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- Feb 5, 2013
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Jesse Sarc |
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BASIC INFO
[/td]NAME: Jesse Martha Sarc | ALIAS: The Hurt |
SPECIES: Human | GENDER: Male |
HEIGHT: 6"1' | WEIGHT: 187 Lbs |
BUILD: Athletic | SKINTONE: Tan |
HAIR COLOR:Dark Brown | EYE COLOR: Blue |
DISTINGUISHING MARKS Burned Hands | |
FORCE SENSITIVE No | |
RESIDENCE The Wastes |
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GODDESS HELP THE SINNER...HE LIVED Blood doesn't clean out of the sand...you can sift it, cover it up. It's still there burning under the endless sun, baking into the earth. Forever. I was just having a few drinks, a quick lay, resting my eyes. Just for a moment, an instant. Or so it seemed. Awaking to the smell of meat, to feel hunger, and then so quickly to lose your appetite. I couldn't close their eyes, the bodies I mean, I...I'm getting ahead of myself...you see you...you see this badge, you think because it's shiny and clean that I'm just like it, but you're wrong you're wrong you couldn't be more wrong. I'm not a good person. I was the sheriff of Dry...the name doesn't matter No one lives there anymore. I made sure of that I suppose |
WHO I WAS The past is a pass. My father said that, now I understand why. Now I carry it with me like so much else and move on ever forward. I was a different man before, not a care in the world, careless, the verbatim definition I spose. Took over for my father when he retired with my ma, moved on to greener pastures. I had a gun, a badge, a wink and a smile. I was real popular with the ladies, husbands or naught. Let's just say I settled a lot of domestic disputes...not outta duty but rather out of being personally in the middle of the whole literal affair. Almost seems funny. Almost You gotta have dry humor out here I spose, or wet your whistle. The drink was my constant companion, my friend beyond all friends. Like so many friends I had it led me into trouble and sometimes out, not always but when you're the law the law don't apply to you so good. Still it was that one night, the night I can barely remember. Yet I will never forget it. I poured my drink into the sand that morning among the smoke and death. It will never come to my lips again, that firewater...I wont be burned again. |
DAMN SAND I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Not like here. Here everything is soft and smooth. Here happens to be a saloon with a finest array of women the waste can gather. Here is where the barkeep is generous and the spirits are both high and flowing. Whiskey, beer, shots, and shots, and shots again a regular gun battle of em. All around me is warm and happy and burning and dead and grabbing me dragging me ripping me tearing me. Sweat...precious water drips from me as I look to the lazily rising sun. Nightmares in dreams clothing, that's all the waste provides. Mirages of paradise unreal yet taunting you always. There is no good land here, upon this whole world there is nothing but sand and dirt and the type of folks who can rough it for a few unsubstantial years till they die rot and become sand and dirt. Let me tell ya, this is me being optimistic. Sidearm by my side...my mare Sandy...they keep me company, but they can't keep me safe. The sun falling is my premonition, sleep is my court, and the dreams that keep coming they...they are my purgatory. Purgatory. That's a word my pa taught me, out of his old fancy book. Means burning...like with metals. You gotta burn off all the rough, the salt, the dirt, then you get the pureness. I'm burning...all of me, not just my damned hands. By the end there may be nothing left. |
THE THINGS I CARRY | |
Mary Anne | DESCRIPTION Simple slugshooter. My pa gave it to me, his pa gave it to him. I keep it clean. I figure something on my person should be at least half respectable. We all named the gun after our girls, a bit of a tradition. Stupid. I don't have one current so I named it Mary Anne, seemed like a pretty name. Maybe she's out there somewhere, a nice girl who can wipe some of the dirt off me. Make me a proper man. That'll be the day. |
DESCRIPTION Nah, the blade ain't rusty. I named it after a friend, or the closest thing to a friend I got...had. He always cut to the point, quick like that. Always headin somewhere, doin somethin. This blade does me a lotta good out here. I sleep with it by my side, sometimes I roll on it, wake up with a nasty cut I ain't had before. Those are the best nights, my nightmares are shorter. Handles made out of wood. Guess there used to be trees here. Used to be a lot of good things here. | 
Rusty |
Sandy | 
A flask... |
DESCRIPTION Sandy. I hear some worlds got white sand. They call em beaches and they're smack dab next to the finest bluest water. That sounds nice, real nice. Sandy reminds me of that. Shes a fine girl, always getting me out of trouble and never leading me astray. Often times I let her pick our eventual destination, it gets mighty predictable after awhile though, shes real fond of eatin buttercups so anything yella she runs straight for. A good mare. Too good for me but I ride her all the same. | DESCRIPTION A flask...a flask...a damned...damned flask. I can shake it. I can hear the swish of the liquor held within. I can't drink it. Won't drink it. If I wander into the driest most desolate land in the waste I'd rather die with a tongue dry and cracked then let that burning enter my body one more time. Not again. Never again. Goddess please never again. |
ROLEPLAYS
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