K E I T H
- keith joseph maechevsky
- male, 16, leo
- esfp, leaning enfp / chaotic good or neutral good
- 5'2" - brunette, hair something between tousled and curly, green eyes and freckles
- irish / russian mix, related to alex; their mothers were siblings
- he thinks he's straight but he's not. like. not at all. he is gay as fuck
- excellent hand-eye coordination, therefore also an extremely good shot
- typically uses long range weapons as a result of his size, especially guns
- his lowest stat is his defense. decent attack, capitalizes on speed, accuracy, evasion, and luck
- rpg classes he'd choose: thief, gambler, sniper
- also pretty good with a knife and always carries one on him
- practically a protegé at the viola; his family is a musical one and he's been playing for most of his life
- associated elements: earth, wind
- associated imagery: forests, abandoned buildings in sunlight, rooftops
- associated colors: green, brown, some orange
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Keith is just about as average as you can get when it comes to white boy standards. He's outgoing and friendly, never one to shy away from introducing himself or making new acquaintances. And it's true— his amiable nature is disarmingly genuine. Never a moment goes by without his heart on his sleeve; he seems to perpetually live for no moment other than the present, and his personality reflects this tenfold. On that same note, he's a prankster— he loves to laugh, and he's got a strong mischievous streak in him. Keith's never been one to follow rules, and his thirst for excitement and adventure often leads him to breaking many of them. As far as he's concerned, a little illegality doesn't hurt from time to time, especially if it means exploring abandoned buildings and restricted sites. His wanderlust is insatiable, and so is Keith's love of life.
His youthful energy may often imply childishness— which is a trait he does have in ways. He's a little naive; not necessarily innocent or clueless, but Keith believes in the intrinsic good at the heart of every person. He believes that there is a reason people do bad things, and it's never out of sheer malice. His ability to give people the benefit of the doubt even in the face of tragedy and betrayal may be his naivety in play, but it may also be a strength of his— his steadfast conviction is what carries him through hardship. Yet even in his youth, Keith exudes a kind of natural charisma— he is not particularly charming or well-spoken, but he is genuinely warm towards everyone he meets. It is this warmth that draws people to him, and this coupled with his confidence makes him an excellent leader. Keith hates inaction, and often slides into leadership roles by virtue of being goal-oriented and assertive. He shows a lot of maturity in tense situations, far beyond his years, and he is almost always well-adjusted. He's also extremely clever and a quick-thinker, able to get himself out of most prickly situations that may surprise him.
However, Keith has his weaknesses. His selflessness added to his rash, impulsive nature, along with his tendency to overestimate himself leads him into situations he cannot handle. He's too idealistic— so much so that he willingly risks his life for the sake of his ideals or for the sake of others, even when it's logically better not to. In addition, he has a habit of martyring himself— taking on too much alone on his own and suffering because of it while pushing others' help away. He has yet to realize he can't be everyone's hero like he wants to, and that it's okay to be vulnerable at times.
On the rare occasions his world view is shattered, Keith is a downward spiral of destruction towards everyone around him— himself included. One particular point of weakness is his utter blindness in love; he does not understand his own emotions, often confusing crushes and infatuation with real, tangible love, and he is easy to manipulate using his feelings. He has very traditional ideas of what love is (barring orientation) and this can make him turn a blind eye to wrongs being done to him if he can somehow manage to maintain a facsimile of his ideal relationship.
Keith is just about as average as you can get when it comes to white boy standards. He's outgoing and friendly, never one to shy away from introducing himself or making new acquaintances. And it's true— his amiable nature is disarmingly genuine. Never a moment goes by without his heart on his sleeve; he seems to perpetually live for no moment other than the present, and his personality reflects this tenfold. On that same note, he's a prankster— he loves to laugh, and he's got a strong mischievous streak in him. Keith's never been one to follow rules, and his thirst for excitement and adventure often leads him to breaking many of them. As far as he's concerned, a little illegality doesn't hurt from time to time, especially if it means exploring abandoned buildings and restricted sites. His wanderlust is insatiable, and so is Keith's love of life.
His youthful energy may often imply childishness— which is a trait he does have in ways. He's a little naive; not necessarily innocent or clueless, but Keith believes in the intrinsic good at the heart of every person. He believes that there is a reason people do bad things, and it's never out of sheer malice. His ability to give people the benefit of the doubt even in the face of tragedy and betrayal may be his naivety in play, but it may also be a strength of his— his steadfast conviction is what carries him through hardship. Yet even in his youth, Keith exudes a kind of natural charisma— he is not particularly charming or well-spoken, but he is genuinely warm towards everyone he meets. It is this warmth that draws people to him, and this coupled with his confidence makes him an excellent leader. Keith hates inaction, and often slides into leadership roles by virtue of being goal-oriented and assertive. He shows a lot of maturity in tense situations, far beyond his years, and he is almost always well-adjusted. He's also extremely clever and a quick-thinker, able to get himself out of most prickly situations that may surprise him.
However, Keith has his weaknesses. His selflessness added to his rash, impulsive nature, along with his tendency to overestimate himself leads him into situations he cannot handle. He's too idealistic— so much so that he willingly risks his life for the sake of his ideals or for the sake of others, even when it's logically better not to. In addition, he has a habit of martyring himself— taking on too much alone on his own and suffering because of it while pushing others' help away. He has yet to realize he can't be everyone's hero like he wants to, and that it's okay to be vulnerable at times.
On the rare occasions his world view is shattered, Keith is a downward spiral of destruction towards everyone around him— himself included. One particular point of weakness is his utter blindness in love; he does not understand his own emotions, often confusing crushes and infatuation with real, tangible love, and he is easy to manipulate using his feelings. He has very traditional ideas of what love is (barring orientation) and this can make him turn a blind eye to wrongs being done to him if he can somehow manage to maintain a facsimile of his ideal relationship.
OUTFIT REFERENCES/IDEAS
S A M P L E S
Keith didn't know what it felt like to feel anymore.
The blast that swept across his city and destroyed it in one fell swoop left the remnants of a life he once knew, from a time that seemed like entire eternities ago. The skeletal remains of buildings stood in the wake of ruin, with cement and brick and debris strewn everywhere like blocks from a child's playroom. Among the rubble Keith could remember seeing far too many bodies to count. Some dead, killed immediately by the impact of the blast, and yet others still alive.
He saw a man get crushed to death underneath the weight of a toppled 16-wheeler. Sometimes in his sleep Keith can still hear the wet sound of his ribcage cracking between the truck and asphalt. The smell of gasoline and blood mixing together would not leave his mind for weeks, nor did the memory of his final hour before the explosion.
Keith remembered being outside. It was a Friday afteroon. It was routine for him to take a walk downtown to pick up an after school snack before heading home for dinner. He'd go to the local T-mart and grab a soda, then stroll through the business district where all the mom and pop shops were, then he'd say hi to the locals, catch up, make small talk, and occasionally help a kindly old woman with her grocery shopping before he returned home. That particular Friday, he stalled longer than usual, catching a late bus on the way back, then --
— everything went dark.
Retroactively he could recall the ear-shattering noise of wheels screeching and glass shattering. He remembered his body being thrown from his seat with such force he felt like he'd been tossed like a rag doll. But he could not remember these things in the moments right after he woke up.
When Keith opened his eyes, the sky was red. A huge plume of smoke seemed to mushroom out of the horizon. He air was scalding hot and he nearly choked on the scent of ash filling his lungs.
It took a moment for him to realize that his entire neighborhood had been wiped off the map.
Against his better judgement, he went back. He walked the remainder of the way home, limping with a sprained ankle and bruises marring his body. He could feel glass cuts leaking blood into his shirt. He refused to stop. And when he made it back, there was nothing left of his house except the imprint of the floor he used to walk on so many times before. Everything else had been vaporized immediately.
He could not think of the unthinkable. Whatever family he had before the bomb was buried miles deep underneath the debris in his mind. He did not think about them — could not think about them. Like clockwork, his thoughts switched immediately to survival. He left the radiation zone, propelled forward by some force that wasn't his own. His movements felt mechanical, but he didn't think much of it.
No. He didn't think much at all. It was sheer instinct that made his feet move — the drive to live. What for, though?
Keith supposed that was the question he had to find the answer for.
He'd taken up shelter at one of the abandoned warehouses still left standing in the city. Scavenging what he could find, he managed to collect a few cans of food as well as a handful of items. First, plastic jug. He used this for collection what little clean water he could find. Next was an old blanket, for the nights when the hoodie he'd been wearing for two weeks now wasn't enough. Third, a lighter. Keith avoided using it as much as possible, just in case of an emergency. And, finally, he still had his pocket knife on him since the day of the bombing. It proved to be an indispensable ally in acquiring and crafting things.
The first few days were hard. He could not relax — not after what he witnessed. He ripped his tank top into makeshift bandages to stabilize his ankle and tie the cuts on his arms. He then tried to look for others — help them, if he could. But everyone alive in the city seemed to have vanished somehow. They were either running away from the radiation, or they were already dead.
Keith knew he should follow suit. Find what he could and move on to another location, far away from the sickness-inducing radium that contaminated the city grounds. But somehow, he could not bring himself to. Instead, he waited. He broke into abandoned stores and only took what he immediately needed, spending the rest of his time curled up in the warehouse corner. He tried to sleep. Couldn't. Bags formed under his eyes soon enough, and the sting of his untreated wounds along with the high dosage of radiation he received were all taking a toll on his body.
At the top of the warehouse, Keith had enough sense to spell out an SOS message using whatever he could find — old tarp, bottles, used cans, whatever. If someone was out there looking for survivors, they had to see him too. That was, if anyone was still out there looking at all. Hunched with his back to the warehouse corner, he had a knee pulled to his chest — the other leg with his sprained ankle lay straight, and he let his head rest on the adjacent wall.
Whatever feelings he should've been feeling vacated his body two weeks ago. All he wanted to do now was sleep.
Keith closed his eyes.
=== SAMPLE 2 ===
Keith immediately stilled, hearing a voice he did not recognize outside the house— except that was practically a moot as fuck point because these days there were very few voices he recognized. That was normal. What wasn't normal was the words this person spoke: come out with your hands up.
That wasn't good.
Keith held his breath for a solid minute, trying to calm himself, trying to think. There was someone outside the house. Judging by the tone of their voice, it was probably a man— a man with a weapon. You didn't threaten someone unless you were either confident in your bluffing skills or you were armed. He heard the click too, even in the rain— a gun. A weapon he recognized all too well. In other words, this guy could put a hole in him at any moment. Keith bit his lip. This wasn't good. Why was he after him? Did they hear about a kid who's been smuggling goods out of the city? Did they finally catch him, after all this time?
It seemed plausible. Which meant only one thing: there was punishment waiting for him.
Keith didn't intend on sticking around for it.
He scanned his surroundings. A former guest room, he presumed, connected to a hallway that, in turn, linked several more bedrooms as well as a kitchen and bathroom. At the end of the hall, there was a stairway that lead up to the second floor. Broken glass, everywhere. A couple of bottles sat in the corner of the guest room, scorched with smoke as if someone used them to boil water. Cement floors. A tank of gasoline he pilfered from an abandoned vehicle on the way here. There was an old, tattered mattress on the other side of the room, within view of the window. A bookcase too, metal. He noted its presence. It looked flimsy and unreliable but it'd be better cover than nothing should he need something to hide behind. But the best thing would be to avoid confrontation altogether— if Keith could make it outside without being seen, he might have a chance. Except there were no other buildings for miles, just barren wasteland, dirt, and a couple metal skeletons— things that used to be machines he assumed. If he left the house, he'd risk completely exposing himself to enemy fire.
His best chance? Staying one step ahead of his pursuer, trick him into thinking there's no one around, and waiting until he leaves.
For now, Keith slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out his pocket knife, and quietly pushed his jacket sleeves down so his hand couldn't be seen with his blade drawn. Useless against a gun in a fair fight, but Keith did have the element of surprise on his side— still, he'd wait until it was absolutely necessary. And his footsteps, traced with water, still lead straight to him anyway. Something needed to be done about that— for now, he'd wait until the man came inside before he made any rash decisions.