Post by Greg Marsh on Dec 31, 2020 18:08:13 GMT -5
Full Name: William Gregory Marsh, III
Nickname/Alias: Greg
Age/Date Of Birth: 36 / February 27, 1984
Race: Human
Occupation: Bartender
Species Group: Hunter
Play-By: Hans Matheson
Abilities
None
Special Inventory
None
Likes (At Least 3):
❤ Microbrews
❤ Grunge music
❤ Hats (he collects them)
Dislikes (At Least 3):
✗ Sandals (on himself)
✗ Spicy food
✗ Rap music
Fears (At Least 2):
☬ Water
☬ Small spaces
Goals (At Least 1):
★ Don’t die. That counts, right?
★ Open his own brewery
Personality: There’s a duality about Greg. He’s the quiet bartender with the old band t-shirts and one of those faces that seems forgettable. That guy will listen to your woes of the day while pouring you one drink after another and encourage you to take a cab home when you’ve had enough. He doesn’t say much, particularly about himself, but he’ll talk to you all night about whether the song playing was by Deep Blue Something or Tonic.
He’s also the guy who’s been hunting for over ten years. That guy lines all his doorways and windowsills with salt, hangs protective charms on the walls, draws devil’s traps under strategically placed mats and rugs, and keeps a silver knife on his belt at all times. That guy sleeps with one eye open, tries not to form close attachments, and spends most of his time hoping to live another day.
On the surface, Greg is sociable enough, though a bit shy and quiet. He gets nervous in large crowds and doesn’t easily open up to strangers. But he’s a very good listener, which tends to draw people in need of someone to talk about. He’s also good at keeping secrets… his own included.
Traits
✧ Observant (often an unnoticed fly on the wall)
✧ Resourceful
✧ Persuasive
Negatives (At Least 3):
✦ Secretive
✦ Anxious
✦ Cold/aloof
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Parents: Natalie Hoffman (mother), William “Billy” Marsh, Jr. (father)
Siblings: Everett Marsh (younger brother, estranged)
Other Family: James Marsh (uncle)
Important Others: N/A
History: Greg was born in Buffalo, New York on February 27, 1984 to William Gregory Marsh, Jr. and Natalie Hoffman. He's always gone by his middle name to prevent confusion within the family, since his grandfather goes by William and his father goes by Billy. He has a younger brother named Everett James Marsh, who was born July 23, 1991. Greg had a strained relationship with his parents. From the time he was little, Greg always had social problems. He'd get into fights with other children, fly into rages that frightened his mother and angered his father. No matter how many doctors they took him to, how many medications they tried, nothing seemed to "fix" Greg.
One night, when Greg was 11 years old and had one of his infamous temper tantrums, his mother - alone with him and Everett - dragged him into the closet beneath the stairs to the second floor of their house. Hysterical and at her wit's end, Natalie locked him inside and turned up the volume on the television to a near-deafening level to drown out Greg's screams. He eventually passed out and Natalie left him there to sleep until morning. When she let him out he was nearly catatonic. He didn't speak for two days afterwards. This event traumatized Greg and forever altered his relationship with his mother.
In high school, Greg got very good grades, and was a member of the football team for a while, but he had frequent disciplinary problems and absences. He also had several run-ins with the local authorities for getting into fights and breaking into cars and public buildings. His father died of a head injury when he was 15 years old. Unknown to everyone but Greg and his mother, this was a result of a physical altercation between Greg and his father. He left home when he was 18 and bounced from one residence to the next for a few years before settling in Manchester.
He was first exposed to supernatural occurrences when his roommate, Justin, was attacked by a werewolf. Greg was 21 at the time and living in New York City. Of course, they didn't know he was a werewolf until he began to change and tried to devour Greg. After he was forced to kill his roommate to save himself, Greg finally went searching for the werewolf that had caused all of it. He found that and much more and ended up falling into the hunting life.
Greg ended up in Zeppelin a few months ago and has fallen into a steady routine of bartending at the local bar, Crossroads. He hasn’t made much of a spectacle of himself as he’s been debating whether to find a way out of this place, or take the opportunity to lead a normal life where no one knows who he is or what he does on his off time.
Alias: Ruby, Rubes
How did you find us?: Jen
Experience: I’ve been RP’ing since 2008. Getting reacquainted with ProBoards.
Other Characters: Parker Owens
RP Sample:
Music played low throughout the bar, barely audible over the cacophony of conversations and clinking of glass. Greg heard snippets of conversations.
“... total B.S., man. There’s no way Batman would beat Superman…”
“... No, it’s Whitesnake. This song is Whitesnake, for sure…”
“... haven’t seen her in maybe six or seven days…”
“Hey, can you tell me where the bathroom is in this place?”
Greg glanced up, realizing that last one had been directed at him. He looked at the young guy with the messy mop of hair and the hooded sweatshirt.
“Yeah. See that door over there?” Greg asked.
He pointed to the bathroom door.
“Right there, man. Can’t miss it.”
“Cool, thanks.”
Watching the guy walk away, Greg couldn’t help but feel a pang of suspicion. He didn’t recognize him. After a few weeks working at this place he’d gotten to know just about every face in town. New people tended to stand out.
It wasn’t uncommon for somebody’s first stop on arrival was the bar. Finding out you're trapped in a town full of strangers will drive a person to drink. But that guy seemed pretty calm. He looked over twenty-one, so it probably wasn’t his first time here.
Greg tried to keep his head on his job, but he kept glancing at the door to the men’s room, which hadn’t opened again since Hoodie Guy went in.
Leave it alone, he told himself. Just leave it alone.
But a feeling of dread kept nagging at him and he eventually went over to check the bathroom. He pushed open the door and poked his head in, seeing the line of urinals right where it should be.
“Hey, everything okay in here?” he called.
Jesus, what was he doing? Yeah, just check in on everybody trying to do their business in the bathroom. That’s not creepy at all.
However, there was no answer, which prompted him to enter the bathroom.
“Hello?”
It seemed empty, which was strange. Had the guy left while Greg wasn’t looking? Yeah, that must have been it. Still, he walked over to the stalls, shoving open doors, looking for he didn’t know what.
And then he found it. A pile of skin on the floor in the very last stall. He looked around for signs of anyone, but he didn’t see anyone.
“Shit,” he muttered.
I, Greg Marsh, have read the site rules and understand them. The code word for the rules is: Batman
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Application Created By Hell Hound
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