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Bo Salvatierra

Sheut Nation
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199 One of Our All Stars

About Bo Salvatierra

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Diego Klattenhoff
  • AGE
  • RACE
  • JOB
    Former Medi*Core Virology/ Biochem/Genetics/Pharm. Specialist
  • 'SHIP:
    Married to Gabriele Salvatierra
    Los Angeles
    Sheut Nation
    Formerly clean cut and impeccable, Bo has let himself slide. Lab coats, suits and shiny shoes discarded for worn military boots, whisker shabby jeans, battered sweaters and hoodies. Where hair was once military shorn, it’s now a mussed shag of ear length buttery colored curls that hint of a typical Czech descent. The urge to cut it is rare. He is, however, always cleanshaven.

    Glasses are usually perched on pale green eyes or pushed up on his head to hold his hair back, the lenses not quite right to the more than casual observer. They are slightly cracked near the top of the frames; he hasn’t had the want or resources to replace them.

    Underneath the shrug of baggy clothes is the rip of trained muscle in a compact frame. Average height, the snap of his sharp colored eyes is still enough to halt a friendly chatter. His features when lit up in a smile are quite warm, with a sharp lick of impulsive yet sweet sarcasm.
    In public he goes by "Triska" and is soft spoken, reserved, and polite; often coming off as cold or aloof. Privately, he is intense and a bit of a smart ass. Hellbent on his work; when it comes to his craft he loses track of everything else, getting lost in it for days on end. He is exceptionally adept in social situations, but prefers to avoid people in his personal time- his work taking up most of his thoughts.

    His main goal is to find and protect his twin sister, terrified of what may have happened to her during the shift. Loyalty drives him to find her, but his intense love for the last of his family is tearing him apart emotionally and mentally. Dealing with severe “ghost pains” and night terrors, he has become desperate. He still feels her, believes she is alive, and deeply fears he will go insane until he can guarantee her safety.

    Desperation has given him a particularly short fuse and complete lack of empathy for anyone that he might see as standing in his way of finding his kin. He would not hesitate killing anyone to save his own life, or the life of his beloved sister.
    A small homestead tucked remotely north of Los Angeles. The house is a modest cabin in a thick acre of woods, two rooms: a workspace and living area. Furnishings are basic, warmly comfortable and covered with books and small spatterings of his sister's art, contrasted sharply by his lab in the other room. The workroom is a jungle of glass, chemicals, and scavenged lab equipment. There is a small arboretum next to the cabin where he grows plants for his work, and occasionally food. Everything is shuttered heavily at night under the threat of intruders.

    He has a military issue CZ 75 with one ammo clip that he keeps in its case under the bed and always carries a fixed blade military knife in the back of his waistband and another on his left boot.

    His only mode of transportation is a repaired 2009 Yamaha FJR1300 ABS that he bought with money earned from selling his work privately to local hospitals. He stores it in the arboretum and only uses it to go into the city to get supplies.

    Frequently, he sells his medicinal items and vaccinations to the closest hospitals and clinics to secure contacts. Typically he's looking for information, but sometimes exchanges them for money so he can purchase supplies he cannot find. He knows how dangerous it is, but is willing to take the risk to get what he needs and keep leads on his sister's whereabouts.

Profile Fields

  • Primary
    Bodhan "Triska" Marin
  • All My Characters
    Bodhan "Triska" Marin (Salvatierra)
    Maree'Anca "Jo" Marin
    Kai Alexander Morgan
    Kett Evangline
    Rhome Del Santo
    Rorye Shannon-Kearney
    Shalheira Lharithlyn- INACTIVE
    Jacob Minor
    Saxon Terrano- INACTIVE
    Josef Carroll Boudreaux
    Calista Burke
    Boone (Paddy) Fitzpatrick
    Calder Muireadach
  • Typist's Interests
    Monster maker
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Before online was a thing
  • Role Play Sample
    Snow was rifled from his hair, stepping into a doorway that lived silently under a half collapsed awning. The weight of the drifting snow was immense, crushing the right side to create a wall. The bright white of the blizzard even in the sunset was intense, eyes not adjusting to the sudden shadows within the gaping doorway. It was the kitchen back door of a swank, tiny restaurant at one time. Stripped of all its candor, the kitchen was stark and quiet, the small dining room dark with its deep wood, plush carpet and shuttered windows… but the fireplace, inviting and waiting for a fire.

    A great place to spend the night.

    He’d almost tripped, stumbling forward slightly before straightening and shuddering from head to toe. Small sprinkles of snow flittered to the dark floor, the curious cock of his head quick as his eyes adjusted to the light.

    A form was huddled near the door, not moving… no doubt caught by the sudden flare of snow that had blanketed the city for far too long. Fingers slid into his pockets, taking a step forward. The man was huddled against the wall, knees to his chest… caught by the snow… a sad sight. Tapping his shoe against his, there was no response.

    He knelt, reaching to press two fingers against his shoulder. Lips were almost white, dark blue circles beneath his eyes.

    He was still.

    Great, a fucking corpse.

    He stood, a long seethe through his nose. Cold, he didn’t feel like going back out and wading through the snowdrifts back home. Night was coming. Temperature was dropping. This wasn’t good. He didn’t feel like spending the night with a friggin’ corpse.


    Gathering the remnants of several broken tables, he snapped them sharply and tossed them into the hearth, stuffing it with a gaudy tablecloth to catch the flame. Pulling a lighter, he waited till it caught, tending to it until it blazed. Warming his fingers for a bit, he stood, knees creaking and pulled the gaggle of garish velvet curtains for a cushy place to spend the night.

    But first.

    “Sorry buddy.”

    His voice was always soft, reminiscent of a calm before the storm.

    He didn’t touch him for a while, listening to the crackle of the fire behind him. Strange… usually there was someone that remained, clinging to the body, making it clear that he wasn’t welcome. It was silent, quiet, as if he wasn’t dead at all. Sliding his hands under his arms, he lifted… immediately dropping him back to the floor.

    Eyes narrowed suspiciously, scuffed steel toe tapping at him again.

    He wasn’t stiff enough to be dead. Kneeling again, he brought flaring nostrils along the skin of his face.



    His body scrambled upward, and dodged through the kitchen… reaching outward he pulled the rest of the awning down with a thundering crash to bar the door closed and keep the heat in. The windows had drifted and would insulate against the wind. Lifting a stainless steel table to cover the outside door already somewhat closed off by the awning, he secured it in place with the oven and did the same to the small dining room. They were enclosed from the elements. Dragging a shredded couch five feet from the fireplace, he threw a curtain over it… creating a small barrier around the hearth to collect heat.

    He picked him up in one fell swoop, putting him as close to the fire as he could as he pulled off clothing. Skin was like ice, firm hands rubbing from his shoulders down his arms to create some sort of friction heat. Moving to the center of his chest he rubbed sharply in a brisk circle.

    “C’mon man”

    He’d never felt someone so cold… his hand slowing down. Perhaps he’d been wrong, maybe he was just crazy. Leaning the man’s face toward his, he drew a slow breath near his lips, scenting the cold breath that still moved from them.

    How in the hell could this man still be alive?

    There was no reason for him to keep this man alive, whispers across his ears of the dead that now walked silent through the city’s shadows chiding him for even trying. Perhaps that’s what made him work harder… the need to hear another’s voice other than those that were in his head.

    He blinked at his own thoughts, eyes focusing on the flicker of the fire as he leaned the small framed man back from his face. Pulling up the thick blanket curtains that were now starting to retain fierce heat, he’d created a shield from the cold at his back, and a catch for the heat rolling from the fire. He could no longer see his breath, beads of sweat glittering at his temples.

    Brain snapped back to the most pressing, lifting the rest of the thick curtains over him.

    He, was here for sleep. Perhaps he’d wake up next to a dead body, it wouldn’t be the first time. It would be the first time he remembered how they’d died, and probably the first it wasn’t his doing.
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