I'm looking for a partner who's interested in my character Jay. Honestly, I don't have any standard set plot for him as I like to think he's pretty flexible. That being said, I like a well-rounded story. Something including unconventional/strange/awkward romance, dark themes, action, adventure, and even some comedy. I'm more than happy to come up with a plot together, something customized to our tastes. I'd also be even happier if you were to take a look at my Roleplay Resume to see my likes, dislikes, and a writing sample. And don't be afraid to send me a message; I'm not as much of as jerk as Jay...usually. :D Also, he can be played at any point in his history from about the boys' home and after. Anyway, here's Jay. Name: Jay O’Riordan Nicknames: Animal, Jay-Jay, Jay-Bird, Jerk, Asshole, etc. Age: 27 Occupation: Assassin, Enforcer, Thug, whatever Birthplace: Ballybricken, Limerick, Ireland Race: Human (or Metahuman, if the story is somewhat based in fantasy, TBD) Sexual Preference: Omnisexual, doesn’t care. Jay doesn't get much, anyway. Notable Features: Short black messy hair, bright green eyes, pale skin, dresses very punkish, and even wears eyeliner on occasion. Yes, eyeliner. It makes him more intimidating. History: What’s the point? The violence, hatred, even death? There really is no point. Humans are animals, plain and simple. Many of us think we’re above the food chain because we came up with fire and guns and processed food. We’re intelligent and sophisticated, somehow. That’s just what we tell ourselves in order to sleep at night and feel better about ourselves. To fool ourselves into forgetting or dismissing what we really are. Animals. Jay O’Riordan didn’t have much time to learn how to fool himself and that raw, unforgiving nature didn’t let him dismiss it. He was born in a small cottage on the outskirts of Ballybricken, Catherine O’Riordan’s screams of pain and pride being the first thing that filled his ears. She was assisted by her ‘family’, fellow IRA members clinging to the tail-end of the organization’s existence. Life was simple those first few years; learning to walk, playing tag with the neighbor’s sheep (they were always ‘it’), never questioning why mum was gone for days at a time. Catherine was proud of her boy, who incidentally looked just like his father, wherever the man might be. Love was tough in their home, but Jay was taken care of. When it was time to move, he said good-bye to the sheep, to the neighbor, and to simple life. Things changed when they went to Dublin. The warm quaint house was traded for an old abandoned building that was shared with strangers, mum’s tough love was replaced by a cold detachment that left the boy to his own devices most of the time. They squatted for about a year until their make-shift home was raided. The police had come to collect Catherine and the others who’d taken part in a bombing. Jay was held by his puny little arms while his mother resisted arrest. She screamed that she wouldn’t be taken alive for defending her country, flailing and even striking one of the officers. Jay stood quietly as the woman looked her son in the eye and told him that there is no real love in the world, that the system is wrong and to fight it. Then she impaled herself on a shard of glass in a broken window. Jay went into foster care, being that his father had disappeared and he had no known relatives other than Catherine’s sister, who was serving time in prison. It didn’t go well. He was traumatized, detached, and told that he needed to forget about what had happened. It didn’t mean anything and his mother was mentally unstable. His silence only lasted a year or so, then he began to lash out. Theft, assault, and unruly behavior landed him in a boys’ home where the rules were strict and punishments were harsh. But this didn’t deter him. Jay quickly learned how to sneak out and that the place was only good for free meals and a warm bed, though the latter didn’t mean as much to him. He discovered the wonders of knives; how they could hurt and elicit fear. And not just when people are threatened by them, but also when he turned the weapons to himself. It disturbed the faculty of the boys’ home when Jay would cut himself, seeming as though it didn’t hurt, and walk the halls a bloody mess. Literally. He couldn’t stand the idiots who cut themselves to feel something or punish themselves or to gain sympathy. Jay cut himself because it frightened people. They’d tried forcing him into therapy, but that didn’t last long. Not after he stabbed one of the therapists with a pen and used the blood to fingerpaint on the walls as the man went running from the room, shrieking like he was going to die. The only thing left was to put him in a mental institution, but that would mean relinquishing all freedom. Jay couldn’t have that. At 16 years old, he left the boys’ home and took to the streets. The next year or so was a bit of a blur, but evidently very eventful. The boy had wound up in America and met a girl. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, which made him want to hurt her. The girl smiled at him, spoke to him, even flirted. She…liked him. He, a dirty street rat that was nearly skin and bones from having so little to eat. The second time they met, she kissed Jay and he punched her square in the face. Somehow, the rich red blood that flowed from her broken nose made her even more beautiful! She screamed and called for help, spewing curses at him between said screams and calls for help. Jay never saw her again and eventually forgot about the one thing he’d discovered that actually scared him. He slept on the sidewalk, ate out of garbage cans, and stole clothes when the weather turned cold. Not once though did he beg for a dollar or place to stay. Pity was for the weak and Jay was surviving. Despite malnourishment and occasional illness from food poisoning or the flu, he held his own and never backed down when fighting for anything, whether it was a chicken bone with meat still on it or a dry place to sleep when it rained. Word soon got around to the regular bums and squatters that he was to be left alone after he killed a man’s dog for food, then threatened the man that he’d be next if Jay was still hungry. He lived that way for three years. Soon, Jay forgot how old he was, the town he’d been born in, what his mother had looked like. He was becoming a good-looking young man, underneath years of grime and filth that covered him from head to toe. People would stop occasionally and offer help, guidance, little pamphlets about Jesus Christ. Jay would laugh. He’d throw the pamphlets back at them, use them for toilet paper, or eat them right before the do-gooder’s horrified eyes. People eventually stopped coming around. Other: · While Jay doesn’t understand the finer points of human emotion, operating on very basic feelings (humor, anger, disappointment, favoring some people over others, etc.), he makes up for it in his incredible skill as a bruiser. If Jay actually loves anything, it’s weapons and playing rough with his street brothers. And he doesn’t bother to practice fighting with any refinement. Bare hands or a good weapon, Jay will throw himself into battle without grace and still manage to come out on top. Unless of course an official job requires a smidge of finesse, which is probably about all Jay has. · It is widely speculated that Jay isn’t an average human and that his ‘metahuman ability’ is being immune to pain. (This information is reserved for a fantasy-based story only, though Jay is immune to pain either way and if he's played in a realistic setting, it can be explained by science but I can't think of the name for this neurological impairment at the moment. Seriously, you can kick him in the nuts and he’d probably laugh or wonder why you’re touching him there.) This can be a slippery slope, however. The inability to feel pain makes it difficult for Jay to know when he may have sustained physical damage that could be fatal (bleeding out or puncturing internal organs). On the other hand, injury does not slow him down when he’s set on getting a job done or finishing a fight. He also has the ability to heal fairly quickly, though it doesn’t really register consciously. In his downtime, Jay enjoys drinking, playing with weapons, and smoking cigarettes. · Jay has no shame and will gladly say or do whatever he’s thinking, the idea of someone not liking it never crossing his mind. The only thing that really makes him hold his tongue and check himself is known disapproval from the few individuals that he respects and favors. · Jay is not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy who will tell you that your outfit looks good if it doesn’t. He’s honest to a fault in most situations and doesn’t have the emotional capacity to worry much about other people’s feelings. In fact, ‘friendship’ or ‘love’ isn’t in his vocabulary so much as camaraderie and his own strange brand of loyalty. · Jay is a terrible driver. He knows how to drive and thoroughly enjoys it, but…just don’t let him drive. Reason for Living: Jay has none, other than to simply be alive. Greatest Fear: Jay doesn’t really feel fear, but he gets sullen if he knows he’s let down the people he favors most. He is also creeped out by women’s menstrual cycles. Anything that makes someone bleed for days and doesn’t kill them is just wrong. Most Secret Dream: Though it’s not a secret, Jay’s biggest dream is being in possession of every weapon he likes and hoping that if he dies, it will be in an epic, catastrophic battle. He might also like to witness an atomic explosion one day. Useless Skill(s): Jay is very good at playing cards, but doesn’t have much patience for it. He can also handle quite a lot of alcohol and usually gets along with most people, though much of the time it’s his sheer indifference that keeps things kosher. Favorite Food: Jameson Whiskey. Steak, rare. Just about any meat, really, but Jay thoroughly enjoys a good plain steak. He mostly sticks with simple foods; meat, potatoes, soup, and the like. Jay prefers to steer clear of anything too fancy and complicated. He loves anything lemon flavored but will NOT drink fancy mixed cocktails, even the lemon flavored ones. Those drinks are for pussies.