[HIDER=Elias Kindlmuller][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/XHFlPnI.png[/img]
[h3][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoZEaX8a_YU]"Hmm? Naw, I'm just good at bottling it up."[/url][/h3][/CENTER]
[INDENT][b]Name:[/b] Elias Kindlmuller
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Age:[/b] 24
[b]Appearance:[/b] 5’10, slim, and way past the point of giving a fuck, Elias cuts a dashing silhouette, the sort of long legged, elegant individual that one would imagine strutting the streets of Paris rather than smoking cigarettes and scrambling mah-jong tiles in China. But there he is, a stubbly bastard with hair he keeps in check with grease, working irregular hours as a cleaner to cover his expenses as a bachelor with no romance and no aspirations. Indeed, past the elegant silhouette, the windswept hairdo, the strong jawline, one would notice the true essence of his being: his dark brown eyes, belonging to a tired man.

On the base of his left ring finger, there is a thin scar circling around.

[b]Personality:[/b] Elias is detached but not anti-social, the sort of person with three thousand acquaintances and no close friends. His confidence comes from how little he values the thoughts of others, and his levelheadedness comes from the fact that he knows just how pointless getting emotionally involved was. Nihilistic? Cynical? Depressed? Apathetic? Perhaps Elias is all of those things and more, but he certainly has no intention of self-harm or suicidal, viewing such actions with a surprising amount of disdain. Though he doesn’t care, he encourages others to care, an ambitionless hypocrite through and through who doesn’t want to see others end up like him.

He still has a little hope though, a little life that keeps him breathing, that inspires his dry humor, that calls him to wake up every morning.

[b]Background:[/b] He remembers his parents being hard workers, coming home only to head off to work again. He remembers his sister being the wonder of his world, always talkative, always smiling, always doing chores.

He remembers when their fortunes changed, and how his parents talked about how it wasn’t enough, how they were barely surviving even though they were so much better off than before. He remembers their eyes, deluded even as they spoke of reality.

He remembers the roar of the train, the honking of cars, strangers exchanging vulgar gestures and drunken shouts. He remembers the fatigue that built upon the smile, the pride that refused to look upon the reality of a boy on the cusp of manhood.

He remembers graduation, the haze of summer and the look on his mother’s face.

He remembers separation, the winter winds stealing away the words hurled without thought.

He remembers the knife. The hate. The mistakes. The violence. The routine.

The exhaustion.

It was a nation of the free, everyone capable of pursuing their happiness. So why was it that it was so easy to live with neither freedom nor happiness?

[b] Abilities:[/b]
[u][i]Resistance to Revulsion[/i][/u] – Few things disgust Elias enough to the point that he shows it. He’s wholly unaffected by the noxious and the gruesome, a man of mental steel. Where others vomit, he shrugs. Where others piss themselves, he grimaces. Where others scramble away, he rolls up his sleeve.

[u][i]Throwing Accuracy[/i][/u] – Elias has a good eye, a good grasp of physics, and a good idea of what happens if he applies a certain amount of strength to an object of a certain weight. He’s more or less used this ‘ability’ to get himself banned from every amateur darts throwing competition ever.

[b]Relic:[/b] A high quality mechanical wristwatch, capable of keeping the time as well as the phases of the moon. The strap is of fine, black leather, while the case is of a pinkish gold coloration. Pulling on the knob will pop open the case, allowing one to observe the intricate system of gears and cogs within. [/INDENT][/HIDER]