Post by wilson on Feb 18, 2010 8:24:56 GMT
Approved, and neutral characters get a journal, that's it, besides if this is a strictly neutral based character, you can just make up some way of having gotten a pistol anyway. Why your history has you in the military is beyond me, but as far as I'm concerned this is a civilian, it's a neutral app. You supplied no rank for a medic position, so technically this is a civilian.
-JT
Account E-Mail: locked_down@hotmail.com
Name: Brian Wilson
Nationality: American
Character History:
Brian, like many other Children of the time, was brought up in the Great Depression. Having been born in the January of 1926, most of his conscious memories were of poverty, never quite managing to make ends meet after his Father was laid off from the production plant in 1931, the industry collapsing around him and forcing the poor family in to even deeper parts of poverty. They had little hope, even less food to their name. Thankfully for them, Roosevelt came with his plan, and this pulled them forward slightly, he put food on the table and thanks to that the family was grateful towards the US Government.
He was the youngest of three boys, so virtually everything he owned has battered and handed down to him, and he was a constant source of teasing at school. He was a nice kid really, but he couldn’t handle anger particularly well. He very rarely started fights, but when somebody did start laying in to him, his scrawny frame held nothing back. In his penultimate year of high school, he was expelled, having broken the arm of one tormentor, and given another pair several dozen stitches between them.
By now, America had been at war for several years, and he managed to slip through the basic net of personality and mental tests, becoming a member of the Third Armoured Division.
In January of 1944, the 3ID was based in Northern England, and it was here that he would lost control that one last time that would cause him a whole load of trouble…
Writing Sample:
Brian picked himself up from the ground, wiping his already bleeding nose with his fifteen year old hand. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t have time to analyse the damage, as he saw a fist charging towards him through the air. He half ducked, and swung up his left forearm, causing the blow to glance off the side of his head.
He stumbled a few paces backwards, before pushing forward as hard as he could, digging his bony shoulder in to the soft gut of the bully ahead of him, hearing a satisfying “oof” as the air was pushed out. He used his momentum to go forward further, before slamming the back Charles McIlwraith, for it was he who gave him the most grief, in to a brick wall. He felt a thick fist hit his back, and he went down, dragging Charles with him who grazed the back of his neck along the wall.
He pushed himself away from the crumpled Charles, with a savage kick, and managed to pull himself to his feet, shaking slightly. He heard a crash from behind, and saw another figure, his features obscured by the sunlight gleaming in from behind. His intentions were clear, though, as the trash can fell to the ground, and the round silver lid hung menacingly in his hand, slowly swinging back and forth.
He looked in horror as it was thrown towards him, he threw himself to the side. Too slow, though, he felt it clip his arm and knock him to the ground. With a dull thud, he felt his head impact a wall, and he saw starbursts in front of his eyes. He reached out, trying to climb up, but he saw a dark boot press down on his ribcage. A few seconds, the pain came through, and he mentally consigned himself to whatever was about to happen.
Can I request, for the sake of the story, this neutral character starts with a journal and a Colt. 45? Please? Thank you?
-JT
Account E-Mail: locked_down@hotmail.com
Name: Brian Wilson
Nationality: American
Character History:
Brian, like many other Children of the time, was brought up in the Great Depression. Having been born in the January of 1926, most of his conscious memories were of poverty, never quite managing to make ends meet after his Father was laid off from the production plant in 1931, the industry collapsing around him and forcing the poor family in to even deeper parts of poverty. They had little hope, even less food to their name. Thankfully for them, Roosevelt came with his plan, and this pulled them forward slightly, he put food on the table and thanks to that the family was grateful towards the US Government.
He was the youngest of three boys, so virtually everything he owned has battered and handed down to him, and he was a constant source of teasing at school. He was a nice kid really, but he couldn’t handle anger particularly well. He very rarely started fights, but when somebody did start laying in to him, his scrawny frame held nothing back. In his penultimate year of high school, he was expelled, having broken the arm of one tormentor, and given another pair several dozen stitches between them.
By now, America had been at war for several years, and he managed to slip through the basic net of personality and mental tests, becoming a member of the Third Armoured Division.
In January of 1944, the 3ID was based in Northern England, and it was here that he would lost control that one last time that would cause him a whole load of trouble…
Writing Sample:
Brian picked himself up from the ground, wiping his already bleeding nose with his fifteen year old hand. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t have time to analyse the damage, as he saw a fist charging towards him through the air. He half ducked, and swung up his left forearm, causing the blow to glance off the side of his head.
He stumbled a few paces backwards, before pushing forward as hard as he could, digging his bony shoulder in to the soft gut of the bully ahead of him, hearing a satisfying “oof” as the air was pushed out. He used his momentum to go forward further, before slamming the back Charles McIlwraith, for it was he who gave him the most grief, in to a brick wall. He felt a thick fist hit his back, and he went down, dragging Charles with him who grazed the back of his neck along the wall.
He pushed himself away from the crumpled Charles, with a savage kick, and managed to pull himself to his feet, shaking slightly. He heard a crash from behind, and saw another figure, his features obscured by the sunlight gleaming in from behind. His intentions were clear, though, as the trash can fell to the ground, and the round silver lid hung menacingly in his hand, slowly swinging back and forth.
He looked in horror as it was thrown towards him, he threw himself to the side. Too slow, though, he felt it clip his arm and knock him to the ground. With a dull thud, he felt his head impact a wall, and he saw starbursts in front of his eyes. He reached out, trying to climb up, but he saw a dark boot press down on his ribcage. A few seconds, the pain came through, and he mentally consigned himself to whatever was about to happen.
Can I request, for the sake of the story, this neutral character starts with a journal and a Colt. 45? Please? Thank you?