In the baaaar, the might baaar...
"Y - yes sir..." The wuss squeaked to Kert, nodding and swallowing hard. "W - welcome to the The Bittersweet Opple..." Ignoring the fact he was meant to serve at the bar, he obediently put a glass under the machine's nozzle for Opple cider, the fizzy liquid making a loud hissing sound as it shot into the glass, filling it up to the brim. He quickly darted over, some of the fruity alcohol running down the old glass' side, and plonked it on the circular table. He quickly scooped up the money, stuffing it in his pocket and darting his beady eyes.
He took a deep breath, slowly tugging a small snuzi syringe from his pocket. Inside was an oddly psychedellicly-coloured fluid, carrying an oddly chemical smell. The thing was about quarter full. He cleared his throat, holding it within view.
"Umm...If you have any Chill pills, or...Stronger stuff, like..." He was sweating like Lee Evans in a sauna now, trembling before the outlaw. They weren't the nicest of folk, obviously. Best to not get in their way and suck up a little rather than go firing bullets, he reckoned. It wasn't his job to deal with them, anyhow...
OOC: I'll add this character in later
![Tongue](images/smilies/d_tongue.gif)
. Dunno if 'The Bittersweet Opple' is a bad name or not, sooo...Any better suggestions and I'll edit the name.
Name: Wilma Wendy Wally Wolvington. Usually called 'Weirdy' for being herself.
Species:
Wolvark. Just a normal green colour.
Age: Twenty-somethings. Looks a bit older.
Gender: Female. Dundundunnnnn.
Appearence: Posseses an average wolvark figure, with no particularly feminine traits. Wears ragged, old, brown skirted-dungarees with tan-coloured pants and aged black boots that have lost their shine and gained tears and stains. She wears an old string necklace of bottlecaps, browned old teeth and a dull clakker feather. She continually adds old tidbits to this.
Her eyes are a little larger, but particuarly white with small pupils like she's staring at you widely. From the dirt staining her clothes and warm sweatyness of her skin, it doesnt look like she's washed in a while. Carries an old brown blanket around with her, usually folded up and tucked into a large side pocket. Her old frilly white socks are stained brownish and greyed by the dirt now, her big toe poking through.
Occupation:
None. Resident homeless bum and local weirdo.
Personality: Is usually quiet and content-looking, almost always with some sort of smile on her face, be it a calm one, wide-eyed eyed and ecstatic or gritting her teeth with narrowed eyes. She tends to engage in a lot of odd behaviours, be it eating leaves off a tree for substenance, running with an odd galloping motion like a steef or opening plastic packets with her teeth. She will do most things she wants, regardless of how many funny looks clakkers give her. She has a bit of a spoilt side, and may glare darkly if she doesn't agree with something.
Equipment: Blanket: check, necklace: check, rusty bottle opener: check.
History: Wilma takes after her father's name Wallace, and has a second middle name since her mother couldn't decide which aunt to name her after. She lived in a rundown little shack with both parents, whose arguing and attempts at therapy drove her mad but was otherwise a little educated and happy. She couldn't help acting on impulse with her strange behaviours, and didn't see the point in being normal just to please others she wasn't fussed about.
In her young adult years, she had an argument brought up about her unchanging behaviours and not moving out, so she shot her dad. Unable to stand the look on her mother's face and the screaming, she opened fire until she got her in the head. She quickly gathered what she could, ditching the gun and leaving the rest of the Wolvington family to pick up the pieces and not know what happened.
Present day
She ran away to Spittoonstone, where she's lived for a year and sold most of her things for food, just one set of clothes remaining. So far, no one's came after her with a murder charge, she gets her water and food from opples and leaves, and is usually seen sleeping on the dusty roadside with a blanket or running around making steef noises.