Post by Falco on Dec 26, 2011 20:15:27 GMT -6
Name: Gilbert Peter Carlott.
Character number: First.
Alias(es): Gil, Carlott to his superiors.
Age: 26.
Gender: Male.
Species: Newly a Ghoul.
Factional Affiliation: NCR, although he's a bit unsure about whether they'll still take him.
Karma: Neutral, edging a bit towards bad.
Appearance:
Gil is definitely not a small person. Imposing in stature and now definitely not of normal appearance, becoming a ghoul hasn't changed his frame too much. Due to how recently it happened, he's perhaps a bit more human in appearance than some would expect, though he's still missing his nose and right ear. Sizable areas of skin on his face have already sloughed off, and the rest is faring worse than he'd like. He still has a good bit of his hair, the remaining patches of it cropped short and a medium blonde. His eyes are brown, and although it isn't quite that obvious anymore, he used to look halfway decent before he started 'decaying'.
He wears NCR mantle armor with his dogtags kept securely underneath it, and his Trooper Helmet is usually just around his neck or in his pack. He'll occasionally wear his goggles when combat breaks out, but those generally stay in his pack as well.
He's incredibly self-conscious about the whole...Ghoul thing, and does a sort of shoddy job of bandaging his face up when he has to go where there's people.
Personality:
A rather unpleasant individual with a preference for violence and not a lot of patience, Gil wasn't a very sterling example of trooper. He almost always refused to help mutants, instead finding some subtle ways to harass them without getting in trouble with his superiors. Though he's changed his outlook on mutants a good bit, he's still not a very good person in general. He works best when given strict orders and deadlines to do them by, but if left to his own, he has a bad habit of stirring up trouble. His obedience to his superiors has saved his status as a trooper a few times, and he's gotten it ingrained into his mind that the chain of command should never for any reason be broken. Without some structure to fall back on, he's considerably aimless and isn't prone to taking action by himself. Vengeful to a ridiculous degree, Gil certainly remembers his losses and has gotten pretty good at finding ways to strike back at the offender where it hurts. To put it bluntly, he's a bully with almost a requirement of somebody to give him orders--without that, he isn't very sure what to do. Not quite as creative in the thinking for himself department as he is in the revenge one, but what can you do about that, hm?
He's good with guns and fighting, but not so much with people. For conversational skills, Gil is almost ridiculously lacking, though he has plenty of ill remarks to launch when the situation calls for it--and even if it doesn't, sometimes. He has a short temper that's now fairly unrestrained due to the fact that his superiors are nowhere around to discipline him for it, and he is quick to solve problems with fists and bullets rather than words. If it looks like he's losing the fight, however, he has a strategy that's saved him a few times--he plays dead; or just unconscious, whatever the situation requires. This isn't because he's afraid of losing, however; it's because he gets sick of fighting the second he starts getting pushed back. Gil is getting a bit better about this thanks to the fact that most of the things he gets to go up against now will make sure they kill what they fight, much to his chagrin.
Never in his life has he been very good with the fairer sex, though he really did think he was. A near compendium of bad pickup lines and horrible come-ons, Gil was a little bit notorious in his neighborhood before he signed up and was shipped off. He will still make passes at ladies if he's in good enough spirits, though this is happening a bit less now.
Gil is a good bit more withdrawn at the moment, and greatly dislikes going where there's people. He's moody and even less likely to be friendly, let alone get near somebody. He hates being called 'zombie' or any variation of the term, and any smart remarks about his appearance will earn a rather swift punch to the face. He's still very touchy about that, and it's unlikely he'll react any differently in the future.
History:
A trooper straight out of the NCR, Gil is from the Republic's capitol city and is quite proud of the fact. He lived his early years in the downtown area of the city, with his family consisting of three other members--both parents and a younger sister. He signed up for the army a year after the first scouts found the dam, and was deployed out to the Mojave Outpost soon after. Gil is surprisingly fond of his squadmates, given his temperament, and his training has basically ground it into his head to stick his neck out for any other Trooper. Some might call him brainwashed for that, he just says he's loyal.
He's served for total of six years, and he definitely does not regret it. It's been fairly uneventful due to the relative isolation of his assignment, but he doesn't mind. He'll still have some stories to tell his little sister when--and if--he gets back.
During his time at the Outpost, he began suspecting that one specific caravaneer was perhaps a little...untrustworthy. Gil was investigating him when he accidentally stumbled across the man giving a report--to the Legion. As it turned out, his suspicions were correct, and the man was a Frumentarius in disguise. Unfortunately for Gil, his discovery wasn't quite done stealthily, and he was discovered as well; this earned him a pretty solid beatdown. In order to be 'dealt with' properly, he was dumped in Jackrabbit Springs and left for dead. This didn't have the desired effect at all, and Gil crawled out of the Springs a bit more than half-dead and certainly irradiated. He doesn't quite remember how he managed to survive the next few weeks, but he certainly remembers when his skin first started falling off.
Since then, he's wandered on his own, staying away from settlements and trying his damnedest to find that Legion bastard and pay him in kind for what he's done.
SPECIAL Stats:
STR: 9
PER: 6
END: 8
CHA: 2
INT: 6
AGI: 3
LUC: 6
Tag Skills:
Guns, Melee Weapons, Unarmed.
Writing Sample:
Still alive. That much was obvious--death certainly couldn't be this painful. Or could it? It's not like anybody ever came back to say 'Hey, being dead hurts like a bitch! Avoid being dead!'
Well, they might've, as far as he really cared right now. He swallowed, triggering a spasm of coughing that ended with him curled tightly into a ball on the edge of the spring. The irradiated water pushed gently at his legs, almost seeming to urge him to get up. He cracked open one eye, the other swollen shut and caked with blood. He was sure he looked like shit. But who wouldn't, after being hit lord knows how many times with--had that been a power fist?--and then being dragged all the way out to...wherever the hell he was, only to be tossed in a glorified puddle. Gil grit his teeth and curled his fingers into fists, closing his eye again and trying to think of something else. He definitely felt broken, for lack of a better word--something was probably snapped somewhere. Probably multiple somethings, with his luck. He took a deep breath, muffling a yelp when an unexpected jolt of pain punched him in the gut.
It was going to be a long day.
Character number: First.
Alias(es): Gil, Carlott to his superiors.
Age: 26.
Gender: Male.
Species: Newly a Ghoul.
Factional Affiliation: NCR, although he's a bit unsure about whether they'll still take him.
Karma: Neutral, edging a bit towards bad.
Appearance:
Gil is definitely not a small person. Imposing in stature and now definitely not of normal appearance, becoming a ghoul hasn't changed his frame too much. Due to how recently it happened, he's perhaps a bit more human in appearance than some would expect, though he's still missing his nose and right ear. Sizable areas of skin on his face have already sloughed off, and the rest is faring worse than he'd like. He still has a good bit of his hair, the remaining patches of it cropped short and a medium blonde. His eyes are brown, and although it isn't quite that obvious anymore, he used to look halfway decent before he started 'decaying'.
He wears NCR mantle armor with his dogtags kept securely underneath it, and his Trooper Helmet is usually just around his neck or in his pack. He'll occasionally wear his goggles when combat breaks out, but those generally stay in his pack as well.
He's incredibly self-conscious about the whole...Ghoul thing, and does a sort of shoddy job of bandaging his face up when he has to go where there's people.
Personality:
A rather unpleasant individual with a preference for violence and not a lot of patience, Gil wasn't a very sterling example of trooper. He almost always refused to help mutants, instead finding some subtle ways to harass them without getting in trouble with his superiors. Though he's changed his outlook on mutants a good bit, he's still not a very good person in general. He works best when given strict orders and deadlines to do them by, but if left to his own, he has a bad habit of stirring up trouble. His obedience to his superiors has saved his status as a trooper a few times, and he's gotten it ingrained into his mind that the chain of command should never for any reason be broken. Without some structure to fall back on, he's considerably aimless and isn't prone to taking action by himself. Vengeful to a ridiculous degree, Gil certainly remembers his losses and has gotten pretty good at finding ways to strike back at the offender where it hurts. To put it bluntly, he's a bully with almost a requirement of somebody to give him orders--without that, he isn't very sure what to do. Not quite as creative in the thinking for himself department as he is in the revenge one, but what can you do about that, hm?
He's good with guns and fighting, but not so much with people. For conversational skills, Gil is almost ridiculously lacking, though he has plenty of ill remarks to launch when the situation calls for it--and even if it doesn't, sometimes. He has a short temper that's now fairly unrestrained due to the fact that his superiors are nowhere around to discipline him for it, and he is quick to solve problems with fists and bullets rather than words. If it looks like he's losing the fight, however, he has a strategy that's saved him a few times--he plays dead; or just unconscious, whatever the situation requires. This isn't because he's afraid of losing, however; it's because he gets sick of fighting the second he starts getting pushed back. Gil is getting a bit better about this thanks to the fact that most of the things he gets to go up against now will make sure they kill what they fight, much to his chagrin.
Never in his life has he been very good with the fairer sex, though he really did think he was. A near compendium of bad pickup lines and horrible come-ons, Gil was a little bit notorious in his neighborhood before he signed up and was shipped off. He will still make passes at ladies if he's in good enough spirits, though this is happening a bit less now.
Gil is a good bit more withdrawn at the moment, and greatly dislikes going where there's people. He's moody and even less likely to be friendly, let alone get near somebody. He hates being called 'zombie' or any variation of the term, and any smart remarks about his appearance will earn a rather swift punch to the face. He's still very touchy about that, and it's unlikely he'll react any differently in the future.
History:
A trooper straight out of the NCR, Gil is from the Republic's capitol city and is quite proud of the fact. He lived his early years in the downtown area of the city, with his family consisting of three other members--both parents and a younger sister. He signed up for the army a year after the first scouts found the dam, and was deployed out to the Mojave Outpost soon after. Gil is surprisingly fond of his squadmates, given his temperament, and his training has basically ground it into his head to stick his neck out for any other Trooper. Some might call him brainwashed for that, he just says he's loyal.
He's served for total of six years, and he definitely does not regret it. It's been fairly uneventful due to the relative isolation of his assignment, but he doesn't mind. He'll still have some stories to tell his little sister when--and if--he gets back.
During his time at the Outpost, he began suspecting that one specific caravaneer was perhaps a little...untrustworthy. Gil was investigating him when he accidentally stumbled across the man giving a report--to the Legion. As it turned out, his suspicions were correct, and the man was a Frumentarius in disguise. Unfortunately for Gil, his discovery wasn't quite done stealthily, and he was discovered as well; this earned him a pretty solid beatdown. In order to be 'dealt with' properly, he was dumped in Jackrabbit Springs and left for dead. This didn't have the desired effect at all, and Gil crawled out of the Springs a bit more than half-dead and certainly irradiated. He doesn't quite remember how he managed to survive the next few weeks, but he certainly remembers when his skin first started falling off.
Since then, he's wandered on his own, staying away from settlements and trying his damnedest to find that Legion bastard and pay him in kind for what he's done.
SPECIAL Stats:
STR: 9
PER: 6
END: 8
CHA: 2
INT: 6
AGI: 3
LUC: 6
Tag Skills:
Guns, Melee Weapons, Unarmed.
Writing Sample:
Still alive. That much was obvious--death certainly couldn't be this painful. Or could it? It's not like anybody ever came back to say 'Hey, being dead hurts like a bitch! Avoid being dead!'
Well, they might've, as far as he really cared right now. He swallowed, triggering a spasm of coughing that ended with him curled tightly into a ball on the edge of the spring. The irradiated water pushed gently at his legs, almost seeming to urge him to get up. He cracked open one eye, the other swollen shut and caked with blood. He was sure he looked like shit. But who wouldn't, after being hit lord knows how many times with--had that been a power fist?--and then being dragged all the way out to...wherever the hell he was, only to be tossed in a glorified puddle. Gil grit his teeth and curled his fingers into fists, closing his eye again and trying to think of something else. He definitely felt broken, for lack of a better word--something was probably snapped somewhere. Probably multiple somethings, with his luck. He took a deep breath, muffling a yelp when an unexpected jolt of pain punched him in the gut.
It was going to be a long day.