03-01-2017, 01:07 PM
[align=center]
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / 89% Monogamous / Possessive / Taken by Dick H.
‣ ½ Boysoldier [OTP] / Father & ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Dami, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Twenty-Four / Feb. 19 / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Brother: Jason / Son: Damian
‣ Resident of Flintlock Lodge / Loner / Biography / Notes Page / Pinterest Board
‣ Important Tropes: Death Glare, Disapproving Look, & Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steely blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. Achromatic undershirts, long sleeved overshirt, hoodie or field jacket.
‣ Constantly wearing a black promise ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Reference.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on left thigh. | A large, single-blade, semi-serrated pocketknife.
‣ Broken Ace / Friend to Children / Deadpan Snarker / Defiant to the End / Attitude
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, seems calm. Can sometimes seem blank or may hyperfocus on one thing.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.
Bruce was hardly the nosy type. He wasn't the sort of person to insert himself into the lives or situations of strangers. As someone who thrived off of close relationships, this place was killing him already. The promise that this was temporary was already worn to the point that he was sick of hearing it. Just until his leg healed a little bit more. Just until he stopped seeing red every time he closed his eyes. Just long enough that  he doesn't know. However long it will be, it's too long. He's already left shattered pieces of himself with those that he left, and he knows that those damaged parts do more harm than good. Remembering him isn't a good thing, but it wasn't as if he would allow them to forget, right? It's not self-centered of him to say that he's a memorable person to most, considering that making a mark is intentional. Whether it was good or bad, he would always make a point of being there, these days. Earlier in his life, Bruce had made a point of staying in the shadows. No friends, no relationships other than his brother. Things changed once he'd met Dick. He was the sunshine that melted the snow, warm and constant without being overbearing. He had managed to remind everyone that there was an entire ecosystem hidden underneath that silent blanket of white.
And he'd left him. So yeah, he think that he would be drinking too, if he had the ability. It was impossible to relax when he feels as if he's surrounded by wolves, circling for some sign of weakness before they snap. It won't be him, not today. Not tomorrow. He played at strength and stability, and while the facade was crumbling day by day, it would hold him up until he could get out of this place. For now, he still has a faint limp and a scavenged brace on his arm. He had cleaned up a bit since he'd joined, short hair push back in its usual place and dried blood scrubbed off, but his jeans are still stained around the cut on his thigh and the bruises are only becoming more visible. He would have to find a way to hide those before returning to Flintlock. That was the only thought on his mind before hearing the heavy clink of a bottle on the ground. Priority number one was getting back to the people he actually liked, even if they all hated him. Priority number two was figuring out a way to keep them from realizing where he had been or what had happened to him. They could yell as much as they wanted, shout and scream and hit him, he didn't care. As long as they didn't know the rest of what he had done.
The noise he'd heard offers a brief suspension that his exploration of this place had already failed at providing, an alley of thought that isn't yet tainted by the aches and pains both within him and on him. Win knocks briefly against the frame of the doorway, a sharp rap with the back of his hand, just in time to hear whoever was in there avoid swearing. It was amusing, almost, but he still feels as if there's a threat when he glances in. The picture he sees is certainly anything but threatening, a messy figure sprawled out against the floor and a wall wearing... Very little. He's pretty, in a way, though he knows well enough that he's never going to be able to think about anyone else like that for the rest of his life. Pale blue eyes barely scrape over the stranger before they return to his face, one brow raised in question even though half of his mouth is twisted to a sick sort of amusement. (He's tired. He wants to go home.) "You're obviously having a wonderful night." Not that he cares too much.
[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 517px"][spoiler=I DON’T GET SURPRISED | INFORMATION; 02/23/2017]‣ Bruce Gideon Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Cisgender MaleAnd he'd left him. So yeah, he think that he would be drinking too, if he had the ability. It was impossible to relax when he feels as if he's surrounded by wolves, circling for some sign of weakness before they snap. It won't be him, not today. Not tomorrow. He played at strength and stability, and while the facade was crumbling day by day, it would hold him up until he could get out of this place. For now, he still has a faint limp and a scavenged brace on his arm. He had cleaned up a bit since he'd joined, short hair push back in its usual place and dried blood scrubbed off, but his jeans are still stained around the cut on his thigh and the bruises are only becoming more visible. He would have to find a way to hide those before returning to Flintlock. That was the only thought on his mind before hearing the heavy clink of a bottle on the ground. Priority number one was getting back to the people he actually liked, even if they all hated him. Priority number two was figuring out a way to keep them from realizing where he had been or what had happened to him. They could yell as much as they wanted, shout and scream and hit him, he didn't care. As long as they didn't know the rest of what he had done.
The noise he'd heard offers a brief suspension that his exploration of this place had already failed at providing, an alley of thought that isn't yet tainted by the aches and pains both within him and on him. Win knocks briefly against the frame of the doorway, a sharp rap with the back of his hand, just in time to hear whoever was in there avoid swearing. It was amusing, almost, but he still feels as if there's a threat when he glances in. The picture he sees is certainly anything but threatening, a messy figure sprawled out against the floor and a wall wearing... Very little. He's pretty, in a way, though he knows well enough that he's never going to be able to think about anyone else like that for the rest of his life. Pale blue eyes barely scrape over the stranger before they return to his face, one brow raised in question even though half of his mouth is twisted to a sick sort of amusement. (He's tired. He wants to go home.) "You're obviously having a wonderful night." Not that he cares too much.
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / 89% Monogamous / Possessive / Taken by Dick H.
‣ ½ Boysoldier [OTP] / Father & ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Dami, Cam, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Twenty-Four / Feb. 19 / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Brother: Jason / Son: Damian
‣ Resident of Flintlock Lodge / Loner / Biography / Notes Page / Pinterest Board
‣ Important Tropes: Death Glare, Disapproving Look, & Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-200 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not overwhelmingly so.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. Shorter on the sides; messy.
‣ Pale steely blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Rarely smiles.
‣ Warm, formerly tanned skin, lightly freckled from sun exposure. Paler with the cold.
‣ Wears layers. Achromatic undershirts, long sleeved overshirt, hoodie or field jacket.
‣ Constantly wearing a black promise ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Reference.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on left thigh. | A large, single-blade, semi-serrated pocketknife.
‣ Broken Ace / Friend to Children / Deadpan Snarker / Defiant to the End / Attitude
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, seems calm. Can sometimes seem blank or may hyperfocus on one thing.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.
[align=center]