Post by linc on Apr 29, 2013 8:58:00 GMT -6
Lincoln Joseph Walker
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Song, song of the south.
Sweet potato pie and I shut my mouth.
Gone, gone with the wind.
There ain't nobody looking back again.
Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things
[/color][/font]Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper. And she ran to him, then they started to fly.
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[/ul]
Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester
[/color][/font]Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you're done. Lay your weary head to rest.[/center]
Name Meaning[/color]: From the settlement by the pool, Increase; addition.
Sex[/color]: Male
Age[/color]: 32
Sexual Orientation[/color]: Straight as an arrow
Ethnicity[/color]: Caucasian
Species[/color]: Hunter
Canon or Original[/color]: Original
[/ul]
The Usual Suspects And What Should Never Be
[/color][/font]Sometimes I get a feeling, deep in my soul. Sometimes I get a feeling, deep in my bones.[/center]
Hair[/color]: dark blonde.
Height & Weight[/color]: Stands at 5'11, weighing 180lbs.
Body Type[/color]: Athletic, muscular.
Distinguishing Features[/color]: Various scars, both from being abused as a child as well as from hunting. Has a tattoo of a dragon on his inner right upper arm.
Face Claim[/color]: Norman Reedus
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It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester
[/color][/font]I see the bad moon arising. Don't go around tonight, well its bound to take your life.[/i][/center]
- His crossbow, though a gun or a knife will do, too. Hell, any weapon really.
- Liquor, doesn't matter which brand as long as it does it's job.
- Country music.
- His motorcycle.
- Hunting.
Dislikes[/color]:
- Any shape or form of authority.
- Rap music.
- Being touched when not wanted.
- People feeling sorry for him.
- Monsters and freaks of any kind.
Strength[/color]:
- Excellent tracker and hunter.
- Skilled marksman.
- Handy man/mechanic.
Weaknesses[/color]:
- Relating to people.
- Survival-of the-fittest mentality.
- Has a black and white view on the world.
Fears[/color]:
- Being turned into something he hunts.
- Growing old and useless.
- His old man (even though he's long gone).
Secrets[/color]: Still fears his old man, even though he's been dead for years now.
Habits/Quirks[/color]:
- Defaults to sarcasm rather than the truth when talking about himself.
- Drinks a lot more often than he probably should.
- Sleeps with a big-ass knife under his pillow.
Overall Personality/Appearance[/color]: There's absolutely nothing soft about Lincoln Walker. He's been brought up his entire life in the rough, so he's not exactly the most social of human beings. Lincoln has a few haunting memories and it would take someone with enough guts to crack his shell. He has a hard time accepting things and pushes himself away from any form of kindness. He separates himself from people, but deep down he longs to be accepted. He is very difficult to get along with and has a very short fuse. He can be happy one minute and the next have a bolt aimed at you. He is very cautious of people he doesn’t know and tends to disagree until he gets his point across. There's no denying that Lincoln is a survivor. He's taught himself how to thrive in any condition, and now feels nothing can bring him down.
Despite his volatile persona, though, Lincoln does tend to care even if he doesn't like to admit it. He will love and respect you if you do the same to him, but fear him if you get on his bad side. He can be a very loyal companion and tends to never break promises. He will have your back through thick and thin. He also tends to have a rather big mouth on him; he has no problem telling you like it is to your face and won’t respect your feelings. As for his sense of humor, Lincoln's kind of fun might count as a means of psychosis since he likes shooting things and laughs about it later. Then again, a good joke and some goofing off can do the trick, too. It all depends on his mood.
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There Is A Monster At The End Of The Book
[/color][/font]You're as cold as ice, you're willing to sacrifice our love. You know that you are.[/center]
Current Residence[/color]: On the road.
Mothers Name[/color]: Marlene Walker, nee Gunderson. (Location unknown).
Fathers Name[/color]: Joseph 'Joe' Walker. (Deceased)
Siblings[/color]: Older brother; Franklin 'Frank' Walker. (Location unknown)
Pets[/color]: None.
Overall History[/color]: Born on a small farm in the boondocks of Georgia, Lincoln Walker's life was doomed from the start. When Lincoln came into the world, he was not wanted in a broken home. Joe and Marlene already had one son, an eight-year-old Frank, and couldn't hardly afford another mouth to feed. His father, Joe, was an alcoholic who rarely acknowledged his children and drove his wife from their home with accusations of adultery when Lincoln was only four years old. Mr. Walker had accused his wife of cheating on him with some bartender and beat the shit out of her. After that, he tossed her outside to the curb and the boys never saw their mother again.
The Walker brothers learned to hunt, track, and survive at a very young age. Lincoln grew to love the outdoors and his favorite weapon was the crossbow. He preferred it because of its stealthiness. But what they gained in skills, they lacked in a proper family. Their father never once said he appreciated them, he never once taught them how to properly talk to other people or how to care. It was usually a smack upside the head, or worse. Because of Joe's lack of parenting, Lincoln was mostly raised by his older brother. Wherever Frank went, Lincoln went too. He raised Lincoln to share his beliefs and be tough like a grown man. Frank, however, was hardly fit to take care of his younger brother and was nothing close to a role model for the boy. By the age of sixteen, Frank was already in and out of juvenile detention on a regular basis, which usually left the youngest Walker to fend for himself. This led to Lincoln learning from a young age how to look after himself, even though he wasn't always top-notch at it.
In school, Lincoln was a loner. He had a few people he talked to, but no one he was really close with. In elementary school, he was bullied for his constant state and family's near-homeless state. His teachers would constantly send him to the nurse for infections, lice, or malnutrition. He bathed only a few times a month, as the water would be shut off occasionally for missed payments. He was constantly dirty and in a worse-for-the-wear state. In middle school, he was bullied for having the town drunk as a father. In high school, he joined auto-shop class and became part of the burnout losers that lived to cause trouble. Everyone already wrote him off as a boy that would follow in both his father's and brother's footsteps and he, mostly, proved them right. He got into trouble for theft, arson, vandalism, and assault which sent him to juvenile detention regularly, just like Frank.
When Lincoln turned seventeen, he was forced to drop out of high school when his father died of cancer. His older brother, Frank, by then, had already gotten himself into knee-deep shit with prescription drugs, and had been send to prison for dealing and other offenses four years prior to their father's death, serving a ten year sentence. Lincoln took on a job at a local mechanic's shop to be able to pay the bills, also doing odd jobs here and there in the town for some extra cash. The times he couldn't afford to put food on his table, he took to the surrounding woods to hunt for game, anything from squirrels to deer. Some people even thought he was homeless, but Lincoln survived every year that went by on his own until Frank finally was released from prison again.
Lincoln came home one day to find his brother standing on his doorstep with a wild look in his eye. They exchanged quick embraces, and Frank 'temporarly' moved in with his younger brother. Nothing really changed for Lincoln after that. He still barely saw his brother, but when he did, Frank was rarely ever alone - he'd bring in all sorts of trailer trash, a different woman each time. One evening, Frank came home, bringing with him his latest piece of ass, yelling about some bastard who bit her on the way over. By morning, they were dealing with something that no longer seemed human. Dark-brown eyes were mad with rage and hunger, and plump, red lips curled away from a row of sharp teeth in a feral growl. The woman that was once know as Daisy Paxton was trying to attack and eat the Walker brothers. Frank tried to shoot the bitch, only she wouldn't die, not until Lincoln swung a machete at Daisy's neck, cutting off her head in one smooth motion, spilling blood everywhere.
Daisy's turning into a vampire was Lincoln's first run in with the supernatural, but certainly was not meant to be the last. Having become a hunter of something more challenging than game, he finally feels like he has found his calling, and everything Lincoln knows of the supernatural nasties today he has taught himself, some of it through research but mostly through experiences.
[/ul]
Dream A Little Dream Of Me, Bloody Mary
[/color][/font]I never meant to be so bad to you, one thing I said that I would never do.[/center]
Shifting a bit, the hunter put the blade he had been sharpening down and picked the bottle of Southern Comfort up instead; it was not as sharp as his machete, so to speak, but it did have a certain bite to it that he favored in that instance. He had not showered in a couple of days, but that should not matter since he was upwind and his prey was going to go downwind as far as he could tell. His legs were numb from sitting so long and his bladder felt like it was about to burst, but he held it in; this was too important to interrupt simply because he had to take a tinkle in the woods and because his toes felt tingly. What he needed was for the beasty to show up so he could end this hunt; the hunk of meat and the fresh trail of blood were a good enough decoy, but if not, he'd have to resort to something else.
As if on cue, movement made the muscles in his body tense. Slowly, Lincoln put the bottle down on a lower branch of the tree, balancing it there for later use. He picked up his crossbow instead and carefully drew the string back, nocking a bolt in the process with expert ease; he had been hunting in these types of backwoods since he was a small boy, after all. He knew the woods better than he knew any city, that was for damn sure. Making no sound what so ever, he now pulled the crossbow up and placed it in the ready position, narrowing his eyes as a movement and shadow moved past about ten yards away. Smirking grimly and waiting for the right moment, Lincoln pulled the trigger.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the bolt sped from the crossbow through the air and finally hit its mark right through it's ribcage; a horrendous howl tore through the air, and a moment later a crash told him that his prey had fallen.
"Score one for humans, bitch," he muttered, lowering his crossbow.[/ul]
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This application was made by JUL!ET. She worked really hard on
this and watched seasons one through three of Supernatural in 3 days.
She's so hardcore.And you wouldn't want to make
Dean Winchester Romeo mad by stealing it now would you?
He'd have to come after you with a stick. It wouldn't be pretty,
now go play nice and don't steal her stuff.
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This application was made by JUL!ET. She worked really hard on
this and watched seasons one through three of Supernatural in 3 days.
She's so hardcore.And you wouldn't want to make
He'd have to come after you with a stick. It wouldn't be pretty,
now go play nice and don't steal her stuff.
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