"I CAN'T LIVE MY LIFE ALWAYS BACKING DOWN."
chRISTOPHER JAMES CSAIKAIKRIS•TOE•FIR JAY•MM•S SEA•KAYthe basicsNICKNAME: chris (or cappy)
ALIGNMENT: neutral good LOCATION: pittsburgh, pa BIRTHDAY: august 2nd SEXUAL ORIENTATION: (mostly) straight HEIGHT: six foot four HAIR: dirty blonde EYES: bright blue OCCUPATION(S): navy man / personal security / construction character interviewWith a groan, he waved a hand above his head, indicating that he was awake. The hammock he was resting in gently swayed to and fro as he moved to sit up. "People'll tell ya that'm lazy 'n unmotivated, but jus' work in a way tha's different than 'em." He gave a crooked smile, stretching his arms above his his head and rolling his shoulders. Joints popping, he swung up out of the hammock, standing on the ground and giving the newcomer a level look.
"I grew up in France, but m'rents moved m'sister and I to the states when I was still a kid. Lemme tell 'ya, I sure as hell miss livin' on the Cote de Azur. Pittsburgh's alright, but I've got another house down on Anna Maria Island in the Gulf. It's just a little house, but 's right on the water and I've got a boat down 'er. 'S all I need, y'know?" He kept an apartment in Pittsburgh to keep an eye on his baby sister, but his real love was the ocean, the sun, and the smell of salt and sea. "I joined the Navy when I got outta school, and tha's over, now, bu' it was still probably the best time o' m'life. Made a lotta good friends that way." The smile grew fond, remembering all the trouble he got himself into whenever they had shore leave. "When tha' was over I ended up goin' to school to be an architect. I liked it a lot, bu' I don't really use it much. Most of the time, I work for Mitch heading up his security depar'ment. His company has two branches, security n'weaponry. Tuck handles the weaponry 'cause tha's what he's good at, n'I handle the security n'oversee wha' needs done 'cause tha's what m'good at." With a cheeky grin, he pulled a flask from his pocket, taking a swig before stowing it away once more. The source of the slurring accent revealed, he awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck, managing to look sheepish. He sat back down in the hammock, absently swinging it back and forth. "There's not much else t'say... I work for m'best friend and as long as y'don't let 'im push you around, he's not that bad o'boss." He shrugged, reaching up to ruffle his hair. No matter the length, it always seemed to stick up every which way. He was plagued with perpetual bedhead that had no hope in being tamed. "Though I guess the rumors that m'lazy aren't too far off." With another chuckle, he fell back against the hammock once more, disappearing behind its cocoon. FUN FACTSDOMINANT HAND: right
SMOKES: no LANGUAGES: french, english, russian TATTOOS: four PIERCINGS: none GLASSES: contacts COFFEE OR TEA: coffee MORNING OR NIGHT: night CATS OR DOGS: dogs PET(S): miles (golden retriever) AN ACTIVITY: sailing A BOOK: a farewell to arms, ernest hemingway AN ALCOHOL: rum (so much rum) |