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[color=teal]Location:[/color] Tauranga Port
[color=teal]Interactions:[/color] The Team 
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Vincent lacked nothing in confidence. Anyone who knew him for a minimum of five seconds might even call him cocky, but as far as he was concerned, the things he was good at, he was [i]good[/i] at and he felt that there wasn’t any point in pretending to be humble about it. That said, he was self-aware enough to understand he had weaknesses and he even had a good idea of what they were.

Acting was one of them. Back when he still went to school, any time he had to take part in a play put on by his class, he would try to read his lines, but the words would come out stilted, halting, or he would straight up forget them halfway through speaking them. However, thanks to some guidance from Black Canary, he had managed to find a way to work around this weakness.

[i][color=slateblue]“The greatest actors use their past experiences to shape their roles,”[/color] Black Canary had said. [color=slateblue]“Think back on your life, before you joined the team. The kind of person you used to be and might’ve become if things had gone differently. Try using that to shape who you’ll be for this mission.”[/color][/i]

And so, he did.
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Dressed in a crimson dress shirt, black slacks with matching dress shoes, and a black coat over his shoulders to complete the outfit, Vincent might have looked out of place amongst the other “bodyguards,” but that was on purpose. While the others looked dressed and equipped for war, his outfit’s intent was to send two messages: that he was just as dangerous without all those fancy gadgets and those who underestimated him did so at their own risk.

He ran his hand through his dirty blonde [s]wig[/s] hair before fixing his hazel eyes (courtesy of colored contacts) on Origami. He regarded her for a few moments, then clicked his tongue contemptuously before walking away from the group. He leaned against a nearby wall and crossed his arms. His sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, displaying some of his battle scars on his left arm. His right looked to be a metal prosthetic, though that was only how it appeared. In addition to hiding his tattoos, which might aid in identifying him, it also let him bring in a supply of steel, should he need it. [color=#9A3001]“Let’s get this over with, already. Sooner we’re done with this shit, the better,”[/color] he growled.

He had taken Black Canary’s words to heart. He thought about the kind of person he might have become if it weren’t for the Old Man and everyone else who had helped him through the hardest parts of his life. “Damocles” was his answer: the version of him that lived to fight, the version that gave into his anger when no one was around to help him overcome it.