Rebecca Faith Smythe - Misspell

Rebecca Faith Smythe - Misspell

For you!

Responding in said thread as per request! Sorry, I'm still a bit new to MW and not quite used to how things are run. Sorry in advance for any piles of questions.

...What do I do now?

No worries - ask all the questions you like. Please go ahead and copy your character creation information here. This thread will be for anything you and I are going to work out that is outside the storyline, any non-story questions you have, etc. I'm going to open a separate game thread for you for a bit, once your character is posted here and we've talked in PMs a little more.

Okay! Sounds good.

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Rebecca Faith Smythe

Description: Gosh, she was pretty. In high school, a lot of the boys in her class had asked her to go steady and it was plain to see why. She had cascades of hurricane blonde curls, entwined with spun gold, cornsilk and caramel. Her eyes were a deep lapis-lazuli, faceted with sapphire and the breath of summer sky, often lined in kohl to emphasize the depth and thick lashes that trimmed her sight. The features were placed on an oval round face like paint on a pure canvas, her round cheeks blushed and her lips were a dusty rose. Rebecca was an average height for a twenty year old woman, with modest curves and long legs. There was something pure about her, something untouchable and holy. She dressed in plain, modern clothing; jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, sneakers. Her jewellery never changed - a silver cross hung around her slim neck and a silver Claddagh ring encircled her right-ring finger.

Behaviour & Personality: There’s good in everyone, you know, and Rebecca aims to find it. The good Lord blessed us all with compassion, the ability to love and have faith. She is sweet, she is nice, she is so sickeningly naive and doe-eyed to the world that it would be a wonder she could hold up in an apocalypse of any kind. If it wasn’t for her cool head, resolve and absolute faith in God, she would have been driven to insanity from the moment the first zombie threw itself against the large oak doors of the large Church. She isn’t promiscuous or naughty by any stretch of the imagination, but she is blunt. Almost anything Rebecca wants to say, it will be said, though it tends to come off sweet with her tone of voice. She doesn’t have a boyfriend or a lover, or family for that matter (she was orphaned at birth; her mother died giving birth to the girl, and her father committed suicide days later). Rebecca, or Becky as she’s commonly known, seems to get along just fine by herself.

Doing the work of God, one zombie at a time:

Rebecca would never forget the screams. They wouldn’t haunt her, but she would never forget the way they sounded.
She was in the office, counting money, when the scuffle started. She was sitting cross-legged behind a large, polished mahogany desk, thumbing through stacks of ones, fives and twenties when someone yelled out. At the time, Becky didn’t understand what they were saying but in retrospect, it would have been accurate. Abominations. She reached under the desk and felt the firm coolness of the shotgun underneath. The church had been robbed before, if you could believe that, and Pastor David thought it would be best to not only pray for protection, and have some physical at hand. Boy was he right. Where was he anyway? Becky wasn’t very well trained with the gun, but since she was Treasurer and the one who had to deal with the money, they had to show her how to use it.

Hello?” Her voice sounded strong and confident, but still had the ring of sweetness to it, like a melody whenever she spoke. The soles of her Keds carried her silently down the hallway connected from her antechamber office to the main room. It was quiet, except for some faint gurgling noises, low moans that made her skin crawl and the rasping intake of a death rattle that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Becky peered around the corner and what she saw almost made her sick.

You see, they had been doing one of those shut-ins tonight, to raise money for the Church, to get the community together and share their stories on how and why they found Him. It had been Becky’s idea naturally, as the Church had been ran by some older people who were quite conventional, but this sparked the interest in the younger people, brought fresh blood into the Church, new members and new family to embrace and love as their own. Well, the idea had worked brilliantly, and there had been a lot of people who came to the shut-in, about fifty. Pastor David was so pleased with her.

From what Becky could see around the corner, back pressed against the cool white-washed stone, all fifty of those people who should be sitting in pews and talking, exchanging stories and such, were now scattered in the most macabre of ways. Billy, a particularly bright ten year old Becky taught in Sunday school, was now strewn across the plush maroon carpet in such a curious way. His neck had been ripped open, and a free flow of blood gushed from the masticated wound. The skin had been torn from his left cheek, peeled down like you would peel a banana, a red blood-lacquered muscle beneath was still twitching.

Dropping to her knees, the butt of the gun tucked into the back of her jeans so it lay against her back, she crawled hands and knees over to the boy. It was a battlefield out here; pews were overturned and splintered, the lectern was also tipped over, and papers had been scattered everywhere, tall candelabras that they had lit were leaning against the drapery, catching it on fire and causing the mouldy velvet to climb and lick with flames. When she finally reached Billy, she took his wrist in her hand, feeling with some sort of hope to see if he had a pulse. It was no use, he had lost too much blood, and there was no point in trying to resuscitate him. Taking two slim fingers, she closed the lids over his glassy green eyes and murmured, “Lord, watch over this departed soul and guide them home to you. In your blessed name I pray, amen.

Perhaps she had said it too loud, because something rustled from the pulpit. She looked up over a chunk of the pew and saw who she had been looking for. Standing up all the way, taking the gun and holding it by her side, Becky smiled her dazzling smile, despite the situation. “Pastor David!” She called, waving her free hand over her head. It was good to see someone stable, someone she knew was good, they could work on what happened here. A killing spree maybe? She looked around on the floor around her, everything was splattered with blood. “What happened?” She breathed out, as she heard him shuffling closer.

Becky looked up, and almost too late. Pastor David was covered from the mouth down in dried and fresh blood, his eyes were flat and milky, and he smelled like something from a sewer. “P-pastor Da-?” Though she never got out his name before he lunged himself onto her. He was bigger than her by a head and broader. She could hear his teeth gnashing and trying to rip into her hair and neck while Becky lifted the gun and held it across her chest, trying to push him off. The blood devil got to Pastor David, and now he’s infected, and God wants her to kill him for making these people suffer. It made sense in her head. Murmuring prayer again, she shoved hard, the butt of the gun slipping to lodge in Pastor David’s chest, knocking him backwards as Becky threw her weight into it.

Chest heaving and gun gripped in her hand, the girl stared down the shambles of the man as he made to lunge again. She was quicker this time, and he went stumbling by her as she turned away, running to duck behind a pew. She was checking the gun, the bullets – it was loaded. Popping up from behind the wooden bench, she aimed for his forehead and took a deep breath. “Sorry Pastor David, but you have to die now. I hope God has mercy on your soul,” She yelled before squeezing the trigger.

Two things happened. The shot had been off, and blew off half of Pastor David’s face, leaving the flesh to drop on the carpet with thick, wet slaps. One of his eyes were gone, she could see his exposed brain, the other eye had been forced from the socket and hanging grotesquely like a meatball on a piece of spaghetti, from out of his skull. Also, Becky was flung backwards, her shoulder smarting from where the end of the gun rammed her from the recoil. She hit her head, and could feel some warm blood dribbling down the back of her neck. Now was not the time to worry about that. He was still standing and about to come for her again.

How could he see?! Becky thought frantically, scrambling to her feet and pulling down the pump with a resolute click. She ran up the center of the room, jumping over bodies and putting more distance between her and the Pastor. Finally, she reached the podium and planted her two feet there, aiming the gun as he came stumbling up the aisle. Something cool touched her mind, hardening her resolve. She needed to protect the other people outside this Church, and it all started with doing away with this man who was no longer the kind-hearted and good natured Pastor. Something whispered to her, but she didn’t hear it in her ears, she heard it in her heart and in her mind.


Glorious, cleansing fire. Yes. Becky reached over and yanked one of the smouldering tapestries off the wall, carefully stepping back so it didn’t fall on her. It was long and heavy and the flames were climbing higher. She knew that she only had one shot at this, to make it work and get the heck out of here. Holding the good side of the fabric and shaking it out like a matador to some creepy, decaying and bloodstained bull, she ran. She ran right at the zombie, pulling the tapestry over his head with a throw and stepping around the now moving mound of velvet. She grabbed one of the candelabra that was standing, undisturbed near the only whole pew and prodded it into the fabric, waiting for it to catch fire.

It was taking too long, he was going to get out, and she could see the gruesome hands clawing. Without meaning to do it, and without thinking, Becky ran behind a smaller section of a broken pew and with a heave, turned it so it was standing straight up. Her muscles strained and she felt something pull in her back, but this needed to be done, all pain aside. The adrenaline was numbing her anyway. Looking around it, she narrowed one eye as if sizing up the moving mound and pushed.

It fell with a large bang and sickening crunch as the zombie was crushed beneath, a low moan escaping it as she saw the feet twitch. The fire was lapping its way up the wood of the pew now; everything was going to catch fire soon.

Rebecca limped away back to the office, gun in hand. She took the cash that was sitting there and stuffed it into her pocket (“I’ll donate it to another Church.”), her purse, the first aid kit, all the ammo they have stored and the food she had packed for overnight. Her hand grasped the rosary that was lying on the desk and she pocketed that as well. Tossing it all into a backpack that had her change of clothes and toiletries she had brought for the shut in, Rebecca slid it over her arms. Palming the gun in her hand and wiping the blood off her face with her hands, she made a break for the back exit.

Excellent. I love it. Alright - your thread is up - it's just for you and you alone right now! Feel free to post whenever you like.

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