Discord Name: redhotginger
Steam Name/SteamID: RedHotGinger
-------------------------
Character Name: Chet Morales
Character Faction: Camper
Chet Morales
Chet was named after a grandfather who first stepped into the murky depths of the Hawk-ridge cave system. Then, it was a nameless undiscovered furrow of darkness and beasts and bugs that sane men would fear to tread upon. Yet, in that darkness did there glimmer a sparkle, a golden yellow light upon the farthest wall. Within the small, gentle underground stream the water churned with careful excitement as it reflected it's secrets to the first human eyes to glance upon it.
He had struck gold, and soon others would too, in his name.
Every male son had since been named after this man. A shadow of fortune and luck which was passed onto each heir like they were but a shadow to that very legacy. Chet Morales, just like his father Chet Morales, was no exception. The boon of this shadow came to be wealth beyond imagination for most of the youth across the United States. From an early age his families legacy was being pulled and expunged from the depths of those very same Hawk-ridge mines, founded all the way back in 1872. Where further riches could not be extracted, deeper shafts could be made so that they would be had anew.
Even in his youth, Chet did not shy from this lifestyle and embraced it whole-heartedly. For him, wanting something was naught but the brief intermission of having it. There was no trend unchased, no fashion out of reach and no style too outlandish for the sole heir of the Morales riches. He didn’t so much chase life but outran it, beating it to the punches of whatever new joy or experience he could muster. Alcohol had found purchase on his tongue by Fifth grade. Weed had filled his lungs in honor of Middle-school's onset. Not long after these he had fired guns, driven cars and committed numerous petty crimes just for the sake of the experiences, all.
The first shift of the wind came Freshmen year, not longer than a week within his stay. The mine was running low. No deeper shafts could be manned, no costs of sustaining the Hawk-Ridge could ever be justified. Yet, his father did just that. Before long, the tide of life seemed to settle once more, some gold was found and the costs were sustainable for years to come even with the present deficit. Not that it mattered much to Chet. He knew the mine only from a distance. An abstract series of tunnels that gave him purchase to carve through life at his own whims.
His peers loved him for it. Handsome, charismatic and an acknowledged pillar of his local Wildcat football team, Chet did not want any more for friends or lovers than he did material goods. One often begets another, and he found no harm in this system of exchanges. He lived for the applause, the recognition of his family's affluent contributions to his hometown's many projects. A bench sat out with his name upon it's back. Only the jealous or spiteful held him in contempt. Both honored and honorable, he coursed his way through the final schooling days until, at last, the years finally did come.
The mine was dry.
It was summer when he sat about the family table, its varnished sandalwood surface and craftsman embroidering a memory to come. The mine was dry, and the family coffers were rapidly following. What little pittance was gathered from the deep earth dented not even its own cost. By the time that bus came around for the first time, for the last time, it was shut down entirely. Then the deterioration came. Bankruptcy was added to his vocabulary, familial stresses once alien became commonplace. A divorce followed while both parties still had the capital for a lawyer. Rapidly little pieces of his life began to vanish.
The pool was filled in, the maintenance far too much a drain. The expensive cars went next, without a beat, including his own. His most prized Lamborghini Countach left his driveway in the hands of a family friend willing to give a better price than the dealership which sold it. He never saw them while furniture slowly vanished. He never saw them while vacations, once a hallmark of any given year, were never spoken of.
His performance and recognition among his schoolwork and peers went next. By the time he realized that, in most cases it was his doing, it was far too late to make amends. Solace came in the form of unquantifiable amounts of hemp. Then bi-weekly binges of alcohol. Wasn't long before cocaine satisfied an itch he never thought to have. He tried them all before of course, but he didn’ like them then. Made life pass by too quick.18 months ago he’d only drink so long as there were enough friends nearby to remember the night for him. Now, he wanted it all forgotten.
No scholarships. No real skills. What could not be bought could not be taken.
Graduation came, but only one Chet attended. The other, with his high schools heraldry embroidered proudly on his back, hopped onto a city bus. From there he followed the road with nothing but a backpack at his side, and one destination in mind. Olympic National Park. The site of a childhood memory so bright, he could make out faint visitations of that old joy despite being only one year beyond a toddler. He would see it clearly soon, and only after that, would he embrace the void that had become his future.
GEAR:
6-inch .357 Single action Colt Python. Full cylinder (6 shots)
Chet has no real idea what he will find in Olympic National Park. Nothing parts uncertainty like a .357 cartridge. As such, he brought one full cylinder. Useful for both wildlife and maybe, should the night really feel just right, it could be of further use to him.
Ziploc baggie of Cocaine with a straight razor.
Nothing like a little nose powder to take the edge of mystery away. And to enhance whatever answers you may find. A newfound addict couldn’t possibly be caught so far away from his supplier without at least a few hits left.
Miscellaneous
Varsity Jacket
Sunglasses
