Okay, was going to update today, going to update on Thursday instead. Some still have not posted since the update went out. (Those that haven't posted since the update will be on day 7 of their counter come Thursday my time, so you will need to get those in.)
Name: Scott Adam Fairburne Aliases: Scotty, The Gentle Giant Age: 40 Birthday: June 7th Ethnicity: African-American Birth Place: Harlem, New York Apartment Number: Imperial Apartments - 3B Gender: Male Major/Minor: N/A Occupation: Bartender Languages: English (First Language)
Appearance
Height: 6'3" Weight: 225lbs Build: Large, Muscular Eyes: Brown Hair: Black Skin Tone: Black Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: N/A Personal Style: Scott dresses simply and comfortably, both at work and on the streets, he is usually wearing a simple T-shirt and a pair of Jeans. In colder weather, he'd generally be seen wearing a simple, cheap hoodie. Scott doesn't worry too much for fashion, and most of his clothes are affordable, and plain. His shoes are also fairly simple, comfortable black loafers or simple running shoes.
Psychology
Good-Natured * Intimidating * Polite * Quiet
Sexuality: Heterosexual Relationship Status: Single Personality: Scott generally has the best in mind for people, he wants to help anyone he can however he is able, and will often go out of his way to offer some people assistance regardless of how long or how well he knows them. Regardless of that however, he can often come across as intimidating to most people he meets. Scott holds himself in a certain way, and generally has such an appearance most of the time where he does appear to be quite the intimidating feature, even though he tries his best to avoid it.
While he can come across as intimidating, when you speak to him, it can often be anything but. Scott was raised with manners in mind, and as a result he can be an exceptionally polite person to speak with and be around. He generally approached people with his best behaviour, and is almost never rude to anyone unless they give him reason to. However, Scott doesn't often approach people on his own. He is a particularly quiet and reserved individual, and aside from the people he speaks to at work and his regular customers, he avoids making close friends if he can. Habits: Scratching his chin, Cracking his knuckles Hobbies: Cooking/Cleaning, Exercise, Mixing drinks, Fears:
Large Crowds
Prison
Clowns
Likes:
Cooking
Reading
Working
Exercise
Jazz Music
Dogs
Dislikes:
Coffee
Criminals
Thugs/Bullies
Fighting
Drinking
Guns
Cards On The Table
General World Skills:
Intimidation
Cooking
Streetwise (Gang Knowledge)
Athletics
Charm
Combat Skills:
Unarmed Combat (Boxing)
Melee Weapons (Improvised)
Resilience (Very High Pain Tolerance)
Stamina
Cool Headedness
What Is On Your Person:
Clothing: Maroon T-shirt, Dark Jeans, Black loafers
Wallet: ID, $25 Cash, No bank cards
Keys to Residence
Keys to the Bar
Phone (iPhone 6)
Apartment:
Basic Wardrobe
Assortment of fictional and non-fictonal books
Collection of cooking utensils
Cookbooks
Mixing kit
Cocktail book
Safe of Cash
TV
Comic Books
Baseball Bat
N/A
History
What Brings You To The City: After getting out of prison, Scott left Harlem and the East coast as a whole, hoping to avoid the lifestyle he'd once been a part of. Making his way as far from New York as possible, Scott settled on Justice relatively at random, finding a cheap apartment in ads, and a decent enough job at a small bar, hoping to slip in to as isolated, dull and quiet life as possible. Scott simply hoped Justice would be big and busy enough that he could blend right into the shadows, and forget all about his old life.
Life Before You Moved In: Growing up in Harlem was never particularly easy for Scott. With a father who ran guns and a mother who left, he never really had a good role model growing up. When he was still young, Scott had learned to use a gun and was being used to run cash from person to person without asking questions. His father built him up to be just like he was, planning for Scott to be a gun runner himself. However, Scott grew up to loathe guns, he despised them, seeing them used and being forced to use one himself to kill a man at age fourteen. While he didn't become a gun runner, he'd still had the gang lifestyle drilled into his mind, there was no escaping the lifestyle for him.
Scott started working as local muscle for hire, generally being taken on jobs either to intimidate someone at a deal, or beat someone to a pulp. Before too long, Scott started to become relatively famous among the criminal element in Harlem, and eventually the rest of New York. Gangsters would often recommend that if you needed someone beaten to the point where they were just barely going to survive, Scott Fairburne was your man. Eventually, he started to get known among the law enforcement community as well, becoming a target.
Eventually, Scott was caught up in a bust, being charged and sent to prison on charges of assault, battery, causing grievous bodily harm, and attempted murder. Scott spent the next ten years of his life behind bars, eventually getting out on good behaviour as he seemed through and through to be a reformed citizen. For the most part he was, Scott no longer felt a draw to the gang lifestyle, he felt an incredible degree of remorse for his actions as a criminal, and no respect for anyone who acted similarly.
Life Since You Moved In: Since moving in, Scott has enjoyed his job working as a simple bartender at a relatively small, almost underground bar downtown. While for the most part he's made an immense effort to blend in as much as possible, Scott has started picking up a few odd jobs for some of his regulars, or people he has felt needed it. Some of the jobs have been simple, helping people move, but others have been a bit more major, dealing with thugs and bullies pressing people for protection money and the like. Unfortunately, his actions haven't been unnoticed, and he may have started to expose himself more than he'd like.
Extras
Character Quote: "Sometimes, you just gotta step up." Theme Song:The Weeknd - Starboy Dirty Little Secret: Scott is fairly well-known in the underworld for his time as muscle. Anything Else:
Mail call. The most painfully dull, slow, inefficient and generally unneeded aspect of the German Army, or any military organization for that matter. To some of the others in his squad, returning from a long field exercise to the mail which had been held from them was a welcome treat, but Joel just wanted to find an actual, comfortable bed and fall asleep.
"Obergefreiter Gott." The Administrative Corporal droned on as he went down the list in his hand, a small stack of letters in his hand.
"Ja." An equally droning voice sounded from beside Joel, the man in question. He received his mail and moved off away from the group, idly flicking through bills and junk mail for anything of actual interest. The second he was out of his peripherals, Joel didn't care, he just wanted to hear his name so he could go to his bunk and pass out.
"Hauptgefreiter Grau." The Corporal continued with the next name - the one Joel had been waiting for, he glanced momentarily to the man's hand, he held a selection of letters, but under-arm was a box, intricately carved with golden latches - he wasn't one for antiques, so he doubted it had been sent to him as any sort of gift, but he didn't know anyone who would send packages in such a manner.
"Ja." Joel finally responded, moving toward the Corporal to retrieve his mail. Originally he couldn't have cared less what his mail was, but as he carried it back toward his bunk and looked over the box - ignoring the confused glances and stares from the others in the barrack - he built quite the intrigue toward it. Tossing aside his other letters as insignificant in comparison, Joel sat down on his bunk, setting the box in his lap, he figured if it had made it this far into the base he resided in, it wasn't dangerous to any degree. Or, rather, Joel assumed it wasn't dangerous.
Gently, he set his finger and thumb on the gold pin, pulling it from the latch as he slowly and delicately lifted the lid, peering within. This was seeming less and less like something that would've been intended for him. Crimson velvet padded lining, and a trifolded piece of thick paper? This was an awfully over-complicated way for someone to be sending him a letter. But it was certainly not a letter, as Joel soon realised. Opening it, he had to do a double take as he looked over the two tickets he held, from Munich to Paris, and a boarding pass for the Orient Express.
Congratulations! You are one of the lucky few that was picked to be the winner of this prestigious tour! You leave on March 14th from your city and will arrive in Paris on the 15th. There you will meet the rest of the winners at the Saint James Paris! You're accommodations are completely provided! Travel, fares, food, all are covered. On the 17th you will disembark from Paris on the legendary Orient Express for a tour of Europe and into the Carpathian Mountains! We cannot wait to see you, anything you need will be provided. A Black Status Card has provided for you to purchase anything you might need. I look forward to meeting you on the Orient Express.
Sincerely, Your Provider
As he sat and read the letter, Joel gathered somewhat of an audience, a few of his friends and comrades moving over to his bunk to peer over his shoulder at what was before him, a few unimpressed or unknowing 'huh' sounds coming from the majority as they moved on to other things. Joel, on the other hand, was simply confused. Why had he been picked? He'd been told a while ago that he should take some leave, the man hadn't since his third deployment, so he certainly would have been able to get the time off for this little 'vacation' - but Joel still groaned.
"How do I even explain this to the Oberleutnant?"
*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy.
