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 Posted: Sun Jul 21, 2013 11:16 pm
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Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 1:49 pm
BUNNY
My name is... actually Laurel MacDuffy, but my stage name is Sparkle MacDuffy. Nice to meet you!
I am... twenty-three years old, give or take a year or two because according to my father, my birth certificate is fake. He bought me from a woman who said she was a nurse, but something seemed funny about her (if you know what I mean). My baby blanket was pink. I am still a girl. It would be a waste to hide my bosom or get rid of it as I have been growing these curves for almost a quarter of a century. Am I right?
They call me... a moron, a nitwit (whatever that is), and an idiot because reading and writing is hard for me. I can say big words but I have problems reading them. People make a big deal out of it, but I could care less. I stub my toes constantly. I have bruises on my shins and sometimes (ow) my elbow.
I wield... a gun, but when reloading it is too slow then I use it like a club. I put the safety on and pistol whip. Sometimes I forget to take the safety off. I club things a lot more than I shoot anything.
My flaws and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, are... I am absentminded, easily distracted, and I find it most hard to concentrate on one thing at a time. I like to see amazing tricks. I joined the circus basically I could watch the shows for free everyday because I never get tired of seeing the performances. I am scared to see anyone get hurt and injuries are normal. I get them. I mean, serious injuries. Those are hard to look at. These zombies are horrible, but already dead. I care about the troupe more, so shooting zombies is not a big deal. They're not an endangered species. We are.
And they say... I have a thing for the Magician but I absolutely do not! I don't! I don't, don't, don't, don't, don't! I have great admiration and respect for the Magician. The Magician is more of my boss than my friend and I want to be a good assistant. I break things all the time. I fall on things. I crushed a lot of props. All of it is an accident. I have trouble moving or watching where I'm going. I can see things but not know they're there. I'm all mixed up in the head and body. I told everyone that I had 'fibromyalgia' but I don't even know what that is. Somebody asked me one day if that's why I was always hurting and I thought it sounded smarter than saying I bumped my shins because I don't see where I'm going. Because I don't know what it is, then how can I be sure if I have it or don't have it?
But I am... from a small town. I couldn't remember anyone's name (but they sure knew mine) so I ran away to 'strike it rich' and 'find my way'. I did a lot of farm handy work, helping with the harvesting of crops and picking vegetables. I cut wood. I was a lumberjack for a little while. I did construction work on and off. Somebody told me I could be a secretary but I tried that and dropped the typewriter on somebody's foot and broke it. I thought everybody wore steel toed boots to work. I was all around not successful with finding a steady temp job because I was dumb. Whenever someone drops something, I go pick it up. That's how the Magician found me. The Magician dropped a playing card and I went to pick it up. It was the middle of the show. People liked me because I was pretty. I have been working for the Magician ever since. No one seems to expect anything of me except to try and I can do that. I can try.
PORTRAYED BY NIGHT TERRORS NOTHING
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Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 3:27 pm
RINGMASTER
My name is... Larry Beauregard. Altogether now---BEAU-RE-GARD. Let it roll off the tip of your tongue. My name has a flavor. I want you to taste it. If you don't like it then you can go brush your teeth---then try saying it again. What's the matter...? Do you have a lisp...?
I am... a twenty-three year old gentleman. I have never had a birthday party. I don't want one. The more birthday parties a body has, the more likely they are to die. The candles on the cake will float around your head.
They call me... a killjoy at funerals. Now, light me a cigar. I am a little monotonous in the voice but I do it not because I am a dullard, but because you are the dullard. Yes, you there---wearing the clothes! I enunciate my vowels perfectly. I am a capable orator, but of course, I am a public figure. What is the point of tone...? Volume is what gets you heard. THERE IS LOUD and there is quiet. Start formulating a better opinion of me. MAKE IT A LOUD ONE. Ha... Hey look there---there's something on your face. I think it's a little deformity. Nevermind---you always look like that.
I wield... a cane in one hand, a whip at my belt, a saber in my other hand, a dagger is hidden in my boot, I have an extra cutlass for when I'm feeling fancy, a pistol in my breast pocket, and a knife in my teeth when I have nothing nice to say. I am ambidextrous and not at all cross-eyed. I'll take a body on bare knuckles and all if I have to---gloves off. Barbed wire on.
My flaws and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, are... many. You see, I'm too bloody magnificent for my own good. I'm too quick, I'm too bold, I'm too daring, and too damn smashing. I'm extravagant by nature. I draw the whole attention of the room and I literally have to fend hordes of beasts with a stick and a stab, skip the how-do-you-do's, occasional boot to a face. I like plenty of room on the stage. I like plenty of space. The world is my stage and everyone is my audience. Don't leave for the restrooms or the concession stands unless you've really got a hankering for corn on the cob. I don't like stragglers. I will round you up like a border collie to a decrepit sheep if you fall behind. Don't you bloody want to live...? Then follow me. I might possibly know where I'm going.
And they say... I am delusional about something. My attitude about the apocalypse might seem a little extra well-to-do than the usual, but how's that unreasonable...? How is that lacking in senses...? Everything I do has to be done right. I've standards. I've style. I'm afraid of looking bad. I'm a performer. It is never rehearsal in real life. The show is ALWAYS ON...
But I am... a person who originates from much humbler circumstances. I used to be a make up artist but got demoted or promoted---whatever---for telling people they were ugly. I'm better with animals. I don't understand their complaints so I can't retort. BACK, BACK YOU FIENDS! Where was I...? If you wanted to know more about me, you should've come to the show more often. I feel like what Atlas feels like on a good day. When the world sits on my shoulders---I'm in control. It wants to break my arm in an arm wrestling match? Well this apocalypse, is going to get trod on. Tra, la, la, la. La...
PORTRAYED BY CROCODYLUS
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Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 7:38 pm
PIERROT
My name is...forgotten. Not by me, but by others. It was Solomon Fletcher. No more. I am merely--myself--"Pierrot". I respond to such. Will only respond to such. Only. Only. Just..."Pierrot".
I am... perceived as twenty-three years living. Am I dead? I think that is my age. I do not remember my own face to tell; it seems like forever that I have taken my mask off in front of a mirror. It used to be porcelain, you know. It shattered on someone else's face. Now I wear a gas mask. It hides my face better. The gas mask never comes off. It's MINE. It never comes off.
They call me... distant. Quiet. Reserved. They don't know me.I know it's because I never talk to them, the others and the people and the ones who watch. I do not like them. I listen, though. People tell me things because I do not tell. I do not want to tell. Good and bad things pass through my ear, for I only have one, but those good and bad--evil evil evil--things do not pass my lips. The secrets make me still. Stillness unsettles people. They don't know me. That is why I keep my distance. To save them the trouble of being too near. And so I don't have to touch them. I don't like being touched. I think I scare people. They find me frightening. They don't know me. But I trust them even if they don't trust me. I trust them even if they steal my precious things. I take pain like medicine. I AM CONFLICTED. Be happy. I should be sad. Be happy. I think I am sad. BE HAPPY. They don't KNOW ME.
I wield... a shotgun. I wear a back-pack and a bandolier to keep all the ammo--birdshot and buckshot. Use it sparingly. Nothing lasts forever. I have large boots with metal plates and toes that I kick and stomp with. Brass knuckles to break teeth. They can't bite me. The stock of the shotgun is my mace. I have a rod to swing with more precision.
My flaws and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, are... that I have blind spots. My gas masks block my peripherals. In my dark spots--my dark side--I cannot tell between friend and foe. I also am deaf in one ear because it is missing. I am also emotionally unstable. I don't know what I want. What I should feel. YES I DO. But I take pain. I like it. I like seeing the familiar faces of the audience and the people in my troupe. I LIKE--I don't. But I want to see Harlequin burn. I don't. They loved each other. I was happy for them. I WASN'T. I wanted to be...
And they say... a lot of things. Many. None are true. They say I was a man in the military but I was injured and ran from battle. They say I am from a different country and ran away. They say I was an experiment gone awry and I ran away. I did run away. They say I am inhuman. INHUMANE. Just a person, I think. That is all I am. All I want to be and will be. AM I? They say I cry because my tears keep my healthy. Or I cry because Columbine cheated on me. They thought I didn't know. My beautiful servant girl was happy with Harlequin. I was happy for them. It broke my heart when she disappeared two years ago. They say that is still alive but married to a rich man now. That she ran away from both Harlequin and I. I know better. People say I don't.
But I am...A KILLER.
PORTRAYED BY LEIFKA
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Posted: Mon Jul 22, 2013 8:23 pm
TWEEDLE DUM
My name is... Alois Marcel. I don't have a middle name. My nickname is Tweedle Dum, Dum, Tweedle, Mark, Alo, and anything else people call me. I don't mind people giving me nicknames. I like nicknames, it let's me know people care. Whether they care cause they like me or not is irrelevant. I don't have any aliases, my life's an open book. Although I wouldn't mind an alias. It would be cool having one, it'd make me feel like a spy.
I am... Twenty one years of age. I am pretty sure I'm a male, for now at least. Unless I decide to change my gender; but I don't think I will, not that it's feasible anymore. Besides I like my gender, I am comfortable with it. I couldn't imagine life as a woman. I am about six feet in height, not too tall or short. I have short wavy brown hair, and green eyes. I am of a slender build; but I have muscle. I kind of need muscle to perform in the circus. With all the jumps, twists, and turns.
They call me... talkative. They say I talk too much. But I don't think so. You see if I don't talk, someone is going to fight or get angry or yell, and that wouldn't be very good. I have to keep the peace, it's part of my job. I don't like fighting, they say I avoid conflicts and absolutely hate them; and they are absolutely right. I hate to fight and would rather just keep the peace. If I don't keep the peace, no one will. So, it's my job to suck it up and be the better person. They say I'm kind, I would like to think so. I would rather be sweet and likable than be mean and alone. Everyone says I'm loyal, too loyal for my own good. I don't know what that really means; but I will not betray my friends. No matter what you say Dee's a nice guy and he's my best friend, so back OFF! Secretly though I am worried that Dee isn't such a nice guy and that he...hates me. NO, No, no that's NOT true. Anyway I also hate when everyone fights because when they fight, it's not my friends fighting. It's my family, these guys are my family and I don't want them to end up like my last family because they were fighting. I hate standing up for myself, sometimes I feel like I deserved to be stepped on because I failed my last family. Keep your voice down, you can't tell anyone about this, AT ALL!
I wield... a SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol chambered with 9x19 mm shells. I'm a fairly good shot, most of the time. Sometimes I panic or get scared and miss my shot. My biggest worry is I will run out of bullets while we are fighting the zombies. When I do run out of bullets I use the gun as a blunt weapon. Other than that I have a small dagger in my left boot. It was gift to me from the Ringmaster. He's so bad a** and cool. I wish I could be like him. What was I saying again? Oh, sorry I went off on a tangent.
My flaws and weaknesses are... I am too stubborn. A lot of people keep telling me Dee isn't that great of a friend and he's kind of a mean guy. But I don't believe them. I think they just don't understand Dee. He's a great guy, he really is, you just have to give him some time. They all say I'm not a great listener cause I talk too much. I know I talk too much but I am trying to stop myself. It's just hard, I have so much to say. They say I'm kind of a pushover cause I'm too nice; but I don't think so. If being nice means everyone will just STOP fighting for five seconds, then yeah I'll be the pushover. Besides it's not like fighting with each other is going to help us. It's bad enough we have to worry about zombies eating us. I like pretty much everyone. I don't think I actually hate anyone. Everyone's pretty cool. I don't like when people yell, get angry, or fight. Fighting makes me upset and I don't like being upset.
And they say... I'm Dee's best friend. I like everyone, and everyone is my friend. Most everyone knows that I have been working the circus crowd with my friend Dee for awhile. I hail from Florida, where me and Dee met. People always like to talk behind my back. They say I'm a pushover and nice, I'm way too nice to Dee and should ditch him. But they can say what they want. I don't pay attention to rumors and neither should you.
But I am... actually from New York. My family was a fairly normal middle class family. The difference was my dad was a workaholic and my mother had problems being faithful. They fought all the time, and because they fought all the time I had to keep the peace. But they ended up getting a divorce, and when they got a divorce. I felt like I failed, and so I ran away. I think I was about ten, I met up with Dee in Florida. I was on a bus heading to my Grandma's. He told me about the circus and his plan to join them. I decided to join him, and I have been with him ever since. We made money working and doing things for the circus, side jobs. Eventually we got our own act, and we have been doing it ever since. We have moved from circus to circus until we came here, and then the whole zombie thing happened. Man, I have been talking. I think it's time I stopped now. My voice is tired.
PORTRAYED BY RAFF_SAPPHIRE6
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Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 8:09 pm
HARLEQUIN 
My name is... Happy. That's all there is to it. I've abandonned the rest. LIKE SHE ABANDONED THE WORLD. It's a word everyone should know. Unless they're Pierrot. To Pierrot, it's only my name. He can never truthfully claim to be me because he can't be me while I'm me. I HOPE IT'S PERFECTLY CLEAR. It's my real name. I'm a real boy.
I am... twenty-two. I'm masculine. Handsome, and single. You won't be able to tell that I have baggage. YOU SMELL IT? DON'T YOU? IT HAS A ROTTEN, ROTTING STENCH. You won't know why I reject your affection when and if you choose to show me any. No one likes a comedian. I DON'T EXPECT ANYTHING FROM YOU. They like swashbucklers. They like puppy dogs. I will rip into you like a rabid beast, foaming at the mouth, blood and veins bulging from the eyes. I'm just kidding. I'm a jester. I have a funny sense of humor. I'm funny. LAUGH. Look at my smile. Isn't it nice? Doesn't it make you feel wonderful to see it? See the shine in my eyes. See the delicate curve of my kissable lips. DON'T GET TOO CLOSE. YOU'LL SEE THINGS. YOU'LL SEE THINGS THAT'LL MAKE YOU GAG. My hair is always perfectly greased. It's shiny. White. Silvery white.
They call me... a humanitarian, a comedian, and Pierrot's caregiver. We've been together a long time and he is like a brother to me. An older, stranger, more distant brother. He's never given me any reason to quit the act. I've never found fault in him. BUT IT'S THERE. IT'S HERE. IT'S. EVERYWHERE. In times like these, we've really got to clean up our acts. Stick together. DIE TOGETHER. It's a beautiful relationship we have. Really. He needs someone like me. To always. Be. Around. Like I am. I'm watching. BUT I WASN'T WATCHING CLOSE ENOUGH. We have a bond. An understanding. I am so good to look after him. Make sure nothing but me gets to him.
I wield... an axe and a rusty, twenty-four inch pipe. It's crude, but it works on soft things. Breakable things. ANYTHING THAT CAN SCREAM. I never run out of ammunition. I never have to reload. I can keep going all day. All night. What time is it in here?
My flaws and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, are... few. I don't like or dislike all that much. Really. It's true. Because I'm Happy no matter what. Everything makes me Happy.
And they say... I ran away from a sad orphanage to join the circus as a young boy. They say I grew up wanting to make people happy like I was. Like I am. Because of my gloomy circumstances, I got a bad impression of what it is to feel pain. THE PAIN HAS TO BE KEPT ON THE INSIDE! STAY! STAY INSIDE! But you can't be Happy. I'm Happy. I belong to me. Never to you. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. On the contrary. Quite contrary. Marry? Who mentioned marriage? We've just met.
But I am... a man grown from a boy who lived with his real parents. They abandoned me at the circus. Without enough money to buy a single candied apple. DON'T LEAVE ME! STAY! STAY! I like you. I like everyone. Especially Pierrot. He's my special friend.I love him. HE STAYS WITH ME. I think I grew up to be a fine young man. They would be proud of me. Wherever they are. DEAD. Wherever it is that I last saw them dead.
PORTRAYED BY IN DESOLATION
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