PLEASE NOTE: this blog deals with mature topics such as violence, gore, feral primitivity when threatened, death, resurrection, lack of self-solidifying, mirroring others, sonhood, and wolfish instincts of a survivor.
✦ ALPEREN DUYMAZ, CIS MAN, HE / HIS ✦ ZEKAI GÖR the THIRTY year old has been in Hidehill for SIX MONTHS and was a STRANGER to Carter Thompson, one of the shadows. Whispers on the streets are that the FORMER MARINES COMBAT DOCTOR who lives in HADLEY PARK are said to be AMBITIOUS and RESERVED but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. { ZOEY, TWENTY4, AST, SHE / HER. }
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A memorial, in hindsight it seemed like a good idea. But being here in person proved to be trying for Lakeyn. She had spent the last two weeks trying to ignore her pain and grief. Part of the avoidance was done by not being sober, anything she could get her hands on really. Stepping outside for some fresh air she looked over at the person speaking. “Fuck it, yeah.” She replied holding her hand out and taking the cigarette from him.
Lighter is flicked and held carefully until the end of her cigarette catches before it’s pocketed in his jacket, his own cigarette’s smoke curling around the both of them before dissipating into the night’s air. It wasn’t unusual for him to be reserved and withdrawn around people, but something about being outside seemed to draw him into a lull of comfort. A blink up at the stars, partially hidden by a few clouds. An open-ended wondering, crafted entirely out of impulse and voiced in a raspy monotone before he takes a long drag on his cigarette. ‘You think it rains a lot here? Or does it rain the usual amount?’
𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 in need of fresh air, the crowded nature of the club becoming far too much for her. While she often encouraged her patients to go through the process of grief, she had always done so in a manner that was healthy. Watching the citizens of the town stumbling across the club including one of her own patients had put several things into perspective. “Oh shit – hi, Zekai.” Diana ran her fingers through her hair as she made her way over to the familiar face. While she hadn’t smoked a cigarette since New York.. there were certain exceptions. “Ah, what the hell. I’ll take it.”
It’s no wonder people are pooling out from the club into the evening air. It’s suffocating in there, filled with liquor and something akin to falsified salvation. He had arrived for the respects and promptly left for a cigarette, now the night breeze is soothing and he finds little motivation to return to the masses. Diana had always been affable and while there was no proper friendship made, there’s an appreciation for how she seemed to keep a tight grip on her self-awareness. Admirable to say the least. Zekai wasn’t expecting her to agree, but either way the cigarette is offered, palm splayed open with both lighter and cigarette atop. ‘It’s been a night of what the hells, hasn’t it?’ Lips twitch upwards in a small smile, although it is sad in nature. ‘The nicotine will help.’
Brynn needed air. She was so used to the crowds, the noise, all of the chaos that came with the life she chose. But there was something different about the air inside a club of people mourning, or people pretending to be mourning as they got wasted instead. The air outside greeted with a kindness as she stepped into it, only to get by startled by a nearby voice. “I don’t really smoke or..” She paused before stepping closer to him, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the side of the building. “That is a horrible habit to have, Zekai.”
They all have their vices, don’t they? While he avoided alcohol, he consumed cigarettes. Enjoyed the habit of them, how they seemed to be a comfortable consistency inside an ever-changing world. Brynn was another shifting constant that he didn’t necessarily know how to predict. Zekai simply views this as an attachment, however brief or skin-deep it seemed to others. Expression playfully arrogant as he puts on a show of nonchalance, his left shoulder lifting in a light shrug. ‘Passes the time.’ A nod towards the entrance where she had come from, the inquiry more of a polite gesture more than anything built from actual curiosity. ‘How’s it going in there?’
The second her brain registered what she heard, she wishes that she hadn’t asked him to repeat it. Her eyes moving from him in the reflection and back to herself. She can see the way her eyelid slightly twitches under the stress of the evening. “I was married to one of them.” She turns to face him now, “There is no such thing as doing okay in this town.” Adriana states, feeling there is nothing but true with her words. “Everyone here can celebrate the ‘end’ of this or mourn who and what this town has lost but I know, I know none of them sleep soundly at night.” She’s no longer sure if she’s speaking on the town or just of herself, but he asked and she was giving the answer she truly felt.
‘Ah, well [...] I’m sorry for your loss.’ A genuine appearance of sincerity seems to darken his features. Unable to voice his own struggles with grief and the aftermath of death he merely nods. She seems haunted, but everyone looks like a hunted animal in this town. Wild in the eyes, frothed mouth, chattering teeth — they are all the symbols of fear. This is not a new realization. He became accustomed to terror at a young age, it is now as natural to him as a spring rainfall. Soaks him to the bone in some cold wash of self-awareness as well. Zekai’s head tilts to the side slightly, observes her for a moment with a neutral expression on his face before he inhales softly, brows lifting with a gesture of encouragement. ‘It’s a difficult thing to come to terms with, isn’t it? Grief [...] death, life. You just have to be patient, learn how to mourn. I think that’s all the dead want from us. Patience.’
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“I do” he nodded walking over with his hand out to accept the cigarette. He wasn’t a ‘real’ smoker by any means but any time he was at some form of social event he found himself social smoking. Something about the atmosphere, alcohol in his system and stepping out for some air brought him to it. “What the fuck possessed you to come back?”
‘Hell if I know.’ A croak of honesty falls flat with a monotone, not quite willing to carry more meaning to his answer. Often that very same question kept him awake for hours: what made him come back? Certainly no sense of loyalty tied to this town was enough to pull him back towards it. He was filled to the brim with unending horrors, chest a graveyard — why would one return to a haunting? He must only be glutton for punishment, or banishment. Zekai offers up the lighter, head slightly bowed as his stomach coils and bites like a viper. Nausea routinely follows such curiosities, and he usually hated the analytic nature that usually accompanies such unpleasantries. A half-scoff, head shaking briefly as the words crawl out of him, lulled to the gentle habit of a nicotine puff. ‘People only return somewhere for love [...] or for solitude.’
Like hornets from a kicked nest they swarm. He supposes it’s human nature: once there’s a threat, there comes the panic. While he realizes there is a killer among all of them, he wonders what precisely differentiates his own career overseas to that on this soil. Blood is still spilled, yet here he lingers between worlds. Half-limbed and morbidly sober. Zekai stands outside, cigarette dangling from between his lips and lighter illuminating his face alongside the neon signs of the club. A nod towards the figure stepping out to join him, ‘I only have two left, the last one’s yours if you want it.’
Stuck on the reflection of herself in the large mirror on the wall near the back of the club, Adriana couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off the ring on her finger as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Wearing it was a mistake. Her own thoughts too loud inside her head that she didn't notice someone talking to her until they appeared behind her in the mirror. "Sorry, what?" She finally brought her eyes to them but didn't turn around. "I didn't catch what you said."
‘I asked if you knew any of them [...] but it’s an insensitive question to ask, isn’t it?’ Brows raised with a vague sense of encouragement, acknowledging that perhaps his presence there isn’t necessary at all. Besides, people do grieve well alone — and this club seemed lacking in any silent or begrudging moments of despair. He shifts on his feet, a wider stance with shoulders rolling back and chin angled downwards at the glass of fizzing soda in one of his hands. Desperate to look tame, but his feral nature runs bone-deep. Nothing will scrub it out. A glance back at her, curious in his inquiry, but delicately plain in concern. ‘Are you doing okay? I think people are calling this a celebration. Or whatever.’
"You want a bottle of champagne? It's on me.. don't say no to be nice! This is a celebration of life or something like that.. it's my treat!" Milena raised her eyebrow with a smile on her face as she eagerly waiting on their answer.
It’s not like he’s destined to be someone sad, but there is a heavy fog of grief in this town that doesn’t ever seem to lift. Even now, during a memorial service for the departed, there is some sort of bitter mourning that resides within him — despite not knowing any of the victims. For someone who dislikes any form of obnoxious crowds, he slips to the side of the club, features drawn taut. Still, fate finds a way. Zekai doesn’t move much in ways of appearing open to communication, but his mouth does twitch upwards in a half-amused gesture. ‘I don’t drink [...] thanks, though.’ A pause, feeling as though he should explain himself further. It was a nice offer, after all. ‘I’m just here to pay my respects.’
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AGE: thirty, born deep in the summer month of june, when the sun was at its highest point and the fields were barren.
DATE OF BIRTH: june tenth, 1993.
( AFFILIATIONS: the united states marines ( former ), the gör family. )
GENDER: cisman.
PRONOUNS: he/him.
SEXUALITY: heterosexual.
HOMETOWN: nevşehir, turkey. moved to america when he was fourteen, joined the marines five years later.
RESIDENCE: in hidehill, for now. hadley park.
OCCUPATION: retired, honourable discharge.
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single, due to him being a mess.
EDUCATION: enlisted in the marines at age seventeen, succeeded in basic training and was bumped to special operations at age nineteen. become fully qualified to be a combat medic by the time he turned twenty two.
CHILDREN: zero, that he knows of anyway. manifest with me that he has none.
SKILLS: trained in boxing, muay thai, japanese katana play, and shuriken. highly skilled with melee weapons and firearms given his history with the marines, as well as interrogative techniques, explosives, espionage, and sniper shooting. brazilian jiu-jitsu, judo, jujutsu , sambo, aikido, systema, jeet kune do and krav maga all lend hands in his hand-to-hand combat skills. as a fully trained combat medic for the marines during the length of eight years, he is highly educated in medicinal practices, surgical techniques, and more.
POSITIVES: disciplined, traditional, methodical, ambitious, and meticulous.
NEGATIVES: obsessive, reserved, paranoid, cold , and vindictive.
HEIGHT: 6′2.
ENNEAGRAM: type eight, the challenger.
MBTI: INTJ, the architect.
INFLUENCES FOR THIS CHARACTER: tommy shelby ( peaky blinders ) , zuko ( atla ) , rick grimes ( the walking dead ) , raylan givens ( justified ) , sonny corleone ( the godfather ) , john wick ( john wick franchise ) , kayce dutton ( yellowknife ) , jax teller ( sons of anarchy ) , and emrah kent ( çukur ) .
WANTED CONNECTIONS: FORMER FRIENDS FROM THE MARINES ( OR ARMY ) , ANY CONNECTIONS RE: THE HOSPITAL OR CLINICS OF THE CITY WOULD BE APPRECIATED AS WELL, AND ALSO LOOKING FOR HIS BROTHER ( MAKING THAT AN OFFICIAL WANTED CONNECTION ON THE MAIN ) , EX-ROMANTIC CONNECTIONS, JOURNALISTS / DIPLOMATS HE WOULD HAVE MET OVERSEAS, MORE TBA.
01. You are the true summer’s child. Warm and likeable, devoted brother, devoted son. Of course, this is not your first beginning. Your original beginning was that of a screaming infant, a month or so old, left in the crib while your mother is in a deep sleep with an empty liquor bottle next to her in the room across the hall. You are taken in immediately by your older brother, nursed back to health, taught how to read and write and speak. Although, it took many years for you to want to speak, for talking had never been your strong suit. You enjoyed observing, watching, occasionally participating in what appeared to be bonding with other children. You learned how to love, but also how to hate. The cruelty seemed to shelter you, you enjoyed learning how to protect yourself. How to appear whole and free of fault, where there is nothing but damage underneath the skin. Your father reminds you of approaching fog: he comes only during rainfall, only when the skies are dark and weepy. He smells like salt and brine, speaks to you as though you are as thin as paper when it’s held up to the light. You begin to resist his values, his greed, and his forced destinies.
02. You are fourteen years old when your life is uprooted. The mother who is not a mother dies in her sleep, ‘heart failure’ they say, but you suspect it’s because she’d rather be dead than your caregiver. Your father is now an overgrown forest, no sense of civilization. There is one argument that involves refusal to become what he wants, family values burned up in a fumigation of rebellion. Your brother becomes a new imitation of your father. From the way he dresses to the way he responds in turn to evolution: there is no home here in America. The dream is dead. The dream was always dying. You enlist in the Marines at seventeen years old, you don’t talk to your father anymore. You avoid him. Like the mirrors, or the windows when it storms outside. You grow into a man bound by principles and authority. You have many codes to follow, many moral compasses to choose from. You become known as ‘doc’ in your unit. Emergency medical procedures and death threats are your daily life. Your bones fester in paranoia and reservations. There are no letters sent home. Among the sand dunes and bloodied bullets you become known as the Rattlesnake: hidden and sharp toothed, deadly and able to blend into any surrounding. You were a boy and a wolf, but now you are a snake and a man.
03. You experience your first landmine at the age of thirty, six months ago. Your right leg is ripped from its home, you are honourably discharged and have the newest prosthetic to replace your old limb. The blast leaves you with the feeling of misdirection. Returning to your second home, Nashville, but not fully returning. Your mind wanders, your soul is lost among the desert once again. Searching for some sense of structure and discipline you turn to the occasional volunteer work at the hospital. The nights that once were spent sleepless and filled with old terrors is now spent doing what you were made to do: patch wounds and retrieve bullets. Often offering free healthcare and medical assistance to those in the neighbourhood. Sonhood is no longer on your mind, but thoughts of where your brother is do trouble you every now and then.
04. You are unraveling during the years. You are a man with a solidified code of conduct, yet you have no idea who the man is that stares back at you during a glance at a still pond. You enjoy having people to protect and serve, and yet there is a feeling of absence within you. A large, gaping hole that seems to grow wider each decade. You are soon to be exposed as a man without guidance.
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