Information
Reinier has a minion!
Minion the Souva
Minion the Souva
Reinier
Legacy Name: Reinier
The
Bloodred MontreOwner:
TiramisuAge: 8 years, 9 months, 2 weeks
Born: August 8th, 2015
Adopted: 8 years, 9 months, 2 weeks ago
Adopted: August 8th, 2015
Statistics
- Level: 21
- Strength: 38
- Defense: 15
- Speed: 18
- Health: 16
- HP: 16/16
- Intelligence: 157
- Books Read: 148
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Bottle Sorter
"What can I say? Some people are born to be successful.
Just sometimes the thing they're good at is being bad."
Born to a pair of only loosely associated gangsters, Reinier's childhood was tumultuous, to say the least. His mother, addicted to drugs, didn't spare much of a thought for him, and though it was a rare occasion he saw his father, an enforcer in a big time gang, there would be yelling and fights between him and his mother, whom he was sporadically abusive towards, and a cold hardness toward the child himself; as even from a young age he was expected to "be a man", and was raised to feel little and show even less.
Reinier grew into a man much like his father; only smarter. A hard man that submits to no one and bows to nothing, he takes any challenge head on, whatever the risk to himself or others. He is ruthless and commands a tightly run drug operation, within the confines of which he makes sure he knows everyone that works for him, and everyone he does business with, by their name and by their face.
Though he keeps around a girlfriend to cover his homosexual inclinations, he displays little to no interest in her beyond a piece of arm candy for the public eye. He likes to read books of conflict and tragedy, and is quite athletic with a good sense of rhythm -- meaning he can dance very well, though it's certainly not a talent he's about to show off.
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With hair like a caramel latte and eyes like the deepest arctic ice, he made an impression when he walked into a room. Skin darkened from hours spent riding the windswept wastelands and hands roughened from the fights he had won both beyond city walls and behind them, there could be no doubt that this man carried weight on his shoulders, and in those battle worn hands. Almost absently, he rechecked the scrawled address on a crumpled sheet of paper from his vest pocket.
Any time now.