders. Never met one? Let me tell you, they can be some nasty business. Killing for fun, stealing people from the camps to be made into slaves... lovely shit. Back in the day they fucked up my shit pretty bad. To this day, I don't know how I ever escaped those mongrels. <br>

He was not much more than rag and bone... like he spent most of his time working out a way to indulge in intoxicants instead of sustenance. People tend to call me Hex. That all started because as a young boy, I begged my friend to give me a new name. There's no fancy story behind it... I just didn't want the name my parents gave me... My real name is pretty ridiculous. Brigton Thyme. I don't know. I never had a chance to ask my parents why they would give me such a name... Hell, I'm not even sure if they're alive right now. His left hand gripped a canteen, shakily lifted to his lips he cringed at the burn before offering it to his cohort. Fire water, of some sort. Want some? When declined a shrug was given and he took another swig. His blue eyes were hazy filled with ghosts, rimmed red with a lack of sleep. His right hand rested on the handle of a reinforced wooden club, or something in the likeness. His posture was relaxed, propped against a tree as he prepared to once again divulge his true origin.<br>

Yeah, must've been around ten years now... I was with my family and a few other survivors. I was probably only thirteen or fourteen years old. At least, that's what they told me... never felt quite sure. Anyway, it had been an OK sort of day on the survival front. Hot as hell, but several of us went out to gather-hunt-explore. They took me along so I could get to know the ropes. Shit was tight, I guess. Hex swirled the canteen listening to the contents splash about. We went "home" - if you could call it that - and relaxed. Everyone fell asleep early that night except for the guard, of course. Didn't matter, though.That fucking crew, the Reavers, blew into our camp in the middle of the night. They immediately started killing and capturing without discretion. There were so many of them and so few of us... we ran. My parents disappeared into the dark, I tried to go away. There was supposed to be a plan for this sort of thing, but I was just a kid who was so freaked out I couldn't remember. Brow furrowed as he became engulfed in his memories for a moment. No matter how many years had been put between the incident and himself, he still couldn't bear it. Hex had seen too much at a young age, it took too long for him the understand it all and now it was just a haunt. I couldn't run. Shock, I suppose... kept me planted there watching everyone I knew getting slaughtered or tossed in the back of a pick up truck. Then one of those bastards turned to me and I knew it was time to go.
<br>
Shifting uncomfortably, he took a drink. I wasn't going to be some noble bastards fuck toy. Finally my brain kicked on and I high-tailed it away from there. It was a fucking miracle... I just ran into the desert, I don;t think I was even breathing... just running. Hex pulled the remaining hem of his shirt up over his face and coughed into it. He knew very well there'd be blood but did not want his new pal to know about that. It had been a random recent event, his lungs being sent into a shockwave of oxygen upheaval that resulted in a spatter of bright red. He cleared his throat before speaking again. All I remember is waking up in a tree... literally inside of a tree. The thing was hollow and I hid there for the night. When I came about, my first idea was to go back to camp. Surely those fuckers wouldn't have waited around for me but maybe my parents came back. So I started off in the direction I thought I had come from. Well, I was wrong. I walked for what felt like hours, the desert just became more and more vacant. Eventually I realized I could barely see the remains of Vegas, it didn't look the way it should. I got lost, hell I never even knew where I had run to the night before. Glancing to his new companion he raised a brow and shrugged. If he was providing entertainment it was all well and good, but he'd never repeat himself. I stood there for a while, turning to look in every direction hoping I'd see my parents out in the distance... or anyone from my group. I didn't. Eventually I started walking again, heading towards what was left of the city. I resolved that I'd probably end up a slave by the end of the day as it was sheer luck I got away the first time. They must've been desperate, they hadn't really bothered with us before. So anyway, as I'm walking I start to hallucinate a little. Or so I thought. Damn dehydration. There was something kicking up dust close to the city. With caution I moved to some brambles and hid. I waited and waited. Eventually I could hear the engine roaring away, the shocks creaking and groaning. It was a little Jeep, driven by some other nice folk who I vaguely recognized. Fuck, I didn't know their names... I just recognized the jeep and they didn't look like raiders so I popped out of my hide and waved around until they stopped. They weren't my parents... but they were kind enough to take me along after I told them what had happened.

<br> There was a strange sound off in the distance, Hex paused for a moment to watch and listen. It ended and he continued with a sigh. Nothing special really, they took me in with their group. Their family. They helped me become more... independent. When I was sixteen I got to be pretty decent at trapping and doing a bunch of other stuff... you know, shit you gotta do to survive on your own. Well, I felt the need to move on. I was still hoping to find my parents. So easily enough we all said goodbye and I went off. Never found my parents. Honestly at this point I've sort of given up. Since I left there, I've just roamed around... staying in with a few different clans. Definitely some crazies out there... I've already lived with some cult -weird religious types, even ran into some cannibals... you can guess how long I stuck around for that. The past year I've spent on my own, just sort of roaming around going in for the bar every now and then but mostly hanging about helping anyone I see needs it. Been thinking it may be time to hook back up with some people again. Gets a little lonely out here. Also getting a bit dicey, I'm sick of getting fucked with recently. Over the past couple years, I have been caught - almost enslaved. Robbed. Beat up - like a game of cat and mouse. I'm just... really, really tired of it all. Hex drank from his canteen and offered it one more time before capping it. Soon enough he'd be heading back into the ruins, hoping to find some small group to take him in. He would just have to be careful who he dealt with.<br>

The stranger raised a brow and studied Hex before asking if he'd sought his parents recently. Hex shook his head sadly No, I prefer to carry on thinking they are still alive somewhere than find out anything other than that. Maybe one day I'll run into them and everything will be fine... but it's been a long time with very few leads. Hex wriggled again a little uncomfortable. He certainly wasn't a fan of people delving too deeply into the whole deal with his parents. Sometimes when he thought about it too much the whole situation just made him feel shitty. Don't get me wrong, I feel like a horrible person anymore for not tearing the desert apart to look for them. But what could I do? I was a kid. Yeah, it feels a little rough - they had given me so much... they taught me how to continue living, hunt, trap, feed myself, fix my damn clothes, fight. Yeah, I took all that and ran. Despite everything he tried to do right in this half ass life, he just couldn't look for his parents. Even if he went down the path where they may need his help... he just can't. This new friend eyed him cautiously, soaking up the young man's discomfort. It was clear how Hex handled his problems, he numbed them until they didn't exist... a drunk, but a harmless boy.
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<center><div style="margin-left: 0px;"><table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="1"><tr><td><div class="biotag">SURVIVORS</div></td><td><div class="biotag">HELLHOUNDS</div></td></tr><tr><td><div class="biotag">TRAPPER</div></td><td><div class="biotag">JANUARY 26 (24)</div></td></tr><tr><td><div class="biotag">HETERO</div></td><td><div class="biotag">JONATHAN KROPPMANN</div></td></tr></table></div></center><br><br><div style="width:352px; height:262px; overflow:auto;"><div style="width:326px; font-size: 10px; text-align:justify; padding-right: 7px;">

Hex, in a nut shell, is a loner at heart. Without meaning harm he treats people as though they were food - if he's hungry he will eat. If he craves conversation, friendship, human contact he will seek it. His past is usually well protected, more often than not bringing it up sends him into an internal downward spiral. Unfortunately it is a major malfunction for him and he often wonders how he survives the way he does. He crosses his own wires, being lackadaisical when he should be vigilant and vice versa. <br>
Over the past several months he's wondered if he's actually dying, as his body doesn't always seem to cooperate the way it used to. This is one more thing he won't really discuss with strangers... he fears that anyone with bad intent would think him weaker and go after his supplies if they figure he's on his way out. So like anyone else he needs stability in these treacherous times... but he knows he'll never have it - only the nobles get even the slightest taste of that. Like anyone else, he needs someone kind and understanding in his life, but knows with the way things are something like that may never last. Sometimes all he needs at the end of the day is for someone to tell him shit's alright, for the moment and he's survived one more day.<br><br>

FRIENDS<br>
Friends should be easy as Hex is fairly laid back. He's always quick to help someone out, known friend or stranger. Despite his kind nature, Hex is human and has his demons that occasionally come to light. More often than not he will fuel a habit before he feeds himself... which would certainly get a little insane if he was meant to bring back something for multiple people. Over the years they've come and gone, as one would expect. Though he never really discusses it, he is quite the drifter - with reason. So far he hasn't really committed to any one group of people, and often feeling the itch to be on the move. This itch won't be scratched until he finds the fate of his parents, really. He may not actively seek them but the overzealous movement is his indirect way of looking out.
<br><br>
LOVERS<br>
In a serial manner, Hex has gone through a handful of girls. The commitment aspect is a little much for him to grasp at the moment as his head and heart are typically elsewhere. He's out of focus more often than not and will run when things get too... claustrophobic. His experience and comfort lie primarily in the one nighter/open ended relationship. Or maybe he just hasn't met the right kind of girl yet.<br><br>

ENEMIES
<br>
Anyone who intends to do harm is an enemy in his eyes. For someone to consider him an enemy... probably anyone who was inadvertently fucked over by Hex, y'know when he felt getting liquored up was more important than bartering for a few drops of water.
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FACTION/OCCUPATION
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<i>Hellhounds</i> seems like a suitable fit for this boy, for the time being. His primary job is as a trapper. Most often he works closely with the hunter, using an occasionally longer method than shooting or bludgeoning something. Aside from the skill being put to use, Hex often makes himself available to any of his Hellhound buddies. He most often knows a little bit of everything, and if he doesn't know it he'd like to. Hex will most likely be the first one on his feet when someone asks for assistance in anything. Other than that he's balanced in mingling and keeping to himself, even though in either form he is approachable.
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