Hope I'm not to late to thrown my proverbial hat into the ring, as it were, but here's my sheet. Criticisms/comments on it are welcome and encouraged.
Sorry for the long as hell history post, I just kinda... have a habit of letting a character's history run off and take up a huge part of the text.
EDIT: Oh crap. Just went over it and noticed the huge amount of mistakes. I think I got most of them, but if you see any more left, just let me know. Sorry.
Name: Daniel 'The Cyclops' Collins
Age & Gender: 20, male ("And available, ladies.")
Appearance: Tall (around 6"1), lanky, somewhat on the thin side, not to mention pale, it would be fair to call him of sickly appearance, but he assures he can get by. Has shaggy pale-blond hair that reaches just to the nape of his neck, though has a habit of springing out in all directions when he isn't wearing a hat of some description. Has dark green eyes that carry a sort of immature twinkle to them; likes to kid that they're his memento from his home and parents. His hands are weathered from physical work he used to do, and the many times he's had to get his hands 'dirty.' His face has somewhat "boyish" features, though it is likewise lined with stress and starting of rings under his eyes that are inevitable with this kind of work.
When just working the day, he wears a fairly cheap black pinstripe suit, clean white undershirt, polished dress shoes, grey tie and accompanying black trilby. However, he had taken to wearing thin leather gloves, as a pre-caution to leaving his finger prints everywhere. However, when his job requires a more 'practical' nature, he prefers to go in with trousers, thick boots, and a beat up aviator jacket he grandpa gave him before he passed away, his "lucky charm," though he still wears the gloves for obvious reasons. Sometimes wears a flat cap and something to cover his face, though some jobs don't require either because of his distance to his target/s.
Personality: Daniel considers his take on the world to be 'light-hearted' and a 'half-glass-full' kind of view, though it's more akin to immaturity and distance via denial.
If the day can't bring something to grin at least once about, then it wouldn't be worth getting out of bed, Daniel thinks. Since this line of work has him liable to be shot dead at any point in the day, might as well make the most out of life, right? As such, he often takes liabilities to his co-workers and colleague's level of intimacy (excluding his direct superiors, whom even he isn?t stupid enough to piss off); believing their shared work makes them all "rats caught in same trap." This attitude, however, often leads to odds with many in his line of business, and he can (and often does) act somewhat insufferable.
To others who aren't in "the business," it varies. He finds kids overall not worth his worth time (coincidently), and finds the 'city suits' to be as trustful as bag full of vipers. He considers himself a 'Casanova' when it comes to the fairer sex, though his lack of any real company is a testament to his overestimation, though can act like a gentleman when he puts his mind to it*. Notably, he has great respect for the elderly, a trait which likely stems from his heroic filter he put over his memory with his grandparents.
*It should be mentioned, because of his attachment to both his head and his 'head,' he would never consider acting as anything but a gentleman when in the presence of his female superiors.
Notable Skills: His skill at sniping is notably proficient, and his years honing them have led to him having some basic skills in mostly all fire arms, though his strength lies in keeping his target as far from him as possible. However, he lacks any real skill in melee combat, and hence has also learned over the years that he's a damn fair runner too.
Equipment & Property: He has two prides and joys in the world: a beautifully made Springfield M1903, and his memento and prize, a pretty beaten Mosin-Nagant Model 1891. He also has a custom case made for transporting and carrying his sniper rifles when out in the public, reinforced and somewhat bullet proof. Though thanks to both the case and rifle's weight, he can only take one with him at time*, with only a small collection of ammunition. He also carries a small snub-nosed revolver with him, but it carries only the six bullets.
His new apartment could be considered somewhat humble in comparison to some of the ones that others in the 'business' own, thanks to both his lower position and the lower need for outright snipers who don't also carry a blade with them. However, he is aware and grateful to the fact that the average person could never afford the place, despite him being around the bottom rung of the family's ladder.
*He usually just takes the Springfield with him for fear of losing or damaging his precious Mosin-Nagant beyond repair.
Age & Gender: 20, male ("And available, ladies.")
Appearance: Tall (around 6"1), lanky, somewhat on the thin side, not to mention pale, it would be fair to call him of sickly appearance, but he assures he can get by. Has shaggy pale-blond hair that reaches just to the nape of his neck, though has a habit of springing out in all directions when he isn't wearing a hat of some description. Has dark green eyes that carry a sort of immature twinkle to them; likes to kid that they're his memento from his home and parents. His hands are weathered from physical work he used to do, and the many times he's had to get his hands 'dirty.' His face has somewhat "boyish" features, though it is likewise lined with stress and starting of rings under his eyes that are inevitable with this kind of work.
When just working the day, he wears a fairly cheap black pinstripe suit, clean white undershirt, polished dress shoes, grey tie and accompanying black trilby. However, he had taken to wearing thin leather gloves, as a pre-caution to leaving his finger prints everywhere. However, when his job requires a more 'practical' nature, he prefers to go in with trousers, thick boots, and a beat up aviator jacket he grandpa gave him before he passed away, his "lucky charm," though he still wears the gloves for obvious reasons. Sometimes wears a flat cap and something to cover his face, though some jobs don't require either because of his distance to his target/s.
Personality: Daniel considers his take on the world to be 'light-hearted' and a 'half-glass-full' kind of view, though it's more akin to immaturity and distance via denial.
If the day can't bring something to grin at least once about, then it wouldn't be worth getting out of bed, Daniel thinks. Since this line of work has him liable to be shot dead at any point in the day, might as well make the most out of life, right? As such, he often takes liabilities to his co-workers and colleague's level of intimacy (excluding his direct superiors, whom even he isn?t stupid enough to piss off); believing their shared work makes them all "rats caught in same trap." This attitude, however, often leads to odds with many in his line of business, and he can (and often does) act somewhat insufferable.
To others who aren't in "the business," it varies. He finds kids overall not worth his worth time (coincidently), and finds the 'city suits' to be as trustful as bag full of vipers. He considers himself a 'Casanova' when it comes to the fairer sex, though his lack of any real company is a testament to his overestimation, though can act like a gentleman when he puts his mind to it*. Notably, he has great respect for the elderly, a trait which likely stems from his heroic filter he put over his memory with his grandparents.
*It should be mentioned, because of his attachment to both his head and his 'head,' he would never consider acting as anything but a gentleman when in the presence of his female superiors.
History: It is important, in Daniel's mind, to remember what land was the first he ever stepped upon. Born into a very traditional family back in the 'Emerald Isles' ("the Republic: not those bastards from up north"), he was raised primarily by his father, after his mother died giving birth to a baby brother only two years after he was born. Daniel found it's not the easiest place in the world to be the middle child in a somewhat volatile family of seven, especially since he was competing for his father's attention with his three siblings (the twin elder brother and sister Sean a Abigail, and his younger brother Darren), though he formed a close bond with his in-resident grandparents.
His father had been a police officer of the fairly small town they had made their home, and often took it upon himself to try and instil some sense of right and wrong into his often quarrelling children, to some success with his two eldest, though Daniel might have been a lost cause. Because of his focus on both his work and caring for the youngest of the family, Daniel's father could never give him the attention that he felt he deserved at times, and hence Daniel gravitated towards his grandparents, whom were more than glad to listen and to talk to the boy as he went off on his wild imaginations. Although his grandparents had meant all the best, their often repeated encouragements of Daniel making his own dreams led him to the very start of his odd obsession: rifles.
Daniel's father and grandpa had always been big on hunting, and would go to various legal hunting events a few times a year, and even kept a few rifles in a lodge far from their small town. Around the time Daniel turned eleven, mostly desiring something to be close with his father, started requesting to be taken with them, despite not fully understanding what he was asking for. His father had refused him numerous times, saying when he was older he could go. His grandpa, on the other hand, sneaked him a small model BB gun on his thirtieth birthday, telling with a wink to "get some practice in." For the most part, Daniel had been sensible: he would sneak out and go to a nearby grove of trees and shoot empty tin cans, and sneak back and hide the gun when his father wasn't around. However, one cool autumn day, Daniel would do something he would remember and question later, for much of his more sombre days. A fat pigeon had always sat perfectly still of a tree branch just above his when he went out shooting, apparently not so easily scared off like the other 'rats of the sky.' Daniel can't remember if he had been having a bad day, the thing had looked at him funny, or if it was just a moment of poor judgment, but he had levelled his rifle to the overweight bird, and fired.
The pellet had been embedded in its windpipe, and as it collapsed to the ground, it thrashed and thrived on the ground, its tiny coo's cut off by the trickle of blood gently lapping out for a good minute. Then all was still.
He didn't even look at the rifle for a solid week after that, and never told anyone of what happened that day. Despite that however, he would later pick up the habit of going out to shoot, and when he turned 17, he would fire his first ever live rifle (a 'Mosin-Nagant Model 1891' he still keeps with him today) with his father and grandpa (his grandma unfortunately passing away before this point). His father remains sceptical of where he got his 'natural talent' from.
Of course, things couldn't continue as they were for too long. While his siblings were all getting some kind of work (even his two year younger brother got a paper round), Daniel, now eighteen, mostly focused on his gunmanship, as well as doing a poor job of chasing the 'skirts' of the local village girls. Deciding that, considering that the reports of occasional gunfire coming from deep in the now grown woods were slowing being traced back to him, he should expand his horizons, Daniel set off for Temperance bay. Armed only with the name of an old friend of his father, the location of a hotel, and enough money to last him a fortnight, Daniel set off with the old aviator?s jacket of his grandpa, and a now somewhat worn Mosin-Nagant.
Work, however, was hard to come by, even in a city as big as Temperance Bay. He didn't have enough credentials to get into anywhere with actual pay checks worth bread on the table, and couldn't last more than a few days in the more crappy dock jobs before he snapped at his boss or else left to escape the back-breaking labour. Even the women of the city were a harder catch then the girls of his town, which did little for his sense of pride. The only solace he could find was the shooting ranges, where he still diligently practiced with his pride and joy rifle. It was here, however, where he met with The Takahashi Family.
Daniel has forgotten the name and the face of the one who would ultimately save him; all he remembers is that he came up to him while he was practicing, and complimented his form. At first, Daniel was wary of the suited man, but lowered his guard considerably when he mentioned a line of work which would involve his love of his firearm. After suggesting they talk about it over something to eat (something which the now food rationing Daniel was grateful for), the man evaded any questions of his line of work, and instead forthright told the Irish gunman that what he wanted done wasn't exactly of an legal nature. A local thug needed to 'go away,' and he needed to go in a way which was both public but as untraceable as possible: to made an example of, in short.
Daniel, initially, strongly wanted to bolt from his chair, run back to his dilapidated apartment room, and pretend that this conversation had never taken place. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't turn this down. The suited man was offering a hefty price for a simple thug's head, and if Daniel couldn't afford his rent soon, food and trips to the shooting range weren't the only privileges he was going to lose. Likewise, the man made it clear the thug had little going for him in life: apart from occasionally hitting his own kid, he was roughing up local street vendors for short cash, something which the man much rather the thug didn't, to those who were already paying the suited man's 'business colleagues' for protection.
He knew his father wouldn't approve. He knew that he is grandfather would be so disappointed and horrified if he ever found out. He knew his own ethics screamed that this was a bad idea. But there he was, early the next day, staring out of a mouth of a dark alley, rifle in hand, aiming down the sights with his own breath screeching in his ears. The rest is mostly a blur: he remembers shooting when he saw the huge lumbering brute marching by, and he remembers the spray of red from the thug?s neck as he collapsed to the ground, and the rest faded out. Until he heard the sirens, and the shouting of police. He thanked the fact he grabbed what little possessions he owned before he went to the shooting, because after a nearly hour long chase through the back streets of the city, and a freezing night spent sitting in some scrap yard with shaky hands wrapped around his precious firearm, he never intended to return to that neighbourhood, let alone his apartment again.
The man in the suit was surprised to see him the next day: Daniel would later learn that he been intended as a scapegoat, with the police already knowing to be in the area, intended as a mad gunman who would be locked away, and would never see a cent of the money he had been promised. The man in the suit, therefore, had every right to be surprised to see him, but he realized it was not unwelcome. Whether it had been dumb luck or some amount of actual street smarts, Daniel had managed to evade the police this long, and had even made the kill efficiently (if not entirely cleanly) in a single shot. He gave Daniel the promised amount, and assured him there would always be more work for man of his skills in the future. Daniel never wanted to see the man or more blood money again, but what else was a man supposed to do with a lifetime of training in the art of firearms? He ended up going back again and again, until it got to the point where he was officially welcomed into the family.
Daniel later found out, the man whom had first welcomed him into the family had been cut down; killed by some nameless sword wielding bastard. Daniel can't even remember if he asked for the guy's name.
Two years down the line, and here he stands. He has finally accepted his role in life (helped greatly along by a few shared drinks with people of the same profession), though now a new feeling begins to blossom within him. He has been mostly assigned to lower importance jobs, people who need to go, when the family need skill and discretion, so while it's understandable why he's not the family's top hit-man exactly, he still knows he?s being purposely held back. He knows that sword wielders are valued members, not only for their skill, but for their reputation. If you walk down the street with a blade, and you command the common people's respect, loyalty and (above all else) fear: you are a sign of an old tradition that breaths discipline and focus. If you're some Irish sniper walking down the street with a long case that is clearly not exactly made to house simple business papers, and while people will still fear you, the respect and loyalty are absent: you are a killer, and little better for it.
Daniel has decided he will change that. He will earn the respect and loyalty of his whole family, and legitimately climb this ladder of business and bodies, even it takes blowing the heads off every rival family in this city.
Besides, Daniel reasons, he follows a clear idea: pigeons are stupid flying rats. They go through life, day by day, only ever worrying about when their next meal is, and don't have a true concept of the world around them, innocent in their simple minds. Humans however, are intelligent; they think quickly and act quicker, and their most dangerous feature is their ability to have ambitions. Every day is another day humans spend thinking and acting on how to overcome other humans in the race of life. Thus, Daniel concludes, he can still bear to face his family again as long as he doesn't shoot another bird...
His father had been a police officer of the fairly small town they had made their home, and often took it upon himself to try and instil some sense of right and wrong into his often quarrelling children, to some success with his two eldest, though Daniel might have been a lost cause. Because of his focus on both his work and caring for the youngest of the family, Daniel's father could never give him the attention that he felt he deserved at times, and hence Daniel gravitated towards his grandparents, whom were more than glad to listen and to talk to the boy as he went off on his wild imaginations. Although his grandparents had meant all the best, their often repeated encouragements of Daniel making his own dreams led him to the very start of his odd obsession: rifles.
Daniel's father and grandpa had always been big on hunting, and would go to various legal hunting events a few times a year, and even kept a few rifles in a lodge far from their small town. Around the time Daniel turned eleven, mostly desiring something to be close with his father, started requesting to be taken with them, despite not fully understanding what he was asking for. His father had refused him numerous times, saying when he was older he could go. His grandpa, on the other hand, sneaked him a small model BB gun on his thirtieth birthday, telling with a wink to "get some practice in." For the most part, Daniel had been sensible: he would sneak out and go to a nearby grove of trees and shoot empty tin cans, and sneak back and hide the gun when his father wasn't around. However, one cool autumn day, Daniel would do something he would remember and question later, for much of his more sombre days. A fat pigeon had always sat perfectly still of a tree branch just above his when he went out shooting, apparently not so easily scared off like the other 'rats of the sky.' Daniel can't remember if he had been having a bad day, the thing had looked at him funny, or if it was just a moment of poor judgment, but he had levelled his rifle to the overweight bird, and fired.
The pellet had been embedded in its windpipe, and as it collapsed to the ground, it thrashed and thrived on the ground, its tiny coo's cut off by the trickle of blood gently lapping out for a good minute. Then all was still.
He didn't even look at the rifle for a solid week after that, and never told anyone of what happened that day. Despite that however, he would later pick up the habit of going out to shoot, and when he turned 17, he would fire his first ever live rifle (a 'Mosin-Nagant Model 1891' he still keeps with him today) with his father and grandpa (his grandma unfortunately passing away before this point). His father remains sceptical of where he got his 'natural talent' from.
Of course, things couldn't continue as they were for too long. While his siblings were all getting some kind of work (even his two year younger brother got a paper round), Daniel, now eighteen, mostly focused on his gunmanship, as well as doing a poor job of chasing the 'skirts' of the local village girls. Deciding that, considering that the reports of occasional gunfire coming from deep in the now grown woods were slowing being traced back to him, he should expand his horizons, Daniel set off for Temperance bay. Armed only with the name of an old friend of his father, the location of a hotel, and enough money to last him a fortnight, Daniel set off with the old aviator?s jacket of his grandpa, and a now somewhat worn Mosin-Nagant.
Work, however, was hard to come by, even in a city as big as Temperance Bay. He didn't have enough credentials to get into anywhere with actual pay checks worth bread on the table, and couldn't last more than a few days in the more crappy dock jobs before he snapped at his boss or else left to escape the back-breaking labour. Even the women of the city were a harder catch then the girls of his town, which did little for his sense of pride. The only solace he could find was the shooting ranges, where he still diligently practiced with his pride and joy rifle. It was here, however, where he met with The Takahashi Family.
Daniel has forgotten the name and the face of the one who would ultimately save him; all he remembers is that he came up to him while he was practicing, and complimented his form. At first, Daniel was wary of the suited man, but lowered his guard considerably when he mentioned a line of work which would involve his love of his firearm. After suggesting they talk about it over something to eat (something which the now food rationing Daniel was grateful for), the man evaded any questions of his line of work, and instead forthright told the Irish gunman that what he wanted done wasn't exactly of an legal nature. A local thug needed to 'go away,' and he needed to go in a way which was both public but as untraceable as possible: to made an example of, in short.
Daniel, initially, strongly wanted to bolt from his chair, run back to his dilapidated apartment room, and pretend that this conversation had never taken place. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't turn this down. The suited man was offering a hefty price for a simple thug's head, and if Daniel couldn't afford his rent soon, food and trips to the shooting range weren't the only privileges he was going to lose. Likewise, the man made it clear the thug had little going for him in life: apart from occasionally hitting his own kid, he was roughing up local street vendors for short cash, something which the man much rather the thug didn't, to those who were already paying the suited man's 'business colleagues' for protection.
He knew his father wouldn't approve. He knew that he is grandfather would be so disappointed and horrified if he ever found out. He knew his own ethics screamed that this was a bad idea. But there he was, early the next day, staring out of a mouth of a dark alley, rifle in hand, aiming down the sights with his own breath screeching in his ears. The rest is mostly a blur: he remembers shooting when he saw the huge lumbering brute marching by, and he remembers the spray of red from the thug?s neck as he collapsed to the ground, and the rest faded out. Until he heard the sirens, and the shouting of police. He thanked the fact he grabbed what little possessions he owned before he went to the shooting, because after a nearly hour long chase through the back streets of the city, and a freezing night spent sitting in some scrap yard with shaky hands wrapped around his precious firearm, he never intended to return to that neighbourhood, let alone his apartment again.
The man in the suit was surprised to see him the next day: Daniel would later learn that he been intended as a scapegoat, with the police already knowing to be in the area, intended as a mad gunman who would be locked away, and would never see a cent of the money he had been promised. The man in the suit, therefore, had every right to be surprised to see him, but he realized it was not unwelcome. Whether it had been dumb luck or some amount of actual street smarts, Daniel had managed to evade the police this long, and had even made the kill efficiently (if not entirely cleanly) in a single shot. He gave Daniel the promised amount, and assured him there would always be more work for man of his skills in the future. Daniel never wanted to see the man or more blood money again, but what else was a man supposed to do with a lifetime of training in the art of firearms? He ended up going back again and again, until it got to the point where he was officially welcomed into the family.
Daniel later found out, the man whom had first welcomed him into the family had been cut down; killed by some nameless sword wielding bastard. Daniel can't even remember if he asked for the guy's name.
Two years down the line, and here he stands. He has finally accepted his role in life (helped greatly along by a few shared drinks with people of the same profession), though now a new feeling begins to blossom within him. He has been mostly assigned to lower importance jobs, people who need to go, when the family need skill and discretion, so while it's understandable why he's not the family's top hit-man exactly, he still knows he?s being purposely held back. He knows that sword wielders are valued members, not only for their skill, but for their reputation. If you walk down the street with a blade, and you command the common people's respect, loyalty and (above all else) fear: you are a sign of an old tradition that breaths discipline and focus. If you're some Irish sniper walking down the street with a long case that is clearly not exactly made to house simple business papers, and while people will still fear you, the respect and loyalty are absent: you are a killer, and little better for it.
Daniel has decided he will change that. He will earn the respect and loyalty of his whole family, and legitimately climb this ladder of business and bodies, even it takes blowing the heads off every rival family in this city.
Besides, Daniel reasons, he follows a clear idea: pigeons are stupid flying rats. They go through life, day by day, only ever worrying about when their next meal is, and don't have a true concept of the world around them, innocent in their simple minds. Humans however, are intelligent; they think quickly and act quicker, and their most dangerous feature is their ability to have ambitions. Every day is another day humans spend thinking and acting on how to overcome other humans in the race of life. Thus, Daniel concludes, he can still bear to face his family again as long as he doesn't shoot another bird...
Notable Skills: His skill at sniping is notably proficient, and his years honing them have led to him having some basic skills in mostly all fire arms, though his strength lies in keeping his target as far from him as possible. However, he lacks any real skill in melee combat, and hence has also learned over the years that he's a damn fair runner too.
Equipment & Property: He has two prides and joys in the world: a beautifully made Springfield M1903, and his memento and prize, a pretty beaten Mosin-Nagant Model 1891. He also has a custom case made for transporting and carrying his sniper rifles when out in the public, reinforced and somewhat bullet proof. Though thanks to both the case and rifle's weight, he can only take one with him at time*, with only a small collection of ammunition. He also carries a small snub-nosed revolver with him, but it carries only the six bullets.
His new apartment could be considered somewhat humble in comparison to some of the ones that others in the 'business' own, thanks to both his lower position and the lower need for outright snipers who don't also carry a blade with them. However, he is aware and grateful to the fact that the average person could never afford the place, despite him being around the bottom rung of the family's ladder.
*He usually just takes the Springfield with him for fear of losing or damaging his precious Mosin-Nagant beyond repair.
Sorry for the long as hell history post, I just kinda... have a habit of letting a character's history run off and take up a huge part of the text.
EDIT: Oh crap. Just went over it and noticed the huge amount of mistakes. I think I got most of them, but if you see any more left, just let me know. Sorry.
