(im still navigating this rp platform, so i'm sorry for whatever i might be messing up. plus, i'm still developing my oc, so... this might be a bumpy ride 
)
OC: https://www.storytellerscircle.com/threads/z-oc.8284/
For a background check on this pretty normal looking guy, he doesn't have much of a background to check. He seems, on the outside, very ordinary. He works two part-time jobs during the day and is seen every evening by his neighbors going home to a small cat and seemingly calling it a night. But, of course, that's just not the case. Sure, there's the jobs and definitely the cat, but at night he's not just lounging in his apartment. No sir and ma'am, his nights are filled with dealing and hackling with demanding clients, but not the normal kind of clients like the ones you'd expect from a paper company. But in fact, the kinds of clients that hire people to off those they don't like or some sh*t like that.
Z was one of those 'people' who are hired for such jobs. I know, I know... how could such a soft and average guy be working those kinds of shifts at night? maybe it would've been better if i lied and said he worked in a bar or club or something rather than truthfully telling you that he murders other human beings for a living.
Anyhow, tonight is where your and Z's paths collide. Tonight, on the crappy sidewalks that definitely need a petition or something to get fixed and under the dying, yellow street lights, lil' ol' Z came stumbling out. He came from one of those aesthetically pleasing yet dangerous alley ways. one of those dank, dark, and creepy alley ways; the ones you fear being murdered in. Those kind.
He stumbled over his own feet, at first looking drunk, but the splatters of a red liquid on his once perfectly nice t-shirt painted another picture, literally. He held one hand over his left shoulder, uncomfortably close to his heart. Said red liquid seeped through his sweatshirt and trickled through his fingers, down his knuckles, and all the way down his arm where gravity took it before dripping onto the pavement below. it splashed into the puddles that were left from a rain storm earlier in the day and mixed around. there was blood in the water now.
He blinked rapidly, looking like he was trying to blink away the haziness out of his vision, but no use. he tripped, one foot over the other, and barely catching himself by leaning and clinging onto the street light pole. what a predicament.
Why were you out so late at night? or should i say early in the morning? In any case, what are you going to do now? must be a stressful decision... or maybe not. Depends, doesn't it?
)OC: https://www.storytellerscircle.com/threads/z-oc.8284/
For a background check on this pretty normal looking guy, he doesn't have much of a background to check. He seems, on the outside, very ordinary. He works two part-time jobs during the day and is seen every evening by his neighbors going home to a small cat and seemingly calling it a night. But, of course, that's just not the case. Sure, there's the jobs and definitely the cat, but at night he's not just lounging in his apartment. No sir and ma'am, his nights are filled with dealing and hackling with demanding clients, but not the normal kind of clients like the ones you'd expect from a paper company. But in fact, the kinds of clients that hire people to off those they don't like or some sh*t like that.
Z was one of those 'people' who are hired for such jobs. I know, I know... how could such a soft and average guy be working those kinds of shifts at night? maybe it would've been better if i lied and said he worked in a bar or club or something rather than truthfully telling you that he murders other human beings for a living.
Anyhow, tonight is where your and Z's paths collide. Tonight, on the crappy sidewalks that definitely need a petition or something to get fixed and under the dying, yellow street lights, lil' ol' Z came stumbling out. He came from one of those aesthetically pleasing yet dangerous alley ways. one of those dank, dark, and creepy alley ways; the ones you fear being murdered in. Those kind.
He stumbled over his own feet, at first looking drunk, but the splatters of a red liquid on his once perfectly nice t-shirt painted another picture, literally. He held one hand over his left shoulder, uncomfortably close to his heart. Said red liquid seeped through his sweatshirt and trickled through his fingers, down his knuckles, and all the way down his arm where gravity took it before dripping onto the pavement below. it splashed into the puddles that were left from a rain storm earlier in the day and mixed around. there was blood in the water now.
He blinked rapidly, looking like he was trying to blink away the haziness out of his vision, but no use. he tripped, one foot over the other, and barely catching himself by leaning and clinging onto the street light pole. what a predicament.
Why were you out so late at night? or should i say early in the morning? In any case, what are you going to do now? must be a stressful decision... or maybe not. Depends, doesn't it?
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