STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM LOVE / OPEN, JOINING/VISITING??

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[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.4pt; font-family:arial; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 75%"]/ the ending is really bad dammit but
basically he's just stood at what he assumes is a border
the rest is just rambling

He's been on the run for a few months now, but he's not had time to actually stop and breathe. A life of constantly looking over one's shoulder may drastically improve the likelihood of survival in a world like this, but it doesn't do anything for the creeping sense of paranoia, and that sucks, really. The last time Tim slept safely was... years ago, now, probably approaching (if not past) three; the time between then and now is a chunk of his life he's never going to get back, and he's almost come to terms with that in the shallowest sense, the sort that isn't really acceptance at all, but a simple denial of there being a problem there in the first place. It isn't I'm getting better, it's I've never been bad, and that's a barefaced lie, but Tim can't seem to shake it out of his head. I'm okay. I will always be okay. I have always been okay. It's just a lot easier than breaking down the actual issues and trying to heal, and for him, whatever's quickest works. He doesn't have time to genuinely help himself.

It does leave him to fester, though. Refusing to face the rot inside only lets it grow, and now, Tim feels as though if he were to slit his own throat, the filth would pour out in floods and floods. He also feels as though everybody else would be the same, though, albeit in lesser amounts, reeking of sin left out in the sun too long. Do others wander about like that, constantly convinced that the world's against them? Do others press their hands against cold blades for comfort, or is that just him? Surely everyone else harbours secrets as damning as his own; he'd hate to be the only one, and can't imagine that there's nobody else with dirt beneath their nails, beneath their everything. Even the warmest ones are predators, sharp teeth hidden behind soft smiles, right?

No, no, you're overthinking it, Tim. The things you see are usually shallower than you think they are. Not everyone's ulterior motive is as deep and complex as his were before he turned his attentions back to finding Jason again, but he's been fighting (against, alongside, it doesn't matter) vipers for so long that it's kind of hard for him to wrap his head around anybody just being a person anymore. He swears they're all monsters in human clothing, even if he once thought that the evil was a mask, that everyone had some good in them. Now, it's like everyone's a threat. And what about Jason? He's... different. Or— he was. But even if he's changed beyond recognition, Tim doesn't think he'd be able to distrust him. Others tried to turn him against the people he loved, once, and he didn't let them win. He's been through too much pain for hanging onto hope to let it go now, and dammit, even if this gets him killed, he's putting his faith in Jason again. He probably always will.

He's shaky now, too-jumpy and skittish, drumming out a hollow, erratic beat against his wrist with his fingers. His heart's rocketing about in his chest, an uneven thump within his sternum, and his eyes are wide, darting from side to side. He's unhappy. Every bit of him wants to run, brain tugging him away from where his feet now stand, but he holds firm, because he has to do this. Has to. He's known about Jason's whereabouts ever since the other got here, and it's just been a matter of working up the courage to get to this point. Now he's here, he's not so sure he has it, but he'll try. The man's jacket's enough to calm him, anyway, and he smooths his palms over it, reaching under and seeking out the hidden knives again. The routine's always the same: remind himself of the ones they can't see and let them take the ones they can. (He still flinches when they ask him to disarm, even if it's never fully.)

He stops at what he thinks is a semi-defined border, staring up at the buildings with almost-vacant eyes. Nothing about this place screams home (he doesn't think anything could these days, though. Conditioning's made him restless), but it's better than nothing. It has Jason, and even if he's turned away, he'll have taken some steps to putting this ghost to rest. That's... a start. And he's gotta start somewhere.

[spoiler=ALONE WITH ALL THE GHOSTS OF LESSER HUMANS / INFORMATION, UPDATED 20TH SEPT.]GENERAL INFORMATION / PAINT THE TARGET; WE DON'T NEED NO EVIDENCE
⋆ Timothy Jackson Haywood / Introduced as "Tim" / DFAB Male / He/They Pronouns
⋆ 19 Years Old / DOB: July 19th / NPC x NPC; Both Parents Deceased / No Siblings
⋆ Bisexual/romantic / Male Pref / Formerly[?] ½ Robinhood & Formerly ⅓ Daredona
⋆ A Wanderer / Drifts between the various settlements at will / Looking for his friends

APPEARANCE / FLOOD THE MARKET; WE DO IT ALL IN SELF DEFENCE
⋆ 5'5 & 120lbs / Reference 1 + Reference 2 + Current Outfit Reference [ft. Jason]
⋆ Small and too-skinny, but still lithe and somewhat muscular. Lean and acrobatic.
⋆ Has unkempt, startlingly soft black hair that falls between his ears and shoulders.
⋆ Super pale skin and bright blue-silver eyes. Soft, doe-like features. Kinda gentle.
⋆ Has this branded onto his right hip. Wears a leather jacket [Jason's] over his outfit.
⋆ Body's littered with all kinds of scars. Centred mainly round his back, torso + limbs.
⋆ Carries several knives/daggers of varying sizes around with him at all times.

INJURIES & STATUS / YOU'RE A SMART KID; NEVER WORK
⋆ General bruising and scrapes. A nasty, semi-healed gash on his inner thigh.
⋆ Kinda malnourished due to not caring for himself. Will eat the bare minimum.

PERSONALITY / WITHOUT YOUR GLOVES; IF YOU'RE A
⋆ Calm, controlled, steady. Good at thinking on his feet, though a habitual planner.
⋆ Tends to prefer being at least three steps ahead of other people. Quietly intelligent.
⋆ Far more accepting of his emotions now. Still kinda withdrawn around strangers.
⋆ Sharp, witty, driven. Methodical and meticulous, though a little less uptight now.
⋆ Wary and alert. Kinda paranoid and on-edge due to recent events. Sorta nervous.
⋆ Still believes in good people. Will always sacrifice self to help those in need.

INTERACTION / SMART KID, YOU'LL STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM LOVE
⋆ Assassin training [2½ish years] / Otherwise self trained [5ish years] / Highly Skilled
⋆ Somewhat weaker at the moment due to malnourishment / Still a tough opponent
⋆ Will kill, but tries not to / Never above crippling / Immensely high pain tolerance
⋆ Attack/interact with in underlined or another visible format / Get attention with [member=3889]TIMOTHY H.[/member]
⋆ Nonviolent actions can be powerplayed / Reaction may vary depending on person/action[/spoiler]

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track bc jfc

[WOLF BITE]

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Even with the knowledge of being safe—as safe as you could get in a world where the weak suffered, and the strong thrived—within a city filled with good people, he couldn’t shake the habit of glancing over his shoulder. It was tiring, always expecting someone to be wielding a knife behind his back, ready to lunge and lodge the blade into the back of his head. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust anyone in the District, he did. He respected each of them, trusted- most of them, but he was built to be cautious, question the motives of others. There hasn’t been a single day he’s slept peacefully, comfortable with his surroundings. Paranoia and stress could do terrible things to the body, and already you could see the damage it was doing to him. His muscles were softening, no longer chiseled as they had been due to his injury and his motivation to do... Anything.

He hated it. Hated feeling so weak, like he wasn’t capable of protecting anyone or himself. He was in a vulnerable state that could be easily taken advantage of, bringing the words of his father forth. ”Look at you- weak and pathetic. If I wasn’t here, Demyan, you’d be dead.” His voice made him visibly cringe, face screwing up in a grimace, briefly. Wolfbite gave his head a quick shake, blinking rapidly to rid of the aggressive tone of Kazimir. When had he last slept? Two days ago. Pitiful, really. His hand raised to rub at his eye, reddened by their dryness due to his lack of sleep. As the overseer approached the border, it took him a moment to register the blob in front of him as a person. ”What are you here for? Trade? Joining?”

/welcome to northstar district!! c:

[spoiler=I TRIED TO WRITE YOUR NAME IN THE RAIN / INFORMATION; UPDATED 09/17/2017]
GENERAL INFORMATION | I TASTE YOU ON MY TONGUE
‣ Demyan Volkov / Usually Introduced as "Wolfbite" / Cisgender Male / He/Him
  — IF YOU'RE ASSUMING YOUR CHARACTER LEARNED WOLF'S NAME OOCLY, PLEASE USE WOLFBITE.
  — Demyan is a personal name that he only really allows immediate family or close friends to use; Cecil. .
‣ 27 Years Old / March 1st / Kazimir x Nikky; Alive
‣ Demiromantic Gray-Asexual / 100% Monogamous / Very Possessive / Dating Cecil Winters.
‣ Overseer of Northstar District / Leader
‣ Main Character Tropes:
---

APPEARANCE | YOU ASK ME WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT
‣ 6'6 & 193-235 lbs. | Muscular, toned. He's broad-shouldered and significantly athletic, little to no body fat anywhere on him.
‣ Silky, sandy beige hair that's messy, like major bedhead. It's shorter at the sides, but lingering on the top.
‣ Dark, chocolate brown eyes.
‣ A pale ivory, though a layer of darker skin blankets the fairness, causing small freckles—barley noticeable— to speckle in various places.
‣ Heavily scarred on his torso. Some can be seen on his face; he has a scar on his right cheek and a lengthy one running down his left eye.
‣ Wears casual clothes. Sweat pants, or jeans with a t-shirt.
‣ Wears a black necklace with blue crystals on the end.

INJURIES & HEALTH | I'LL TELL THAT I'M THINKING ABOUT
‣ Heavily bruised; a gunshot wound to his right shoulder, as well as a fresh cut on his cheek. In pain, and incredibly tired.
‣ Sleep-deprived

PERSONALITY | WHATEVER YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT
‣ Anti-Hero, Emotion Suppression, Undying Loyalty, Beneath the Mask.
‣ Stoic, calculating, blunt.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with kids or teenagers who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Somewhat playful with people he is comfortable with; will smile, seldom laugh.
‣ Methodical, firm, confident. Calculative and holds himself to a high regard.
‣ Surprisingly gentle with children.
‣ Very asocial, not the most approachable person. He won't hold a conversation well.

COMBAT | TELL ME SOMETHING I FORGET
‣ Strength: 9 / Perception: 10 / Endurance: 10 / Charisma: 3 / Intelligence: 9 / Agility: 6 / Luck: 2
‣ Strength, endurance, and agility are the result of training. Perception due to hypervigilance.
‣ Difficulty is determined by skill, with an opponent of the same size + life/combat experience.
‣ 90/100 Physical Defense / 80/100 Psychological Defense / 70/100 Short-Term Recovery
‣ Nonviolent actions may be powerplayed, as long as they cause physical discomfort at most[/spoiler]

[J. HOLLOWAY]

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[ooc] i am assuming he is at a section of fencing so jason can do THIS
& long and terrible because,,,,,,,, feelings

Jason, when was the last time you felt comfortable?

Nobody asks that sort of thing in this world. They didn't care how you were doing unless you were somehow attached to them. It had been almost startling when Wolfbite had expressed some kind of concern over the cut still aching on his bicep. People didn't ask. Dick asked, and maybe at that point in time, Jason had given him just a bit too much. But there were few people in his life soft enough to listen and tough enough to trust. Bruce hadn't always been hard edges and cold eyes, but that was all he could remember of him for the last... Sixteen years, maybe longer. There are a few memories of Bruce laughing like he used to and wiping cake off of his face, or something equally gentle, but like almost everyone else he had been around for all of his life, he found that he had nothing he could tell him. It was shame that told him to keep his head down. He didn't think he needed to be overly masculine or in control all the time, but letting people in was typically a mistake.

So like with Tim, everything that he feels has been locked up to twist and tangle inside of his stomach. A bitter venom that's killing him a bit more every day. There's nothing that isn't tainted by some form of this dangerous rage. Where it came from, what purpose it served — he had no idea, but it built up as a thick black gunk that clogged up his arteries and veins, seeped slowly outwards with every beat of his heart. Someday it'll show up in the capillaries near his skin and he'll start bleeding black, but for now he's as human as the rest of them. Which is actually probably an insult to everyone else on this planet.

Whatever, he doesn't care about them anyway. (So he says, with bruises still healing on his jaw and a split lip because some man had shoved his daughter. So he says, with his handgun half-loaded from his earlier adventure — a small band of bandits who only took from easy targets.) He's no defender of the innocent, but he supposes that his own black heart hasn't won this fight yet. For a while, he could say that it was thanks to Tim. They'd had their own faults, yet he'd felt like a better person. Had he acted like one? There was less of him doing what he did now. Bruce would have liked it. He'd always known that his brother thought Tim was a good influence on him, and now that he's lost it again, Jason's had a front row seat to his own descent back to hell. How dramatic of him.

Hell, everything he does these days is, in some way, a dramatic attempt at pretending that he's alright. There's a constant fiery grin emblazoned on his features, and nobody has questioned it so far. He grins and pushes people away and stays confident in the fact that he's dangerous without his guns and worth with. He doesn't flinch when people flirt with him even though he wants to run away, he swallows his tongue instead of telling them that there's someone else. Because then he'd have to explain why he's — why he has feelings for someone who hasn't been a part of his life for three years, but they just don't get it. Saying that would entail that Tim is only a part of his life when he's physically at his side. He wasn't. It was more than that. Over the years they'd known each other, Tim had wormed his way into Jason's past and present, and for a while, he hadn't felt out of place in the world. Strange, wasn't it? To know there was someone to come back to.

To answer the question that started all of his introspection, Jason supposes that he hasn't felt comfortable since he decided that he needed to leave him alone. All three of them were the type of people that were constantly waiting for whatever the world may choose to throw their way next, but it was the exhausting sort of waiting that has you unable to sleep at lost. This is the last thing he could ever say he had expected. He stops by Wolfbite, a few strides back, and the fiery light in his eyes falters and dies, failing twice as he attempts to recover it. For a second, he's sure that exhaustion is hitting him worse than it is the Overseer, but there are some features of his face that Jason had never been quite capable of recreating. The way the color of his eyes shift depending on the sunlight, the certain roundness to his features, the way light seems catch in his eyelashes.

"Tim." Jason's too busy choking on feelings to follow the urgings of his mouth, wanting desperately to tangle the word into something playful ("Hey Timmers," he might laugh, reaching out to mess up his hair), to tug his lips upwards. He can't even force a smile, the beat of his heart drowning out his brain. Tim looks smaller than he remembered, or maybe Jason had actually gotten bigger. Soft, tired features and a worn leather jacket several sizes too big hanging off of his shoulders. Guilt rises like bile, and he has to bite the tip of his tongue to stop himself from apologizing now, his fingers wrapping around a section of the fence, and when had he gotten that close? He's drowning out Wolfbite, and the poor guy doesn't deserve this sort of thing, but it's hard to think of him, because it's been three years and Tim's still wearing his jacket and he's missed him.

Apparently he can still scale fences easily enough in boots. It makes a rattling sound when he swings himself over, and his knees only hurt a little bit when he drops back down to the dusty patch of earth. It's funny, really, the impact that Tim has on him, sometimes. Makes him jump fences just to be closer to him, reminds him not to be too reckless. Jason had given himself two weeks left of this sort of thing, two weeks, and Tim shouldn't be here just to lose him again. Puzzle pieces rearrange themselves, fitting him back in to the equation he'd made. Costs and rewards. Was it worth it to give up parts of what he wanted? For Tim. It was for Tim. They haven't worked things out yet, but he's not even sure to start. His fingers clench and relax by his thigh, rocking subtly and then stilling. He has a million things to say, but for the first time since he's joined this place, there are no sarcastic quips, and he looks solemn and a little bit sad.

Where have you been? What happened to you? When did you last sleep? You look exhausted. Have you had a good meal recently? Why did you come find me? You know I'm not safe. "Tim," he repeats instead, a little bit softer. Are you going to stay?

[align=center][div style="width: 527px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"][spoiler=YOU GOT HELL TO PAY, BUT YOU ALREADY SOLD YOUR SOUL / INFORMATION, 9/19]‣ Jason Matthias Holloway / Introduced as "Arkham" outside of ND / Cis Male / He + Him
‣ 20 Years Old / Born July 7 / NPC x NPC; Both Deceased / Older Brother: Bruce Holloway
‣ Birom. Bisexual / 68% Monogamous / Single? / Formerly? ½ Robinhood &  ⅓ Daredona
‣ Member (The Crew): Northstar District / Will wander at times on his own personal missions.

‣ 6'1 & 170-210 lbs. & HEALTH: 90% | Muscular, solid build, stocky and incredibly imposing.
‣ Messy emo hair; charcoal black and usually kind of messy. Typical Style & Messy Style Ref.
‣ Cold gray eyes. | Expresses a lot while saying nothing. Lots of smug smirking and grinning.
‣ Warm, moderately tanned skin. Some light freckles on shoulders from exposure to the sun.

‣ Confused hot mess. | Lots of issues that he hides with intense sarcasm. Be careful with him.
‣ Adaptable and weirdly charming, able to convince people of a lot with just a smile or a threat.
‣ Hardworking and focused, but also incredibly snarky and emotionally distant. Plays favorites.
‣ Has a terrible temper & doesn't balk from doing some immoral things, but sticks to his code.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but mostly just because he doesn't give a damn about his own life.
‣ Secretly quiet and a bit of a bookworm. Currently going through a lot of emotional heartache.

‣ Strength: 8 / Perception: 6 / Endurance: 7 / Charisma: 7 / Intelligence: 8 / Agility: 6 / Luck: 1
‣ 90/100 Physical Defense; 40/100 Psychological Defense; 70/100 Short-Term Recovery
‣ Nonviolent actions may be powerplayed, as long as they cause physical discomfort at most.

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[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.4pt; font-family:arial; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 75%"]/ jfc i'm giggling
+ aaaa, thank you! this place seems Really Neat :0
YEAH he's near a fence specifically so jason can do that
it's not terrible wtf i think i cried?
this, however, is all over the place, and. choppy at the end again

Two days of no sleep reduces a person to shit. He should know — he's been kept awake for longer than that before, and it's always taken him ages to fully recover, body shaking uncontrollably, movements lethargic, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. These days, he sleeps more than he used to, but it's all on autopilot; rather than making the conscious decision to rest, something within him decides for him, and he thinks it's still a remnant of the conditioning, really. Do what you need to survive, but only what you need to survive. Eat the bare minimum, sleep only because it's what you need. Don't bother drinking excess water just because your throat feels a little numb, because that's just exhausting the supply. It's always good to be social, but it isn't really a necessity in the short-term. Survive without putting your life in the hands of others, but always be aware of the people around you — if there are ever people around you. More often than not, there won't be, but that doesn't mean you can let down your guard.

It's all bullshit. Tim just wanted to go back to being normal when all that was being drilled into his head, and now, he can't seem to rid himself of its influences. That's the problem with this sort of thing — it never really leaves you, even if you try to leave it. It's a sort of you can take the boy out of the fight but you can never take the fight out of the boy situation, but more with paranoia than a desire to punch everything. (He does want to punch things, though. That's probably a side-effect of the paranoia.) He could easily lash out at Wolfbite if he wanted, use the man's obvious fatigue and stupid size against him, but something about the way the man moves has Tim stepping back instead. He's not particularly threatening-looking, and nothing about him screams primed to attack. Still, when the viciousness rearing its head in his gut retreats, it doesn't do so to make way for trust. Instead, Tim's head tips back, eyes flitting across Wolfbite's features, and he bares his teeth, quiet and uncertain.

"What are you here for? Trade? Joining?" Is it bad that he doesn't know how to answer that? The fingers of his left hand curl and uncurl, this time pressing against his inner thigh, against the wound that still aches there. "Jason," he says, and it comes out in a rush, but it's still coherent, strangely calculated, and it sounds weirdly warm on his tongue, like it belongs there. He's not sure what that means. His features soften around the word, and he rubs his fingers angrily against the semi-healed cut, eventually withdrawing and pressing his palm against the side of his ribcage. Wolfbite, the longer Tim stares, looks more and more exhausted, and he wonders if it's just fatigue weighing the guy down, or something worse. "This is— Northstar District?" It's a statement, really, because he knows, but he phrases it like a question anyway. Better to let Wolfbite confirm it than to risk sounding stuck-up.

Life's tough these days. He gets that. He's never really had enough from his parents to remember anything soft, can't really recall existing comfortably past those early years in a too-big, too-luxurious house with its empty interior and echoing walls, so he doesn't really miss the good days, but he knows that surviving's gotten progressively harder for those not tied to a specific group. He, for example, never really settled down. Always a wanderer, he instead preferred to flit from place to place with a small group (see: two other people), and now he's spent time completely isolated, he knows how difficult it is to get by. He didn't really have to think about survival per se for the last two or so years, but that's something different — he wasn't exactly treated to warmth and gentleness and soft displays of affection. If he's being honest, Tim can't remember the last time he was offered any kindness at all.

It was probably something to do with Jason, or Bell, or— both of them. He can't really focus on memories; they're all hazy, but he can distinctly remember the sound of laughter, or bright eyes. It's sort of all he really thinks about as of late, aside from the need to keep moving (and even that's really just an afterthought, autopilot usually keeping him going anyway), the only reason he's here. "My name is Tim," he continues, gaze sharpening again and settling on Wolfbite once more. "I— Jason. Is he here? I need to— even if he doesn't want— I just... one more time." Does that make sense? Tim presses hard on his ribs, swallowing thickly and staring at his own shoes.

He doesn't look up until he hears rattling. His response is immediate, a sudden and unrestrained flinch, hands shifting to the visible knives at his front, curling around cool metal, and— wide eyes focus on the figure in front of him, mouth slack in shock for a moment. His brain rushes to process what's in front of him, denial blocking comprehension, and even though he sees the face, sees the bracelet, knows what they mean, he— he— It doesn't add up. Not like he thought it would, not like he'd prepared for. A small, illogical part of him predicted something cold and uneven, jagged edges reflecting too-sharp light and blinding him. Unfamiliar eyes, maybe, a voice that didn't sound right. Jason's bigger than he used to be (of course he is; most people grow with age), and he's hardly identical, but still, he—

"Tim," Jason says, and it's the second time, but he's not really sure he registered it at first. Now, it comes rushing in, recognition etching itself into his features, and it's like he's waking up. Slowly, as though convinced too-fast movement will make the image in front of him disappear, he relinquishes his grip on the blades of his knives, reaches forwards with one hand like he's helpless to do anything else, and just... touches. Tries to, at least, fingertips at his face, or his shoulder, or his chest, wherever he's allowed, before he retreats, torn between almost instinctual tenderness and the back-of-the-mind knowledge that he's probably not wanted (even though the way Jason says his name makes him think that maybe there's a chance that he's not the only one. Or maybe he's just projecting his own loneliness onto someone who's fine without him).

"I— the jacket. I brought it back." It's almost an afterthought, now, but he mentions it anyway, rubbing at one of his arms and furrowing his brow worriedly. "I know it's... three years, but— I tried to take care of it— it's not... ruined. I didn’t know if you wanted it back, but I... it’s still yours, if you want it." He’s not certain he’s talking about the jacket anymore.

[spoiler=FIGHTING ON MY OWN IN A WAR THAT’S ALREADY BEEN WON / INFORMATION, 20TH SEPT.]GENERAL INFORMATION / I'LL BE LOST UNTIL YOU COME AND FIND ME HERE
⋆ Timothy Jackson Haywood / Introduced as "Tim" / DFAB Male / He/They Pronouns
⋆ 19 Years Old / DOB: July 19th / NPC x NPC; Both Parents Deceased / No Siblings
⋆ Bisexual/romantic / Male Pref / Formerly[?] ½ Robinhood & Formerly ⅓ Daredona
⋆ A Wanderer / Drifts between the various settlements at will / Looking for his friends

APPEARANCE / OH, GLORY; LIKE THE MOON, WE BORROW OUR LIGHT
⋆ 5'5 & 120lbs / Reference 1 + Reference 2 + Current Outfit Reference [ft. Jason]
⋆ Small and too-skinny, but still lithe and somewhat muscular. Lean and acrobatic.
⋆ Has unkempt, startlingly soft black hair that falls between his ears and shoulders.
⋆ Super pale skin and bright blue-silver eyes. Soft, doe-like features. Kinda gentle.
⋆ Has this branded onto his right hip. Wears a leather jacket [Jason's] over his outfit.
⋆ Body's littered with all kinds of scars. Centred mainly round his back, torso + limbs.
⋆ Carries several knives/daggers of varying sizes around with him at all times.

INJURIES & STATUS / I AM NOTHING BUT A SHADOW IN THE NIGHT
⋆ General bruising and scrapes. A nasty, semi-healed gash on his inner thigh.
⋆ Kinda malnourished due to not caring for himself. Will eat the bare minimum.

PERSONALITY / SO IF YOU LET ME, I WILL CATCH FIRE
⋆ Calm, controlled, steady. Good at thinking on his feet, though a habitual planner.
⋆ Tends to prefer being at least three steps ahead of other people. Quietly intelligent.
⋆ Far more accepting of his emotions now. Still kinda withdrawn around strangers.
⋆ Sharp, witty, driven. Methodical and meticulous, though a little less uptight now.
⋆ Wary and alert. Kinda paranoid and on-edge due to recent events. Sorta nervous.
⋆ Still believes in good people. Will always sacrifice self to help those in need.

INTERACTION / TO LET YOUR GLORY AND MERCY SHINE
⋆ Assassin training [2½ish years] / Otherwise self trained [5ish years] / Highly Skilled
⋆ Somewhat weaker at the moment due to malnourishment / Still a tough opponent
⋆ Will kill, but tries not to / Never above crippling / Immensely high pain tolerance
⋆ Attack/interact with in underlined or another visible format / Get attention with [member=3889]TIMOTHY H.[/member]
⋆ Nonviolent actions can be powerplayed / Reaction may vary depending on person/action[/spoiler]

[J. HOLLOWAY]

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/ shhh jaws your post is great, as always

Tim had said one more time as if this was the end of something. The first part of it flies over his head, his confusing jumbled explanation being discarded by that part of his brain that streamlines every conversation. Usually not ones where Tim's talking, but this time it's because he's distracted, not because he's bored. He's attentive enough to register when Tim looks down, and Jason hadn't meant to startle him the way he clearly did. Guilt pushes him half a step back, gray eyes on the knife he's got his hand on as if he's not sure whether or not to consider it a threat. Tim himself isn't scary. He knows a million different ways to kill Jason, he's sure of that, but generally any contact was gentle. But he knows that things can change in three years, and even though it was his name that had answered the question what are you here for, he's hesitant. The young man rocks a little bit as he waits for the tension to break, too unwilling to step back, but equally unwilling to start something Tim isn't ready for. Even if all he can think is his name, he won't push.

The moment shifts when he watches the other relax. It takes a while, and as he waits, Jason fiddles thoughtlessly with the bracelet on his wrist, usually hidden by the cuff of his jacket but hovering just below it this time. He counts the little notches to calm himself down, and a moment later, he drops his hands, because Tim is moving closer and he doesn't know what's going to happen next. Maybe he doesn't see anything too different, but Jason feels like is shattered glass and barbed wire, a bunch of broken things meant to keep people out. It feels nice to not scare someone even, though he's afraid that if he breathes too loudly he'll ruin the moment. The brush of a gentle hand is unfamiliar and yet so natural that he closes his eyes and allows Tim's hand to drift downwards. Maybe he should be embarrassed to lean into him like this in front of Wolfbite, like a big touch-starved cat, but he can't bring himself to care about the Overseer's sleep-deprived presence somewhere behind them. Maybe later he'll get a little red.

Yet the moment is over, now. He shuffles uncomfortably in the dust, suddenly hyperaware of how he had acted. He wants to shrink into his jacket, maybe pull up the hood and tuck up his shoulders to make himself at least feel smaller. Like when he was growing into his clumsy body and had tried to seem like he wasn't so much taller than everyone around him. At least he'd been a little bit scrawny at that point. Now he's big and still fucking uncomfortable in his body, sometimes, but he doesn't bother to make himself smaller. Anxiety says that that touch had been meant as his one more time, his throat tightening around quiet, desperate protests. "I don't want the stupid jacket," he manages, though his tongue feels numb and clumsy. A tiny voice reminds him that he should offer him the same thing. The bracelet around his wrist, the one that should be more important to Tim than it is to him, but for three years it's the only thing he's had to remember him. Maybe he's not ready quite yet. If he doesn't stay — he knows that giving it up would be right.

Jason chooses to stop thinking. He's missed him and Tim looks injured, so he pushes himself forward and wraps his arms around him. It's going to end with him pulling him up off the ground, because that's how it usually goes. He's so small. It feels like he's going to end up breaking him, though the smaller man is tougher than he looks. He feels so clumsy like this, gun-calloused hands holding tight. One arm drops to his thighs, bracing him as he straightens up. "Think I care more about the person wearing it, Tim."

[align=center][div style="width: 527px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"][spoiler=YOU GOT HELL TO PAY, BUT YOU ALREADY SOLD YOUR SOUL / INFORMATION, 9/19]‣ Jason Matthias Holloway / Introduced as "Arkham" outside of ND / Cis Male / He + Him
‣ 20 Years Old / Born July 7 / NPC x NPC; Both Deceased / Older Brother: Bruce Holloway
‣ Birom. Bisexual / 68% Monogamous / Single? / Formerly? ½ Robinhood &  ⅓ Daredona
‣ Member (The Crew): Northstar District / Will wander at times on his own personal missions.

‣ 6'1 & 170-210 lbs. & HEALTH: 90% | Muscular, solid build, stocky and incredibly imposing.
‣ Messy emo hair; charcoal black and usually kind of messy. Typical Style & Messy Style Ref.
‣ Cold gray eyes. | Expresses a lot while saying nothing. Lots of smug smirking and grinning.
‣ Warm, moderately tanned skin. Some light freckles on shoulders from exposure to the sun.

‣ Confused hot mess. | Lots of issues that he hides with intense sarcasm. Be careful with him.
‣ Adaptable and weirdly charming, able to convince people of a lot with just a smile or a threat.
‣ Hardworking and focused, but also incredibly snarky and emotionally distant. Plays favorites.
‣ Has a terrible temper & doesn't balk from doing some immoral things, but sticks to his code.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but mostly just because he doesn't give a damn about his own life.
‣ Secretly quiet and a bit of a bookworm. Currently going through a lot of emotional heartache.

‣ Strength: 8 / Perception: 6 / Endurance: 7 / Charisma: 7 / Intelligence: 8 / Agility: 6 / Luck: 1
‣ 90/100 Physical Defense; 40/100 Psychological Defense; 70/100 Short-Term Recovery
‣ Nonviolent actions may be powerplayed, as long as they cause physical discomfort at most.

[merged subs.]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: auto; font-size: 9.4pt; font-family:arial; line-height: 125%; text-align:justify; width: 75%"]/ uh huh

One more time is for Jason, not for him. If it were up to him, this'd be permanent, and there'd be no confusion about it — but it isn't up to him, because he's the intruder, and he can't force his way in, only hope that the door's opened when he knocks, or whatever this is. Is this knocking? He hasn't exactly asked to come in, or anything, just lingered in the porch until someone took notice of him, and he's got a feeling that all this is... unwanted attention, like he's just some beggar looking for a spare bit of generosity in a world that can't afford any. Maybe Tim's the only one who hasn't moved on, and he's being far too intrusive, trying to worm his way into a life that has no room for him anymore. (But then Jason leans into his touch like it's something holy, and maybe he's just looking at this the wrong way.)

Tim's never had to worry about feeling too big, too clunky. He's always been the small one, looked at like he's delicate and liable to break under the slightest pressure; people make a habit of either handling him carefully and coddling him to the point of boredom on his part, or pushing and shoving to see if he really is made of porcelain. Neither really tends to end well, but until Jason and Bell, he never— nobody ever seemed to settle somewhere in the centre, always opting for one of the two extremes. Maybe that's why he's chasing Jason like he is now, desperate to find someone who knows him. There's a constant war raging in his head between his desire for this, whatever this is, and the belief that maybe he just doesn't deserve it, for all the bodies and almost-bodies left in his wake. At least, he thinks, Jason doesn't know about all that yet. Maybe he still thinks Tim's worth something.

His throat clicks when he swallows, expression morphing into one of thinly-veiled panic. Jason doesn't want the damn jacket — and, his mind cries, leaping to conclusions as always, he presumably doesn't want Tim, either. That's fine. Tim's been preparing for that ever since he made the conscious decision to seek Jason out, knows where two other settlements are, knows how to get there from here. He can be out of Jason's way and out of his life within the half-hour, disappearing over the horizon without leaving any traces of his presence whatsoever. It all makes sense, though, really. He shouldn't be surprised. Three years is a long time, and sure, he might be the sort to remain hung-up on old what ifs, but that doesn't mean Jason should be, too. "Oh," he says, shrugging his shoulders, tugging on his sleeves and frowning once more.

With that out of the way, he supposes, there's no point in dwelling. He casts the bracelet a fleeting glance, rocks back, prepares to apologise (he prepared that, too), but— he never accounted for Jason hugging him. He probably should've, in hindsight, just in case, but there was no point, in his head; perhaps it's for the best, though, because there's nothing robotic about the way he winds his arms around Jason's neck, loose and uncertain at first, then tighter, like this is the only thing that's ever mattered. Right now, it sort of feels like it is. "That's— he's still yours, too, if you want him."

[spoiler=FIGHTING ON MY OWN IN A WAR THAT’S ALREADY BEEN WON / INFORMATION, 20TH SEPT.]GENERAL INFORMATION / I'LL BE LOST UNTIL YOU COME AND FIND ME HERE
⋆ Timothy Jackson Haywood / Introduced as "Tim" / DFAB Male / He/They Pronouns
⋆ 19 Years Old / DOB: July 19th / NPC x NPC; Both Parents Deceased / No Siblings
⋆ Bisexual/romantic / Male Pref / Formerly[?] ½ Robinhood & Formerly ⅓ Daredona
⋆ A Wanderer / Drifts between the various settlements at will / Looking for his friends

APPEARANCE / OH, GLORY; LIKE THE MOON, WE BORROW OUR LIGHT
⋆ 5'5 & 120lbs / Reference 1 + Reference 2 + Current Outfit Reference [ft. Jason]
⋆ Small and too-skinny, but still lithe and somewhat muscular. Lean and acrobatic.
⋆ Has unkempt, startlingly soft black hair that falls between his ears and shoulders.
⋆ Super pale skin and bright blue-silver eyes. Soft, doe-like features. Kinda gentle.
⋆ Has this branded onto his right hip. Wears a leather jacket [Jason's] over his outfit.
⋆ Body's littered with all kinds of scars. Centred mainly round his back, torso + limbs.
⋆ Carries several knives/daggers of varying sizes around with him at all times.

INJURIES & STATUS / I AM NOTHING BUT A SHADOW IN THE NIGHT
⋆ General bruising and scrapes. A nasty, semi-healed gash on his inner thigh.
⋆ Kinda malnourished due to not caring for himself. Will eat the bare minimum.

PERSONALITY / SO IF YOU LET ME, I WILL CATCH FIRE
⋆ Calm, controlled, steady. Good at thinking on his feet, though a habitual planner.
⋆ Tends to prefer being at least three steps ahead of other people. Quietly intelligent.
⋆ Far more accepting of his emotions now. Still kinda withdrawn around strangers.
⋆ Sharp, witty, driven. Methodical and meticulous, though a little less uptight now.
⋆ Wary and alert. Kinda paranoid and on-edge due to recent events. Sorta nervous.
⋆ Still believes in good people. Will always sacrifice self to help those in need.

INTERACTION / TO LET YOUR GLORY AND MERCY SHINE
⋆ Assassin training [2½ish years] / Otherwise self trained [5ish years] / Highly Skilled
⋆ Somewhat weaker at the moment due to malnourishment / Still a tough opponent
⋆ Will kill, but tries not to / Never above crippling / Immensely high pain tolerance
⋆ Attack/interact with in underlined or another visible format / Get attention with [member=3889]TIMOTHY H.[/member]
⋆ Nonviolent actions can be powerplayed / Reaction may vary depending on person/action[/spoiler]