Backer Name: Jordan Arnold
Level of Backer: A Somebody
Character Name: Leste Eurus
Theme: Always Smiling
Motif: Regret, Regret, Regret.
Area Of Operations: The Victorian state CSIRO ( Australian Eastern Cost )
Description: "A Smile Out Of Place Amongst The Carnage "
There are rumors of course, scrolled across old and tattered news papers of the brave work being down in the east.
Always accompanied with Big flashy words like cure, vaccine and source.
And punctuated with pictures of men and women wearing those 'Sanitized' and 'Pristine' white lab coats.
The public just ate it up, then they ate them up...
Kinda funny how stuff like that happens.
The CSIRO was there one day, and well gone the next.
They had the military and everything, really.
Yet, those egg heads could stop help but scramble their own brains.
And leaving one hell of a head ache, and mess for the rest of us to pick up.
It's still something of a mystery as to what happened here,
Whether they found a cure, or were lying through their teeth.
But hope always makes even the most fruitless and pointless of trails seem important.
And some answers need to be found...
After all, there is only one living thing in the CSIRO now.
Walking through the seemingly deserted white halls, one could be forgiven for believing that not a single soul still remains in this...grave.
And you wouldn't be too wrong, the Infected and local populous seem to give this ruin a wide breath.
In fact almost all life seems hesitant to return here.
While the rest of the world as had to fight nature itself to retain our last footholds...
Here, nothing grows...
Birds are strangely quiet or just plainly absent.
Even the wind seems to be dead here.
It's enough to warrant the journey in the first place.
" Good aha" He clicks his tongue before continuing " Morning? Or was it After Noon, you can never really tell".
" Oho, but where are my manners " He laughs, before checking his pockets.
" I'm...Ummm let's see, was I the smart one...Or the lucky one, oh and did my name start with a J, Jordan, James, John...No, that's not it" He exclaims excitedly.
" It's Leste, like Lest we forget or lets go...But more in tune with the wind in my honest opinion, and well I trust my opinion...Sometime" He smiles, before extending a amputated arm to shake hands with.
" People say I shake hands like a fish, but I disagree, cause fish have fins and well I have 'hands', Oho I can give you one if you want?"
The first thing one would notice about Leste would be the unmistakable smell of Copper and Ozone, or perhaps the pink and garnet lab coat that adorns his wiry frame.
They are of course, always things to keep in mind.
They create questions, and Mayhaps because of the times we live in...Or the home that would kills just as easily as it does nurture, demand answers.
Answers that the friendly and smiling face of Leste would deem not to have, or well not to remember.
After all, how can anyone really know anything about the things that happened in a hellish past, if they struggle to remember their own name.
At least that is how he will answer, smiling sheepishly while scratching the back of his head sending loose black curls into a dishevelled mess.
Your attention is then, at once brought to the bodies...Strapped to tables and chairs.
Needles and restrains covering their bodies in equal accord...It doesn't take a genius to tell that these 'Patients' had been infected, but one had to ask whether the restraints were for Leste's protection, or theirs.
" I'm afraid I don't have great bedside manners" Leste will supply unhelpfully, wearing that now ever present smile, and perhaps you think, It would be simply best to note when it leaves his face, rather than when he has it on.
With a tired sigh you turn to leave, catching at the edge of your vision one last sight of him.
He closes honey eyes, and smiles sweetly.
" To heal, is to first kill" He will sing softly.
As one descends deeper into the ruins, you feel for perhaps the first time the wind catch you.
For a single second, you think you hear a voice...A couple of mumbled words not to be heard, but needing to be formed.
" I'm so sorry"
Attachments: