Lead me Home || 1x1 w/ colour. & .winter

[.winter]

You were just a normal person, normal guy, normal girl, stressing over about grades and just keeping your life in check. You had only one desire, which was to simply be happy. Blasting music, blowing off homework, just being a normal teenager, a normal adult, planning a family, going to work, brewing your coffee just as you liked it. A normal kid, worrying about the crust on your peanut butter and jelly, begging your parents to stay up for just one more hour past your bedtime. You were just, you. Until now, nothing about you or the world is normal how. The dead hit. There had been a rumor that a mixture of some of the biggest diseases and a new one that had been created because of it had resulted in the dead rising, that once you died, you just...come back. Bombs falling, screaming, terror, massacres in the streets and the FBI evacuating everyone and anything from the close knit neighborhood you came to either love or either to hate. Your family packed up everything as fast as they could and tried to get out of the country as fast as possible, until every little thing you needed to survive no longer existed. Every lick of food not even barely on the shelves, the water no where to be found, and everywhere you looked, the groaning of the dead surrounded you and your family. Every gas station you stopped at was empty and shut down, every building destroyed and broken, smoke rising from the busted pipes and snapped wires that kept electricity functioning, and what happened to you and your family, well that is your story. You have the option of sharing it or not, but in the end, you are going to be the survivor in the end of the world. Well, that is what they told us.

One on One roleplay between .winter and colour.

[.winter]

★ ★ ★



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Name: Laya (pronounded Lay-ah) Renolds

Age: 19

Height: 5'7"

Eye color: green

Hair color: chestnut brown

Parents: Peyton Renolds (mother)
and Mark Renolds

Siblings: one little sister, Spencer,
half sibling Here

Likes: coffee, reading, snowboarding,
christmas, baking, fuzzy socks, movies, sleeping
in, animals, her family, and trap music

Dislikes: salad, school, shopping, football,
summer, androids, easter, church, smoking, drinking,
authority, and people older than her

(+) Traits: Curious, quiet, calm, bubbly,
patient, open minded, giggly

(-) Traits: Bad temper, doesn't think about
the long term outcome, holds a grudge, doesn't
forgive easily, hot headed
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History: Laya was never considered to have
a unique past. She was average, and never really stood
out to anyone. Laya passed with decent grades, followed
all her parents rules, never stepped out of her comfort
zone. She was always listened to what she was told,
and never got in the way of her parents. Her life was
utterly and completely normal, there was never anything
to interrupt or ruin her life. That was, until they found
out her father was having an affair with another women,
and soon enough, at the age of 12 Laya would be getting
another sister, named Spencer. Laya had never been
more upset with her father, and the one thing that
destroyed her above everything else, is Spencer's mother
passed away during her birth, and her father walked out
on both Laya and Spencer. With a lot of thought, Laya
decided that Spencer moving in with her mother and her
was the best option. Her mom fell in love with Spencer,
despite the baby being not her own, but she loved her
and raised her as her own. Now, with Laya being 19, and
Spencer being 7, they were inseparable. As usual,
growing up with Spencer was no easy task. Being the
teenager she was, she was so upset that she couldn't go
out with her friends when her mother had to work, and
how her life was filled with babysitting instead of friends.
However, soon enough Laya was admitted into college,
and she met a lovely boy named Caleb, whom she fell madly
in love with. Everything seemed to be in place, until eventually,
something drastic happened. Laya's mother soon passed away
due to a virus the CDC hadn't even given a name yet, which
was taking a lot of people she cared about, including Caleb.
With the virus spreading like fire, Laya knew she had to go home
as soon as possible, and take custody of Spencer.

That was when everything went to hell.
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[brunswick.]

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xxx


ＣＨＡＮＧＥＤ． Ｉ ＴＨＩＮＫ

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Ｉｔ＇ｓ ｂｅｃａｕｓｅ

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meet brodie, this twenty year old boy has had
quite a long journey in his life. he has moved
plenty of times, and has owned many pets. b
rodie was a good kid in school, straight a's thr
ough highschool and college, but not so much
for elementary school and middle school. bro
die's parents were very strict with times of cu
rfew and he always obeyed them. he was and
still is a very loyal kid.
x

（ｏｆ ｍｅ．．．）

name- brodie james michaelson
nickname- none atm
age- twenty
gender- male
sexuality- heterosexual
pronoun- he/him
voice- here
weapon- unknown

[brunswick.]

⚘Ｂｒｏｄｉｅ Ｊａｍｅｓ Ｍｉｃｈａｅｌｓｏｎ⚘
───────────────────────────────────────────
nickname- brodie, james ♦ gender- male ♦ age- twenty ♦ sexuality- hetero ♦ location- none ♦ voice- here ♦
Brodie was sitting in a chair up in his room, as he stared outside his window. He was currently grounded for
not doing something he was told to do. Brodie was never grounded from grades, never. He was one of those kids.
Brodie continued to gaze outside, mad about the fact he was forced to be stuck in his room for not doing one single
thing. Brodie groaned. A sudden noise from his father's police radio went off. Brodie got startled as he wiped his
head to the direction of the walkie talkie. His father allowed him to keep one in his room for any emergency. It was
like has 911 right there when you needed it. Brodie listened on the walkie talkie, the voice of the person was static,
hard to hear. It usually was never like this. Only if someone was severally hurt. This thought ran through Brodie's
head, and it got him excited. His father currently wasn't home. Only his mother and younger brother, Jack. Jack
is a lot younger than him and looks more like his mother. Brodie on the other hand looks more like his father. The
walkie talkie was too quiet also. Brodie bolted to the talking thing on his bed and sat down, drawing his attention
away from the new surprises outside that he didn't notice earlier. Brodie turned it up, as he did so he could hear
the words of 'dead' and 'walking'. Brodie was unable to make out anything else that was coming from the woman
on the other end. His heart sank and fear for her. She sounded like she was in debt for her life. Brodie walked to
the other room across from him. Which was his younger brothers. Brodie peaked in to find him not there. Things
like this made Brodie feel like he was in a dream and how it was unreal. He looked in the closet. Nothing. Brodie
hollered for his name. The vibration of a man's voice was coming from downstairs. Most likely his father's. He
bolted downstairs only to find something like an intervention. His father, mother, and Jack were standing there.
Mom looked confused. Dad on the other hand looked frustrated. Jack looked also confused, and happy. Something
was obviously going on, he didn't know what.

[.winter]

→ Laya Renolds || 19 || Feeling: Tired

Time is ticking. The world is the bomb.
The disease was the spark. You never know when it was going to explode. And there came a time in life in which you were happy, after being sad for so long, right before the bomb went off. So you had to live, live before it obliterated everything in your life, and live without fear when it did. But that could just be inspirational crap. It could be advice I could have taken, I could have listened. I just never did. If you didn't listen, you had to teach yourself. Teach yourself to be inspirational, to hope, to pray. I never knew how beneficial that skill could have been. I never knew. Until my 8 days were up. Everyone else had 8 days, too. Until they left the earth, or some stayed behind, the crazy, the stupid, the weak, and the strong. Strong doesn't really fit into a category, the strong can be the crazy, or the stupid, or even the weak. The fact in reality though is everyone is the strong. Some people just don't know how to place the strong into action. And so they die before they learn. But that's just a fact; everyone dies.

But they didn't just die. Not with the last 8 days of humanity. In the past, their legacy would live on in their loved ones. Their memory still continues inside other memories. But now, their legacy wouldn't hold like that, not in the way in which you would hold a memorial, or visit their grave when you were sad. They continue to live. Their footsteps roam the earth, their breath echoes in the wind. Their shadows are cold and consistent. But they are not themselves. They are the dead. Maybe they died because of weakness, maybe they were forced into the doors of death, from the others who were starving for their skin. Who knows what really happened. But they are not gone. They are here. They arrive in 8 days.

The sun seemed to burn through my room as my eyelids fluttered open on a Sunday morning, heating the room and everything inside. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my heart racing and the the throb of it was so painful I was convinced it would pop out of my chest. Not a trace of wind in my room had been born, or outside, the curtains laying still and silent. My head was spinning as I lifted my back up, stretching from the constant nightmare that encompassed my dreams every time I closed my eyes. I could go into detail, but I fear thinking about my dream was to much for me to handle. If just having it every night scared me to the point where I was shaking and didn't make me want to close my eyes ever again, I doubt talking about it would help. Before I could truly wake up, my mother, whom had decided I was left alone to much and decided to detach into my door off my room and be reprimanding and strict, yet was still way to preppy and obviously didn't know I preferred to be alone rather than be bothered by Spencer and the dogs, stepped into the baking lavender room with a small smile and a tray filled with food. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, and of course my favorite, the slight thing I mentioned, brewed coffee with a hint of honey and sugar. "Good morning!" She happily stated, me, I wasn't to glad. I hated mornings, and tomorrow was my first day of senior year, so I wasn't to keen on waking up or getting excited for my last day of summer. My eyes focused on the steam that rose from my coffee in swirls, as if the coffee itself was heated by the sun pouring in my room. "Stop being so loud." I grumbled, my usual every morning perks had kicked in, annoyance and most likely wanting to say something I'd regret later. But honestly, I was trying not to hurt my mother's feelings, knowing in the back of my mind how sensitive she truly was. Something in the kitchen was steaming so loud it make my head ache even more, only promoting my annoyance. "Go turn that off!" my lips mumbled, aches escaping my chapped lips and squinted eyelids. I hated mornings. I should be excited though, it was Spencer's birthday after all. She will be 8 today, with her entire class coming over to celebrate. And when that thought bubbled up into my mind, I suddenly lost all interest in eating, stress eating at me with knowing I had to help with the party today. I shook the food away quietly, knowing she was trying to celebrate something thats should be a momentous occasion, which it is, but I felt as if Spencer's father should be here, not just us, but I was just focused on shutting the world out at the moment. A small knock on the door broke my reverie, and soon our pet cat, Buzz, stepped in elegantly while purring and wrapping his orange striped tail around my leg, trying to get his favorite snack of an egg. But I hated cats, so I gave it a look of disgust while shaking away the food, as my mother walked in with her thick journal with the whole rainbow of sticky notes for Spencer's party. Right as she was about to speak, Spencer seemed to have drop the milk all over the floor, and soon she escaped the room, knowing the day was only beginning. And odd enough, how similar I was with my mother, not knowing anything that was going around in our lives. I cranked the radio up, hoping that some old country song would play as I got ready for the day, but of course, the highly overrated rumor going around the world of the dead walking and a new virus that had no cure had filled my eardrums. A roll of my eyes followed as my bruised and weak legs swung off the bed and brought me to the mirror across my room, not having a care in the world. I thought my life was hard then. Funny really, how cruel the world could be.