Full Name; James Dirmin
Age; 24
Personality;
“I don’t care if you don’t.”
Careless, sarcastic, cynical and a heavy narcissist at heart, James can be considered a social outcast at his finest. Yet all these things, are coated by a layer of lies, this man, hardened by his life on the street, is one of those types who can really ‘drag’ people into his life. He doesn’t care for the people he knows, he doesn’t give a single fuck about who they are, what they do, where they are from, as long as they’ll be able to supply him with what he longs for the most; pleasure.
Due to his years of selling drugs within the ‘community’ he had become notorious in, James could be considered a decent manipulator, his lack of fear and common sense in most situations can bring it to extreme standards when he needs someone to do something for him. After fights with other dealers, cops and even customers, he became somewhat more merciless when it comes to business, selling drugs ranging from a simple stash of weed to hard-drugs taught him to never trust someone too much.
While he would never admit it, James is prone to addictions, whether that be physical or mentally. A heavy smoker, drinker and known for his constant drug-abuse, he is known to stick to the things that give him pleasure and never let go of them. Obsessive as he is, he can be brought to a light form of aggression, either physical or verbally by signs of him losing out on something he desperately wants.
Appearance;
There he stands, six-eight tall and rather muscular for someone his age, he’s gotten pale due to his years squatting, his eyes surrounded by dark bags, which show the terror he has been through. James’ hair is somewhat long, reaching his chin when it’s all straightened out, but mostly it’s just a greasy mess, he believes there are better things to worry about than his appearance. His green orbs, often fixated on the sky above him as he mesmerizes about his surroundings, have gotten dull to the excessive drug abuse. A small white line taints his face, a scar he has gotten from a bar-fight.
Often adorned in sleeveless shirts, drenched with liquor and blood around the collar, he never really managed to clean them up, so he’ll just wait till his shirts dry after he got them dirty in his obscene moments of life. He wears ragged, wide jeans with large pockets, to make sure he can take his cigarettes along everywhere he goes. The large holes around his knees showing that he almost spends as much crawling over the ground as he does walking. He only has one pair of ol’, leather boots that are tainted with blood and mud, he looks like he’s been neglecting himself for years.
A large tattoo adorns his upper arm and shoulder on the left side of his body, oddly scribbled words, unreadable by him as well. A skull with an open mouth, as if it was ‘he’ who mumbled those words that surrounded it. Most of the lines are somewhat jagged, showing that the artists in question didn’t do a decent job at it.
Background;
Aggressive as he was, he got into fights with his father at a rather early age, going so far that he would actually get beat up pretty nastily. The doctors prescribed him several forms of medication, but he refused to take anything, only causing more and more to go wrong. At a young age, James dabbled into the world of alcohol and drugs, finding himself liking the people who managed to obtain those things for him. When his parents found out, there wasn’t much they could do about it, so instead they decided to neglect the problem and kick him out.
James started squatting, finding himself occupying empty houses until he finally found a good spot within the outskirts of the town, becoming one of the habitants of what he likes to call ‘Fuck-all Town’. Without money and without work, James began to deal drugs with people outside of the community and around the community itself. With money in his hands, he spend it all on drugs, booze and sometimes something to eat, enjoying the life he managed to attain. As he grew older, he became a somewhat notorious figure, known for his fights with the police, known for laying on the streets passed out due to the alcohol he had consumed. The people knew him, and he knew them, keeping a steady connection with the people around him, making sure his business kept thriving even in rougher times.
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