Hey Im Jordan — Roleplayer Guild

.:| N/A | 38 | Married | Heterosexual | Male |:.

Evil Ways | Ambitions and Visions

.:|A P P E A R A N C E|:.

Christopher is a tall, intimidating man, muscular from years of working out. His face is strong jawed, and almost always cleanly shaven, with icily cold blue eyes. There’s rarely ever a smile on his face, and generally it’s only when he’s looking on Bianca, and even then they can be considered rare from him. That’s not to say he doesn’t show emotion on his face--in fact, he’s very expressive. He just doesn’t smile. Instead, he often smirks. Genuine smiles are rare and far between, but a smirk is something he has often, due to how much better he is than the others.

He wears no tattoos, though his torso is marred by one scar across his chest. He’s never specific about how he got it--not that many people have seen it. Christopher tends to exclusively wear expensive, tailor made, designer suits. On his left wrist, he wears a gold Rolex watch. Around the house, he can occasionally be caught lounging in comfortable pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, though this is a rare sight to see--if he is dressed to sleep, he’s in his room. Asleep.

Otherwise, Christopher Helmsley is a man who must always dress for success.

.:|P E R S O N A L I T Y|:.

At his core, beneath all the facades and all the fancy words and all the contracts, he’s a hustler. Christopher knows how to talk to make things seem like they’re worth far more than they actually are, and how to squeeze people for every last single dime. He’s ruthless, relentless, possessive, controlling, explosive, suave, malevolent, confident to the point of arrogancy, manipulative, intelligently cold and calculating. He’s not here to play nicely and spend time trying to better the world, Christopher Helmsley is here to make money.

Out for himself first and foremost, Christopher has no qualms over backstabbing anyone at any time. He’s betrayed more than a few people to get to where he is, and if necessary, he’ll betray a few more.

Christopher is not overly outgoing, in fact if it were not for his wife, he would almost certainly be a recluse. But, for the benefit of his beloved, Christopher makes all the necessary appearances. They even commonly host social events in their massive home, putting its extra rooms to good use.

He looks down on anyone lesser than him. Less wealth, a less attractive family, less successful, physically weaker, mentally weaker. Christopher cannot stand weakness, and considers any show of it--from admitting that a person has a problem they can’t themselves solve, to breaking down in tears from stress--Christopher considers people that do things such as though pathetic. He rarely associates with them.

He doesn’t have ‘friends,’ and it can be argued that the only person he cares about is his wife, even with his children in the mix. As of late, he has a one track mind, and it mostly revolves around Bianca and keeping her under control, safe, and happy. In that order.

.:|H I S T O R Y|:.

Born to a prostitute and the criminal who’d ‘saved her,’ Christopher Helmsley was not destined for greatness: he was not given a last name worth a damn, he was not promised money or respect based on his heritage. He never knew his mother--she died, in childbirth, and his father wasn’t exactly the best person to be raising a child. By the time he could walk, he was ‘working.’ His father, one Scott Helmsley, was a well-known arms dealer and mercenary around the African continent and parts of the Middle East. Throughout most of his childhood, Christopher acted as a sort of soldier of alongside his father while they supplied arms to all sides of South African Border War, and during his teenaged years, he participated in some sectors of the War in Afghanistan.

From the beginning, Christopher showed that he was something special: he was smart. Though he never had a real opportunity to attend school, he learned and grew on his own. From all the traveling done by himself and his father, by the time he was eleven, he could comfortably speak English and Arabic alike; at thirteen (after they’d spent sometime in Russia), he was able to speak Russian which would simultaneously be his first written and read language. By fourteen, he was a highly skilled marksman.

He was an excellent bluff, and by fifteen he was the primary negotiator in their ‘deals’ with different military groups and smaller more rebellious ones. Always, they came out on top, something that his father had never really experienced. But it was in this year, when he realized how good he was that Christopher hungered for something more. He wanted more power, more money.

And he realized that the best way to do this was to get out of Africa and the Middle East, both of which were becoming more and more war-torn--and more importantly, economically damaged. If they wanted money and success, they had to chase it to a continent where things weren’t in such terrible shape. His father, however, did not agree with him. He thought that Christopher was too ambitious, too foolhardy and too greedy. Whereas Christopher wanted to tear the world down and rebuild it in his image, his father was fine as it was, running guns and killing people for money.

At age sixteen, Christopher struck out on his own, angrily telling his father that they would never speak again; to this day, they haven’t, and they might never due to Christopher’s father being missing and presumed dead, last heard from in 2008. The young man called in favor after favor and used all of this to get himself out of the Middle East and to Russia, where he opted to take some time to work on his ideas and designs and get them thought out and put together to a point that he could present them.

At age nineteen, with his ideas finally expressed cleanly and concisely, Christopher packed five black binders into his suitcase--four of which were blank, and one of which contained his proposed plan, and called in his last favor to arrange transport to the United States and a date in front of the Pentagon.

Nineteen years old and presenting to the Pentagon. If only his father could see him now--he might just be proud. Of course, they hadn’t spoken in over three years. They didn’t see eye-to-eye, and it wasn’t Christopher’s fault. His father was too bent on the present to think about shaping the future. To think about the money to be made; it was 1997, the turn of the century was nearly upon them and the United States had to be safe. That was the core of his presentation: safety. Of course, in this sense of the word, it meant carrying the biggest stick and continuing to carry it, and all its promised wonderful advancements for five long, safe years, at 150 million dollars a year.

Christopher was a war dog. It was that simple, and it had been since he was just fifteen, running guns around the African continent and the Middle East with his father. Even at that early age, the intelligent son, the golden child had seen improvements that could be made to the weapons they illegally tossed from terrorist organization to terrorist organization. Little things for the most part, but things that would nonetheless make them more efficient killing utensils. Bigger sticks, if you would.

The blueprints he drew up, and the possibilities presented by Christopher in his initial diagrams upset his father. The old man didn’t think it was right. They were gun runners, not arms dealers. But Christopher had ambition and vision far beyond that of his father; he just needed to bring it to the right people. So at age eighteen, he and his father had split and for one year, he worked on making prototypes for everything military related from guns to improvements on stealth aircraft.

Once he’d made a name for himself, the Pentagon had listened and they’d called him. And here he was, showing off of what he’d made… and he was met with silence. Did they not see that he was right? The entire panel--three people, an elderly General, an official from the White House, and a scientist of some sort, had flipped through his report and they looked like they weren’t impressed. Maybe his offer had best be taken elsewhere…

”Son, do you know what what your proposal could entail if it got into the wro-” The General began, but Christopher cut him off by speaking suddenly and forcefully.

”Gentlemen… since it seems that my proposal doesn’t resonate with you quite as well as I thought it might, let me raise the stakes, okay?” Christopher asked in a harsh whisper, glaring at the older man on the other side of the desk as he flipped open his briefcase and withdrew four black binders, each identical to the one he’d presented the council in front of him with.

”What are we looking at, Helmsley? We don’t have time for this, and neither do you, don’t you have--” The White House official this time, though he too was cut off by the young man who, in his own mind, held all the cards.

”What I have here is… the same proposal. In Russian, Mandarin Chinese, Arabic, and Korean. Maybe, if you don’t want to do business one of them will. I went to you first because you have the biggest coffer, but clearly not the most open minds.”

”Son, you wouldn’t take them to another country, think of the cons--”

”I would! And stop calling me son. Here’s the deal: Two hundred million dollars a year, paid in full on January 1st of each year, for five years. Yes, I know I just increased. I don’t care. You won’t listen. Sign my contract, in the binder, and I’ll let you keep the ones in the other languages. No, I don’t have any other copies. It’s all in my head anyway.” Christopher snapped, sliding a fountain pen across the desk toward them. ”Make the right decision. Be safe.”

The council across from him had to talk as Christopher seethed, white knuckle grip on either side of the armchair he sat in as he glared across at them. What was there to talk about?! The deal was simple: take it or leave it for Russia to have.

The room was silent other than barely comprehensible whispers for almost fifteen minutes before the General finally lifted his hand, holding onto the fountain pen that Christopher had handed him. As he moved the pen along the contract in careful strokes, binding the US of A with Helmsley Industries for five years--five years that would end up being far more stressful than the General had ever anticipated--Christopher slid the other binders across to them, loosening the grip on his chair.

”Gentlemen. Welcome to the future. With my help, your military will be far and away the strongest of all the superpowers.” He said with a small smile as he reached out for the fountain pen that was returned to him, slipping it back into the breast pocket of his jacket.

The war dog had won.

’Greed, for lack of a better word, is good.’

In all its forms. Greed for money, greed for life, greed for knowledge, greed for power, greed for love.

And Christopher Helmsley was a greedy man. He was possibly the greediest man on the planet. Two years into his one billion dollar five year contract with the Pentagon, and he wasn’t even close to satisfying his greed--but, he was causing it to lie dormant. He was getting there. It wasn’t until he laid his eyes on Her that his greed awoke again--like a lion in his chest, roaring back to life. This time, it wasn’t for money, or for knowledge; he wasn’t able to please it by purchasing something, like before.

This was different. He had to have Her.

Bianca Almeida was Her name. He found Her when attending a social gathering that he was finding to be the norm round people of his ‘stature:’ a runway modeling event, where they could scope out their next squeezes for the time being, but Bianca was different. Her beauty hit Christopher like a freight train, and it was quite simple to him: he had to have Her.

And he would. After all, who could stop him?

It was easy to arrange a meeting with the young woman, and from there it was even easier for the brilliant man to maneuver himself where he needed. Promises of money and success greater than any she could ever dream of--they weren’t lies, really, with the power of Helmsley industries behind Her, Bianca could be the supermodel of the world--not just Brazil.

The promises gained Her attention, and it was really all he needed. One night with a splash of wine, and Christopher laid his claim to Bianca in one fell swoop: he knocked her up. Once that was completed, who could possibly deny him his right to Her? Christopher Helmsley had sunk his claws into Bianca.

His goddess.

He stayed with Her throughout the pregnancy, and when their children were born--twins--Christopher announced to their world their engagement, barely even giving Bianca a chance to decline. Before the children’s first birthday, the pair were wed, and Christopher had managed to ensure that she would always be his.

His goddess.

Now, Christopher had Her. She was his.

With her, unfortunately, came two new faces to provide for: Caleb and Sofia, his twin children. His spawn. Christopher wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of having children, but he put on a mask and a show of being the doting father, and with time it got… easy to pretend, if nothing else. Following Bianca’s dream, Christopher funded trips around the world, and private tutors and homeschoolers for the children.

Every once in awhile, Christopher would disappear for a business related reason, never leaving for too long--not wanting to leave his wife and children unsupervised (often going as far as taking Bianca with him)--but the man had a growing empire to manage, and manage it he would. Underneath Christopher’s watchful, careful eye, Helmsley Industries grew, and their defense contract with the USA extended and grew and grew in how much they were paying him.

By the time Helmsley Industries’s contract was up for renewal, the USA was more than ready to extend his contract, this time promising him much, much more money. Christopher’s innovations were state-of-the-art, and the newest contract negotiated was for just under 30 billion dollars--five years this time, but money regardless. Christopher wasn’t clearing 30 billion himself--he was closer to around 4 billion over that five year period. Money in his pocket.

But it wasn’t enough. Christopher wanted more, no he needed more. He called the people he used to work with, worked out arrangements with them--people that could be considered almost terrorists. It was around this time, just after the new contract was written up, with his three year old twins, and his goddess, that Christopher found his favorite place on the planet: Sweden. They didn’t live there, Bianca wanted to see the world and it was her right as Christopher’s beloved.

But Sweden would take every single dirty cent that Christopher’s greed brought him to obtain without a question or a complaint. It helped that the Swiss Alps were gorgeous. Christopher slowly siphoned every cent made from the illegal, under the table deals to the Swiss banks, where no one would question it or deny him his right to his fortunes.

He was dealing to the USA, he was dealing to the terrorists--giving them older models of course, if he was too obvious about it, it might get questioned, but older models of his weapons of war, those could be overlooked and their origins were often untraceable.

Once the children had been alive ten years, Christopher had more money than he knew what to do with and the meetings slowed as he built a cabinet of trusted people to handle the underhanded deals. He still made the necessary official appearances with his official contracts, and made sure that the money kept flowing, but he expanded the company as he did so, into often questionable, but nonetheless profitable, territory including but not limited to many household appliances.

Christopher changed the name of Helmsley Industries to Enterprises to make them sound less like a defense contractor and more like a company that could manufacture your refrigerator, and moved his family into an unnecessarily huge manor in Lakewood Summit and signed another defense contract, promising his company another 40 billion and himself another 5 over the period, and he continued his meetings--still sometimes dragging Bianca alongside him.

The Helmsley Empire was undeniable, and its king was completely in control.

.:|O C C U P A T I O N|:.

CEO, President, and PSO for Helmsley Enterprises(initially Helmsley Industries), a manufacturer of many things, largely defense related, though some things have been modified to operate and sell as recreational and household items.

Additionally, he’s still an illegal arms dealer to several outfits primarily based in the MIddle East and South Africa, though he also supplies a Chinese mafia.

.:|H O B B I E S|:.

{{Playing the host–While not something he overly enjoys doing, Christopher likes the stigma of power and class that comes with hosting events at their home. It’s almost addictive, to him.}}
{{Archery and firearm marksmanship–Christopher is a deadeye marksman, enjoying the craft behind both shooting a gun and pulling back a bow. He owns nearly an entire arsenal of his own design, kept in a safe that only he knows the combination to.}}
{{Counting his money–While not a hobby per se, Christopher enjoys looking at his bank account balance, both the offshore Swedish accounts, and what he has on the American continent.}}
{{Watching Bianca and Listening to her–There’s no excusing this one–it’s weird. But Christopher doesn’t care, he’s a man obsessed. He likes to just… watch his wife as she does… stuff. Ranging from when she poses for a camera, to simply watching her as she gardens, Christopher would stare at Bianca all day if the opportunity presented itself.}}

.:|R E L A T I O N S H I P S|:.

Bianca Helmsley – Wife – The pinnacle of perfection. The light of his life. The thing that drives him to do half of things that he does. His goddess. Bianca is the only person on the planet that Christopher can say he cares about more so than he cares about himself. However, this feeling borders on the brink of obsession. It’s gone beyond love.

Sofia & Caleb Helmsley – Children – Christopher considers the twins a necessary evil in the original courting of Bianca. While not very entertained by the idea of children, Christopher maintains this feeling in some ways: he doesn’t care about the children as much as Bianca cares for them, but he’s still willing to provide for them now. Once the twins turn 18, however… That may be a different story.

Magnus – Dog – A purebred German Shepherd, Magnus is the guard dog of the Helmsley manor. Fiercely loyal to his master, Magnus will blatantly ignore commands from Bianca and the children. However, at a snap of Christopher’s fingers, the dog will stand at attention by his master’s heel. Generally speaking, he tends to stay on the bottom floor of the house, as even Christopher doesn’t want the footprints tracked to the upper levels.

Stephen Daniel Williams

.:| Steve | 67 | Married | Hetero | Old cranky man |:.

.:| A P P E A R A N C E |:.

Stephen’s old.

Once you hit a certain age you just stop giving a fuck. Stephen hit that a long time ago. The man often wears Levi's and Wrangler jeans (and staunchly refuses to purchase any other brand), and button up polos that he opens a few too many buttons, grey chest hairs often peeking out. He can be found, quite a lot of the time, in nothing but his tighty whities, sprawled out in a beach chair on his front lawn. Yes, this is a rich person’s community. No, he doesn’t give a fuck.

He lets his facial hair grow out wildly and freely, though he maintains one thing: he can clean up good, able to go from grizzled old angry dude to handsome elderly gentleman at the drop of a hat (more specifically, at the request of his wife when a dinner party appearance is needed.)

.:| P E R S O N A L I T Y |:.

Stephen is intensely patriotic, and loves his country, a byproduct of his Southern roots--resulting in a largely Republican based opinion set. Despite this, after his experience in Vietnam, he is staunchly against wars of any sort, including the war on drugs. He considers war to be when the young and stupid are tricked into killing each other by the old and bitter.

While not as fiercely opinionated as his wife, Stephen does hold strong opinions about those damn millenials and the way they’ve managed to ruin everything from the classic rock he held so dearly back in the day, to the goddamn hipster. He abhors hipsters--he didn’t get shot in the ass in Vietnam for the fucking hipsters, that’s for sure. The major difference between himself and his wife--and the reason fewer people like him--is that Stephen doesn’t have a filter and for the most part doesn’t care about what people think about him.

He’s a little racist. A little less than politically incorrect. But he’s 67 years old and he doesn’t give a crap. Some people appreciate that about him, other people hate it.

He’s known to tell the younger boys around the neighborhood war stories, all of them ending in the same way: And then those Charlie bastards shot me in the ass and blew my best friends head off.

.:| H I S T O R Y |:.

Everybody has that one moment in life. The one that changed their lives forever. Graduating college, scoring that for life job, meeting the love of their life, their wedding, watching their child be born. Sometimes, it isn’t so happy, sometimes it’s a bad thing. The death of a loved one, the one you love realizing they don’t love you back.

For Stephen Williams, his moment was none of the above. He likes to think that the only good thing to come of his ‘moment’ is that it has a certain air of uniqueness to it. For Stephen Williams, that moment comes from his time as an active member of the United States Marine Corps, in 1969, as part of Operation Defiant Stand.

His moment came when he was shot directly in the ass.

Left cheek.

That was the pivotal moment in his life. It changed a lot of things in his life: he walks with a limp and a cane, and has since he was 19 years old. Despite this, he stayed with the USMC, reluctantly accepting a desk job. Filled with bitterness and anger, jutting from both the virtual uselessness of his left leg, and the loss of his best friend, whom he had sworn he’d be next door neighbors with when they got back to the World.

Unfortunately a stray bullet from the very same mounted machine gun that had nailed him in the ass had blown his friend’s head up. Entirely. There was nothing left. With limited use of his left leg, searing pain in his ass, and a desperate urge to not leave his friend behind, Stephen had dragged the man’s headless body all the way back to camp.

Semper fi, do or die.

Regardless, they needed all the bodies they could have and he stayed in Nam for nearly the rest of the war, returning home to his wife a to further nurse his injury in 1974. Doctors hoped that with the proper physical therapy he’d be able to restore the use of his leg. Doctors were wrong. Stephen gave up. He missed his friend. 

A different man, but still very much in love with his wife, Stephen and Margaret had a miscarriage, and he watched Maggie spiral into depression and alcoholism (that’s what it was, though Stephen never said it as so), and couldn’t help but feel somewhat grimly satisfied. At least the child would never be brought into the world and have a chance at being shot in the ass. Stephen wasn’t even certain that he’d be a good parent anymore. The real stress from him came when their first son was born a few years later.

Once the child was born, Stephen decided then and there that if nothing else, he’d be the best father he possibly could, going so far as to become a ‘stay-at-home dad’ when Maggie got her break with the Food Network. Regardless of what he did, Stephen received a paycheck from the US Army as ‘compensation’ for the wound he sustained. He missed his friend.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about the move to Lakewood Summit, but ultimately agreed to it. A husband had to make his wife and child happy, right? Retirement suited him, and Stephen had been virtually retired since returning the World in ‘74. In 2014, Maggie joined him, and together they’re old and bitter.

It’s a good life, the American dream, really.

.:| O C C U P A T I O N |:.

A former United States Marine who’s been retired since 1974, choosing to rest on his wife’s paycheck, and the compensation from the US Army.

.:| H O B B I E S |:.

{{ Complaining about being shot in the ass. }}
{{ Honoring his best friends memory with a Saturday afternoon cruise, every Saturday.. }}
{{ Bitching about the current generation. }}
{{ Sitting on his front lawn in his underwear. }}
{{ Attending to his lawn. }}
{{ Watching TV in his underwear. }}
{{ Trying to learn to fly the godforsaken drone he purchased under the idea that it would be fun. It’s not fun, he’s too old for this shit. But dammit if he won’t try. }}

.:| R E L A T I O N S H I P S |:.

Margaret Williams – Wife – 57 seven long years. He’s loved most of them, except for that one where he got shot in the ass. And a lot of them after that.,.

Brian Daniel Morris

.:| Bry | 30 | Married | Hetero | Male |:.

.:| A P P E A R A N C E |:.

Maybe if he’d stayed in Washington, and worked with his father, he’d dress in plaid jackets and Levi jeans still… but, Brian didn’t stay in Washington, and his job requires him to dress a certain way. Suits that are so expensive it makes him physically cringe to purchase them are something he wears consistently to the office and when making court appearances.

At home, Brian does wear those Levi jeans, but he prefers to wear neutral colored, overly tight shirts--muscle shirts, or something he thinks they’re called, he doesn’t care, he just thinks they’re comfy. At home, he wears flats, Skechers or some cheap brand, but at work, he has ridiculously expensive dress shoes. Seriously, his work clothes cost more than he thought he’d ever make in a year.

The American dream, baby.

.:| P E R S O N A L I T Y |:.

A workaholic.

It comes with the trade. Brian will put his work before almost anything, sometimes even including his wife and their daughter--but it’s all in the best interests of their family, of course. He’s always been a hardworker, from when he worked with his father felling trees in Washington, to now, when he’s working his ass off to make partner in his law firm Henson & Wright.

Brian is a product of his upbringing, honest, hardworking, caring, and at his heart: a family man. His choice of career is driven by a natural air of charisma around him--lawyering is way easier when you can make people agree with you by using your words. And… he can. Brian has the gift of gab, and he’s been able to weasel his way out of any problem, ever, with just a few minutes of heart-to-heart talking. As such, he doesn’t always think things through, under the assumption that he can just get himself out of it.

So far, so good.

.:| H I S T O R Y |:.

Son of a lumberjack and a housewife, Brian wasn’t exactly promised anything other than rain and yearly trips to check out the space needle. What? Other than it’s great scenery, Washington sucked. Always had, always will, and Brian will be the first person to tell you. There was nothing to do ever seriously in the entire state.

So he made things to do. At an early age, he started going to work with his father after school and on the weekends, learning how to fell trees and turn them into the wooden planks that ‘built this country and drive it to this day,’ according to his father. In his middle school years, he took up boxing and fell in love with it; over the years throughout highschool he was very good at hitting other dudes, going so far as to win a Golden Gloves trophy in his senior year.

Despite this, and despite the fact that he could have made a decent living off of it, Brian quit boxing in competitions immediately after highschool, keeping it up as a hobby and something he did to keep on his toes and in peak physical condition. Brian Daniel Morris didn’t want to knock heads arounds for his whole life, he wanted to make a difference, fight for the little man, for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves. Brian Morris, attorney at law. Had a ring to it.

So, after graduation, in an unprecedented move for his family, Brian Morris immediately went to the University of Washington. This decision was… hard. He worked part-time jobs and went to school full time, doing his best to make ends meet on the wild ride of student loans, scholarships, parental funding, and a minimum wage job. But he worked hard. Very hard. Too hard, if you asked his college fraternity brothers, so they forced him to attend the mixer during his junior year of college, thinking that if he got in bed with a couple of crazy college girls, maybe he’d loosen up.

Ultimately, this would be the best decision Brian ever made--even if he was forced to do it. Why was it such a great decision, you ask?

Grace.

As gorgeous and as flowing as her name, Brian fell in love on sight, and looking back he’s not sure that he would have survived the rest of college if it hadn’t worked out with her. But! It did work out! A fairy tale really, Brian stayed with Grace until he graduated--one year earlier than her--and beyond. Once she too had graduated, after a year of working an internship, Brian took her to the place they’d had their first ‘official’ date, after the party they’d met at, Brian proposed.

She said yes.

He died of happiness.

She kissed him, he came back on the spot.

Their engagement lasted what seemed like forever, due to the colleges they went to.

That debt grew bigger, and as Brian worked he had a few things to consider. It was in his blood to want to take care of his family, and Grace was his family now. If he went to save the little man, he might be happier, but he wouldn’t make enough money to do so. So Brian started to look at his other options. Maybe graduating summa cum laude from Harvard Law helped, but right out of college, he landed a job as an associate at Henson & Wright, a law firm that charged way too much to protect corporations--corporations are people too, didn’t you know?

He and his newlywed wife packed up and moved across the country to California, where Brian began his work. He threw himself at it, sometimes working more than a hundred hours a week--and at 148 dollars an hour… it was worth it in the end. After the first case he worked on, which he was an integral part of winning, Brian was given two gifts: his student debt was paid off by the firm, and a house in Lakewood Summit. In four years of working there, he was made a partner.

During this time, his wife gave birth to their first child, Elena Marie, the light of Brian’s eye and the reason he works so hard. She’s spoiled rotten and every single moment that Brian wasn’t at the office was spent playing with his daughter, and when his wife gave birth to their son, Brian did the only thing he knew: he worked harder, made more money, did more for the firm, put money away from the kids, bought his wife as much as he could.

He was just trying to be the best husband he possibly could be. Finally, after two long years of living in the posh and proper Lakewood Summit, Brian was ordered by his firm to work less--and he wasn’t going to say no (though he did briefly consider it). This was his chance to be the father and husband his family deserved.

.:| O C C U P A T I O N |:.

A partner at the law firm of Henson & Wright.

.:| H O B B I E S |:.

{{ Playing with his children and wife. }} The reason he smiles.
{{ Boxing. }} Like a drug.
{{ Working. }} It’s a hobby when you love it as much as he does.
{{ Shooting. }} Boy likes the range. It’s that redneck blood in him.

.:| R E L A T I O N S H I P S |:.

Grace Morris – Wife – College sweetheart, married five years.
Elena Morris – Daughter – The princess of his life.
Brian Daniel Morris Jr. – The man to carry on the name.
Princess – Ely’s puppy.

Troy Markus Blake

.:| Troy | 26 | Married | Straight as an arrow. Straighter than that. | Male |:.

.:| A P P E A R A N C E |:. 

Troy’s library of clothing is almost all provided to him by various sponsors. Loads, and loads Tapout, Exiled, Hayabusa, and more clothing lines plague his closet, to his much better dressed wife’s chagrin. Troy owns one or two suits and tuxedos, which he dons only when the time arises. Truthfully, he’s quite alright looking like a highschool jackass.

He still owns and consistently wears his trusted leather jacket from years before, given to him by the man who taught him most everything he knows. Worn and used by this time, Troy hopes to get another few years out of it before he does something with it. Probably, framing it and hanging it above his mantle.

.:| P E R S O N A L I T Y |:.

In some ways, he’s grown up since his high school years. A lot.

In other ways, he’s more childish than ever.

He’s not as angry, as short tempered, or as depressed. He’s more controlled and less likely to end up in a street fight, instead he laughs and smiles a lot now. In fact, Troy is more of a kid now, than he ever was. He spends a lot of time goofing off with his daughter, and a minimal amount of being serious. He’s an adult by age, nothing else. He still hates drama, and doesn’t understand why it seems to follow him like some kind of rain cloud that won’t fuck off.

He’s kind of awkward with all the money he has now, and he doesn’t know if he should spend it or if he should save it or what. It confuses him, he didn’t grow up this rich. He sends his parents on vacations commonly and encourages them to retire--they earned it. The rest of the money though, he kinda just… looks at. Audrey spends it. Cecilia spends it. Troy doesn’t know what to do with it. You know, like when you’re taking a picture, and you don’t know what to do with your hands? Just like that. Only with money.

.:| H I S T O R Y |:.

What happens when you knock up a one night stand in your senior year of highschool?

Terrible, terrible exhausting, emotional things. Troy hated shit like that. Honestly, he hated the entire situation, and at the beginning he hated Audrey too. With time, though, he warmed up to her, even fell in love. When Cecilia was born, he was nervous. Wasn’t sure how she’d take to him, how he’d take to her. Honestly? Not well, at first. She was a baby. She didn’t do much, and Troy did a lot. He was trying to graduate high school. She was being a baby, literally. Not a good combo.

Troy’s parents helped the fledgling family out, babysitting while they went to school and (in the case of his dad), teaching him how to be a good dad, leading to Troy getting more and more respectful of his father. After high school, Troy kept working, kept training. He monetized his ability to fight, first in amateur tournaments, almost backlot brawls. Still, his success was undeniable and with time he made a splash. A big enough splash that soon after his second tournament win(an actually fairly large Vegas shindig), he was signed to UFC.

At that point, he considered himself in a position where he could provide for him small family, and he proposed to Audrey after her college graduation. Then aged 22, with a four year old daughter, Troy was doing alright for himself. Life wasn’t special, but it wasn’t terrible either. A woman that loved him and a daughter that loved him even more. He was happy, if nothing else, and in some ways that was all that would matter.

Course, his head hurt a lot. That was mostly a result of the clubbing he took in his matches. But hey, he still did pretty good, only dropping 2 fights on an otherwise meteoric rise to the top. He was popular, and could have taken to living on nothing more than his sponsorship dividends, but Troy found something that motivated him to keep going: pride.

Regardless of how many times he gets clocked in the head, he happily negotiates the next fight he’ll be in, the next show he’ll headline. The money is alright, but Troy does it for the glory. He probably won’t stop until they have to drag his bloodied corpse out of the ring. Then he’ll consider retirement. But, until then, he lives happily ever after with his wife and two children.

It’s easier than he thought it would be.

.:| O C C U P A T I O N |:.

Being a beast.

What that doesn’t count? Okay, fine. He’s a contracted UFC fighter, currently the Light Heavyweight Champion of the World. Rather popular dude, fan favorite for sure. Has a Jimmy John’s sponsorship. Abuses it for free sandwiches. Record of 23-2. (16-2 UFC). Ranked pretty high, top 3 in the world.

.:| H O B B I E S |:. 

{{ Hanging out with Cecilia. }} He’s partial to spending with his daughter, usually they do… whatever together. Mostly, whatever she feels like. Sometimes what he feels like. Princess tea parties are more common than you would think. Yeah, Troy will wear a dress for his baby girl’s amusement. Say something about it. Dare ya.
{{ Accidentally pissing off Audrey. }} Happy wife = happy life. Unfortunately, Troy just… has a way about him.
{{ Floating in Sparkling Springs. }} What? That sumbitch is there for a reason. That reason happens to be lounging with music and sunglasses.
{{ Training }} Does this count as a hobby? It should. He loves to punch the bag, or spar with his training partners.

.:| R E L A T I O N S H I P S |:. 

This is the section where you can list your characters children, spouses, and possibly their affairs. If you have a planned relationship with another roleplayer's character, please link the CS in the 'character's name' spot. Use a list in this section in the following format:

Audrey Blake – Wifey – Happy wife, happy life. Troy loves her a lot and does everything he can to be a good father and husband, but it ain’t always that easy.
Cecilia Blake – Daughter – Probably literally his best friend.
Owen Markus Blake – Wee baby boy – It’s harder than Troy wants to admit for him to connect with Owen, doesn’t help that he’s almost always attached to Audrey.
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