Information

Iain has a minion!

Thanatos the Misfortunat

Iain
Legacy Name: Iain

The

Reborn Kumos
Owner:

Logan

Age: 16 years, 7 months, 3 weeks

Born: September 8th, 2007

Adopted: 16 years, 7 months, 3 weeks ago (Legacy)

Adopted: September 8th, 2007 (Legacy)

Statistics

Level: 10
Strength: 22
Defense: 22
Speed: 20
Health: 28
HP: 28/28
Intelligence: 1
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

Name: Iain Rider
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Orientation: He has no idea anymore
Status: Single - Maybe looking. He needs companionship.
Occupation: Pianist/Bartender
Rp Status: Open

Chain-smoking ex-mob muscle with a knack for the piano and mixing drinks.

A cynical man, Iain has pretty much given up on everything in life. He wastes his days drinking and sleeping and eating left-over Chinese take-out and his nights are spent playing banal 'mood-music' at an upper-class restaurant.
He's an incredibly intelligent man, but spent his younger years running with a Mafia group in Vegas. He was the muscle, his job to stand at the side and look intimidating and be useful in a possible fight.
His knuckles are scarred and his nose crooked and his skin is marred in several areas. He's seen his fair share of violence and human indecency and truly, all he wants is the rest of his life to be quiet.
For such a cold, rough-mannered man, he's surprisingly gentle with children and in turn, they seem to adore him.

He's just a crass and bitter person. He has his reasons, but of course, he's not going to be forthcoming with them.

The ceiling looked exactly the same as yesterday and yet, he just couldn't tear his eyes away from it. Sleep was evading him today, the background symphony of sirens and traffic ensuring that his mind stayed active enough to keep him awake.
He shifted on the couch, grunting in pain as his belt buckle dug into his abdomen. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable of positions to be lying in, and certainly not the most comfortable of places to attempt sleep, but he was determined to avoid his bed. He hated that thing with passion for no real reason other than that it reminded him of his times in Vegas hotels.
A quick, bleary eyed glance at the clock told him that he had to be in work in another three hours. Even if he did get to sleep now, it certainly wouldn't be enough, and there'd be the horrible possibility that he'd sleep in and be late. Again. Poor Rick would probably give himself an aneurism if he didn't turn up again, and although that was an amusing thought - because Rick was a grade A asshat - he couldn't lose yet another job.
So he lay there, scarred hands clasped across his stomach, staring at his dull ceiling and hoping that something would happen during todays shift to make his life that little bit more interesting.

He attempted redemption, so long ago, but the experience left him feeling so alone, so frightened and pitiful that he never set foot in a church again.
Cleanly shaved, he steps into the old church and feels the awe of a child once again.His faith has withered and wilted, a flower caught in a drought. But nevertheless, the ancient wood, the sifting dust, the ever present silence reverberate through his very being.
His steps are cautious, wary; the old paranoia of a man with too many enemies and too few friends.Tired creaks of the pews startle him, send his heart racing and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Why is he even here again?
Oh yes."Repent sinner, for the time of reckoning is upon you and you shall be cast into the flames of hell for eternity."That.

He settles himself awkwardly on the edge of the front pew, where he can admire the woodwork for a brief moment before he musters up what little courage he has left. He's stared down thugs, drug lords, known murderers, and yet, this frightens him more than anything he has ever faced before; the possibility of redemption, a way out. An escape from the guilt, the heavy weight upon his stone heart that is slowly cracking and fading like his sanity.
With a sigh he lifts shaking hands and clasps them together around two things; prayer beads and a beautiful gold locket. His head bows. Its time.
Sweating and trembling, he begins as fresh tears slowly leave paths down his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." And so began the outpouring of on man's entire all his beliefs, his regrets, his shame - everything he kept to himself, he poured out into this empty wooden building. His words echoed back to him in a sort of otherworldly way.
He sat there for hours, waiting. He was not a patient man but today, he'd try.

But nothing happened, and although he knew that nothing would happen, it still hurt. There was no feeling of release, no difference in the weight upon his heart. Nothing had changed.
It was then he realised that nothing would change. He was doomed.