CongoJack

The Compound

Raymond started to rub his fingertips in irritation. Now, who in the world thinks they're high and mighty enough to raise their voice in here? At me? He turns around to answer his own question. To scratch that itch, if you will.
"Oh. The scrawny guy. Listen, you wanna go ahead and think back to what you said? Stepping outside to avoid making a scene? Well raising your voice and talking down to someone ain't much of a wise way to get that done, huh? I mean, unless you're looking to get beaten and thrown out. Get the fuck out of here. Come to think of it, I'm leaving, too. I'm done with this praying business, I'll try again tomorrow. So let's go. All orderly and whatnot. I'll hang around you in case you wanna cool off those nerve of yours by getting into a fight."

The Compound

Raymond was trying his best to pray. To be normal. To be good, maybe. Maybe then he could change. He kept hearing people behind him talking about beatings, and a girl walking off angrily when confronted about her most recent one. It became harder to pray. He wanted to leave, soon, maybe as soon as he finished praying, because he didn't feel as if he had a place here. On that note, he found his hearing concentrate more and more to their direction, now hearing that they want to take this outside.
"Finally. Now maybe I can pray instead of hearing some bitching about some small beating," he said, maybe a little too loudly.
Aw, hell. I think they might've heard me.

The Compound

Name: Raymond Hackett
Age: 29
Body type: Around 5'9", strong man.
Basic personality: At the age of 14, Ray's parents died in a house fire, and he suddenly found himself living as a homeless orphan that people tried their best not to look at. Over time, he grew a resentment toward the system that let him fall through the cracks and wouldn't be afraid to admit it, either. In order to get by, he had taken to theft, which in time turned into vandalism, and generally falling in with the wrong crowd. He is a very clever man and he is very protective of himself, only ever helping someone if he felt he had something at stake involving them. He can also be very callous and rude at times, though he considers this to be his version of honesty and straightforwardness. As he is about to enter his 30s, however, he's been trying to stray from his past and mature up a bit.

EXTRA

Tattoos: Three dark rings wrapped around his right forearm and a skull with no jaw on his right shoulder. On his left inside wrist there is a bar code he had tattooed as a statement to how he felt being in the compound. It embarrasses him, somewhat, since he remembers it as a decision made full of angst when he was 16, though he still thinks it at least looks cool. He also has two 9s tattooed on the right side of his neck, signifying his birthday, September ninth.
Piercings: None
Weapon of choice: brass knuckles, a hunting knife, and a snub .38.
Quirks: He tends to rub his fingertips together [only the left hand] whenever he's in deep thought or irritated.
Vices: He is very quick to suggest violent action
Weaknesses: He has occasional bouts of depression, which is due to how he lived his adolescent and young adult life up till now. He also has developed trust issues with people.
Anything else of note: What his parents did for a living were always kept a secret from him.

The compound

Would it be too late for me to join in?