PETERSON, Darren J. Dec 3, 2012 19:52:26 GMT
Post by DARREN JAMES PETERSON on Dec 3, 2012 19:52:26 GMT
[style=width: 85px; letter-spacing: 2px; border-bottom: 2px solid;]BASICS[/div]
Darren James Peterson:
NICK NAMES: DJ
AGE AND BIRTH DATE: 25, 03/11/1987
NATIONALITY: White British
MEMBER GROUP: Outsider
HAIR COLOUR AND STYLE: Brown-black hair that is badly in need of a trim, almost falling into his eyes at the front.
EYE COLOUR: Hazel
BUILD: Slender, not physically fit or strong in any way.
HEIGHT AND WEIGHT: 5ft 9inches, around 9 stone. He’s a little under weight since the outbreak.
SCARS: several on his arms and legs from scrapes and falls when he was younger. The most notable scar is on the right side of his face, starting beside his right eye there is a burn/scar that also crosses the bridge of his nose.
ANYTHING ELSE: Darren is blind. He wasn’t born this way, when he was 21 a firework misfired and exploded in his face, leaving him blind and slightly scarred.
OVERALL APPEARANCE:Darren likes to wear jeans and t-shirts with jumpers over the top, he also owns a beaten up leather jacket that he wears over the top. He usually always wears sunglasses, because he doesn’t want people to feel like he is staring at them. Being blind, it is much easier for him to wear simple clothing that doesn’t need much fastening or arranging. Not all of his clothing matches – some of it looks like he fell into a wardrobe and was spat back out again. It’s hard dressing yourself in the middle of a zombie outbreak when you can’t see what you’re picking up.
LIKES: Pizza, steak, rock music, the colour blue, not being chased by zombies, women,
DISLIKES: Falling over his own shoe laces because he couldn’t tell they were undone, orange, walking into things, not being able to read braille, carrots, feeling alone, the cold, man flu, people that treat him like an idiot because he can’t see.
STRENGTHS: Mentally strong, is a good listener, survivor, courage, loyal, kind
WEAKNESSES: Physically weak, blind, can’t read braille, often walks into things
SECRETS: At first he was in denial about being blind and was convinced that one day his sight would come back.
FEARS: being alone, forgetting what his parents looked like, forgetting what he looks like.
GOALS: learning to read Braille! Finding somewhere that is safe
QUIRKS: Good sense of humour, a little crazy (in a good way), has to touch everything.
HABITS: Smokes- but hasn’t had one in ages, because he hasn’t found any. Bites his nails. Sometimes says awkward things because he can’t see facial expressions.
OVERALL PERSONALITY: Darren is a generally likeable guy, although he does go through periods of self-loathing and bitterness. He doesn’t feel that he deserved to lose his sight, when he wasn’t even the one that was messing around with the fireworks in the first place. Even before he became blind, Darren had a good sense of humour, and though he was nowhere near close to being a ‘class clown’ he knew how to make his closest friends laugh. When he first became blind, he slipped into a bit of a depressive, denial state that lasted for almost a year. Since then he has pretty much returned to his old self.
He is always willing to help people who are in need, if it is within his power. Obviously, helping people to look for lost items is no longer in his repertoire! He tends to lose his temper with himself a little when he walks into things, or when he trips over a shoe lace because he didn’t realise that it was undone, but he is slowly learning different ways of helping himself out.
Since he lost his sight, Darren has noticed that he has started to talk to himself more. He often has lengthy conversations out loud, usually about remembered things where he wishes he could have said something differently. Before he goes to sleep each night, Darren tries to recall what his parents looked like, for fear of forgetting them one day. Being on his own has turned him a little feral, and he shies away from noises, even when they are not zombies.
Darren used to be a very trusting person, but blindness took that away from him. No longer being able to read facial expressions means that he is having to learn how to read inflection and tones in people’s voices, which is proving to be difficult. Some of the people he has trusted since becoming blind have let him down badly – including a few times he was robbed of money because people lied to him about how much he had given to them. Now he tends not to trust someone until he gets to know them a lot better. Unfortunately, this also means that he currently has no friends.
HOME TOWN: London
WHERE WERE YOU?: Seeing his therapist.
WHERE ARE YOU NOW?: Roaming London, trying to stay alive.
PARENTS: Peter and Mary Robertson / 49&47/ Presumed dead.
ANYONE ELSE?: No
COMPLETE HISTORY: Darren was born in Hertfordshire, but moved to London at the age of 10 when his dad was offered a job in the capitol. He had a healthy childhood, and when he left school, he went on to do A levels in business, maths, English, biology and Chemistry. Which he passed with the grades he needed. Darren then started at the University of London where he embarked on the five year course that would take him to the career he had coveted since he was a small child. He wanted to help people. Darren was studying to be a doctor. Unfortunately, at the start of his fourth year there was an accident.
On bonfire night of that year, at the university display, one of the fireworks in the display hadn’t been planted far enough into the ground. After being lit, the firework fell on to its side. The angle shot the firework into the large crowd. There was a panic as everyone jostled to get out of the way. Darren was knocked over and into its path and the firework exploded in his face. The last thing he could remember before waking up in hospital was a blinding white light.
He spent the next few weeks in hospital. While they assessed the damage that had been done he spent a whole week of being tiptoed around until finally Darren found out that he had lost his sight. He took it very badly. This was the beginning of a depression that would last for almost a year. He dropped out of university, stopped seeing his friends and only left the house to see his therapist – under duress from concerned parents. Eventually, the therapy sessions helped to bring him out of his shell and he made contact with his best friend from university. Their first meeting was awkward, but bit by bit the old Darren started to return.
Darren could never get over the feeling that his parents were disappointed in him. It was the subject of his final therapy session. Before the outbreak. He was telling Dr Allen that he had overheard them talking about the fact that he would never be a doctor. Dr Allen had tried to reassure him that he was over thinking it. It was during this session that he realised he could no longer tell whether people were being sarcastic. He made it his goal to try and relearn this.
During their final session, Darren had expressed the wish to learn how to read Braille. It was a skill that he had been putting off. Dr Allen thought that this was partly down to the fact that Darren was still in denial of his condition. Unfortunately for Darren, it was during this session that the outbreak had occurred. In the ensuing panic Darren had been let down by the person that he had trusted the most. Dr Allen had abandoned him, choosing to save herself instead. He had phoned his parents to come and get him, but they hadn’t answered. All around him, he could hear panic and sirens, but nobody would stop to help him.
By listening to announcements and televisions that he passed, Darren learnt what had transpired. He was all alone, in central London. In the middle of a Zombie outbreak.
TIME ZONE: London GMT
ROLEPLAYING EXPERIENCE: 6yrs +
AVERAGE WORD LENGTH: as much as needed
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: Fitzwilliam was doing his round on the ward as he did most days. Most of the patients on this ward were well on their way to recovery, which helped him a lot. Fitz hadn't always been a doctor. Before the outbreak he had been a veterinarian at a surgery in Central London. Cats and dogs had been his forte, not people. It had been a difficult adjustment to make, but he'd much rather learn a few new skills than sit and do nothing.
Since the outbreak, the need for a vet had been drastically reduced. Most people had set their animals free to fend for themselves, and most of the people who'd kept their pets had been forced to give them up when they ran out of food for them. So it was a surprise when a nurse hurried over to him with a message from reception. Someone had tried to bring an injured dog into the hospital - given his background would he be able to go and have a look?
Fitzwilliam nodded his agreement and the nurse hurried off. He cursed under his breath; would it have killed them to put the poor animal in a consultation room rather than waiting outside? Probably not, but then these types only cared for humans. What place did a dog have at the end of the world? An extra mouth meant extra resources that couldn't always be spared. He tsked and finished what he was doing - changing the bandage of his patient. She was a young woman who'd suffered a nasty scratch. Luckily for her, the infection hadn't been the bad kind. A course of antibiotics and disinfectant had sorted her out, now she just needed to make sure she kept the bandage clean.
Fitz glanced at his watch and frowned. He'd been longer than he thought, hopefully the dog wasn't in too bad a shape. Stopping by a sink to wash his hands, Fitz headed towards the front of the building.
"It's out there." The head receptionist told him, pointing a finger towards the door. Without a word of thanks, he stomped past her and headed outside. He soon spotted the dog; a greyhound, it was holding one of it's feet off the ground, but other than that it seemed healthy enough. He headed over, a little surprised to be greeted by a notebook.
"I see, and how long ago did tha' happen?" He asked the boy, who seemed fixated on the floor. He was a mute perhaps? Whatever, the boy wasn't the issue here.
"Follow me." He clapped the boy on the shoulder before kneeling to scoop up the dog. He turned away and walked back the way he had come, carrying the greyhound into the hospital. It was a healthy weight, so the boy was definitely taking care of it, and it obviously meant a lot to him or he wouldn't have bothered trying to find help.
He led the boy and the dog past the reception desk, silencing the harpy manager with a glare and took them into consultation room one. Carefully, he lowered the dog onto the examination bed and laid a hand on his flank so he wouldn't try to get up.
"I used to be a vet, before the outbreak." Fitz told the boy, to try and reassure him, "So your dog here is in good hands. What're your names?"
This application was made by Kat, the admin, for London's Fallen. Stealing or adapting in any way will result in frowny faces and tutting.