Haven't any of you ever BEEN in a Denny's? It's old crabby bastards as far as the eye can see. As such:
Eric "Quiet" Steppe
Official Education: 9 years in the armed forces, Special Ops, circa 1970s. Bachelor Degrees in Psychology, Philosophy and English, from the University of Colorado (Amazing what the military will pay for). Lessons that only having an ex-wife can bestow on a man.
Background: A local to the city, he's lived there since his divorce several years ago, back down in Texas. Supposedly a fresh start in a new city, it's mostly turned into another place to reflect on the past. Self-employed as a writer of various minor books, he's kept mostly to himself since his arrival. Occasionally he'll break out of his shell and hang out at the local bars, swapping war stories and showing off scars from this war or that with the other veterans he happens to run across. At present, he's waiting on a call from his editor about a new novel he's recently written, as to whether it will finally lever him out of mediocrity, or be rejected once again.
Description: A tall, lean fellow, about one-seventy, with a grin typically plastered on his face. Short black hair, just beginning to sprinkle itself with grey. The wrinkles around his eyes don't take away from the amused twinkle within them.
He's an outgoing sort of man, always willing to make a sly comment whether it's his conversation or not. Whether the comment is appreciated or not, he tends to grow on people after awhile. His humor is amusing with a dash of cynicism thrown in, but that's likely just from his outlook on life. He's seen alot in his day, and it's more than enough to flavor his perceptions on people, life, and so forth.
He's managed to keep a fair bit of his physique from the old days when he dodged incoming fire for a living, and is decent shape for his age. Given the option, he'd really rather joke a fight away, then start swinging. He's quicker than he looks, for an 'old guy', however. He didn't get those vaunted scars from body-boarding, after all.
He typically strolls around in casual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, and a light, dark blue jacket to keep off a bit of the chill. He refuses to wear 'old man shoes' as yet, and sticks to comfortable sneakers. A mild ache in his right leg (when the barometer drops like a stone) makes the cane he carries around with him necessary once in awhile, though he carries it as often as he leans on it, it seems. Still under the impression he's not getting old, apparantly, that one.
Possessions: An old school veteran gone soft, he hasn't forgotten quite everything they taught him. He carries around a pocketknife, his father's, which carries the common trait of every old knife: It never, ever seems to get dull. Along with that, his cane is hardly a wooden dowl. The pommel is a crafted, ornate image of the Eye of Horus in polished bronze.
His wallet contains a few twenties, and always a few ones for tips. Like most older folks, he's collected more keys than he really knows what to do with, and they make a noteworthy weight in his jacket pocket.
The other pocket holds his cloves, a bad habit he never really shook, but he's still as healthy as most. He was smoking them before they were cool, practically. A steel-plated zippo practically as old as he is accompanies the cigarettes, along with his reading glasses case. Don't worry, folks, he can see just fine. Clipped to his belt, leading into his jeans pocket, an antique pocketwatch, with a pouncing raven carved on the facing in silver. A small picture of his ex-wife is clipped inside the watch, which stopped running ages ago.
He owns a small apartment on the west end of town, and has a few thousand in his bank account, the rest tied up in stocks per the advice of his editor. Never know when you'll strike it big on the market.Posted Mon Dec 05, 2005 1:39 am:
Yeah, I've been reading the previous thread. All I can say is it's summed up here:
Making his way towards the food court, Peter looks down at his shotgun, checking to make sure that it is loaded, and pops another 4 rounds in. As he cocks it, he hears a large crash from in front of him, if he were to look back over his shoulder he would find out that he is all alone.
Peter looks back over his shoulder, and finds out that he is all alone.