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    Born: 14 February 1979
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    Custom Title: Vinny Vimto
    Played By:: Red
    Gender: Male
    Former Occupation: Con-Artist
    Primary Weapon: Stiletto Switchblade
    Secondary Weapon: Glock 21
    Small pic or gif URL: http://s25.postimg.org/vxkwfeotr/vincent_1.jpg
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    App: http://dawns.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=714
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    Joined: 16-November 14
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    Last Seen: Jun 5 2016, 09:21 PM
    Local Time: Aug 16 2018, 06:16 AM
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    Vincent Soretto


    My Content
    Nov 27 2014, 12:49 AM
    Trying to remember anything was like climbing a ten-foot cement wall with barbed wire on the top. It just couldn't be done, not by someone like him, anyway. His brain just seemed to be blocking him from reaching any checkpoints in figuring out what the hell happened and how he came to be in this room. This goddamn sickening room, at least he could focus on that. How the rare groans of the other injured annoyed the hell out of him because everything seemed like it was ten times louder in this room than anywhere else he had ever been.

    Vincent lifted his arm to softly stroke his forehead to soothe an itch away. He felt like he had to be delicate with himself, and that was okay, as long as no one else was. He didn't want to be treated differently now, he just wanted to be treated. That was the point of this place, right? Not to contemplate death as he had been. Since he had gained consciousness, officially aware-of-time-and-space consciousness, he hadn't sat up. He didn't want to see anything bad, and he knew something was bad. Maybe his leg was deformed past recognition, or simply crippled and totally useless. At least he could feel it, or he thought he could.

    He really wanted to lie on his side for a while, but he didn't dare move. He just stared upwards with an empty expression, barely registering that the thing above him was a ceiling as he was too absorbed in his thoughts. What the hell would he do if he was crippled? He probably wouldn't even be able to pick berries like some fucking fairy.

    Maybe he was overthinking it, though. He nodded to himself as he acknowledged that he tended to look on the dark side of things. Usually he thought it was more realistic to think that way, but sometimes it could throw things out of proportion. Just like it probably hadn't been three weeks he'd been lying in here, but just a few days. Certainly felt like weeks.... He was thirsty as hell, too. Where were the damn imitation nurses when he needed them? His eyes narrowed as he attempted to look around the room above his head and avoid looking anywhere near his body and his lips pressed together into an expectant frown. It was just a warehouse room, like any other, but the ground floor was decorated with other gurneys matching the one he himself was lying in, and various medical equipment he couldn't begin to label with the current knowledge he had. It had never occurred to him that he would be one of the people staying here full-time, and as a "patient". It had only ever been to get a cut dressed or to talk to someone, as rare as that was.

    At the moment, he was silenced by his heavy musings, and didn't raise his voice to call for someone. Besides, it seemed a little pathetic to him; he didn't want to be like a kitten mewling for its mama. He would simply have to wait.
    Nov 18 2014, 08:48 PM
    <center><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">VINCENT RODOLFO SORETTO</div>

    <div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div>

    <img src="http://s25.postimg.org/meb7ly1bj/vincent_5.jpg">

    <div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;font-family:arial narrow;color:#fbfbfb;font-size:10px;text-transform:uppercase;">

    <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" width="100%" scrollamount="2">"Are you stupid or something?"</marquee>

    </div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>GENDER: Male
    <br>AGE: 37
    <br>BIRTHDATE: February 14th, 1979
    <br>NICKNAME(S): Vinny Vimto, Vince
    <br>SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Straight
    <br>READ RULES: Glossary

    <br><br></div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>PREVIOUS OCCUPATION: Con-artist
    <br>HOMETOWN: Boston, Massachussetts
    <br>FACE CLAIM: Johannes Huebl
    <br><br></div><br><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">APPEARANCE</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>HAIR COLOR: Brunette
    <br>EYE COLOR: Blue
    <br>ETHNICITY: Caucasian
    <br>HEIGHT: 6 feet
    <br>WEIGHT: 169 lbs.
    <br>BUILD: Fit with a little extra muscle, apocalypse shaped him up; however still fairly thin.
    <br>DISTINGUISHING MARKS: A nearly-healed scar cutting through his left eyebrow, lower half of his left leg has been amputated.
    <br>CLOTHING STYLE: Vincent has always preferred button-up (or button-down, same thing), usually cotton, shirts, typically in some shade of blue. He wears the sleeves rolled-up carefully and rarely has them down. He alternates between jeans and slacks, though mostly the latter. In cooler weather, he'll either wear something underneath his shirts or hesitantly switch to flannel, but it's not often that he'll be seen in it. He prefers nice dark leather dress shoes over boots or sneakers. His stubborn nature finds it difficult to let go of some things he'd gotten used to before the apocalypse.

    Vincent's confidence shows in his smooth gait, though far from cocky. He's not very showy and his grim appearance and demeanor gives off an unwelcoming air about him, further encouraging his tendencies to keep to himself. His blue eyes aren't particularly brilliant but he expresses lots of things through them, especially when he's supposed to keep his mouth shut but he still wants to get the last word. He's good at controlling them during a con however, and he can make himself appear a very warm and welcoming man when he wants or needs to. He's usually frowning somehow and his eyebrows are low above his eyes. He smiles plenty, but usually when he's making someone else miserable or irritated. He is surprisingly soft-spoken and his voice reverberates deeply with a gentle scratchy quality.
    He doesn't have the smooth hands of a businessman but somewhat calloused ones with long thin fingers, mostly from after the apocalypse started but some that had formed before. He likes to use his hands which merits his sleeves always being rolled up. His shirts fit well and show his figure and he wears his dark slacks and jeans with a belt. A cheap but firm and effective belt holster for his pistol hangs on the leather strap and keeps his Glock at a good position for him to grab when needed.
    He takes some pride in his hair and takes a little time every morning to brush through it with his comb and make it nice and neat, brushing it back away from his face and parted on the side. He shaves pretty often to avoid having a beard. He looks twenty years older with a beard and he knows it well, so he'll let some stubble grow but never too thickly. He doesn't shave off his sideburns but doesn't let those get huge either. His jaw line isn't incredibly sharp, but it's still easily detectable and any fat under his chin that might have been forming was eradicated by all the excercise forced upon him after the end started.

    <br><br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">PERSONALITY</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>

    Though he always comes across as negative, Vincent does still have some hope. Hope that the next place he goes to has a big stash of whiskey and that one day he can burn a whole town--totally has nothing to do with his past, no way-- with molotovs. Otherwise, the glass is in fact always half-empty. He finds that thinking pessimistically is a good strategy to surviving, so when he's scolded or lectured for it, it slides off like water to wax. He's usually too stubborn to change his ways of thought unless a new idea presented to him sounds like firm logic--his version of logic. Always a critical thinker, Vincent can momentarily forget his pessimistic point of view to assess the situation as unbiased as possible, and then the negative ideas push their way in to do what they can to help. Vincent always found math pretty easy, and strategy came naturally. It's the biggest skill he has and it's probably the sole thing that's kept him alive. He likes to solve problems, though most he comes across now have no solution when it comes to people and their personal issues, and it frustrates him more than almost anything. On the contrary, he doesn't want to fix people, just make them see logic. Make them think without emotion.
    Vincent may come off as narcissistic and he is--to a point. It's contradicted by his sense of self-loathing and personal form of humility which balances out to push him to stick to himself and leave others be while he deals with his own concerns and affairs. He rarely asks for help with things that he puts his mind toward doing but when he's not feeling up to the task or simply too tired to care a whole lot about it, he'll ask for assistance. He dislikes using the word help itself. Before the end, his independent attitude was only enforced by the fact that the world then ran around an 'every man for himself' policy unless someone was paid to do this and another paid to do that. Afterwards, however, he came to appreciate a certain sense of inaptitude and cooperation among survivors of similar thought. He realized early on that it was nearly impossible to survive without help and that it wasn't a thing to be ashamed of anymore. But he still tries to an extent to help himself and seek assistance when needed.
    Anger is his constant companion, whether he's just slightly irate or blood-boilingly furious. Despite this, it does actually take a lot of provocation to get him really mad. He's usually just annoyed and sarcastic, however calm, gladly spreading his misery around to everyone else. He enjoys teasing and provoking others, especially children. The mindset that the apocalypse has forced them into has taught them the importance of self reliance and are therefore far less likely to go tattle. While he tries to project his dislike children on his exterior, he doesn't really mind them that much, even if they sass and irritate him. He would never think of himself as a fatherly figure or role model, probably being closer to what most would call a bad-influence with his constant swearing and use of innapropriate gestures and phrases.

    <br><br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">SKILLS</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>
    • STRATEGY - His mind was made for making plans, or at least reshaped to adjust to a lifestyle that even before the apocalypse, required offense and backup plans. He's good at thinking of all angles of a situation and how to get out, even if not all the details of the plan are 100% safe or certain. Nothing really can be these days.
    • REHAB - He learned the techniques of rehab first-hand on the recieving end, and knows what works for different people since witnessing it. Though the rehab he knows is mostly for overcoming addiction, it could be applied elsewhere with a creative twist.
    • GUN REPAIR - His older brother and friends taught him the basics of how to handle a gun and at the time, he took a great interest in learning all he could about them. He can figure out what's wrong and what needs replacing, and do all the work involved.
    • CONNING - It's thought of as a bad thing, but he's survived all his life by doing it, before and after the apocalypse. He doesn't have the hunting and tracking skills of many, so he sweet talks his way into getting supplies. Though people's motives have changed from money to food, ammunition, and able-bodied allies, the art of conning itself still works just as well in the new world.
    <br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">INVENTORY</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>
    • Pack of cigarettes, x2
    • Stiletto Switchblade
    • Glock 21
    • .45 bullets, x6
    • Steel canteen filled with water
    • Bottle of Jack Daniel's
    • Hand sanitizer
    • Bed roll
    • Brass Zippo lighter
    • Comb
    <br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">RELATIONSHIPS</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>
    • Samuel Jean Soretto, brother - Unknown
    • Katelyn Bosch, mother - Deceased
    • Thomas Soretto, father - Unknown
    • Olivia Cox, ex-girlfriend - Unknown
    • Justin Hayes, friend - Deceased (cheated in a game of cards, deserved to get shot)
    • Devyn Herrman, friend - Unknown
    <br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">HISTORY</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>

    Born into an upper middle-class family, Vincent had mostly what he wanted growing up, thanks to his mother. His older brother by six years moved out when Vincent was 12 and visited often, mostly for his little brother's sake, since their father far preferred to be at his various girlfriends' homes than his own, despite already having a living wife. He was sent to a charter school that mainly focused on the old values, like etiquette and how to dress like a gentleman, along with the normal cirriculum. He wasn't very studious and got rather poor grades although he did excel in arithmetics. He had a tendency to smart-mouth to the teachers which earned him plenty of time cleaning up around the school. He got an offer to join the debate club, but after going to one meeting, he decided he didn't like the goody-good kids and abandoned the idea until his junior year where he tried again and actually stuck with it. He still didn't like the kids in there but at practices he got to argue with them, so it wasn't so bad.
    During his visits, Vincent's brother Samuel would take him out with his own friends who were of an unsavory nature. They taught him how to steal hubcaps and tires and car radios, and when one of them got the great privelige of a gun license, showed it to him and laughed while he learned to use it. When Vincent was about 21, he was introduced to the wonders of crack cocaine and his life went downhill for years. He got to the point where he was even too lazy to steal things off and out of cars and took to sweet talking people out of their money, which after drug-filled years of practice, he got very good at. His life was pretty good despite addiction until he was arrested for posession of cocaine and forced into rehabilitation. It actually did him good, and helped him get over it, though the want for it would never really go away.
    After destroying his top reason for getting money, Vincent toned down his cons and lived pretty modestly, choosing instead to pour money into a nice car, a cream-colored porsche speedster. Eventually even that seemed rather pointless but he kept it and landed a lot dates and hot nights with it. One woman in particular seemed to genuinely like him and their relationship turned into something more than strangers-with-benefits. In the beginning, they got along really well, both convinced but not admitting that they had found "the one". Vincent's tendencies to find trouble caused some ruffles however and they fought more and more until she stormed out with a small suitcase of a few of her things and never came back. He waited a couple years, waiting for her to return, but she never did and he finally gave up. He'd never been much of a drinker, especially after his drug addiction, but straight, strong whiskey found a way into his heart.
    Vincent was half drunk when he came across his first walker and somehow he managed to either kill it or evade it (he doesn't quite remember), but slowly things escalated to a point where he decided he should take his car and get the hell out of Dodge--Boston. At first, he ran into a lot of groups filled with lots of people, all trying to hole up in the grocery store or one of their own homes. One that was in a Wal-Mart he stayed with for a few weeks until some other group wanting some food came over and threw in a couple grenades, which decimated almost everyone. The remaining people scattered and he never looked back to try to find any of them. He kept heading south bound and came across a nice farm in the middle of nowhere, as he was driving down roads far from the main highways. On closer inspection, the place was pretty run down, though there was a family staying there. They seemed welcoming, and took him in. A few days later, he was thrown into the barn in back and his hands were tied to a wooden post. He wasn't the only person in there, and he realized that these people weren't just farmers, they were, as another victim called them, "blood farmers; instead of harvesting food they harvest people. To eat." But to his rescue came a hostile group looking to get on the farm as well and upon discovering that this place didn't really have food, killed the family and set the remaining people in the barn free. Vincent wasted no time in leaving and going as far away as he could and he eventually landed in Georgia.
    Georgia didn't seem too bad and his journey south was over, for the time being. He met Kenji when he tried to break into his car for supplies and was caught in the act. Even though the Asian man irked him, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, he still had a sort of liking for him, and he seemed to like Vincent too. They survived together for a while, but Vincent decided to move on and find a different situation. A few months later, he found himself in Nunez where he stumbled upon Kenji once again. This time he stayed with intentions of sticking around this time and fought alongside everyone else against the recent raider attack, which resulted in the removal of the lower half of his left leg.

    <br><br></div><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">ROLE PLAY SAMPLE</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;"><br>


    <br><br></div><br><div style="font-family:special elite;font-size:30px;color:#8e4623;margin-top: -20px; margin-bottom: -16px;">PLAYER STATS</div><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div><div style="width:400px;text-align:justify;">

    <br>your alias: Red.
    <br>other characters: Thatteus Bernard.
    <br>how you found us: Soren.
    <br>age: 16.
    <br>rp experience: Pretty dern good (?).
    <br>goals: Still to make some pals.
    <br>contact: PM is good.

    </div><br><div style="width:400px;background-color:#201e1c;height:20px;"></div></center>[/dohtml]
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