DNA: Alien ~ Discussion

[IWannaBeAFarmer]

Hello, fellow readers!

This is where we will be discussing about the plot of DNA: Aliens, introduce our own ideas and talk about individual characters!

This is like a talk central, where we will be asking each other questions and all giving out our own opinions, and plan on future incidents.

Even though this is a roleplay where the characters sound like they have no hope for friendships (well, they are monsters), I do believe that there still is a humane conscience somewhere in the corners of their minds.
So, there will be possible relationships, quarrels and sparks, but overall, a battle to survive. Following Darwin's theory of evolution, this is a battle of the fittest.

In regards to the roleplay, we can also discuss about specific posts, just point out bits and pieces about each other's writing; I believe that we can always help each other improve writing, while having fun.
Basically, we're all authors, writing a story, how cool, huh? Have fun!

[Loch Ness]

{Credit: davidcollard.wordpress.com}
Name: Adasha Ryker
Called: Adasha, Ada
Gender: Female
Age: 17
DNA: Shark Alien
Personality: Adasha was a reserved, but strong young woman. She tended to fade into the background, but if she had something to say, you would hear it. She tended to hold in all her emotions, and eventually explode at someone. Then she got scary. Her remarks were scathing, and her eyes full of fire. At her worst, some feared she might resort to violence, but she never did. She was a dedicated and productive student in school, but had only a few close friends.
History: She was a normal teenager in a loving home and a city school, until she was abducted by shadowy men in broad daylight while walking home from the bus stop. She was never seen again.
Other: In her current state, she can still think, but all that made her reserved is gone. It's as if she is constantly angry at the world, but her anger has cooled into something more like a calculating psychopath might feel. Somewhere deep inside is the girl she used to be, and sometimes she can hear her whispers, but mostly it's just her desire for flesh. She is endlessly hungry, and not given nearly enough for her mutating form. This is part of what causes her cannibalistic tendencies, but they are more caused by the alien DNA, which gives her an instinct that sees humans as prey.
Song/Lyrics: "Don't leave me alone, 'cause I barely see at all. Don't leave me alone, I'm falling in the black, slipping through the cracks, falling to the depths, can I ever go back?"

[heartout]

This is Adeline Grace Harper, a young girl at the age of eighteen, a former ballet dancer. She'd been dancing for years, since she was five years old, and hoped to keep it that way. To 'tiptoe' to success, if you will. She's quiet and considerate, a real rule follower. She lets others domineer over her obedient personality easily, though lets insults roll over her hidden confidence. She's quite humble, never accepting the many compliments given to her by her peers. She's quite a phenomenal dancer, though she, again, never accepts it. Always trying to be better than she already is, always feeling more inferior than others.
When she was young, her parents would always take her to theatre shows, like the Nutcracker, or Swan Lake. Adeline had an extreme interest in the ballet dancers, and after watching the Nutcracker, she danced; she just danced. She twirled down the seating aisles of the theatre, without a care of who saw her or who was watching her. Later in the day, as they were leaving, she was confronted by a young girl. She was a little older than Adeline, although still close to her age. She wore faint pink tights and a sparkling dress. She asked Adeline her name, and if she was a dancer. She told her that she should be a dancer, that dancing is amazing.
Adeline's life was changed after the confrontation with the star dancer from the Nutcracker. Her parents took her to ballet lessons, where she was taught and worked and stretched to her potential. Even though it was difficult, she loved every second of it, and her love for dance never changed. She grew flexible, could bend in graceful ways. She grew skilled. Others envied her natural ability to dance though she never realized it, never noticed it.

Before Adeline was taken away from her normal life, from reality, she reached the peak of her dancing career. After performing in a small theatre arrangement, she was asked by a dancer in the audience after the show to join her class. Though, this class wasn't just any class. It was a Broadway class; a theatre dance class. This was her moment, her big moment. Her breakthrough. The start of her life, really. The dancer gave her the address of where they and the dance class's owner would meet in a week's time, after the dancer had talked to the owner. Adeline could not wait. She stayed after class and practiced, stretched, twirled, danced, until it was finally the day of the meeting. She left her city apartment building, and waited outside for a cab. It was cold, and her chocolate hair whipped and snapped in the wind, obscuring bits and pieces of her vision as it curled over her face. A cab finally pulled over and she stepped to the curb and slid into the passenger seat of the car. Adeline gave the driver the directions to the class and they began to take off down the road. They drove in silence, her in her black dress and trench coat, the driver in his strange, white coat he wore under a long, black jacket. They drove for a while. After more than an hour passed, Adeline was beginning to grow impatient, which was very unlike her. The buildings flew by outside the window, until there weren't anymore buildings at all; the world grew barren, empty. Another hour passed, maybe even a few, before Adeline finally saw a building appearing on the horizon near the setting sun. This building was pristinely white, reflecting the sunlight like a gigantic mirror. And it was unearthly huge. Strange. Weren't they meeting at a restaurant?
Tall, wire gates formed up ahead, and multiple men stood outside what appeared to be the entrance. As the driver pulled up, these men asked him questions. Adeline heard a few answers from the driver.
"Professer D-Darabek, sir." He stuttered, as if in a rush. His fingertips tapped a constant, neverending beat onto the leather steering wheel as he spoke. His voice lowered with the next phrase, though that didn't stop Adeline from overhearing him. "I'm here with the next subject, sir." With that, the men let him through, and they drove towards the building.
"Where are you taking me?" Adeline whispered.
"To the beginning of the new world, ma'am."


The process was painful.
Needles. Shots. Jabs to her arms, legs, back, neck. Tests. Experiments. Screams and cries. Every day they tested her, though every day was less painful. She almost grew used to it. Then began the transformation. Her skin began to peel; first around her shoulders and neck, then it spread to her face and arms and back. Adeline had overhead Dr. Darabek telling someone that she had begun 'shedding.' Tiny, shimmering scales appeared here and there. There weren't a lot. Tiny patches of greenish skin formed with these scales, around her face, neck, arms and back, mostly. Even being locked in that little cell of hers, she still stretched. She still practiced with hope that her life would once return to normal again. The first time she practiced, no one was outside, but she knew that behind the lenses of the cameras in each corner sat Dr. Darabek or one of his minions. She stretched without fear. She stretched and stretched and stretched, never stopping. She stretched above her limit, and then some. She bent and twisted and pressed and pulled and shaped herself into unimaginable poses.
And thus, Snake was born.

[lynettetan1]

Glenn Pearce

“The first duty of a man is to think for himself”
― José Martí

Just a taste.
Name: Glenn Pearce
Nickname: The rat.
Looks:
Gender: He is a male.
Age: Glenn is 19
DNA alien: Rat


Things left unsaid...
Past Personality: Glenn was always more of a quiet kid. He often kept to himself, preferring to just do what he needed to do and get out. Self-reliant and uncaring, Glenn never really had much of an opinion about things, as they usually didn't affect him anyway. Often bullied, he was used to being talked down to, and he doesn't really care. Surprisingly, Glenn has a flair for speech, though he never really used it, and he was very intelligent. However, he didn't like causing trouble, so when others attacked him, he just let them. Most of the time he just did his own thing in his own little world, not exactly seperating himself from the world but simply using what he had to survive. When he was about 12 he started to fight a little more, and has quite good fighting skills.

Personality: Now, Glenn still has his street smarts and intellect. However, now he has a little more. An unquenchable need to simply, survive. With his enhanced senses and everything, Glenn is now skilled at lying low, and can survive just about anywhere. Surprisingly, he is even more street-smart, if that was even possible, and has better manipulation skills. He lies without batting an eye and can use just about anything to give him a leg up. However, there are also cons. He is now prone to random bursts of violence, and can be a little twitchy, which doesn't exactly help his crediblity, but whatever.

History: Glenn was from the not-so-fancy part of town. His mother had ditched him after giving birth to him, leaving him with his father. Food was quite hard to come by, so sometimes Glenn had to resort to stealing here and there. Due to where he was from, teachers often regarded him with suspicion, and if anything happened, he was the first suspect. He got into a few fights, but most of the time, he preferred talking his way out of things, his father too drunk to even really care. Of course, there was some times when he couldn't get out of it, and it ended in him getting beat up sometimes. His father, in the few moments when he wasn't drunk, tried to be a good father, teaching Glenn basic fighting techniques and the such, and it all turned out fine. One day though, people in black suits came whilst he was just coming back from school, and it ended in a fight which Glenn managed to hold out in for about five minutes, which was pretty astounding considering there were three of them and two were holding bats, but then one brought out a taser and that ended things pretty quickly. The rest is kind of history.


The little things...
Pet Peeves: people that talk too much, or make promises they can't keep. Staying in one place for too long.
Fears: Dying.
Loves: freedom, exploring, running, having pleasant conversation, having pleasant company, and fruits, like apples(though he won't tell anyone. A close second is pears.)

Ties that bind, ties that break.
Family: His mother ran away when he was born and his father was often drunk, so...
Crush:None yet.(PM me if interested)
Partner: none
Children:none

Random stuff I couldn't put anywhere else.
Other: Nothing much. I know the personality is quite sketchy, but I'm still working it out. It should be fine after a few posts.

[/quote]

[Berry Smoothie]

Alyssa Nilsen . Female . Heterosexual . 16 years . Bat.
═════════════════════════════════════
Alyssa, or Lisa, was a very cheerful girl, though
slightly naïve. Trusting and innocent, she rarely
thought badly of others. She loved to read and
was a serious book fanatic. which may be part
of the reason why she never struggled in school.
Having obtained an extensive vocabulary over time,
she indulged in conveying her own imagination on
paper, starting to write some short novels. She was
nearly the perfect student, except for in athletic
activities. Alyssa lacked strongly in that department,
having a frail frame and thin limbs. She loved to
daydream and easily fell in love. Many of her dreams
consisted of elements from her books, making most
of them irrelevant to real life. There were some
who ridiculed Alyssa for her outrageous and never
constant dreams, though it may have been out of
jealousy for petty things. Although she was easily
influenced by what others thought, she buried
herself deep inside her small group of friends,
trying not to worrying about what they said.
════════════════════════════════════

It was just an average weekend for Alyssa.
After spending a couple of hours in the local library, she left for home. She had plans that night, to go out with her friends for dinner, and she was very excited. Either caught up by the book she was currently reading or just by being clumsy, she tripped, dropping all of the books in her bag. A kind stranger bent down to help, and left soon after he put the last book in her bag.
When she returned home, Alyssa discovered a strange note that the man had left:
I see that you're an avid reader of mine. Would you like to meet me?
Directly after that was a location and time. Now she was extremely interested: Who was this man? How does he know that I like his books? What books did he write? Is he famous? Am I going to be famous? She immediately called her friends and apologized for canceling on the plans they had. Alyssa was a frantic and enthusiastic mess; trying on clothes she never wore, rehearsing lines to say about her favorite books. She left the house with a big smile on her face, wearing a formal skirt and blazer. Never once did she suspect anything.
The sun was setting and along with it went the warmth. Alyssa shivered a little as she walked and clutched the blazer tighter. She saw the kind man and waved to him. Inquisitively, she inspected his face, trying to match it with one of her many favorite authors.
To her surprise, the man delicately held her hand. "Will you come with me? I know a great place to talk."
Alyssa blushed, and couldn't reject the man's smile. "I would love to."
His car was black, official-looking. She got in, feeling the supple leather seats. The car smelled faintly of anesthetic, a bit like a hospital. Even in the cold weather, the AC was on full blast. The ride was very long and silent. By the time they got there, Alyssa had managed to fall asleep.
She stepped out of the car, and saw the huge building. There were no blemishes on its perfectly white surface, which was illuminated by several fluorescent lights. Confused, she turned to question the man. But he had left.
Several other men grabbed her by her arms, her legs. She flailed and protested, but they took her in without batting an eye.
Alyssa was so scared. She had never been so scared before.

The injections, she didn't even feel the pain anymore. They had broken her spirit, she had lost her hope.
She had pleaded with the scientists, begging them for her books. But the doctor smiled. "You won't be needing those."
And her vision started to fade.
It didn't matter to her - the hideous fur, half-formed wings, blackened nails - none of that mattered. But without her sight... without her books, she had nothing.
She started to "hear" the humans' thoughts. Their thoughts were so painful to hear; so revolting. The selfishness and greed of every human in the laboratory. Then she realized that the humans were every bit as hideous, maybe more so than she was.
Hence began her hatred.

[heartout]

Love it, love it, love it! All, in. Though, Frank (the owner) is not on, and her form is not complete.

[IWannaBeAFarmer]

Sorry I've been gone. My internet was down, and it's just started to work. Thank-you for the forms, they're amazing!

[heartout]

The gender count at the moment is 3 females to 2 males. (Frank's character happens to be male.) Since we'd like to keep the gender count even, if you have joined and have not yet posted your form, only one female spot is left. Notify either me or Frank if you would like to make your character female, and we will post another notice on this page. Thank you all for joining!

[IWannaBeAFarmer]

Christopher Martz, a young adult, his entire childhood spent growing up in the slums. He was born in the city of Chicago, though there was no such thing of luxury or wealth; he grew in the poorer area, where crime was as common as rats, and violence was a world that children like him were used to. He was tough, unafraid, aggressive in a fight, so determined to claim another victory. He would fight kids twice his size, gain scars and bruises, but he returned to continue the fight. He wasn't as privileged as others, but his childhood had taught him to carry on, to be rough and tough, to never get hurt by getting his feelings involved. He was taught how to fight properly, attending a boxing class every weekend, and he got better every time; each punch would have a stronger impact, each attack swift and sudden, and he had become familiar with pain, learning to absorb it. He had failed in many things in life, but never a fight. He had focused in his training, gaining muscle, gaining so much attention from his peers. He was the street kid, the bad boy, the untameable, and nobody could beat him. Ever. He was king of the slums, and nobody could tell him what to do. Not until the day when he lost it all, everything.

My name is Christopher Martz. I am eighteen years old. I'm a boxer. I had nothing, but by luck, I won. I won everything. I was a fighter. Nobody would ever challenge me. But there's always someone, somewhere, better than you. Boxing was my life, a guaranteed victory, but flares die out, someday. I remember... I remember coughing up blood, facing another challenge in the ring. There's someone who's better than me, stronger than me, and he beat me. I was losing. I tried to focus, tried to concentrate, but I couldn't dodge, I couldn't fight back, I was so slow, weak... Pathetic. So I walked away, a loser, my reputation scratched off. I guess I was a nobody. I don't care, nobody cared. I don't need anyone. I'd make myself stronger, faster, better than anyone else. I thought I could rule the world, if I wanted. Maybe it was a wake up call, but really, I should've been a nobody. Being a somebody, wanting the attention, was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Another fight happened, and I lost. I'm beat. I'm... I'm dead. Christopher Martz died. Look at me now. They did this to me. These aren't just scars. This is an infection. The Blood... It made me a monster. It made me stronger. Powerful. I could kill, if I wanted to. I loved the strength. I loved their fear towards me. But I couldn't control it.
I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be the monster. So I gave in.

You're probably thinking about how it happened, how a tough guy like him ended up here. Well, he remembers everything. It's all carved into his conscience, scarring his mind. It's a taunting memory, reminding him of everything he had, and how easily it could be taken away, stolen and broken. His past life was gone, now, and he couldn't get it back.
He was a boxer, fighting for the championships, and had succeeded all fights, reaching the finals. If he had won, not only would his reputation boost up, along with his chances of having boxing as a courier, but all of this would never had happened.
The ring of the bell, and the fight in the ring began. There were cheers - and curses, boos hidden underneath murmurs - as the two fighters drew close to each other. Christopher had hand fists held close to his chest, covering his face. He had moved to swing a punch. The first hit; the glove swung into his face, and he staggered back, slumped into the ropes of the perimeter of the ring, and Christopher had shook his head, dizziness blurring his eyes. It was a hard punch, the force smashing into his face, and it had stalled Christopher; it was silent, except for the ringing in his ears, that buzzing sound, the slow motioned movements, the echoes. Another hit, and it smacked into the left side of his face. Christopher had tried to slash out, but his gloves were batted away with ease. He collapsed, dropping to the ground. The referee had appeared by his side, slapping the ground as he counted down. He had stood up, his movements sluggish, sloppy, and he shook his head, taking in a quick breath. He had swung out his fists, and his opponent simply absorbed it, a grin forming on his face. One last punch ended that fight, and Christopher, his energy drained, vision still hazed, had dropped down to ground, barely conscious. His opponent was twice his size, thick muscles bulking his frame and gifting his fists with a stronger blow. How could he believe that he could continue?
He had walked home, alone, that night, only with the company of shadows. A black eye lay as a reminder of that fight, and it had swollen slightly, partially blinding his vision. Since that first hour of a dark night, came a series of mistakes. His first mistake: to kick a can. It was just a simple piece of tin, cylindrical, and it would be hard to see how harm can come from little things like these; he had come across it on the sidewalk, amongst the other piles of garbage and murky puddles, and had merely kicked it, channelling all of his anger into that one kick. Why would he do that? It would never satisfy his fury. However, he had sent the can flying, curving into the alleyway. He was unskilled in football; his kick was foul, too forced, and the can dived towards the left, instead of going forwards. The can hit the ground, a large dent, bouncing towards the alleyway, rolling into its ravenous shadows, where the unseen stood. He had walked past the alley, standing in the opening, peering down the path.
It was horrible, horrendous, cruel, but Christopher lived in a different world compared to you and I, crime was merely a luxury. Violence was everywhere in the life his eyes saw, but it would be shrugged off, for he knew nothing else, nothing better. Gangs would wait by the sidewalks and attack, and nobody would help. Police was just a title, a badge, worn by others.
His second mistake: staying that moment longer. If he had walked away, then maybe he could've had that chance.
He was left in the shadows, within the dumpsters and trash bins, bloodied and barely conscious. He wasn't mutilated, but it felt like it. He refused to cry, or shed an abundance of tears like he did blood, and he was gasping on his own breath, his body hardly handling it. It was strange, though. A group of masked men had been waiting, but they stole nothing from him. Was his pain and suffering for their own amusement? Did this have a purpose? What was the meaning? Why didn't this story have an ending, why not now? A bright white light had blinded him, and a van drove down the alley, small pieces of trash crunching under the tyres. Just little things, easily trampled over by the great, but it was a great metaphor, an omen, and it suited perfectly.
Doctors came out, flooding into the alleyway as they picked up Christopher, hauling him into the back of the van; surely someone in the neighbourhood called the emergency services, and this was an ambulance. But, if only he knew, that he was going to be wiped, stolen from society.
His last mistake: needing help, being dependant on others, letting his life rest in their hands.
It was not an ambulance. It was not an hospital, even though it felt similar. Tubes were flowing in and out of his frame, and Christopher was lying in a white bed, only a thin paper dress covering his body; like awakening in a hospital room, Christopher had felt disorientated, numb, lightheaded. The room was simple, clean and crisp, the smell of sterilizers tainting the air with an acidic stench. Of course, Christopher had met the scientist in charge, Darabek, and an exchanging of words were held.
"Who are you?" He had asked, an innocent question, but the cruelty of men had made him regret questions.
The scientist had held up a mirror for him only, and he would see himself.
His eyes were bruised with a dark inky colour, his skin shadowed into a deep purple colour around the cuts and splotches across his face. Areas of his flesh glowed, a dull shine, a blackish oil excreting from patches on his skin. Christopher raised a hand to his face, fingertips brushing across his cheek; this was the last time he would see himself as a human, his original face. His smile died years ago, but now there is no hope for finding it again.

[IWannaBeAFarmer]

{Ok, we've just got to wait for Madness.}