Post by Clayton Booth on Jun 17, 2013 23:56:43 GMT -7
CLAYTON BOOTH
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◊ FULL NAME: Clayton Jedediah Booth
◊ CODENAME:"Old-timer" by most of his contacts in human-controlled zones.
◊ GENDER: Male.
◊ RACE: Human.
◊ AGE: 49.
◊ APPEARANCE: Clayton's appearance is that of someone who thinks that appearances are pointless. His hair is matted, scraggly, and the brown color may be as much from dirt as pigment. His beard is as straggly as the rest of his visage, giving him the look of some predatory beast. Sunken slate-grey eyes frame a long nose, worry lines radiating outwards from them like a child's interpretation of sunrays. Instead of sunlight, they emit a haunt of hopelessness and clinging desperation. His mouth, a reddish-peach gash in his face is perpetually chapped and because of a bad habit of chewing, oftentimes bleeding.
Standing at 6'4" and weighing around 200 lbs, Clayton is a fairly large man, his back crooked from years of walking around bent at the waist. In every way, Clayton has the look of a man who has survived the end of the world by sheer will and determination. His body is at once both terrifyingly strong yet beaten into a shape no healthy human should have. Clayton's hands are that of gnarled wood, his knuckles broken more often than he could recall. His right hand is missing his pinky finger, gone from a struggle with a wild dog. Every joint screams in protest when moved, but they continue on with a strength that Clayton doesn't realize he has.
◊ ATTIRE: Clayton's clothing changes depending on where he is scavenging or what he is smuggling. The only constant is that it is faded and torn, well-fitting clothes only serve to make someone a target out in the wastes. Usually, Clayton wears something with a hood to keep his eyes out of the rain, if it does rain.
◊ FACE CLAIM: Viggo Mortensen
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◊ AFFILIATION: Independent
◊ PROFESSION: Scavenger/Smuggler/Bandit/Ne'er-do-well.
◊ PERSONALITY: Clayton is a man whose world ended before the world actually ended. He is a cynical, cold man running on autopilot, attempting to survive only because of base human instinct. Every decision is based off of a need to survive another hour, Clayton has long since lost the concept of saving for far in the future. Planning that far ahead will get you killed in the "outside". Over time, Clayton has begun to become less bound by morality and more driven by doing whatever is necessary to survive. What he wouldn't do in the past is almost a daily occurrence for him.
Clayton is distrustful, if someone turns their back to him, he might take the opportunity and plunge a knife between vertebrae on the off chance that they might do the same to him. He has been shaped by the world in which he was thrown into, molded to create an almost-perfect lone survivor.
Almost.
Deep in the darkest depths of his psyche, so far buried underneath layers of betrayal and hurt lies a deep need to care, protect, and nurture. Finding someone to bring out those traits is the trick, however. Clayton is just as likely to shoot that individual for being stupid enough to trust him as to bond with them.
When on a job, Clayton works as if a man possessed. No amount of opposition or hardship stops him, or even slows him down. Clayton has a callous disregard for his own life, one that oddly enough has saved him from harm more times than not. No matter the odds, he will always do what it takes for him to survive.
In a world where simply enduring is a 16-hour-a-day job, Clayton seldom has time for leisure activities or simply something enjoyable. He refuses to spend time in the rebuilding cities, his long long years in the waste changing him into something completely different. Clayton doesn't crave companionship, and groups of more than two set him on edge until out of earshot.
Simply put, Clayton Booth is a human who has lost his humanity, doesn't know where to start looking for it, and if he does manage to find it, it may very well end up killing him.
◊ ABILITIES: None whatsoever.
◊ SKILLS: Clayton is the ultimate survivor. His skills at hunting, foraging, stalking, breaking-and-entering, and being places he shouldn't have been honed to near-perfection by his 20-odd years in no-man's-land. He is only a passable marksman, both due to the scarcity of firearms in no-man's-land and the fact that there are some things attracted to loud noises that a human just isn't equipped to deal with.
Clayton has an effectiveness that borders on terrifying with rather simple melee weapons. From pipes and boards to hatchets and spades, he has used them all, and modified them all to be just a bit more effective. A few nails in a board here, a few notches in an axe to better catch flesh.
Clayton can find water where most others would die of thirst and has the stomach to eat that which the starving would not. Add on to that his "near-sixth-sense" (he has extremely good hearing, necessary in a place where nighttime is often starlight only), and you have a potent combination.
◊ WEAKNESSES: Other people. Clayton feels out-of-place, and the longer he stays in the company of another human being, the itchier his hands get, and the more attractive his weapons start to look. In his mind, everyone is out for themselves. He hasn't quite realized that parts of the world are slowly regaining their former temperament. Running water, electricity, and privacy are all things lost to him, concepts that he has pushed to a corner of his head and forgotten about.
Clayton is a loner first and foremost, putting him at an inherent disadvantage in many situations where others would relay on their friends/family, Clayton has no support net.
◊ EQUIPMENT: Clayton carries around a veritable pantry/armory at almost all times.
-One revolver
-Machete
-Various shivs and knives
-Backpack with food and other sundries.
-Bow and a few makeshift arrows
-Various medical supplies (bandages, disinfectant, what-have-you)
◊ RESIDENCE: Clayton does not have a place he calls "home". His residence is whatever abandoned location he deems safe for the night.
◊ FAMILY:Rose Booth (wife): Deceased
Molly Booth (Daughter): Deceased
Matthew Booth (Brother): Alive and well in Denver.
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◊ HISTORY: Early Life
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Clayton was born to a good ol' Southern family in central Texas, and lived a charmed, if rather poor, life. Days of his childhood were a blur of exploring the countryside, camping, and begrudgingly going to school. His life was rather uneventful up until his 17th birthday. Clayton received all of the normal presents for a kid reaching adulthood with one extra. His girlfriend, Rose, was pregnant. Clayton was brought up with a strong sense of southern male honor and responsibility, he stayed with Rose and they were married not soon after, to the joy of both families.
Years passed. Rose and Clayton never truly fell in love, but over time they grew fond of one another, the connection between them being their daughter, Molly. She was an only child, the very apple of her father's eye, they were inseparable. Everyone in the small Texas town would tell visitors: "That man spoils his daughter rotten". But it would be with a smile, everyone in the area knew exactly how close the two of them were. Because of this, Rose and Clayton felt the beginnings of what they assumed was marital bliss. They had good jobs, a daughter who they adored, and a wonderful neighborhood.
That is, until the very world decided to tear itself apart. Clayton heard the news first, a massive army tearing the eastern seaboard to shreds. Everyone assumed it was Al Qaeda or the North Koreans, and Clayton and Rose felt no differently. Together as a family, the three watched the chaos unfold on their single television. Some "expert" came on the set, explaining that creatures from fairy-tale, stories, and legends were real, and that they were invading the world.
With over a third of the United States completely dark, all hope had seemed lost.
Not soon after, the Ogdru Jahad appeared in the sky, its sinuous form stretching towards the earth like so many greedy fingers. Clayton and his family ran to their cellar, locking the doors and hunkering down for the apocalypse. The forces unleashed by the resulting fight caused massive earthquakes, firestorms, and devastation. Clayton does not remember much about the events right during the attack.
A shattered support beam, a gout of blood, the words "Oh god please not now", a widower was made and the world, for everyone, ended.
Clayton was left with small stores of dry food, a halfway destroyed house, no friends, and a 10 year old daughter to take care of. Over the next four years, he taught her to shoot, to hunt, to scrounge, to sneak, and to survive in this hostile new world. Running water was a thing of the past, electricity simply a tale told to those of wondrous machines that were barely conceivable for those who lived before the end of the world. The duo were no moral examples to those who lived in the wastes, their actions almost as dirty as their clothing. By the age of 15, Molly had forgotten completely their idyllic life. No longer were they strangers in a strange land. Together, Clayton and his daughter made it a space worth living, albeit at the expense of quite a few others.
It was a muggy summer day, the sound of cicadas drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat, and the sound of his ragged breathing.
Breathe in. Thump-thump. Breathe out. Thump-thump.
Clayton and Molly had been tracking a small group of fellow survivors for days across the fields of what used to be ranch-land. The survivors had taken refuge inside of a nearby barn that escaped most of the destruction and looting after it. Survivors they were, a small group they were, but unarmed and unwarned, they were not.
Clayton's escapades were starting to become well-known to the scavengers of the wastes, and many attempted to set traps for him. He had avoided them all. Clayton, that is.
Molly was not so lucky.
A single shot, a bullet that pierced the girl's side ended two lives that day. She fell seemingly in slow motion, her hair spread out behind her head like a halo tarnished by misdeed. This was no movie, there was no scream of "No!" from Clayton followed by a righteous massacre of the wrongdoers. The world, as it had been for 5 years prior, was eerily silent. The quiet was only broken by muffled sobs, and for Clayton, his ever-present heartbeat.
Thump-thump. "Baby-girl". Thump-thump. "Not now, don't you do this to me." Thump-thump-thump. "No. No no no no no."
And then footfalls. He carried his daughter long after the life had left her body. Carried her until his feet bled and then crawled until he could move no longer.
The world for everyone else ended 5 years prior. The world for Clayton ended at that moment.
Ten years after, he stood at a makeshift cairn, his face aged beyond his years from his travels and tribulations. At her grave was the only place Clayton allowed himself to show emotion. Once in a blue moon, he returns to the cairn and sobs himself quiet, rages and raves at the world. And then, truly alone, he makes his way back into the only world he has known, his former life all but wiped from his head. He loots, robs, kills, and steals. Clayton is a dead man.
His body just hasn't quite figured it out yet.
