Metronome — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Isam Hajjar
Age: 31
Height; Weight: 5'6", 136 ibs
Rank: Retired

Superpower: Is badassery a super power?

Falling Point: Suffers from PTSD

Physical Description: Isam is 5'6" and muscular. His hair is black, curly, and shoulder length. It's often unbrushed and unruly, sometimes worn back in a ponytail. Being the manly man that he is, Isam shows off his black, fuzzy chest hair with pride. He often sports facial hair that changes depending on if he feels like shaving that morning. It grows back fairly quick. His skin is a medium brown, and his eye are dark brown. Isam's body bares extensive scarring, most of it from his years in the war. His fashion choices are hardly that; Isam is a utilitarian by nature. He wears army pants, earth tone t-shirts and tank tops, and combat boots almost every day of his life.

Interests: Sleeping, Omar, sleeping with Omar.

Other: Occasionally drowns his sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol. Did time in a French prison for being an asshole.

Other Other: Isam doesn't like crowds or being around people he doesn't know. So going to the supermarket with him is absolute hell. Even in his own home, he gets bitchy when there are people over and they're walking around and won't sit the fuck down and holy shit why are you even here.

He'll occasionally go hide in the bedroom whenever Omar invites people over.

History: He was born and raised in Iraq. When Isam was young, a group of armed men came storming into his small village and opened fire on the civilians. The only reason for this violence was the village's refusal to harbor their men. They did it to prove a point: they were dangerous, and willing to flatten anyone who got in their way. That message stuck with Isam throughout his boyhood, until he was old enough to do something about it.

With his family slaughtered and home in ruins, Isam had little to lose. As a child, he spent most of his time teaching himself to fight, so that some day, he could avenge his people. He joined a small group of terrorist busters: those stupid or suicidal enough to oppose the international war mongering regime: Manticore. Manticore, based out of the Persian Empire, had arms all around the world. Isam's little band of rebels was hopelessly outgunned.

That didn't stop him from trying. What did stop him was his eventual capture by the group. Isam and a few other of his colleagues were caught trying to destroy a Manticore base. His comrades were quickly murdered, but Isam, who was the youngest and scene as the most vulnerable, was kept on hand so that they could gather information from him. He was held captive and tortured for a few months before his group finally found and freed him. By then, Isam was pretty fucked up. He suffered symptoms of PTSD, and was too traumatized to continue fighting the good fight. With his entire country turning into a war zone, Isam fled to find refuge in France.

In France, Isam found that it was hard to give up fighting. Violence was something that was deep rooted into his system, something he'd lived with his whole life. His anxiety and paranoia made him turn to alcohol and bar fights as an outlet. Some people cope with traumatic events by joining a therapy group; Isam got drunk and beat the shit out of people. During this time, he frequented a nice, international restaurant. He went there to get real Arabic coffee, as black as tar, to counter his hangovers. This is where he met Omar.

He may never admit it, but half of the reason Isam dropped six bucks on a cup of coffee was because Omar was the one making it for him. He would sit as his regular table and talk with the chef until Omar had to go back to work. Omar was different then most; he didn't scowl when Isam came in sporting a black eye and a busted lip. He had a kind and caring nature that made Isam want to be a better person, just so he wouldn't disappoint him. Omar was actually the one who came to Isam with a brochure for the apartments, insisting that Isam get help and break his bad habits.

Name: Omar Bada
Age: 32
Height/weight: 5'8", 159 ibs
Gender: Male

Superpower: Unlimited patience, sweetness, amazing cooking skills, perfect in every way

Falling point: There is none. He is the perfect man.

Rank: Civilian

Appearance: Omar is 5'8" and a little bit pudgy. He has medium brown skin, short, wavy black hair, and a neatly trimmed sideburns/beard/mustache deal. He can often be found with a smile on his face and a happy glimmer in his eye. He likes to wear comfortable clothing: jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, ect.

Interests: Cooking is his life.

Other: He loves having people over for meals. It's pretty much a given that any and everyone is invited over for whatever meal they want to show up for. Just as long as Omar is home and they aren't alone with Isam, who might kill them out of some misunderstanding. Omar's working on that.

History:

Omar was born in Herat, Afghanistan. When he was 15, him and his parents moved to France to get away from the constant war and terror that plagued their country. He liked France; it was a nice change of scenery. He began to pursue his interests in becoming a chef. He started at the bottom and worked his way up, working with some of the toughest chefs the small country had to offer. He moved to Paris once to work in a big, fancy restaurant, but found that the city was too busy and loud for him.

After he moved to a smaller and quieter town, he met Isam. When he'd first laid eyes on the man, he was sitting alone at his table with a black eye and a busted lip, nursing a large mug of black coffee. He had clearly been suffering from what appeared to be a terrible hangover. Omar felt a stab of pity and made him breakfast on the house. After that, Isam became a regular. He would stop by often just to talk and order coffee as an excuse. Omar suspected that Isam was just lonely, but there was something charming about the way the man lit up whenever they spoke. Omar hadn't realized that he'd developed feelings for the man until Isam stopped coming for a while.

Omar found himself worrying that the man might have gotten himself killed or something equally stupid. When Isam returned, Omar found out that he had spent a few weeks in prison for causing a scene at a bar. That had been the final straw. Omar sat down and had a heart to heart with Isam, basically telling him to get his shit together, because his life was worth a lot more than getting drunk and getting into fights. It was during that conversation that they finally confronted the feelings that had developed between them.

Omar also introduced the idea of the apartments to Isam. It was a very unique program, to only one it the world, and Omar thought that Isam might benefit from it. He was willing to move to America with him if it meant Isam finally breaking his cycle of misery and self-punishment. Once they got there, Omar secured a job at a fancy restaurant downtown, and Isam began to slowly ween himself off the alcohol. He still breaks into his stash every once and a while, but Omar is willing to look past it as long as Isam behaves himself.

Isam seemed to be in a daze when the man came back out. He blankly stared off across the river, even as the man sat down next to him and began to bandage his wound. The blood had seeped down his neck and was soaking onto his left shoulder, staining his shirt. He'd have to wash that later. Isam didn't even flinch when the man applied the alcohol pads to his wound. He only seemed to snap back to reality when Ulysses introduced himself. Strange name; Isam was sure he'd heard it before. His head lolled to the side to look at the man, his eyelids drooping.
"Isam," He said, leaning over to shake the man's hand with his clean, right hand.

Isam then grabbed onto the boat's railing and began to slowly pull himself up. His wobbled, then grabbed onto Ulysses's shoulder for support. "Can you help me get to my bed?" He asked. It seemed to be the least the man could do, since this whole thing was entirely his fault. Or at least that was how Isam saw it. He depended heavily on the man's help as he stumbled over to the hatch, and getting him down the ladder was no easy feat. Once inside, Isam could use the narrow hallway to hold himself up. He got to his little nest in the back and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached into a cardboard box that sat nearby and pulled out a clean shirt to change into.

Isam pulled his bloody, long-sleeved t-shirt off over his head and tossed it aside, not too concerned with neatness. His skin underneath his clothing was nothing short of horrific: dark red bruises that refused to heal littered his body. His arms were covered in ugly red dots, like some kind of bizarre rash, and the old scars left over from years of war didn't do anything for him. Isam pulled the clean shirt on quickly, not wanting to see his own body. The worse it got, the more hope he lost.

Isam pushed his boots off his feet one at a time, then drew his legs up onto his bed. He laid down on his side, not caring if he made himself vulnerable to his new company or not. What did it matter if the man killed him? He was dying anyway. All Isam was concerned with was sleep; he really wanted to sleep. He just wanted to laid there and sleep for a very long time.

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