Yayo's Wastelander Application

[Steam Username]:✞AVE MARIA✞
[Steam ID]::STEAM_0:1:40776559

Joe Wright

AGE: 25
-Species/Human or Robotic: Human
-Character Advantages/Talents: Gambling, Trapping, Cooking
-Character Disadvantages/Weaknesses: Perception / Eyesight (Left-eye is gone), Alcoholic, Poor Aim, Not that Book Smart, Usually Malnourished / Physically Weak

-Faction
[Keep in mind some faction characters may be
subject to becoming event characters to prevent our server
from becoming faction wars roleplay]: Settler
Faction Options:
SuperMutants
Non-Passive Raiders[Event Character]
Non-Pyscho Raider[Requires Backstory Detailing Characters Sanity]
Settler[Standard wasteland Resident]
Robots
[You can apply for everyone, excluding Eyebots with a Enclave Duraframe mod]

-Current Equipment: A 14mm pistol with a few rounds left and a pair of aviators, slightly hiding a large wound making up what remains of his left-eye.
-Backstory[10-20 Sentences Minimum; Be advised
all applicants that settle or go below the minimum app
requirement will be subject to a simple deny, spend time
on what you want, if you’re not passionate about your
topic to produce a few extra sentences or even paragraphs
then its a red flag- put some effort in here.]

[DISCLAIMER - INCLUDE HOW YOU GOT YOUR GEAR
IN YOUR BACKSTORY]

Joe Wright was born in a cave, like his many brothers and sisters. He was barely raised, just like his many brothers and sisters. And just like his many brothers and sisters, when he hit puberty he was kicked out of the cave with some kind of knife and told to not come back until he had something worthwhile.

He was only 14, so like most everyone else who scattered away from that cave, he never came back. Instead, he collapsed in the middle of God knows where, hungry, thirsty, barely alive. But this is where Joe's similarities to his siblings ended, because instead of dying there and passing over to a better or worse place, Joe woke up in a shack on the dirtiest mattress he'd ever see, but the first mattress he'd ever lay on.

Here, he was taught to speak better, taught to read better, taught what he should've learned years ago, all by a lonely man who was down on his luck and had nothing better to do - A certain Jeff Wright, conman and gambler who went from high-roller to on the run to living in a shack living off a mix of gecko meat and whatever he could find.

That's where Joe became Joe. Named by who he'd never see as a father, but more as a friend, he lived there for 6 years. 20 and now what you could roughly call a wasteland scholar, he knew how to set up a fire, how to hunt, how to make something out of basically nothing, and could actually enjoy the dusty books he and Jeff would find when out scavenging. But all that learning had to come to a stop, because one day while Jeff was stirring together some gecko stew outside by the fire, a shot loud as thunder rang out, and Jeff's brain matter was splattered against the rust and wood that made up his former home. Joe stayed inside and stared at his guardian's body, stunned at the sudden death. He tried not to panic but couldn't help crying - The only person he had ever really known had just been shot dead in front of him.

But the tears had to go once he saw someone else. Fear filled him. It had to be the man who had shot Jeff, and he had to be coming to loot his body. The damn bastard would probably ransack the shack next. Joe went under the mattress, remembering where the only gun they had was kept, loaded and ready, a 14mm Jeff had won in a game of poker against a kingpin a few states north.

Having learned a little about shooting, but just a little, as there wasn't enough ammo to do much target practice, Joe aimed at the silhouette approaching his dead friend. When he felt his aim was right, he squeezed the trigger once and then yanked three times. As the smoke settled and he jerked the gun down, peering out the window, he expected two corpses laying on the ground. Instead, he saw a man stumbling back, clenching at his side, staring straight at him.

That man was reaching for something, and before Joe could fire again, he was throwing something. A faint pinging sound could be heard - Joe fled from it. Only a few seconds later that bomb went off, leaving Joe's ears ringing and his body covered in piercing pain. As he rolled over so he wasn't facing the floor, he tried to fight the pain. The adrenaline began pumping, helping him deal with it, but there is only so much adrenaline can do when there's a piece of shrapnel in your left eye. It was something that took him a few moments to notice - The new, odd, almost boxed in vision, like he had closed his eye and it wouldn't open up.

But he tried not to focus on that. He had to focus on that man, so he didn't die. He couldn't die now, he had a whole life ahead of him, according to Jeff. But Jeff was now dead, so Joe didn't know what to think.

As he pushed himself up into a corner, he waited for the man to walk through the door. Eventually, he did, and Joe kept shooting until the gun let out that disappointing click.

Luckily for Joe, that man fell over. As he got up, wincing, feeling the piece of wood jammed into his face, he noticed that his attacker had switched out his rifle for a knife. Retrieving some gauze from one of the drawers, he patched up the splinters and little bits of shrapnel in his right leg. Hobbling over the dead body at the door, he looked over at Jeff. Still dead, but a gun was next to him. A big rifle with a scope. He crouched down to check it out, only to see the slide busted. Unfortunately for Joe, one of his first shots had ruined the rifle. He tucked the 14mm into his pants and then went back inside, retrieving a shovel.

He had to bury Jeff. He dug a hole next to the shack for the next few hours, despite the pain and the sweat. He put his body a few feet under, covered it up, and went inside, where he took a picture of Jeff and a woman, a woman that had meant a lot to Jeff, from what he could tell, and placed it on his grave.

After kicking the body of his friend's murderer into the river, Joe sat down and looked in a mirror. His left eye was pierced by a mix of splinters and wood. He got up, opened every drawer, finding rags, tweezers, and a single pain-killer. He took that pain-killer and for the rest of the night pulled everything he could out of his left eye and the flesh surrounding it. He screamed so loud he was afraid he would attract another unexpected guest.

By the time he went to sleep, the left side of his face was covered in rags and gauze. He woke up weak and tired, but left anyway. It was a lot like when he left the cave 6 years ago, and just like last time he got lucky. He collapsed at the edge of a small settler's town, and awoke in another shack, a doctor's shack.

He stayed there for a few weeks, regaining his strength. He had lost his left eye, though, and kept the gauze there to cover the wound. He spent the few caps he had on booze the last night he was there, and then walked off into the wastes, a pistol in his pants and a bandage on his face, looking for opportunity.

He went from town to town, boozing his way through the wastes. He eventually got rid of the rags around that wound on his face, exchanging them for a pair of sunglasses. He was sick of getting questions about it, at least when he was sober.

Seems pretty modest as far as applications go. The backstory has no links to the proposed knowledge of trapping however, nor cooking. I can't infer that they were passed on by the Gambler since it's difficult to put those two aspects together, but it's an innocent enough trade for it to not matter.

The Sig-Sauer 14mm pistol is fine, with the ammunition specified and all.

Only other comment I have to make is that it's questionable for as to whether or not Geckoes would be in Maryland, all things considered. They've only been seen on the West Coast thus far, so those Gecko byproducts raise a few questions. Unless the travels have literally taken the character across the United States, that is.

Consider this approved.

Geckos in maryland wouldnt be too rare, lizards are common in the area. But id suggest having mirelurks be replacements

TheMightyDRGN wrote:Seems pretty modest as far as applications go. The backstory has no links to the proposed knowledge of trapping however, nor cooking. I can't infer that they were passed on by the Gambler since it's difficult to put those two aspects together, but it's an innocent enough trade for it to not matter.

The Sig-Sauer 14mm pistol is fine, with the ammunition specified and all.

Only other comment I have to make is that it's questionable for as to whether or not Geckoes would be in Maryland, all things considered. They've only been seen on the West Coast thus far, so those Gecko byproducts raise a few questions. Unless the travels have literally taken the character across the United States, that is.

Consider this approved.

Mirelurks is a good replacement for Geckos.

Trapping and cooking I put in there as I did state that he was taught how to live off the land by the gambler. Apologies if I didn't go into detail.