G A I L S A N T I A G O
◄ 38 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'0 ►
◄ 38 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'0 ►
P R E S E N C E
Unpredictable. It was a descriptor that Gail didn't feel suited him, as he prided himself on making informed, well-thought-out decisions. He wasn't quite that rash nor impulsive, and while he considered himself an opportunist he was by no means disloyal or insubordinate to his superiors either. And yet the label was often used by other people when describing him; as for someone who came off as casual and easygoing, he was capable of sudden outbursts of violence and hatred that wasn't quite understood by others. It would never seem truly random, yet at the same time it would seem unclear, as if he abided by a set of rules and triggers that made sense only to himself.
But to Gail, he never saw himself that way. No, he was just pragmatic, efficient, even, as during his mandatory time in the military he showed absolutely no hesitance in causing destruction and death, which was greatly appreciated by the Union. They wanted victory at any cost, and he gave it to them whenever possible. Not to say he did it all for them, his motivations were much simpler than that. All he wanted was chaos, and he didn't care how he caused it or who it helped. He never actually cared about the good of the Union, nor did he care about ending their reign. None of it mattered to him; as long as someone gave him the opportunity to unleash chaos, he was content.
Once out on inactive duty, he found himself attracted to "oddjobs" that satisfied his wants. As an Aeon his skill set was a rare and coveted one, but what made him unique even beyond that was that he was an incredibly imposing physical force thanks to his Aesir granting him strength beyond what was considered typical for Aeons. And seeing as Aeons were known to already be incredibly strong, it made him a perfect candidate as hired muscle for whoever needed someone like him. Even when he took on jobs that essentially just made him somebody's henchman, he was more than fine with it as long as he got to cause some damage.
C H R O N I C L E
"You were born before the Unions took over, right?" A young man asks as he takes a seat at an unoccupied bar stool. By the looks of him, one could guess he was fresh from the military. In it long enough to have seen warfare, but still so young.
"Yeah. I was just a kid back then." An older man replies. Though no longer in active service at the moment himself, he still perused bars in Oakridge that were popular spots for off-duty soldiers. He'd come alone, but he supposed he had company now, a face that was slowly becoming familiar as they'd now run into each other a couple times now.
"What was it like?" It was a question all the kids asked, and even some adults who were too young to remember anything from back then. With information about the past becoming more and more suppressed as the years went by, it was no surprise that so few people remembered anymore.
"I don't remember much," the older man replies as a small wistful smile formed on his lips, "But it wasn't much different than how it is now. The politics, power struggles, endless wars, fragile economies, and big brother governments were all still there. It was just a lot more blatantly obvious back then, all on full display for everyone to see. That, and we were a lot more free, for better or worse. It was wild, honestly."
"Weird thing to feel nostalgia over," the young man commented with a grimace, earning a raised brow from the man beside him. "I mean, I can see it on your face." He paused. "Was it really just the same shit back then?"
"Nah, I'm fucking with you," the older man chuckled as he sipped from his drink.
"Figured." The disappointment in the young man's voice was obvious, but he wasn't expecting much anyway.
"If I actually told you what it was like," the older man continued, "We'd be taken care of quick. Squeaked so clean no one would know we even existed. Like hell I'd admit something like that out loud."
"Last time we met, you told me you killed someone. Flat out murdered a guy."
"Your point? What's it got to do with anything?"
"My point is that you obviously don't care about the consequences. I barely even know you and you've told me some of the craziest shit I've heard in my life. You say it all like it means nothing to you. So why censor yourself about the past?"
They were both quiet for a moment. One waiting, the other reflecting.
"Maybe I don't want to get you in trouble." With a laugh, he ruffles the younger man's hair like as if he were a young kid and stands up. "I'm not looking to be responsible for some kid's death. Stop asking questions that'll get you killed." He turned to leave after that, having already paid his tab earlier and not wanting to stick around any longer.
"...I don't get you, you know that?" The young man called out to the retreating figure.
"I know." He didn't get himself either. He never had, not even when he was a kid.
M E M O R I E S
Jackson Santiago: Gail's father. He wished he could remember more of him, but both of his parents retreated to neutral zones after he'd been drafted into the military. He never got back in contact with his dad, but thanks to an information broker knows that both of his parents are at least still alive.
Chell Rillia-Santiago: Gail's mother. He met his mom by chance once while deployed. She begged him to go AWOL and come to live in the neutral zone with her and his dad, but he rejected her. He regrets the decision now later in life, but knew he couldn't leave without endangering his parents. Besides, he'd never felt more alive than when he'd been a soldier anyway.
Trevor Grant: The closest person Gail has to an acquaintance. They've met at bars and chatted a few times and the guy isn't dead yet, so it's something. He wouldn't consider the guy a friend, but then again, he doesn't particularly have any to begin with.
Underground Network: Gail's contacts for jobs. He doesn't personally know any of them, but they give him work and keep him up to date if there's anything he wants to know.
A E S I R
Bahamut had always been with Gail, even if he wasn't always conscious of the fact. It was a voice without words, something only he could understand and even know existed. It whispered sweet nothings in his ear of chaos and destruction, of the apocalypse and of nothing at all. It had no real control over him and yet he felt its pull on his mind. It was the single biggest influence in his life and yet he couldn't even truly comprehend it. It consisted of nothing but contradictions that he accepted as myriad truths.
It made him feel absolutely bat shit insane.
And yet, he couldn't deny how tantalizing its power was. It made him strong, and made him feel good for using its strength. It never forced him to do anything, and he indeed felt satisfaction in causing chaos of what he thought was his own accord. Bahamut couldn't be an evil entity, that would just be too simple. Would the apocalypse truly cause the end of the world anyway? And considering the state of things, would it really be that bad of a thing? It wasn't on his to-do list by any means, and he didn't care enough to be the harbinger of the end times anyway, but if the world burned away...as long as Bahamut willed it, he was fine.
T E C H N I Q U E S