Name: Johnny Carrington

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Appearance: A shorter than average man, Johnny stands at approximately 5'8"; he is skinny, not in a healthy, toned sort of way but in the way that clearly communicates his daily plan doesn't usually involve eating. He has scruffy, muddy blond hair to mid-way down his neck that is usually parted to the side and a similarly coloured goatee with no moustache to connect it. He has a fairly narrow build; narrow shoulders, narrow hips, narrow arms, narrow neck. His face is ever-so-slightly gaunt, making his cheek-bones defined and sharp. He has a slightly crooked nose that bares the hallmarks of having been broken at least three times and muddy green eyes. He usually has a fairly bemused look on his face, finding great novelty in most aspects of life. His eye-brows are naturally sleek and fine, the right eyebrow having a subtle line through it which communicates a past injury. He dresses fairly averagely for a man of his age; having been in his teenage years during the nineties that's affected the way he's dressed since, usually wearing ratty jumpers that are slightly too large for him and plaid shirts.

Personality: Johnny is cynical, apathetic, amiable, directionless, inquisitive, flippant and single-minded (when required).

Post Example: Johnny slumped on the cold metal bench, his bus already forty minutes late. He sighed with slight irritation, pulling up the collar of his jacket and turning up the music blasting from his dated MP3 player. He'd been called in on another Saturday, apparently the company couldn't wait another two days to have their systems worked on. Why did he ever get into IT? He knew it'd just make him miserable, but a job's a job and a job doesn't have to define you. That's what he'd always thought and that's what he planned to continue thinking. But, in the eyes of his co-workers he was just a faceless computer drone, to them he didn't even exist when he wasn't trying to explain that a Firewall wasn't just an option when operating a computer that doesn't belong to you.

They didn't know the things he'd done, the things he truly defined himself with. True, he hadn't taken LSD in 6 months, but who had the time nowadays? He hadn't sold out, he was just taking down the system from the inside. Sure. He really needed to trip again soon, he was starting to think of society as something normal and fair again, and that just wouldn't do at all. Still, he hadn't done coke in six years, four months and fifty two days. [i]Well done Johnny[/i] He thought to himself; [i]That bitch'll never claim your soul again[/i]. Finally, his bus pulled into the stop. He groaned, realising the bus arriving just meant the bullshit quota of his day was going to triple by the point he reached his destination. He climbed on, flashing the driver the expired bus-pass he'd been using for the past four months. If you got precisely the right bus at precisely the right time you got the bus driver who blatantly didn't care about his job, which was always good when trying to scam a civic institution.