Post by apncameron on Jul 10, 2011 5:51:50 GMT -5
Cameron Young
Full Name-Cameron Young
Nicknames- None, she isn't the nickname “sort”. Though calling her Cammy is a good way as any to irritate her.
Gender- Female
Occupation- She was an exotic dancer/bartender... but times are tough.
Age- 22 years old
Date of Birth- February 25
Sexual Orientation- heterosexual
Location- Queens, New York City
Faction- Civilian
Celebrity Claim- Voth, Julia
What should we call you?- Chris, apn, or Shinji, it's all good.
Play anyone else?- Nope
Have You Read the Rules?- Zombies man. They creep me out (jk I love them =D)
Personality-
Survivors be warned, you are dealing with a type A personality here. Much better at talking than listening, Cameron is the take charge type that bleeds more into “bossy”, an outcome oriented individual that is most often misunderstood and mislabeled a “bitch”. Your rank and title have very little impact on the woman if you can do nothing for her. With the variety of groups that she has fallen in with one thing has maintained consistency: she sees herself as a leader and not a follower. She has been part of the decision making process so far, and not just a pretty background fixture. Regardless of what one might think of the indifferent manner with which she brushes aside those who disagree with her decisions, it cannot be said that Cameron is all talk, or someone short on willingness to act. When crises arise and people often find themselves unable- or unwilling- to seize the moment, Cameron has already stepped forward to handle shit, all the while looking back over her shoulder to deride those who lack similar backbone.
If one were to wake up one day with unreasonable and bleeding zombies after your hide, the logical leap would be to get busy trying to find others not in the act of biting someone, that is to say non-zombified. The typical survivor however, is not Cameron. If a large group of healthy humans were to come into sight, the temptation to turn from them and find safety on her own would overpower the need for socializing nine times out of ten. Always a solitary creature, the sights Cameron has seen, the desperate measures that she and others have enacted in order to survive, these things make her hesitate to trust anyone in this new world as well. This intrinsic introversion is just one way Cameron goes against the typical psychological grain. For the infected themselves she has no sympathy. It's them or her, and by her estimation, it should have been them for good the first time they died. These past weeks have seen Cameron do some cold things in order to maintain her own mortality. There was that thing with the kabob stick and the...well there's no reason to go into it. Suffice to say that her squeamish factor is lacking and the only thing slowing her bullets from the brainy parts of her pursuers is distance. Sending a zombie child to tug at her heart strings would be a faulty strategy as they would get blown away just as fast as some ugly behemoth, perhaps even faster. Those tiny clutching hands are quite off putting.
Where most of the survivors Cameron has come across are horrified at the decay of society in such a short time due to the constant attacks of the undead upon their person or the lack of good takeout in this post-apocalyptic landscape, Cameron is more than pleased to welcome our new zombie overlords. A student of the zombie film genre, this fresh world order is the sort of wasteland that always captured her fantasies. Yes a lot of people (in her mind: mindless cows) were unlucky enough to have succumbed to the virus, but as long as she counts herself among the living and non-cannibals it ain't so bad. Some might call her selfish, others might cry narcissistic; Cameron does not cry at all, she's too busy surviving. Her life is dominated by this theme, victor verses victim, and she'll be damned if she ever plays for the latter. Her self interest does not go so far that she'll stand by idly and refuse assistance to someone she could help, but it does force her to calculate first if the risk is too great for herself. As of late the surviving humans she would align with have been dropping like flies, a trait that has led the woman to question the wisdom of continuing to associate with moving things of either kind, cannibal or civilian.
In cliche exotic dancer fashion, Cameron is by no means an overtly sexual person in her downtime. In fact one could go so far as to call her asexual (an indictment which usually follows an unsuccessful attempt to hook up with her) with how little interest she invests in the horizontal tango. With the demand her aesthetic commands, the scarcity of supply should be criminal. Given her occupation, a simple logical leap would lead one to believe that Cameron's attachment to her own impressive looks gives her an overly conceited outlook on her own importance. They'd be wrong. She knows she's pretty, desirable, hell she might even devalue the package she's working with, but she knows how to use those looks for her own benefit. A person's standing with Cameron, the status of their closeness to her, comes down to how they can be of use to her, the same as her appearance. It isn't love that she's after, oh no, but your loyalty will do just fine. Heterosexual is the label that fits the woman closest due to her tendencies, yet if a woman filled the role of devotee properly, Cameron would have no problem taking a girlfriend. She wants what she wants when she desires it, and trying to fit her into a niche will only result in the label maker dying of an aneurysm. The only person Cameron truly dislikes is a useless person.
Customers were enthralled by her shows, but at the same time left unsettled by the exchange that occurred between dancer and viewer. The consensus seemed to have been an odd feeling that the stripper was a predator circling prey, a cold blooded killing machine that smelled blood in the water, sensed their weakness. Where the other girls pranced she stalked, a long legged menace which swept up the tips men would fling at her feet in an effort to drive back the unsettling (yet captivating) routine. She was feared and revered simultaneously, a cherished and exotic act that sent the men scuttling towards the other girls when it was over; seeking the solace of the simple strip. This is of course evidence of another character trait -I'm sure you've picked up on the pattern by now-, one passed down from her paternal side. Within Cameron, somewhere down deep that would take the excavation of a therapist, exists the hardness of Tobias Young, perhaps the driving force behind her continued pulsating heart in this panorama of death. Her coldness, the detachment that she whips about from time to time, this pathos is thanks to the mimicry that every child does when they are too young to understand what it is they are doing.
In her free time she can be seen tormenting people around her with mental games that only she enjoys. Entering into a verbal exchange with Cameron feels a lot like being probed by an x-ray machine, the barbs she lofts lazily at your defenses buzz long after they've landed. Rising to her provocation, however, gives her the ammunition she thrives on. If one is unlucky enough to draw the attention of her on a day like this, it's best to turn a deaf ear to the taunts.
Likes-
- Crowds.
- Silence.
- Exercise
- zombie films (really survival horror of any kind)
- Useful people
Dislikes-
- Middle-aged men.
- Being dirty.
- Canned food
- Love
- Nosy questions
Strengths-
- No easy target. A graceful athleticism that used to make many a man's jaw drop now fits another need.
- Poise. Being a stripper in inner city New York is no place for panic.
- Survivor. There is a reason that Cameron has persisted so long after people she banded together with have fallen by the wayside: she finds a way regardless of how daunting the odds seem.
Weaknesses-
- Overconfidence. “When you think you're on fire, that's when you get burned.” Time and time again the often cocky Cameron will get into situations that she cannot handle; another way of saying the same thing is Cameron possesses a set of eyes larger than her mouth.
- On about her third or fourth group of survivors, the young woman began to lose any sense of comradery or fellowship with her fellow vict- er party members. She looks out for number one at all times now, and such narrow mindedness can be quite the detriment to a group effort.
- Bad driving, though that doesn't begin to describe the bizarre weaving and braking that Cameron has perfected behind a wheel. She should only be trusted behind the wheel of a car if the desired result is a head on collision with a building.
Skills-
- Self defense. Initiated by a class taken years ago, furthered by the lessons of bouncers.
- Close range firearms. Ten weeks has given Cameron experience with a rusty skill that hadn't been of much use in her past life.
- Student of the game. Cameron is a quick study when given enough time to absorb the mechanics of a skill.
Flaws-
- Shell shock. As balanced and unshakable as Cameron can be, ten weeks of undead dining dodging would take its toll on anyone. Dealing with hordes of ravenous creatures becomes just that much harder when an unsettling fatigue begins to set in.
- Broken bones/bloody kisses: Nestled underneath an immodest tank top, Cameron's torso is sheathed in a swathe of bandages, a souvenir from the first time she unwisely attempted to fire a shotgun close to her body. Needless to say that it is a bitch to run, and each deep breath, each heavy step reminds her of the folly. The injury has been aggravated as recently as a week and a half ago due to a nasty fall.
- Cameron is near sighted, a weakness that makes her eyes blur and water obscenely when she tries to focus on something far away for extended periods.
Hair- Dark brown, nudging into the hue of black.
Eye Color- Blue
Race- White
Physique- A dancer in the peak of her career, Cameron strikes a slender figure, though her toned muscles and long, strong strides let's you know she is no waif. Her body is curvy in areas (particularly hips and chest) while maintaining a dancer's litheness in the rest.
Height- 5'8”
Weight- 140 lbs.
Birthplace- Kalamazoo, Michigan. A dying city of a different variety.
Mother- Karen Young
Father- Tobias Young
Siblings- Jessica Anderson; older sister
Other- With those freakishly small hands? No way.
History-
The staff, owners and bouncers of the Lazy Daisy totaled twenty four on the night that New York City came down with the worst bout of hay fever in the history of sicknesses. Twenty four humans that wouldn't live to see another sunrise without the accompaniment of rotting limbs and fetid breath. Well twenty three souls damned to an eternal shuffle across the dingy streets of Queens. You see, the plague that seized the patrons first, then the dancers, and finally those burly bouncers, passed over the bartender. You might be able to chalk Cameron's fortuitous survival to the fact that her name was slotted to work the bar that night, and not the floor. Being behind the counter afforded her the comfort of the sawed off shotgun kept back there, but while everyone else (I'm looking at your Mr. “Six foot four inches” bouncer) ran hysterically from the infected, Cameron Young's chillingly calculating demeanor deserved just as much credit as the serious business gun that she repelled the tainted predators with.
A demeanor rooted in the life the dancer had thought she left behind. Her poise was hammered to a point by a violent father; her distaste for helplessness culled by watching a mother not worth knowing float along behind the monster. Her childhood was nothing pretty, no bed of roses to dwell upon, and yet without those hard lessons Cameron wouldn't be the same fierce gunman in a dead world that she is today She'd probably munch on an arm on an avenue somewhere. Regardless of whether or not she would have survived the apocalypse without those hellish formative years, thankfully they were short-lived and the girl did not have to wait until the age of eighteen to escape. After years of domestic warfare with her father, she was shipped off to live with her father's first wife and older sister in Manhattan. She was fourteen. What had been a tumultuous childhood soon devolved to an unmanageable situation under Tobias Young's roof helpless as he was to control his young daughter. As a child her replies to his punishment and harsh words amounted to chilling glares and a balled fist. The ugly swelling underneath her father's right eye the morning he sent her off was proof that things had gotten a bit more serious.
In New York City, away from the control of Tobias, Cameron found herself. It wasn't a self discovery built for Hollywood (unless we're talking late night smut fests), but the shift from a violent and capricious teenager to a beautiful and commanding young woman was reached in her new home. At the age of nineteen she took up dancing to pad her college funds, and was soon addicted to the life, the looks, and yes the money. She was a rising star at the Lazy Daisy, the club which “discovered” her, and she worked one week of day shifts before the owner realized there was true talent being wasted on dead hours. An angelic face and impeccable body were just two things the girl had going for her, more importantly was how she worked the crowd with a control that resembled the stage presents of more renowned musicians. The way she carved out a niche in her club showed that the control went beyond just displaying her body, the girl possessed a good head as well. Dancing was only one of her talents, and it wasn't long before she tacked “bartender”, “floor manager” and “reserve bouncer” onto her roles within the establishment. This was her family now, as unstable as a strip club can be for ties, and the only people she felt truly comfortable with. Within months of landing a job in the Lazy Daisy she had moved out of her shared room with her sister for a flat in Queens, convenience and closeness to her job being only a small reason for the change. The biggest motivation behind the move was that she no longer needed the supervision of her sister's mom, nor the affection the two women tried to show her.
The night that New York City became the zombie's, Cameron had been working the bar at her home away from home: the Lazy Daisy. Her eyes followed a dancer named Roxxy as she hypnotized onlookers with her routine, their enthrallment was evident in the steady fall of ones at the prancing girl's feet. Business had been slow as of late, most likely because of the paranoia that seized the city. People were abuzz with news of odd side effects from some new drug, but Cameron hadn't paid much attention to the details. She was healthy enough and if it was really bad then it would be pulled before she ever had the misfortune of coming across it. Besides, the hardcore strip club patrons were going to frequent the Daisy even if brimstone sprung from the earth and angels descended upon Queens. Tonight was proof of that.
This idle concentration on her friend's show was the reason she failed to notice the entering infected until it was too late. The two carriers which brought this sickness to them failed to register until they came within smelling range. The rotation of the towel across the varnished maple counter top paused as the odor of fetid meat sliced through the perfumes and air fresheners of the club, invading the nostrils of the bartender mid-wipe. Though the two stragglers didn't seem all that interested in the view, their slack jawed expressions coincided perfectly with those of the small audience. Cameron's shock that these two had slipped past the doorman spanned the length of time it took to recognize Bryce, the entrance bouncer, lurching along behind the first stranger. The behavior made no sense (gone was the unconscious swagger of the man) and the bloody front of his SECURITY shirt was even more out of character. It did have the sobering effect of alerting Cameron that things were not as they should be. But then the chunk missing from Bryce's neck -or the subsequent bite he took out of a man in the back row- could have gotten her to that point as well. In her life time the exotic dancer had taken in enough zombie flicks, had seen too many horror movies, to wait for the monsters to turn on her next. Instead she picked up the shotgun that her boss kept behind the bar and began blasting a path to safety.
The violence following Bryce's improvised meal, from the outbreak spreading through her peers and colleagues to her own desperate escape from the madness into a cellar that doubled as a panic room, all came in a blur and not even Cameron would be able to account for all her actions during that time. The deaths of people she later encountered while seeking reprieve from this madness are much clearer in her mind, and after ten weeks of mad sprints throughout Queens there has been plenty of death. Her first group? Overwhelmed while hiding out in a laundromat. Then it was off to a rundown hospital with a more organized ensemble for some medical supplies; what they found instead was hungry patients (and some staff too). Multiple occasions with various parties, all had the same ending: Cameron alone. For the past two weeks or so she has decided to forgo the inevitable grisly break up and has clung to survival alone. Though she has seen a few healthy and wholesome people moving about the madness, she has happily opted for her own company instead. Staying alive just seems so much easier if the only person you have to look for is your own damn self.
Anything else?- I will for sure let you know if I think of anything.
Sample RP-
It hurt to breathe. Wide eyes stared in a shocked grimace, as if openness directly correlated to their control of the chaotic situation. It had been five minutes -and it felt like seconds- since the infection had swept across the club. Five minutes since every non-living, unbreathing catastrophe had realized that one person in these walls still clung to life. In that brief span Cameron had taken out two of the bastards with one shot of the double barreled shotgun the owner kept in case of emergency, one with two sound knocks to the head with a stainless steel serving tray and another with a broken bottleneck into the eyeball. It was highly doubtful that the man upstairs (whose face had been promptly chewed into after he had come down to see what the uproar was about) had such an occasion in mind when he had placed the gun behind the counter, but Cameron wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sure the kickback of the modified weapon felt like it had ripped a hole in her chest, but that too was manageable. Fumbling fingers had proven insufficient for the task of reloading the gun, and the encroaching mad men -and scantily clad women- seemed game to test the bartender once more.
The first of the shambling monstrosities to reach the woman happened to be one of the largest, a bouncer named Lucas. As Luke clambered on top of the counter in front of Cameron, her grip on the weapon shifted, reversing the gun in her hands so that now the butt rose through the air like a bat. A bat which promptly collided with the lower, more sensitive regions of the man. Even in this moment, with monsters pressing towards her from behind this beast her eyes flickered upwards to see if the pain registered in the alien eyes of her would be killer. It didn't. With a rough shove his stance on the bar was removed and he was flung backwards into the guileless undead at his back. With a loud crash three more of the zombies were placed out of service, if only for a moment. The bartender hazarded a look over the counter at her handiwork, wincing once she realized just who the squirming limbs underneath the larger zombie belonged to.
“Roxxycrystalluke I am so sorry!” There was no time to apologize properly to the three friends she had just assaulted; the ball-crushed bouncer, or the two dancers crushed by the security guard. Already Cameron was moving onto the next stage of her grand escape plan... the hot part. With a lighter she had snatched up as Luke had plunged backwards onto Roxanne and Crystal, Cameron now set the bar surface on fire. In this chaos there was enough spilled drink to drown a man, and before any of other undead could scale the barrier Cameron was hidden behind a curtain of overwhelming heat. Finally it was down, down into the trap door, an emergency exit that had existed long before a titty bar took up residence. Luck- and the overly careful boss man- had seen to the preservation of this getaway route. The fragrant fires which were now sweeping through the club licked heat strokes across her exposed back, and even from her new refuge, she could hear cackle of the intense flames. But nothing else. It was as if those things were dying silently, unaware of the torrid embers which scrubbed away their heinous existence.
Twenty four people had started this hellish nightmare in the Lazy Daisy, but only one would live to shoot more zombies. Cameron supposed she had paranoid managers, decrepit old tunnels which led out into sewers and rickety old shotguns to thank for that.