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Character Name: Pecan
Character Source: OC from Mesa Roja
Character Behavior - Sciopathic Wildcard
Sociopath - Life is meant to be expended in Pecan's eyes. Pecan is incapable of forming bonds with people, and feels no remorse when they die. He can appear friendly and warm, but has no qualms about shooting someone in the back just to watch them die. He isn't usually sadistic, and finds physical torture to be more effort than what its worth. That said, he will sometimes engage in a bit of psychologically agony if he happens to find it funny - like killing someone's family in front of them. Any allies he makes are made for the sake of convenience, and will often betray people just to keep things interesting. This disregard for life extends to his own personal wellbeing, while he'd prefer not to die he isn't too worried about it happening.
Wildcard - Pecan's fighting style is an eclectic mix of skillful maneuvers and haphazard explosions. Most of his attacks care little for friend or foe and are simply designed to cause maximum carnage.
Physical Description:
Character History:
Who is Pecan? Don’t you think that’s kind of a rude question? Just asking a fella who he is? I suppose you wanna know all about my childhood and what defining moments led me to where I am today, right? Really you just wanna know why I killed all those people. Well, friend-o, since you asked so nicely.
There wasn’t one “defining moment” that made me into who I am today. That said, we can start on Mesa Roja. My parents owned a moisture farm all the way out in the middle of nowhere. We came from a long line of those “salt-of-the-earth” types. We’d wake up early, work hard, say grace, eat dinner, and do it all over again the next day. Day in and day out the same routine, broken only by our trips to a trading hub. I was, what, sixteen, when a band of raiders came along. Yeah paw had a shotgun and all, but trying stopping a drug-fueled mob of psychopaths with a single shot boomstick. Paw was the first one to go, they ripped him apart like a pack of wolves. Then mom. Then sis. Hell, they even ate our fucking dog. I only got away cause I hid in the floorboards, pissed myself and everything. The rest was history.
Course not a scrap of that is true. No, the truth is much simpler. One day a few years ago I sat down to eat at one of those foreign carry-out places. The kind of place that gives you a fortune cookie at the end of your meal? Know what that cookie said? “100 years good luck if you commit mass murder.” Yeah, you’re right, that’s ridiculous.
I mean what do you want me to say? Why did Picasso paint? Because he was good at it. Why did Pele’ play football? Because he was good at it. Why does Pecan kill people? Because, brother, I’m fuckin’ good at it.
Character Source: OC from Mesa Roja
Character Behavior - Sciopathic Wildcard
Sociopath - Life is meant to be expended in Pecan's eyes. Pecan is incapable of forming bonds with people, and feels no remorse when they die. He can appear friendly and warm, but has no qualms about shooting someone in the back just to watch them die. He isn't usually sadistic, and finds physical torture to be more effort than what its worth. That said, he will sometimes engage in a bit of psychologically agony if he happens to find it funny - like killing someone's family in front of them. Any allies he makes are made for the sake of convenience, and will often betray people just to keep things interesting. This disregard for life extends to his own personal wellbeing, while he'd prefer not to die he isn't too worried about it happening.
Wildcard - Pecan's fighting style is an eclectic mix of skillful maneuvers and haphazard explosions. Most of his attacks care little for friend or foe and are simply designed to cause maximum carnage.
Physical Description:
Character History:
Who is Pecan? Don’t you think that’s kind of a rude question? Just asking a fella who he is? I suppose you wanna know all about my childhood and what defining moments led me to where I am today, right? Really you just wanna know why I killed all those people. Well, friend-o, since you asked so nicely.
There wasn’t one “defining moment” that made me into who I am today. That said, we can start on Mesa Roja. My parents owned a moisture farm all the way out in the middle of nowhere. We came from a long line of those “salt-of-the-earth” types. We’d wake up early, work hard, say grace, eat dinner, and do it all over again the next day. Day in and day out the same routine, broken only by our trips to a trading hub. I was, what, sixteen, when a band of raiders came along. Yeah paw had a shotgun and all, but trying stopping a drug-fueled mob of psychopaths with a single shot boomstick. Paw was the first one to go, they ripped him apart like a pack of wolves. Then mom. Then sis. Hell, they even ate our fucking dog. I only got away cause I hid in the floorboards, pissed myself and everything. The rest was history.
Course not a scrap of that is true. No, the truth is much simpler. One day a few years ago I sat down to eat at one of those foreign carry-out places. The kind of place that gives you a fortune cookie at the end of your meal? Know what that cookie said? “100 years good luck if you commit mass murder.” Yeah, you’re right, that’s ridiculous.
I mean what do you want me to say? Why did Picasso paint? Because he was good at it. Why did Pele’ play football? Because he was good at it. Why does Pecan kill people? Because, brother, I’m fuckin’ good at it.
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