Solo

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@MiddleEarthRoze I've tentatively claimed her, but I think I'll have my hands full with Jesse 'n Jack, so if you want her I don't mind relinquishing my claim!

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@Vicier What, uh, is the timeline for this? Isn't OW set in the year 2080? Just asking because I noticed that Mercy was born in 1980? Don't wanna mess anything up, 'n all that!

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

If you'd have me, I'd like to bring in an OC character.

I don't know if this was asked (I did look through the thread and did not notice), but how will the RP play out in and of itself? Will there still be generic roles like support, tank, and killers or will it be something different.

@Nariata

Would those roles be necessary? I imagine, since these are (mostly) private military organizations, they'd each have individual roles and specializations for their members/agents. But, either way, that would be good to clear up, perhaps?

As for Reaper, I have no knowledge of him being asked about or claimed until now; no one apart from Pro has approached me about him today; the impression that I was under was that @Sodomite was going to be taking up Reinhardt and Hanzo

@Vicier

Aw, they might have forgotten to send something. ;-( Oh well.

Eight

Even if I were to say fourth, the void in my heart shall never be filled.

_{f o u r t h}

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@XxProReapsxX Aye, I'm pretty sure @Sodomite took a claim on him already? That was my impression when they PM'd me a few hours ago about discussing things between Gabe and Jack (and a bit of Ana) once Jack eventually shows his face.

Up to Vicier if they didn't say anything in this thread, though? (I also second the motion on the @mention thing, please D-: )

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

@Vicier Would you like the requirements for the canon characters before coming up with a CS? I just wanna make sure I do everything correctly before submitting anything!

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

Much of the cyberpunk art, too, is on the grungy spectrum and Overwatch's style is extremely clean. Like, if I had to put it anywhere, it'd be solarpunk style, but even then, much of the 'punk' art style has too many harsh lines and are severe looking? So, it's just incredibly hard to place Overwatch's style within any spectrum just because Blizzard made it so unique.

▲ OVERWATCH: A New Era. ▼ (Overwatch Roleplay)

Ooh, would it be possible for me to snag Jesse and Jack? Because this is super interesting and I'd love to join!

(Also perhaps I'd love to claim Sombra too? But, like, only maybe.)

Enforcement ◇ Solo & Jacobite

There's nothing calm about walking up paralyzed. The heavy, cotton blanket trapped him like a pair of leather straps tying him to a gurney. Rational, non-sleep addled thought would have parsed this situation to simply be sleep paralysis. Abraham experienced the sensation once every few months, often accompanied by huge bouts of stress. Yet, much like a dream, the logic centers of his own mind couldn't process everything as it should.

Everything felt numb. A roar screamed in his ears, both the sound of his blood rushing in and a screaming rapids shaking through him. The instant adrenaline of fear gripped him, unable to flail his arms or unlock his legs. In pitch black darkness, Abraham truly vulnerable, unable to discern shapes in the milky shadows of his room. The terror intensified at the sudden rush of air next to him, his eyes unable to truly catch the shadowed silhouette that sliced through the darkness. It climbed above him, taking to his headboard like a demon perched above his quarry. The last thing he felt was the sudden exhalation, a gust of hot air that burned his face and sent a shock down his spine.

"Oh." he woke hours later, head pounding and eyes crusted. "Fuck," Abraham breathed, running a hand through his matted hair. For a moment, he sat at the edge of his bed with a pert frown tugging his lips. Everything felt off from before or maybe the week long headache shifted his perception too far over. He mumbled a few things, stopping his alarm before it went off, turning on the lights, turning on the shower, and ordering breakfast. Just a few words, simple and mechanical and very much his routine.

Routine blurred the day away until Abraham warped back to consciousness, his hands hovering over the data files in front of him.

"... Ahab."

"Huh?" he turned, blinking. His hand swiped away the files, letting them fall back into the console that promptly shut down. "Yeah, sorry. Been in my head all day." Abraham sighed, let his friend guide him to the break room to sit him down. The purpose in the other man's eyes, he hadn't caught that. It furrowed his brow as he slid into an empty chair.

Silence hung over the two, settled between the raucous noise of the bull pin and the hushed conversations around them. "You ready for this?" he said, catching Abraham's gaze, "There's still time to pull out; you're fresh as hell, ain't nobody gonna mock you for it."

A lot of things could be said, things he's thought to say for a long time now. Rookie detectives don't get much say in what they do, not around here, at least. Abraham's been lucky to stumble on cases with more depth than the precinct first caught. While he was still far off from any superior's eyes, Abraham's last few solved cases put him on someone's radar, enough to shove him head first into this. Ryan, his elder in every way, told him prior to the VI program how off it all felt and here, again, he'd say the same thing. Suspicious or not, he had no basis and with no actual evidence to provide Abraham with the skepticism Ryan tried to cultivate, he just couldn't say no to potentially skyrocketing his career.

Abraham slammed his hand on the table, pushing himself up. "I have to get ready," he said, deliberately looking through the break room's gaping doorway, "I'll send word through if I can do so safely. No doubt you'll be keeping an eye on my case, regardless." Abraham flashed him a smile, tamping down on the twist in his stomach at Ryan's blank expression. He didn't have time to worry about a friend; too many other things addled his mind.

Undercover debriefing usually happened in as private an area as possible. With how technology worked these days, every government agency had to take thousands more precautions just to tamp down on small leaks. For this, he'd be given everything by paper, told everything in a secured room, and given whatever he needed to pass as a petty crim by hand. The process made Abraham less nervous. Having solid material to hold onto gave him an anchor for his worry. Something to channel his anxiety into, as well as the dull pain still throbbing the back of his skull.

"And you're all set, Detective Ahearne," the woman debriefing him smiled, fake and riddled with her own nerves. Abraham returned it, feeling no faith in her words. She tacked on an empty good luck as he left for the car lot. Along with sets of clothes to fit his persona as an up and coming hacker (and the equipment to boot), they fashioned him with a beat down hover-vehicle, something completely opposite to his usually pristine car.

He cringed at the rust coated, cramped, and 'quaint' car. Normally it'd be a bad idea to just roll something like this out of the precinct, but his destination took him to a run down apartment complex in another district of the city. It was a run down section that lacked much in the way of law enforcement. It's where many of the petty thieves, scammers, and small time hackers took residence. Somewhere where he could make connections, build his persona from the ground up. With the help of his VI, it would take what would normally be years working his way through the city's underground and slice it right in half.

It was just a matter of getting the program to finally work. A week with the transplant and still nothing. What little faith Abraham had was waning quicker by the second.

Eight

Max

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𝓕𝓾𝓵𝓵 𝓝𝓪𝓶𝓮 & 𝓝𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮(𝓼)

Maxwell Sullivan;

Goes by → Max Vicario (Mother's Maiden Name)

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻

Male

𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱

December 1st, 1989 (Twenty-Seven)

𝓝𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

Gibraltarian/Spanish (Andalusian)

𝓔𝓽𝓱𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽𝔂

Irish-English-Dutch-Spanish-Jewish

𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓥𝓲𝓮𝔀𝓼

Roman Catholic

𝓞𝓬𝓬𝓾𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

Priest

𝓟𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮

As a child with parents both heavily tied to English roots, Max doesn't exactly boast the typical Iberian look native to most of Spain's populace. In spite of his time spent in both Gibraltar and Andalusia, Max doesn't exactly tan well. His skin only ever comes in a shade of mildly pale that matches his own father. He also shares his father's proclivity for getting killer sunburn, something his mother's had to deal with ever since marrying him and having his children.

Like his mother and father both, Max contains a soft set of features, with a rounder face and prominent cheekbones. His smile defines his cheeks even more, wide and spread - it's open, much like Max is and one of the features he appreciates the most. His hair is neat and parted in overlapping waves of brown, a fairer bit than the chocolate of his eyes. There's perhaps no hiding the prominent billboard of his forehead - he blames a receding hairline, something in common with his father, as his mother reminds. For a man of his age, Max has nothing special to boast about. In Spain, he's average looking, especially in this era with a huge industry of 'looking so fuckable it hurts' in Madrid and even Barcelona. At least Granada, like much of Andalusia remains staunch in its culture. Or perhaps that's something Max likes to tell himself, having mostly kept his nose stuck in a book, in a bible, or templed on his fingers.

Despite much of his family, Max stands below their average height range. A meager 5'5" isn't the shortest, but it does leave his father towering and even his mother stands a few inches above him. Of course, his stature isn't something to scoff at. Max spends a lot of time keeping up with his pitbull's active lifestyle and often runs through his district for at least an hour a day in an attempt to tire her out. It's forced Max to spend time working on his cardio and that eventually lead to keeping an endurance driven body shape, mostly lithe and fitting his height. He's skinny, despite this, often forgetting to eat most days due to his amazing ability to completely zone out of a situation if he's got a book in hand.

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𝓣𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 & 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓼

Spatial Awareness

^↳ Unless he feels absolutely secure and safe within his own home, Max knows exactly where he is at all times. It's not paranoia, but more so just the idea that he can pinpoint his location and know where to go when needed. Though, not an escape artist, anyone with the ability to flee a situation would feel most comfortable knowing there's someone able to point out details they can miss. Whether under heavy pressure or other constraints, Max keeps his eyes and ears open to his surroundings.

Blending

^↳ For Max, blending into crowds and surroundings comes naturally to Max. Almost too naturally, especially because Max isn't one for talking or even given a notice that he's right there. If things get too stressful, loud, or if people are bothering him, Max can almost disappear, finding a crowd or a corner to regain his composure in. It's also helpful when he's avoiding someone, especially in his teen years, when it came to hiding from his mother.

Problem Solving

^↳ One of Max's hobbies and areas of expertise is decoding ancient languages and texts. For awhile, he wanted to sit in an enormous library, under warm light doing nothing but skimming through old books and figuring out what everything means. Stringing words and sentences from ancient, dead languages, using clues and context to figure out what the puzzle's missing. He loves it, loves puzzles, loves problem solving. Naturally, it extends to more than just translating old texts; if you give him an issue, that needs fixing, he'll do his damn best to fix it with what he has available. Even if he has no idea what the hell he's doing.

𝓢𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓢𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵

Know when to say nothing at all, that's Max's expertise. It's a combination of reading a situation and following his own instincts. People like it when others listen to their issues, and somehow, in some form or fashion, they can always find Max right there. And, more often than not, it's not about them talking about their problems, but rather, confessing their guilt, their mistakes, their sins. Max affords them a moment where they can say anything and get no judgment, good or otherwise. The root cause of all shame are the sins we keep to ourselves.

𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮(𝓼) 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷

Spanish and English (with some Latin)

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

For some people, those rare few, their profession often matches their person in its entirety. Max counts himself among the individuals who fit their jobs like a glove. At least, that's the preconceived notion of what a priest should be. Non-judgmental and with a knack for listening, truly listening; has an air about him that attracts kind words - anger towards him, or any of his clergy, seems like an insult to God; and not only amiable, but also a confidant and adviser to ever man. But perhaps that's only on the job, though Max seems quite able to slip in and out of these two personas that it feels wrong to separate them. Both images make up who Max is.

From a young age, Max has always come across as an introvert. To this day, that remains absolutely true. Solitude means a lot to Max, who often spends his days reading something that piques his interests - and that ranges from cheesy sci-fi to the Bhagavad Gita. And Max's interests run as deep as his concentration, sometimes. When Max loves something, he doesn't slowly wade his way to the deeper ends, he goes spelunking immediately. Passion can drive him to great lengths if what he's driven to has caught him completely. The only issue is that while Max can act and be determined, he lacks confidence.

Everything Max has done he's only done because he can get away with going under the radar. If what he wants requires him to display some kind of competence to his peers, he'll shut down. He can't do it. There's too much anxiety there that stops him: fear of rejection. And not only does that anxiety eat up any chance of an easy social life, but Max suffers from the definition of Catholicism. Self-flagellation is par for any devout Catholic and one so deeply ingrained in the religion would definitely have issues with self appointed guilt.

Sometimes, to avoid all of these troubles, it's perhaps easiest to hide away. But for a man such as Max, it can be hard to metaphorically sit still. He may not want to socialize, but Max loves exploring the very depths of his own mind. Stimulating thought with new and exciting things is very core to what makes Max happy. It just tends to clash with his own shortcomings that eventually shuts down to self blame. But, being born with his personality, things click the more introspection there actually is. Max has started actively looking into ways he can comfortably pursue his passions, though public speaking will always remain one of the things that he has to truck through for the sake of keeping his job.

𝓗𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂

Heritage

^↳ Tracing Max's ancestry dates back countless years, of course one only goes so believably far. Most of his genealogy centers itself in the UK, comprising of a number of English men and women, likely back to the Romans and the Celts. However, a number of it, mostly his mother's own heritage, spreads throughout quite a reasonable amount of Europe. Of course, up until the late Spanish Civil War, most of her family staid within the confines of Granada, in Andalusia, Spain, comprising of a small section of its Jewish population. Her grandfather, a young man during the Great War, and grandmother only then birthed her father when most of them were shipped off to Gibraltar while the then Spanish dictator took his time granting Germany access to the rest of Spain. Her grandfather joined the British navy a few weeks after their arrival, while the rest of his family safely evacuated to London.

Once the war ceased, her grandparents decided to settle down in Gibraltar where they raised the rest of their family: Max's mother, Rosa's father, along with his seven brothers and sisters. Her father met and married a Dutch seamstress and raised their only child, Max's mom, who then met Max's father, Joshua, a naval officer based in Gibraltar's British naval docks. Soon after their marriage, they birthed Natalia, Max's sister, and then Max himself.

Childhood

^↳ For a kid, Max hasn't had many moments in his life that could necessarily be considered... awful? Or tragic. Unlike his sister, Max kept to himself and spent most of his time with a book or a journal, writing and reading. For all she had, Rosa never quite understand her son, though she always tried. Natalia was easier to deal with, easier to handle, even if she trucked through things in her perpetual rebellion. At least that felt familiar, likely inevitable.

With Max, he thought oddly, kept to himself and his mind - didn't even speak until he was eight. The kid fascinated himself with church and the bible, not even forced to it by his devout family. Among the various things Max had read and had interests in, Catholicism, with its God and its Saints, stuck hard in his mind from his exposure to the present day. Living in area of devout Catholicism, it wasn't a matter of if, but when and normally that was very early on in a child's life. Regardless, it was odd that a kid would find such interest in religion without really understanding the concept of heaven, Hell, God, sin, virtue. Most of all, it was hard to question whether to spur or spurn it. For his parents, the idea was a huge question mark.

However, both parents tried to keep the best mind on the subject. They eventually cultivated what they could while allowing Max access to anything he wanted. Like most parents, however, they didn't realize until a specific, heavily influential moment how much this affected their child. Natalia had her own interests, the usual things society deemed right for a girl her age to like. Max, however, they didn't realize how far this spread until he let his mind speak for itself.

At eight years old, Max hadn't spoken a word. Between his odd stares and subtle body language, it was hard to understand what Max wanted, though the kid hardly gave any hints regardless. He didn't want much, otherwise. Despite this intent vow of silence, as his parents took to calling it, Max skirted around social situations the best he could. School didn't fancy him well. Kids picked on him, teachers couldn't understand him, and Max didn't seem to mind most of it. For what his parents considered a timid kid, Max was rather resilient.

Max also showed great empathy, something that took his parents by surprise when faced with it.

During a familial celebration near Granada's Cathedral (the actual name was a mouthful: Santa Iglesia Catedral Metropolitana de la Encarnación de Granada) Max got lost in the raucous partying. It would have been simple to call for his parents, they could likely recognize his voice, but it took more than panic to break Max's silence. Between the legs that shoved and pushed against him, Max couldn't make out where he'd lost grip of his mother in the streets. Everything looked similar and the noise of the crowd blurred together in a pounding roar. The only thing Max could see beyond the tower of people was Granada's Cathedral spires, Gothic and glowing a luminous spotlight between canopies of heads and hair.

So, Max went. He pushed through legs and avoided stomping feet to rush into the Cathedral's square, its giant doors wide, a yawning arc that shown like a beacon. He rushed in, slowing to a careful walk between the pews. His family never came to the nightly masses, except for on Christmas. Even then, these wooden benches would creak and sweat under the heavy press of dozens of people all looking toward the altar to hear their salvation. For Max, the Cathedral was always filled to the brim and even the high ceilings seemed claustrophobic.

Tonight, only three people padded their shoes against the grey stone of the church: Max, a bent, old nun, and a young lady with her knees beneath her and her head on her pressed hands. Despite the loud screaming of the crowd behind them, the silence of the Cathedral seemed far louder. The echoes of whispered words and padded footsteps louder still.

Max approached the lady that day, her head covered in a cowl and every part of her covered, head to toe. She reminded him of Mary, her hands clasped in just the same way in a portrait just to their left. Even there, Max never spoke, just sat beside her and listened to her prayer. It was familiar, a prayer of protection that his mother recited before his dad left for work and her children left for school. Max joined her once she started over, repeating each line despite her wavering voice.

Once he lost himself in the prayer, the woman finally stopped to notice him. She turned her head to stare at the boy who just moments ago didn't even register in her world. After he finished, she touched his shoulder and Max turned toward her. She asked him what he was doing and he replied, "Helping you."

"How so?" she asked.

"One voice is loud," Max said, smiling, "but two are louder."

It was so simple, but the echo in the boy's tone solidified his words. The nun had turned then, watching him as the woman beside him did. They didn't hear her footsteps until she knelt beside them. "With three, God must listen," she added, pressed her hands together and began praying herself. Neither Max nor the veiled lady questioned, simply started as soon as she ended. They prayed beyond the veiled sobs, beyond the rustling of Max's feet beneath him, and beyond the din of a party in the background.

His parents found him an hour later, panic stricken and white faced. Yet, even they knew how sacred that moment was. When it ended, the lady in her veil hugged Max tight, no longer hiding the bruises on her face. She brought Max to his parents and hugged them, told them what Max said, much less did for her.

"If God wasn't listening, at least someone was," she told them.

Young Adulthood

^↳ After a number of tiring tries patching up relations with her grandfather and father, Rosa eventually realized that nothing could mend a relationship poisoned over years of strife. Their family gathered what they could, and left for Spain when Max had only turned six. They settled in the old district the older generation spent their lives in, hopeful to reclaim a nook of their own after so many years gone. Granada welcomed them as best it could and Max grew into his constructed ideals over the years, taking a small apartment across from his mother as soon as he could afford it.

Of course, that wasn't exactly the easiest conclusion to come toward. Max spent a number of his years in college in Barcelona, gearing toward a degree in theology. Still, Max never spoke often, but he allowed himself a group of friends he gravitated toward during his first year. Everything smoothed itself out in his later years there and Max found himself tied solidly to the individuals he came to love as deeply as he did his own family.

And then his sister arrived, looking for a place to stay while she fought with their parents. Max allowed her a few weeks in his own room, even if the solid, wood floor did a number on his back. He didn't realize how much she'd ruin absolutely everything he'd built up. And she did, systematically, over the course of her short stay. Natalia rooted herself into his friends' lives, took a hold of their interests and squeezed until they followed her every move. That's what made Natalia special; her personality, on the surface, seemed so vibrant and happy to live life as best she could. Underneath, she sneaked into hearts like a serpent and dragged everyone down under, right to her level. At least, that's what Max would always witness; she was a complex individual, but predictable, no less.

They soon parted from his company and took to Natalia: partying, drinking, doing as many drugs as they could. She turned their shared apartment into a trash heap, fogged by weed and stashes of heroin, to name only a few. Eventually, Max could no longer handle his own guilt, as well as his own sorrows.

It came to a head when Max, already torn inside his own mind, wanting nothing more than to accept himself, had everything ripped away from him. One of his best friends, a man who understood just about everything going through Max's mind, found his sister, and he could quote it off the top of his head, "The most extravagant, and beautiful specimen I have ever had the privilege of laying eyes on." And knowing full well Max's turmoil with his mind, his religion, and this man he couldn't admit he was in love with, Natalia ripped it all away from him and expected Max to be perfectly okay with it.

"It's just harmless sex, Maxy."

Just a semester away from graduation, Max tipped Barcelona's police force off on what the activity in his aparment. They arrested a number of individuals partying their lives away that night, all of which had been good friends with Max once. He'd no idea who made it out, who got arrested, who even knew he was the one who called the police. It didn't matter once Max had his little room to himself, just that he get through these last few months. And he did, as much as he could. He was just one person, after all. The day before he was evicted, Max got his diploma, sold what belongings he still had, and promptly left for Granada. There he spent a year in his parents' home before deciding everything he'd done was worth absolutely shit.

For two years, Max spent his time traveling through Europe to the various churches and cathedrals that dotted many of its major cities. He wanted spiritual guidance, wanted God to tell him where he laid his path out, but most of all, he wanted some kind of reaffirmation that what he'd done was the right thing. Guilt drowned him in his pilgrimage until he sat at the foot of an altar and prayed through sobs for the entire night, until a young nun pulled him to the side and guided him toward the confession booth. Though she wasn't exactly permitted to take his confession, she still did. She gave Max what guidance she could, speaking broken English, heavily riddled with an Italian accent.

After his trip ended, Max returned home feeling almost blessed. The nun had inspired something in him, even if she didn't wash away the guilt that still ached him. He attended church everyday for the next year before becoming a part of the community and eventually becoming a priest there. He took the place of Father Roma, a man he became well acquainted with and who gave him advice and guidance whenever Max needed it. He was the man who encouraged Max to take the position, since he had the credentials to. The church would be looking for another priest anyways. No harm in trying.

Recent Events

^↳ In the recent years, Max has settled into his life, having bought a home across from his parents and a small pitbull he'd named Teresa Avila. For the most part, Max has simply kept content, going through the motions of his life. However, recently, while his parents have left for a much needed vacation, his sister's finally turned up after so many years gone, presumably in jail, but Max hasn't really wanted to know much in her regards. Guilt stricken, however, Max has agreed to give her a place to stay once again, even if he knew just how bad of an idea this was. Not only that, but his old paramore has shown up with her.

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𝓢𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓒𝓪𝓼𝓽

𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓐𝓻𝓬𝓼

• Natalia returns to Granada in search of her parents - she needs a place to hideout and lay low for awhile. She finds out they're gone and before she can break her way into their home, she spots Max. She uses his guilt to her advantage in order to get what she wants out of him, mostly asylum as she's currently being both pursued by debt collectors (as in people who gave her drugs on a loan, which turned out to be some very bad individuals) and the police, particularly an inspector who intends to use her to get to Kavanagh, who's linked to Spain's Irish gang problem. This, of course, drags Max right down under: police charges on harboring a wanted criminal, people with access to illegal weapons just around the corner, and his sister wanting more than she can have and not realizing how terribly in danger she is.
• Levi, his old non-existent flame, returns with Natalia and with that, he brings back a number of feelings that Max would rather just forget. It only makes his situation more complicated and when Natalia gets wind of this, she starts to use his secrets against him. Eventually, it ends up expelling Max out of his own church and leaving him without a job and absolutely nothing to fall back on.
• Somewhere in the middle, Max is given a choice that his own events with the Sensates have started to shape: his sister or his well crafted life.

𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻

Both his mother, Rosa, and his father, Joshua, are currently spending a month visiting Joshua's parents in Dublin.
His dog, Teresa, is a purebred pitbull and is the cutest damn thing, who also happens to be the dumbest damn thing, too. He still loves her to pieces.