Name: Devin Stobbart
Nickname/Alias: Dev
DOB: 21 Nov, 1985
Gender: ♂
Human Type: ZI
Job: Sergeant
Where Does Your Character Fit In The KILL Database?: Registered with a ZI card

Human Appearance:

(God help you all. :P)
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Height: 6'2"
Build/Weight: 165 lbs, skinny, and not terribly muscular. He tries, it just doesn't stick
Style/Markings: His fingers are faintly stained yellow from the cigarettes he smokes, and his hair is very unkempt from when it keeps falling in his face. And he's, y'know, tall. Very tall.
Face Claim: Alex James

Strengths:
+ Very relaxed. Nothing ruffles him
+ Doesn't look half bad. The world was made for good looking people
+ Musically talented on stringed instruments; plays guitar in a band. Hello, ladies
+ Charm and charisma (he thinks)
+ The straight and serious (but not too serious) to his brother's goofy antics
+ Deeply loyal
+ Good listener

Weaknesses:
- Doesn't always think with his upstairs brain
- Mildly dyslexic
- Badly allergic to nuts
- Stubborn to the point where he won't back down from a fight he knows he'll lose
- Trying to quit smoking, and failing a lot Fell off the wagon and hopes no one will notice.
- Human struggling in a zoanthrope-centred career
- Pianos confuse and scare him

Personality: Devin is what you get when you sit a child down in front of the telly, give him a James Bond film to watch, and tell him that that's how real people act in real life. He tries to live up to that ideal, and falls just shy of 'failure'. Not that's a bad thing. He's quirky, fun, a bit goofy, and quite a decent human being; he's just not nearly as suave as he thinks he is. It's fun to watch him try, like watching a baby horse try to walk hours after it's born. He's too gangly to be devastatingly handsome, and too much like his brother to seduce anyone. He tries, and really, he only succeeds because women tend to want to take him home for a cuddle. Dev's not picky, he likes a cuddle.

Where most people seem hard pressed to find things they like about his brother, Dev doesn't see any of that. He has an almost infinite patience for Dale and uses him as an outlet for when his own life gets a bit too deep for him. The two together are practically standup routine if either of them had that sort of ambition. Luckily, Dev enjoys and takes solace in playing guitar in a band instead of seeking comedy fame. It's way easier. And birds dig guitarists.

Likes:
+ His bro Dale
+ The band: the people in it, the activity, the fame, all of it
+ Smokes and smoking
+ Gigs
+ His job, it's like being on the set of NCIS or something
+ Ladies
+ Cliffs of Dover
+ Cheese
+ Being confused for his twin. Makes for good times at parties
Dislikes:
- Life being too serious
- Nicotine gum. Ugh
- Hates quitting cold turkey more
- Hecklers. They've got no bollocks
- People giving Dale or his mates shit
- When his efforts to attract the opposite sex go unnoticed
- When his efforts to attract the opposite sex are reciprocated by the same sex
- Pianos. F*** pianos.

History: See Dale for reference. NPC approved by Richard.

Name: Yvonne Susan Archambault
Nickname/Alias: Eve. God that’s easier.
DOB: A lady never reveals her age.
Gender: Yes, I am a fucking lady.
Human Type: ZI
Job: Communications Officer

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Dark blue, somewhat washed out.
Hair Colour: Brown, but no so you'd know. It's usually dyed blonde.
Height: 5’5”
Build: Healthy, not super fit, but not lazy either. A decent 135.
Distinguishing Features: A keen, sharp look that'll go through a person. And a penchent for cursing.
Playby: Jennifer Saunders

Strengths:
+ Literally could not give a fuck. She lost them all in a game of poker once.
+ Excellent at taking charge when she wants, which is often enough that she’s honed it to a skill
+ Surprisingly tolerant of everyone’s differences, zoans included
+ Unafraid of getting messy and dirty when the situation calls for it.
+ Deceptively wise. Foul mouthed, and unable to sugar coat, but she does offer good advice.

Weaknesses:
- She is a smoker, and she does cough a lot more than she should. She ignores it.
- Tends to tune people out when she doesn’t care what they’re talking about.
- Brutally frank, to others’ detriment.
- Doesn’t always take criticism well. She’s lost more jobs this way.
- About as mature as an eight-year-old just discovering their genitals.

Personality: Please write at least one descriptive paragraph.

History: Please write at least three descriptive paragraphs.

Your Name:
Age:
How did you find us?: Your answer will help us with advertising.

Name: Antonio Jesús Gallardo Manzo
Nickname/Alias: Jesús (hey-ZOOS) is best, or "Jeezus" if you really want. Besties can call him Toño (TONE-yo).
DOB: 31; 22 April, 1981
Gender: Male
Human Type: Civilian
Job: Orderly at Rockybrook
Does Your Character Have A KID Card? Yes

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Brown, shaggy
Height: 5'7"
Build: Small, but powerful. Have to be to deal with unruly patients, eh?
Distinguishing Features: His facial hair has attained the status of personal portable topiary. Sometimes he's got a soul patch, sometimes it's stubble. Sometimes it's a full on pirate ensemble. He's got a few tattoos, mostly in places where they're easy to cover up with his uniform, save the back of his neck. Perhaps the most distinctive feature of all will be his highly expressive (and well groomed) eyebrows.
Face Claim: Fernando Alonso

Strengths:
+ Smoooooth talker. He knows how to sell himself to interested parties with a delightful Latin accent.
+ Deceptively patient, is excellent with the people he works with, and likes spending time with them.
+ Very sure, very steady hands, he's actually ambidextrous.
+ He's remarkably even tempered, and will combat any bad feelings with cockiness and a sense of humour.
+ Jesus saves, and this Jesús saves mental patients. It's a real hit with the ladies.
Weaknesses:
- A real manwhore, he loves the ladies and is not afraid to try his luck on any that cross his path.
- Not always a fan of condoms. This is a bad thing and he knows it.
- Some of his patients are ridiculously strong, stronger than he is, though he has no idea why. Maybe something to do with all the animal hair they get covered in some nights...?
- He's only so tall and has had patients play games of 'keep away'.
- He's always taking on more hours and consequentially spends most of his time super tired.
- Sometimes looks like Frank Zappa, and refuses to apologise for it.

Personality: Jesús means well, honest, he just isn't always guided by the same principles of his namesake. For the most part, he actually does all right. He is very good at separating work from play, and knows how to be professional at his job. That doesn't mean it's all doom and gloom - he enjoys working with the patients and interacting with them. He gets to play with them quite a lot and he loves his job. Well. Maybe not the cleaning parts so much. But working in close quarters with the patients, absolutely. Even the real buggy ones that are massively strong for some reason. He doesn't always work with them, but sometimes they're understaffed and he has to help the best he can. Not that Jesús minds; he'll be a little envious, but not terribly bothered by it. The days are long because he's a bit poor of late, but aside from that, he quite enjoys his time at Rockybrook.

When he gets out at the end of the day, that's when he can lose the super professional attitude, go out to a club and find some company. It's actually a bit like watching a young teenager at work. Or slightly older - most teenagers get scared into a proper background in sex ed these days. He's never actually managed to settle down yet because he's just got so much love to give, but so what, you know? Jesús is young, he's attractive (in spirit and body, he thinks), and there's life in him yet. So he finds himself a señorita and spends a wild night with her. Usually Jesús remembers a condom, and usually, one of them wakes up alone. But Jesús isn't always careful, and he sometimes gets token reminders that he ought to live a little more cautiously. He knows he should, but it doesn't always register when he feels like he'll live forever. He's still got buckets of the invulnerability of youth and hasn't yet managed to realise that he can well die. Jesús can't die, he's just too pretty.

History: Un día glorioso (in the middle of abril), un bebé was born to Señor Sergio Gallardo Martín y Señora Eva Manzo Ruiz. It was a good day, warm, but not too warm, that saw their son born. A son named after a late beloved brother, and a devout love for their Lord and Saviour. Antonio Jesús, Toño to his familia, grew up a middle child of four in the city de Sevilla. They lived on the river, where the boats would go by regularly, and you could hear the people walking up and down the banks singing and laughing all night. There was never a dull moment en Sevilla, y Toño loved being right in the middle of it. He liked the fact that there was a wealth of people and you might never run into the same person twice. Or get into the same trouble twice.

There was un restaurante that he and his sister Felicia used to visit every day. They would sneak in and pretend to be waiters and make off with high priced leftovers that maybe had too much pepper on it or some other silly complaint. He and Felicia would always try to escape before they were found out, pero that would not always work. They would get caught sometimes, and they would get taken by la policía and be made to wash dishes for the next week or so. Their padres would be disappointed in them, and forbid them from going out, but they would find ways around that. Toño y Felicia were troublemakers of the highest order, and always tried to corrupt their younger, more innocent hermanos. Toño isn't entirely sure when he began to grow out of that sort of behaviour, except maybe when Felicia met her first boyfriend and started hanging out with him more than Toño. He was a little sad at first, having lost his partner in crime, but he was nothing if not good at bouncing back.

Toño, formerly a pain in the arse, rebounded on his own. La policía still didn't trust him, and neither did a few of the more respectable places in the city, pero Toño worked hard to change his image. At age 14, he began to take up small jobs around the family shop; his father was un carpintero, making beautiful art out of wood. Toño was allowed to man the the front counter and sell these sculptures for la familia while Felicia was out sucking face or something. El amor es gross. He spent the better part of his teenage years doing school work, and work around the shop. The strange thing was that he began to find that he actually really liked to be around people. It wasn't something he noticed straight away, until his uncle recognised what a rapport he had with los clientes.

You have a way with customers, he told Toño.

Do I? he asked.

Sí,

He began to work up front more while he began to realise his gift for dealing with people. His uncle took him aside plenty of times, wondering whether or not he had a girlfriend yet, whether he would ever have a girlfriend. Would he like one? Personalmente, Toño was pretty sure that las niñas were trouble if Felicia were anything to go by, and he was obviously much better off without them. His uncle persisted, telling him all about how you can't be a real man without knowing a woman, and how he didn't know what he was missing. Toño's father disagreed, saying that he had every right to do whatever he felt was right and damn the consequences. It wasn't Toño's father who took him to his first topless bar with a fake ID.

While Toño's face spent most of the evening un rojo brillante, he did have to admit that he liked the experience. There were women everywhere! And they were muy bonitas. Claro que si, his uncle received a punch in the face from Toño's dismaying father for the stunt when he found out. Nevertheless, having been kicked in the right direction, Toño did begin to notice las niñas. It was as though Toño had been reassured that no, liking people in that way was not bad and neither was it the end of the world. Just look at his mama and papa, eh? So long as he didn't let it affect his work at la tienda, it would be fine. Toño swore it would not. It was simply another reason to work on his people skills. If anything, it was his schooling that stole him away from the business. He had a fondness for las ciencias, y la psicología en particular. If he liked, he could go on to college y la universidad and earn good money. It appealed to him, much more than running a cash register did. Así, Toño went for it, with the blessing de su familia.

He did much searching and decided finally on La Universidad de Sheffield, en Inglaterra. Why? Because he wished to see the world, and see the ladies within it. He might go travelling some day. It sounded like a good idea. Little did Toño know, but his uncle was going to get another thrashing that evening when he explained his logic.

When he arrived a Sheffield, he quickly ingratiated himself within a core group of friends who made fun of him for being Spanish, and he retaliated with many jokes about England. It was a mutual teasing, especially when they found out his name was Jesús. They began to refer to him more as Jeezus than Toño, especially when introducing him to nice women. Of course, Toño began to cotton onto the fact these mujeres seemed to enjoy his name, and the fact that he was named for un salvador. They especially liked his acento. Even Toño began to introduce himself as Jesús after a while, and it became much more difficult to focus on his studies. He would eventually graduate, though not nearly as well as he'd meant to. He got a job in Sheffield as an assistant to a psychologist, which was fine, and a flat in Rotherham, because he wanted to live somewhere different. No mixing work and pleasure, por favor. Jesús kept both lives separate, though he didn't enjoy his job so much. It was too much writing and reports and not enough working with people.

Perhaps he took a little too much advantage of the nearby clubs, and enjoyed las mujeres a little too much. He would tell them he was going to be a famous psicólogo and he could tell anything about them just by talking to them durante 5 minutos. It was an effective strategy, but for one problem.

Nine months later, one of the girls came back with un bebé.

Su hija was named Leah Sabina Watson. Her mother did not ask to be married, nor require him to cut off sus testículos. She did request child support though. Jesús could hardly say no, but he was definitely going to need a better job. And he requested the right to see Leah on weekends. It was strange and awkward, but they tried to get along for the sake of the girl. Jesús didn't dislike his girl's mother, he just didn't love her either. The feeling may or may not have been mutual - Jesús did not ask. He found a job up in Killamarsh that was out of his way, but paid a bit better. The only catch was that it was in a mental hospital. As far as Jesús was concerned, it was perfecto, so long as they allowed him to pick up extra shifts when he needed to. He tried to behave himself the first several months, but you can't keep a good man down. Or his little friend.

Once Jesús became accustomed to Killamarsh (and found all the best clubs to hang out), he was at it again. He would often remember condoms this time, but again, not always, and many a time has he caught The Clap or, ugh las ladillas. It's annoying, disgusting, and very itchy. Damn his uncle. Jesús is clean at the moment, though he's still wary having only just gotten clean fairly recently. He loves his daughter, and still sees her on regular weekends and never misses a birthday. She's turning seven next year. Jesús is looking forward to it very much indeed.

Name: Adam Lazarus Spier
Nickname/Alias: Adam, Laz One
DOB: 45; 29 May, 1967.
Gender: Male
Human Type: Civvie
Job: Bartender at the Winchester
Does Your Character Have A KID Card? Yes

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Hazel, hidden behind wire frame glasses
Hair Colour: Dark brown, threaded with grey.
Height: 5'10"
Build: Decidedly unremarkable. He's unfit, and probably wouldn't be able to run a 5k, but he's not particularly fat either. He's not fussed and it's not as though he's trying to be a Casanova anymore. The body suits him just fine.
Distinguishing Features: Missing the top joint on his left index finger from a knife accident and has all kinds of marks and scars on his arms from his job in the culinary arts.
Face Claim: Sim Oakley

Strengths:
+ Super patient and relaxed when dealing with customers, even if they're being stupid or rowdy and drunk
+ Well organized and thus, very well suited to keeping the bar stocked and plied with booze (or keeping a kitchen running for that matter)
+ It'd suck if he couldn't cook, wouldn't it?
+ Highly protective of his younger brother and his secret affliction.
+ Consequentially, very non judgmental. It's not his business, and he knows it. Makes him a very good bartender and often gets good tips because of it.
Weaknesses:
- Too laid back and doesn't always catch a bar fight in time. Whoops.
- Not always a match for the zoan patrons if they get fighty, and would rather stay human if it's all the same
- Has a soft spot the size of a whale for his brother.
- Doesn't like retirement, and it doesn't always suit him. He picks up a ridiculous amount of hours at the pub to compensate for the abundance of time he has for himself.
- Pretty awful at lying in any situation. If ZI come knocking about his brother, they're as good as recruited, and Adam doesn't like the idea of that at all.

Personality: Adam was the older brother and it shows in how he deals with the world. He's patient and low key, able to let things roll off his back instead of sticking around and bothering him. It's just not that important. He's efficient, doing what needs done in a quick and level fashion, and he looks after people he likes. Whether they're actually related, or just good friends, it doesn't matter. Adam is just a good bloke, reliable, and a dab hand in the kitchen. He's very steady behind the bar, listening to anyone who might need a person to listen to their woes, and keeping quiet when a person just needs a quick drink. He's rather intuitive in that respect.

He doesn't even really have a limit. A person can push him all they like and he'll just blink and shrug back. Adam doesn't get into too many fights; even when he ejects a person, they tend to go without too much of a fuss. Ian would argue that people would be lost without Adam behind the bar. Adam just shrugs. He knows his boss is a zoan, even knows that he's a coyote zoan. He definitely knows his brother is a zoan. He's been trying to help keep it under wraps with his baby brother the best he can and so far so good. Any shifts are handled in the privacy of their own home. It's been working so far. See how long that lasts.

History: Please write at least three descriptive paragraphs.

Name: Samuel Laszlo Spier
Nickname/Alias: Sam, Laz Two
DOB: 41; 29 May, 1971
Gender: Male
Job: Mechanic at Carter's
Does Your Character Have A KID Card? Yes, but it's outdated

Animal: Shire Horse, black
Power Level: Non
Mindset: Subminant
Rank: Rogue

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Dark brown, but the front appears to have gone grey before the rest of it, leading towards a mad scientist kind of look.
Height: 6'7" (IDEK)
Build: If shrunk down to average size, he'd be of medium build , neither skinny not fat. A goodly balance. Now just make that taller.
Distinguishing Features: His height. He also has perpetually scratched up knuckles from the cars he works on, and sometimes spots of grease on his clothes if he's just left work. He's fastidious in his upkeep, unlike his boss, and keeps his hands and face clean as possible.
Face Claim: Edd China.

Animal Appearance:

Size: 18 hands tall. He was a tall lad to start, and he's not likely to shrink in big damn horse form.
Build: 1250 kg
Colour: Mostly black with a white blaze down his face and white socks.

Alpha Appearance: N/A
Size: N/A
Build: N/A
Colour: N/A

Strengths:
+ The playful and silly to his brother's quiet and reserved, he loves playing and being ridiculous.
+ Very imaginative and loves to try new things on his own beat up little original Mini
+ Mechanically minded, he's very good at finding what's wrong, fixing it, and sometimes even improving it. The family cars rarely go wrong once Sam's had a look at them.
+ He heals a lot quicker now, so he doesn't always have to worry about tetanus or other infections when he skins his knuckles.
+ Very easy to trust and makes friends easily.
Weaknesses:
-He is a zoanthrope and not a very good one. He still starts to shift when he gets excited. Very bad in close spaces
- Doesn't know how to act around other zoanthropes, and he's afraid he'll get found out and lose his job
- Has a hard time blending in, which makes it that much harder
- Would do anything for his older brother, and put himself second
- Big hands. Hard to get into tight spaces on older cars.

Personality: Where his brother is reserved, Sam bubbles with energy and excitement. He's always pleased to get a new project to work on, or meet new people. It makes him stick out like a sore thumb at the Winchester, but so what. You only live once, and Sam's doing his best to make this count. Unfortunately, this cheerful approach to life has only gotten worse since he's become infected, much to the chagrin of his brother. He is a bundle of hyperactivity now, and finds it hard to sit still. It was always a problem for the Spiers, but it's worse for Sam. Still, the work at the mechanics' helps, as does going down to the Winchester afterwards. It doesn't always win him friends from the lightly surly crowd, but he doesn't mind.

In fact, the only (arguable) problem in his life would be the fact that he still doesn't entirely know what being a zoanthrope entails and how to deal with it. He can usually stop himself if he starts shifting by accident, but he still starts the shift. Some other people seem to know he's a zoan if they get close enough and sniff him, which is weird, and they ask him difficult questions he can't answer sometimes. He's been evading so far and it's just about been enough, but one of these days it might not be. He has to just keep his head down as long as possible before this shadowy ZI gets him. He doesn't like the sound of them at all.

History: Please write at least three descriptive paragraphs.

This one's for Night:

Name: Matthew Arthur Hunter
Nickname/Alias: Formerly Matthew or Arthur Williams, but tends to just go by Arthur on the job now. Arthur Hunter
DOB: 23 January, 1980
Gender: Male
Human Type: Civvie
Job: Postman, non ZI
Does Your Character Have A KID Card? Yes.

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Brown
Height: 5'11"
Build: Medium build, but compact, strong with training.
Distinguishing Features: He does his best to avoid that what with the job and all. No one wants a postman looking like a scruff.
Face Claim: King Renly Gethin Anthony

Strengths:
+ Orienteering and tracking, something he'd picked up back home, though he doesn't use it much these days
+ Super determined to do his best and live in the moment
+ The picture of politeness, always remembers his pleases and thank you's and Mr's and Ms's.
+ Reading between the lines and putting two and two together
+ Good at directions and has an excellent mental map of Killamarsh.
+ Always smiling. If he's not, there is a big problem
Weaknesses:
- If given a choice, he'd prefer to be a recluse and avoid new people.
- Maybe too polite. And not in a "oh, I'm a pushover" sort of way, but in the "Goodness, why is he smiling like that, maybe he should blink once in awhile?" sort of way. Unnerving at times.
- Still a lazy old mess who would rather sleep in on weekends and bugger the post.
- Severe ADHD which affects his spacial awareness, his concentration, his attention, his impulsiveness, all of it.
- Though he tries to learn from his mistakes, it's not always good enough.
- Clumsy. It's like he's got 5 different elbows and at least 16 knees.
- Is rather sensitive, and if someone criticises him harshly - well deserved or no - Arthur does become very frustrated, upset and sad.

Personality: The essence of Arthur's personality is living in the moment. He can't find it in himself to dwell too long on the past, no matter how great it might have been, nor to worry too much about the future. Usually, anyway, there is an exception. For the most part though, Arthur's got a knack for going about with a positive outlook and generally smiling at anyone who looks at him twice. He might even come off as a bit simple or creepy, but it honestly is meant in the best intent possible. He loves his job because of it, he's just outside all the time and meeting loads of new people, it's great.

Then there are the days it's not so great. When he doesn't really want to just get the mail done and would rather go into the record shop and look for new albums. When his concentration is really shit and he simply can't remember if he delivered to a house or not and he's always running back and forth delivering forgotten mail. It's not as bad as it used to be because the mail's all bundled together in rubber bands and it's all sorted in order before he leaves, and he's usually taken his medication, but there's always a chance he'll get waylaid. Those aren't real good days for Arthur; he'd always been a lively child, but since he lost his bear, there simply was no large looming presence, no big, fuzzy muffler for his ADHD tendencies. He's always bumping into things now, often with a crash, and he's lucky if he leaves the office with all the mail he needs, but he can usually deal with it with profuse apologies. Even the people he services tend to understand so they don't say much any more. His manners and happy demeanour almost always make up for it.

It's the ones that don't understand, are new, maybe didn't get that important letter with a time stamp on it right on time that will chew him out, ask him what he thinks he's doing. Arthur will keep it inside, but he will feel like dying. He does not take harsh criticism well; even too much constructive criticism will make him depressed. In that instance, he will not be smiling, and unfortunately, he doesn't have the poker face to keep smiling through the pain. He will throw himself even harder into the work, usually with fewer accidents, until he feels better. He used to be in the Canadian Army, used to be with the zoan FAU. Can't have that kind of a reaction in those situations. The bear used to keep his impulsiveness in check and allowed him to pay attention and generally reduced the effects of his ADHD. When he lost it to the Cure, he had to quit. Quit and run.

He'd still be running if it weren't for his twin. So he changed his name and came crawling back, trading glasses for contacts, dying his hair a bit darker so he's not so recognisable. Came back with a different profession and everything. It's not easy, but Matt does okay. Arthur's okay.

History: Refer to Brianna's history, much of it's in tandem with that, until he lost his bear zoanthropy to a shot of the Cure and is not spending most of his days trying to cope with the loss.

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Age:
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Name: Marcus James Field
Nickname/Alias: Marc
DOB: 28 June, 1968
Gender: Male
Job: Shopkeep at a news stand

Animal: Spotted hyena
Power Level: Lesser Alpha
Mindset: Dominant
Rank: Rogue

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: A bright, piercing blue
Hair Colour: Light blonde in sunlight, a bit sandier in the dark. He keeps it cut short and out of his face, though he's stopped caring about the stubble
Height: 5'10"
Build: Physically imposing, despite his height, he's well toned and muscular. He'd make a good bodyguard, but there are some levels to which he will not stoop.
Distinguishing Features: It's not hard to spot Marc in a crowd. Between his impressive build, and his blonde hair, he doesn't have an anonymous face. That's okay, because when you get in close, it's the little things that stand out the most. The scars from before he was turned, generally covered up by smart clothes. The bleak look in his eyes. The fine tremor in his hands. Marc's okay because he says he is. That's all there is to it.
Playby: Daniel Craig

Animal Appearance:

Size: 5' long from head to tail, about 34" to the top of the shoulder
Build: Fairly strong and muscular echoing his own build.
Colour: A dusty brown with dark brown spots up and down his sides.

Alpha Appearance: N/A
Size:
Build:
Colour:

Strengths:
+ Childish belief that he’s “doing the right thing”
+ Work ethic, not afraid to put his needs on the back burner until the job comes to a satisfactory conclusion
+ He's got absolutely nothing to lose.
+ His new sense of smell which makes identifying zoans a lot easier.
+ His old charm. Mark never used to have issues making friends before he was infected.
Weaknesses:
- Incredibly hateful of zoans
- Believes in human superiority over zoans
- Fanatical, and more than a little at that
- An intense addiction to caffeine that can see his hands shake like crazy. He's really one pot away from a full blown heart attack
- His zoanthropy
- His brother

Personality: That is the face of a man who's had his world upended. Everything he knew as stable, secure and intrinsically him simply tossed aside and made null. He's been adrift at sea ever since.

Marc spent his time with ZI pushing himself to repent for his sins. The usual sort - pride, sin of flesh. All to quash out the fear of zoanthropy that plagued him since the beginning. A bone deep fear that eats at his insecurities like a potent acid. It cost him his twin brother, by giving him independence and casting Marc out from his position of protector. It cost him his pride when he almost contracted it from an evening with a snake lady in a notoriously seedy part of town and was caught trousers down in front of his station. It cost him love, when the girl he fancied turned into a freak of fuckin' nature. The thought of Ariel still makes his stomach flip flop, but it's not for him anymore. With every psychological injury, Marc threw himself deeper into his work, to cure the ill. Improve himself. Because if there was one thing that Marc knew, it was that zoans were evil, soulless monsters.

Then his number was finally up.

Needless to say, Marc's still not come to terms with the fact that he's a zoan. He doesn't want to come to terms with it, because now he's one of them, and that was never supposed to happen. He'd been very careful, living his saintly, painful life and still it crept in. And the instincts. The smell of raw meat gnaws at the pit of his stomach whether or not he ate five minutes ago. The cackling. He would very much like to be able to pretend that it's something distant, or didn't happen to him, but he can't. He hates himself for it, but it is very much a lesser of two evils moment. As much as he hates knowing that he's damned, he will not let himself be controlled by this sickness. He shifts on his terms, or not at all. The full moon, well...it's easier to pretend that it's happening to someone else then.

Marc does his best to ignore his circumstances these days, because he has no choice, but there is still a great deal of self loathing beneath the surface that can only be assuaged by taking revenge on zoans. It's ugly and hateful, but the way he sees it, he's doing everyone a favour, not just ZI. They won't have a murderer on their payroll now, but he doesn't see it as murder. It's more like...pest control.

History:

Name: Thomas John Asare
Nickname/Alias: Officer Asare, Thom
DOB: 26 August, 1972
Gender: Male
Human Type: ZI
Job: Authorised Firearms Officer, still a DCI at heart.

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Deep brown
Hair Colour: Black, cut close to his skull. Tends to sport stubble because he doesn't always think to shave, but is always with a distinct goatee.
Height: 6'3"
Build: Broad and powerful; if he doesn't want you going somewhere, you won't be.
Distinguishing Features: Thom's most striking feature are his eyes, which are the sort of piercing you get in someone that's trying to read your mind. Sometimes it's because he genuinely is, but often, it's simply because he's observing everything. Once you get past the eyes, he carries himself very easily with a surety of purpose and grace from his long role as a cop. He doesn't have any major scars, though he does have some tats on his arms to commemorate certain events in his life. Nothing big or ostentatious, or that he can't cover up with his work clothes.
Playby: Idris Elba

Strengths:
+ A deep sense of irony coupled with a very dark sense of humour
+ Not in the least bit squeamish about doing what needs done.
+ Good with a gun; comes with the job
+ Pragmatic in his approach to a case, will take any evidence, no matter how suspect or non concrete
+ Highly intuitive, knows how to read people
+ He is a good man. He just...forgets sometimes in his need to be a cop.
Weaknesses:
- His moral compass used to be a lot more finely tuned
- Rash. For better or worse, Thom is a rash man, but he gets results.
- Unafraid to push, to lean on a witness or suspect until they crack, regardless of whether or not the person can take it. His methods can be cruel.
- Very unforgiving. If he finds fault with a person (especially beasts) he doesn't change his mind back easily.
- Has a hard time disengaging his personal life from his job. Everyone's got that problem though, no?
- He's only human. Humans will always get the short end of the stick when fighting zoans, though this is not something he thinks of when asked to describe his "weaknesses".

Personality: Thom's an old soul. Just looking into his eyes, people can get the impression that he knows what he's doing. He knows his purpose and how to get what he needs. Thom's very no-nonsense when it comes to his job, which rules pretty much the majority of his life. He's tried dating before and it never went anywhere. Hard to when he keeps having to leave in the middle of yet another dinner. It's never personal and so much bad timing.

Consequentially, he does make efforts to distance himself from the job. Takes his days off and sees a movie, catches up on shows or books. All very low key and relaxed. Weirdly, Thom just doesn't feel quite so alive unless he's in the middle of an investigation. There's something about the deadline, getting it solved before the clock runs down. Thom likes that a lot, though he knows it's a pretty shit way to think about crime. Can't help what you like though. Unfortunately, it did affect his job in a fairly major way. Saw him off to a different department in a different city entirely, and while Thom's been behaving himself, he never entirely stops wanting to be the DCI again. Solve crimes. Bring down the monsters. In his mind, Thom is at his best when he's solving puzzles, and what are crimes but ugly big puzzles thought up by sick men and women? Of course, in this instance, the monsters are actual literal beasts from someone's nightmare, not that you're allowed to say that out loud. Discrimination for one, secret for another. Thom doesn't particularly care for the zoans, wouldn't go out of his way to campaign for their rights because he's got bigger things to worry about. In fact, he really couldn't be more ambivalent about them ( if they don't get any funny ideas about infecting him) so long as they keep inspiring more crime.

It's a bit extreme he admits, and is pretty sure he can just ignore the need. It's not in his nature though. Thom notices because he can't help but notice things, especially in other people, if they're lying or hiding something. It was his job and he can't turn it off. He's not even sure he wants to. He's not the easiest chap to get along with unless you're on his level, but that's okay, really, he's used to that. It's turning off that other side of him, the cop that's so difficult. He's getting better though (so to speak). Being at the range, he's able to turn off that other side and go into an almost zen-like, static trance where it's just himself and the target. That works okay for now. Someday it might not, but Thom doesn't like to think about that so much.

What really doesn't help is Roslyn. What started at the investigation of her father's death became some strange fixation that he can't say is entirely one sided. She takes the edge off, even when he knows it's like that one last hit of coke. Sure you can quit. Sure you can. Ros is dangerous, and if he could catch her, stick her with concrete evidence, he'd book her in a heartbeat he thinks. Probably. But she's crafty, knows exactly how to play the game and it drives him mad. In the good way. It plays to all his needs, so while he knows all the right answers, does he know if he can say them? Not so much.

History: Thom is pretty sure he's always been an adult. Was born at the age of 40 in 1972, in Wolverhampton. Thom was a serious baby, not fussing much, or giving his parents much trouble. Not like his older sister. She was always testing their authority while Thom sat quietly in the corner, playing with his toys. Not to say he didn't grow to appreciate them. As they grew into teenagers along with their younger brother, Thom may not have joined in his sister's shenanigans, but he was certainly amused by them. Thom always had an adult sense of humour.

He spent his formative years doing well in school, focussing on his grades and generally setting himself up for success later on in life. He thought maybe he'd be a doctor or a chemist, or something in the medical field because he liked his sciences. Maybe he'd try that up and coming science, Forensics, that was said to be the future of law enforcement. Whatever. It was a lot easier to dream big than it was to act on it.

Name: François Henri Jerome Depailler (de-pai-YAY)
Nickname/Alias: Franco. Easier to say.
DOB: 26; 3 May, 1986
Gender: Male
Human Type: Civilian
Job: Works at Sharky's Chippy, obvs

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Colour: Plain brown, shorn quite short
Height: 5'8"
Build: Deceptively powerful; Franco hasn't got obvious or hugely defined muscles, but he is compact and strong.
Distinguishing Features: He's got a very honest and open face which makes it hard for him to hide his feelings. He's also got an impressive set of eyebrows on him.
Face Claim: Michael Socha

Strengths:
+ Puppy dog eyes. They get stuff done.
+ Fluent in English, Dutch, and French, with a knack for picking up accents.
+ Very earnest, always talks straight and honestly
+ Very beautifully innocent and would give anyone and anything a shot
+ Hard worker, stays on task and pleasant to customers
+ Has a keen eye when it comes to movement, less so when things are still.

Weaknesses:
- Klepto. Cannot keep his hands off shiny things to save his life, but he's very honest about it if people ask. He'll pay up if he's caught, but it makes it hard to buy the groceries or stay out of community service
- Couldn't lie if his life depended on it
- Is not always cognitively with it. Think Karl Pilkington.
- Wee bit gullible, but he's learning and growing sharper
- Would bend over backwards for people he likes and so can be manipulated by the wrong people.

Personality: Franco is, for all his faults, gloriously unburdened by them. He simply is what he is: a cheerful chap who's always willing to stop for a chat and would stick his neck out for anybody he liked. He would hope they'd do the same, but if they don't, that's their business, not his. He doesn't really let the little things bother him, like people taking advantage of him, or people being cruel. Really, so long as you're not insulting people he likes, he shrugs it off. If you do bother a friend though, he is every bit as tenacious and willing to fight for them as any good mate. He is loyal and a good kid. He just has an unfortunate set of sticky fingers.

It's less "sticking it to the man" as it is "Ooh, I'll have that then." It's almost a magpie response that he can't control and has landed him in community service more times than he cares to admit. He's well familiar with the social worker and has scrubbed off more graffiti... Franco always admits it if he's caught, and sometimes even if he's not, but the judge has got to do what he's got to do. It's probably nothing personal, and Franco shrugs that off too. He has a hard time grocery shopping for that reason, or even just getting clothes or a couple gadgets or whatever. Things just wind up in his pocket.

For his honesty and sweet nature, Franco is also unburdened by troubles, or heavy thoughts. Things exist in his own little world that only he understands. He'll sometimes say something so outlandish that only he's on board with and it makes little sense. It doesn't matter to him if people take him seriously though, the thoughts give him pleasure regardless. He knows what he's on about and that's all that matters. It makes him endearing, which is all for the best. He's really a good guy, just a little strange.

History: Franco - François -didn't have a particularly troubling childhood. No more than usual anyway, when your neighbours hate your French speaking guts. François's parents were originally from the Namur area in southern Belgium, deciding to move to Ypres for Édouard's business prospects.The fact that they spoke fluent Dutch helped, but they still spoke French in the home out of sheer patriotic pride. François grew up speaking French first, and Dutch in school and on the streets when he played with his friends. They would rag on him for his name, for his accent, but he took it with his infinitely good nature and didn't complain a bit. Even when his parents chided him for forgetting, and slipping into the more casual Dutch at the dinner table and wondered why the kids called him "Franco".

Franco was never a good student, finding himself easily distracted by just about anything that wandered through his vision. If he was paying attention, he was often confused, unless it happened to be a language class. Grammar and languages were his one forte that probably saved him from being completely awful. Literature, maths, science, history, not at all, but by God he had a head for prepositions and the Dative case. He came to believe that if everything else failed him, at least he could become a translator for the government or something. Or do subtitles for telly. He wasn't terribly picky.

Your Name: Kaleigh
Age: Many
How did you find us?: Mothers, lock up your daughters; he's baaaaaaaaack...

Name: Peter Best Jr.
Nickname/Alias: Pete, “No, not that Pete Best.”
DOB: 63; 3 December, 1949
Gender: Male
Job: Owns and runs a bookshop called "The Skylark".
Does Your Character Have A KID Card? Definitely

Animal: Pacific Lamprey
Power Level: Greater Alpha.
Mindset: Polite dominant
Rank: Maybe leader

Human Appearance:

Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Colour: Formerly ginger, now mostly grey and gone.
Height: 5'9"
Build: Average, though getting a bit soft around the belly thanks to his advancing age.
Distinguishing Features: Tends to wear comfortable clothes: lots of cotton, nothing overly tight. Sometimes wears reading glasses. He's also got a confused accent, sometimes it's cultured and posh, other times it's fake Oirish, or Kentish. He's very proud of his adopted cultures.
Face Claim: Oz Clarke

Animal Appearance:

Size: 35" long
Build: Skinny, eel like.
Colour: Metallic bronze in bright light, but generally looks dark black and greens.

Alpha Appearance: Click me! The membranes between his fingers and body acts as fins for powerful swimming action. His head is not dragon like though, and looks pretty much like his human head, until he opens his mouth.
Size: 6'8"
Build: Sleek, and very strong, with a lot of power in his tail.
Colour: Very dark green and mottled brown, looks metallic in sunlight.

Strengths:
+ Good at remaining calm and assertive, even in tight spots
+ Fiercely protective of his group and the friends he’s made
+ Has a fair sense of justice and will punish accordingly
+ Very opinionated, and is tenacious in defending his thoughts
+ Can charm the hell out of nearly anyone, though less for romancing purposes and more to get them to cooperate with him
Weaknesses:
- Can be incredibly stubborn and catty when people don't agree with him or are perceived as rude
- Keeps his "fierceness" as an absolute last resort
- Does not really like to be alone with himself. Too many memories.
- Loves his wine a bit too much.
- Bit old to be still running a group...

Personality: People of a certain age tend to be lumped into two categories - the sweet, grandparents, and the angry, bitter senior citizens. Pete is the best of both worlds, able to offer a Werther's Original with one hand, and a beating with the other (when necessary). Not that he looks like he's capable of the latter; he's often seen with a warm smile on his face and his cheeks aflame with the remnants of last night's Viognier. He's learned how to handle his liquor very well, and hardly gets hangovers. Pete for all intents and purposes is a generally good and kind man without a vicious bone in his body, at least until you get him mad.

See, Pete's pretty even tempered and can suffer a lot, save the complete and utter disregard of politeness and courtesy. He starts off being catty and snippy, offering passive aggressive comments that quickly grow more snide and annoyed the longer the rudeness persists. If it doesn't stop, he will think nothing of throwing an elderly bitchfit until the assault on common decency is neutralised. He is that old man who chases kids off his lawn for pulling up the flowers and ruining his azalea bushes. But again...you've really got to be a pain in the arse for him to go cantankerous old bastard on you. In his spare time he likes to read gothic vampire novels and pretend he's Nosferatu. Do you really want to needle him that much?

He needs to be fierce, because if he were just nice all the time, he'd never be able to keep hold of a group. He's a bit of a dark horse, having only arrived in Killamarsh a few months ago, but his politeness and charm got him in the door, and its his iron fist that's going to keep him on the throne. He would much prefer to show kindness and compassion for the misunderstood beasties of the Non Mammals, but he won't tolerate bull shit either. He's very loyal and very protective of his mates, and will think nothing of wading into a conflict, even if it doesn't concern him directly. Pete is a good granddad figure, he just has some anger issues. So take the caramel, but try to remember to say "Thank you", yeah?

History:
After the war, a very lucky couple managed to reunite: Janey Colville met her love Peter Best on a Kent airbase and the two were married shortly after. Born late in 1949, the younger Peter was the third child, but the first boy. As they grew up, they were regaled with tales of their father’s bravery in the cockpit of a Spitfire IV. The rest of the time, he was read passages from Bram Stoker's Dracula and taught all about the Age of Romance by his know it all sisters. He was made to be their Darcy, their Heathcliff at tea parties, and it was bloody humiliating, tea parties with your sisters. Peter much preferred running out in the yard, or escaping to a mate's house to tell scary stories and check out the places where bombs had dropped in the hopes of uncovering more. Weirdly, Pete's stories seemed to take on distinctive gothic airs, not that he'd notice.

It wasn’t long before Peter decided that he too wanted to join the RAF. If not for his stubborn determination to get in, he might not have finished school and met the love of his life. Roxanne was a fiery and passionate woman with a winning smile and a warm heart. She and Peter spent wonderful nights at clubs or over tea. It was in one such club, a Café Lune where Peter’s life took a divergent path from the honourable and revered airman. A brutish sort of man took interest in Roxie, taking to touching her and asking lewd and improper questions. While Roxie seemed relaxed, if annoyed, Peter was having none of it and walked the ruffian outside and into a back alley before his anger got the best of him. He didn’t expect the other man to be quite so strong, to be honest, or to have a knife. Peter was rather out of his depth from the first blow, to the last which—after being unconscious for five minutes—didn’t hurt much until he woke up in a hospital bed, bandaged just about from head to foot. He didn't notice the quick healing scratches on his arm, one injury in a group of many.

In fact, he never suspected a thing until he noticed that he was mostly healed a mere three days after the brawl. Roxie was just as surprised, and she'd spent the whole time watching him, nursing him back to health. Peter was grateful for her expert nursing and he grew stronger every day, eventually released before the end of the week. He had a blissful two weeks with Roxie where he continued to grow stronger and healthier than he'd ever been in his life (though the improved sense of smell and taste were hard to explain). They took a holiday to Dover, which, in retrospect, was a very lucky thing. It wasn't until Peter found himself taking a walk after a night out that he began to feel a bit weird, a bit squishy. Nauseous. In need of the sea, weirdly enough. He stumbled towards the water, falling into it as his legs fused together into a cartilaginous tail.

His first change was traumatic in every sense of the word, being too scared to be critical, and too hungry to be rational. He spent the evening hitched to a spooked sole and dragged out to sea as he rasped the fish's skin away to get at the sweet, delicious blood. It was like something out of a horror film. Or a Bram Stoker book... He was picked up by a fishing trawler the next day as he floated, weak and tired and naked, in the middle of the Channel. That was not an experience he wished to repeat, and Pete was pretty sure the fishermen weren't impressed either. Roxie met him at the door of their rented cottage and smacked him until he told her where he'd been, which had been very difficult to explain. Lucky for him, her brother had been a shifter as well ("Poor lad, seagull got him when he was eatin' chips. Never was the same, poor dear...") She told him she'd look after him if he swore not to shift in the sea again. Peter agreed, and they’d been inseparable since.

Pete found he was able to shift comfotably in the bathtub (though the unexpected ones were the worst) with a couple handfuls of salt and a fish for food and company. The local seafood group took them in, with Roxie as an unofficial den mother and Pete as the idiot new guy. For awhile, things were going normally again. Peter abandoned the idea of being a pilot in case he had to spend long periods of time away from the sea, and instead took up book binding as a profession. Every year, he and Roxanne would run to Bordeau to help with the first grape harvests across the county. The money was never very good, but it was still thrilling to be there when the first grapes were squashed by foot into the juice that would become a new wine. Roxie loved wines, bringing Peter into the fold by association. This wild and transient life suited the pair, along with their loose association to the sea beasties.

The then leader of the group, good friend Robert Dobbs (great white shark), was killed by a younger, more dominant orca shifter, Nancy Whitehead, who took the new responsibilities in stride. She took to harassing the younger shifters until they were completely roll-on-their-backs submissive, and sending older, more threatening members off on useless and impossible missions in case they felt like challenging her authority. Roxie took to looking after the young zoans; Pete used his people skills to gain alliances for the time that he planned to overthrow the bully, just like that night he was infected. Peter couldn’t abide bullies. With half the clan divided on the issue of the traditional “right to rule” versus “abuse of power,” it took the better part of five years for the more alpha members of the group to come around to his way of thinking. She had alienated the clan, earned no friends, and there was no better time to dethrone her—only nobody had the guts to do it themselves, not even the second-in-commands or bodyguards. Peter found this marginally annoying when his best chance at survival was a tiny little vampire fish.

The fight probably should have been one sided. Peter’s dogged pursuit of the enormous dolphin should have tired him out much earlier. And yet... Peter’s earlier alliances and the group's devotion to change kept him alive and swimming under her attempts to swallow him whole. He followed he doggedly, trying the impossible: an alpha form. It was by no means an easy thing; he only just managed to get his mouth stuck to her side and he began to drink for strength and survival. He'd never drain her dry at some 30" long, but if he could just get some liquid courage... By that time, she was growing tired and delirious with rage, her attempts to squish him grew more and more desperate. He began to change, slowly at first, and then faster and faster; he grew longer, more powerful, and his mouth, well... that became some pretty potent nightmare fuel. It was the worst four minutes of his life, shifting and feeling more blood escape in a glut from her wound and drip down his throat and his neck. ZI didn't do anything about it - it was a power struggle, what zoans did amongst themselves, that was their business. Peter became a king.

Even with the memory of Nancy's death continuing to haunt him at night, it did not take him long to establish a new order. While he were still young and slightly inexperienced when it came to running the group, he had Roxie's help and love - they officially married that year. Together, they toed the line of tradition set down by the older, meaner members. The older they got, the more they implemented new policies—the offer of sanctuary from rival seafaring groups, the community raising of small fry and calves, etc. This daring, if mostly peaceful period lasted for twenty years, with Peter and Roxie never any less devoted to each other and their clan.

At least until 2005, when Roxanne began to feel under the weather. He took her to a doctor, insisting that he could just make ber better by finding someone to give her zoanthropy, but she politely declined. She continued to decline even as she was handed a diagnosis of bone cancer. Poor brave Roxanne; Pete begged her to take the infection, that he'd find her any sort of animal she wanted, and still she said no. She'd had a good life, and she wouldn't have changed it for anything. Peter was devastated when she finally passed on 30 October, as were many of his sea creatures. Peter kept his emotions mostly in check for the funeral, only allowing himself the luxury of tears and shouting when he was locked up alone in their house with nothing but the walls to hear him.

For the sake of the group, he wasn’t allowed to mourn long, taking up the task of leading the group alone for the first time. He spent the next three years feverishly watching the sea creatures in the absence of anything better to do with himself. Even his job didn't really take the sting away. His group noticed. They urged him to step down, retire, but, as before, none of the younger members could work out who exactly should rule after. In any event, it seemed very clear that they didn't need him anymore, and he was unable to simply be a regular member. He needed something to occupy his time. Moving would help, take his mind off things. He moved shop to Brighton, spending some time by the beach, though he continued to do his full moon shifts in the bathtub.

A few months ago, he up and moved again, this time to Killamarsh where he understands there are even more zoans. Maybe some that need looking after... This day and age, he’s mellowed out some; he's not exactly emotionally ruined anymore, though he doesn't like being alone. He opened a new shop selling used books and is finally relaxing and settling into his new life. When the call went out for a new Non Mammal leader went out, Peter threw in his hat. The busier he can be, the better.