Post by Derek Grant on Mar 1, 2009 23:35:10 GMT 1
ooc: I should probably say that i used to be Sedrix West, but it was quite a while ago. I hope it's okay if i start anew. If not, i still enjoyed doing the bio xD
[glow=green,2,300]Name[/glow]: Derek Grant
[glow=green,2,300]Nationality[/glow]: U.S.A
[glow=green,2,300]Ethnicity[/glow]: American
[glow=green,2,300]Attended School[/glow]: Hircine
[glow=green,2,300]Age[/glow]: 18
[glow=green,2,300]Weight[/glow]: 175lbs
[glow=green,2,300]Height[/glow]: 6'1"
[glow=green,2,300]Appearance[/glow]:
[glow=green,2,300]Body[/glow]: Derek appears skinny, and unhealthy, but he is quite muscular and strong. He is definitely not what you would call 'buff' but at least toned. His skin is pale, but thick, and battle hardened. His skin also bears many scars and burn marks. There is a thick circular scar in between his pecs from a cigar burn, a scar down the back of his right shoulder from a past gang war, and a surgical scar down the left side of his abdomen from a knife wound.
Derek's left ear has eight piercings.
[glow=green,2,300]Cosmetic[/glow]: Derek likes to remain fashionable in his clothing. They are all from expensive brands, many items are custom made. He wears thick, dark coloured clothing, and lace-less boots. He favours the combo of black jacket, dark coloured T-shirt, and black denim jeans, but also likes three piece suits, without a tie. The only clothing he refuses to wear is 'hoodies', which he calls the 'uniform of peons'. As for accessories, he wears simple silver rings through his ear piercings, as well as silver pendants, and sunglasses most of the time.
Derek also lets his nails grow slightly longer than norm. Not extremely, or grossly, but subtlety. He finds them useful.
[glow=green,2,300]Eye color[/glow]: Light green
[glow=green,2,300]Hair[/glow]: Thick short hair. It is naturally straight and blonde, and he styles it backwards in spikes.
[glow=green,2,300]Habits[/glow]: Derek smokes a variety of substances.
[glow=green,2,300]Other Information[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]Personality[/glow]: Suave, and smooth. He is confident and well spoken, even upon first meeting, he finds it easy to speak to people, and to make friends or enemies. He can manipulate people through his smooth composure, and knowledge of verbal and non-verbal communication.
However, to the more observant, Derek can also appear untrustworthy. He is arrogant and self righteous, and almost never admits to being wrong. He is undisciplined, and finds it hard to take orders. Derek considers himself a 'true anarchist'. He loathes conformity, and actively rejects authority.
Hobbies: Derek likes to work his mind. He enjoys games of strategy and skill, particularly chess, and poker. He also enjoys completing crosswords, and sudoku. He also trains frequently, his body and his fighting style.
[glow=green,2,300]Extracurricular[/glow]: None
[glow=green,2,300]Important Details[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]History[/glow]:
"You want a story? I got a story. This is a very weird fuckin' situation. I was fifteen at the time, making it just over three years ago. Our gang was the talk of down town Detroit, our actions were famous to all. We were heroes of anarchists, and fears of conformists. Anyway, new gangs sprouted like wild-flower, and it was getting hard to stay on track. I had more gang wars than i had meals for a few months, it was ridiculous.
Now listen, i was known as a mystic. Really i favoured and worked for one gang, but everyone considered me an ally. Before i moved here, i figured i would go out with a bang, one more ingenious prank, a plot. It took me a long time to figure out how many gangs there were, and which ones were rivals, but i managed it. If i wasn't gonna be the head of my gang, as far as i was concerned, no one is. It was easy to pull off too. Each gang has the 'noob', the guy who just joined, who doesn't know how things work. Naive, but useful, they are all looking to prove themselves.
So, here, i told this member of a gang that i just left their rival gang, and that i knew where they were gonna be, and i told them how they can take them out, all of them. I lead them all to the same location, a club."
"Why a club?"
"Easy, it was new in town, like dogs, gangs like to mark new territory. In this club, there was a handful of members from each vital gang in the city, all arriving at the same time through different entrances. I had already nabbed a decent spectator spot on the skylight. The pressure was intense."
"Didn't they all just tear each other apart?"
"They hesitated, don't ask me why. So, a ring has been created, hell is about to creak lose. The door opens again, and guess who it is. Lieutenant Rafferty, a brown nose cop from the local presinct. He strolls through the parting in the crowd, oblivious. Everyone froze."
"Now that's an awkward situation man."
"Your telling me!? I faced them with their enemies, their pissed and want a fight, they can't because of the cop sitting right at the table. You could see it in their eyes, they moved over the flip knives in their pockets. I go to mine, and bring out a new year party popper. I stuck my wands through the hole in the skylight."
"There was a hole in the skylight?"
"Urban Detroit man, besides, i made it. I pulled it, it went Bang, echoes through the crowds of gang members, someone thinks a shot has been fired. All fucking hell. Breaks. Loose. That ain't the half of it either."
A silence drifted across the table. Derek adjusted his shades, and took another drag of his smoke.
Derek was raised in down town Detroit. He left home at eleven years old to join a gang. Since he could remember, he wanted to be a gang leader. He craved respect and wanted to inflict fear with a glance. He hated his conformist ass hole parents. They went to their dead end jobs day in day out, made peanuts, just enough to live, and then come home and mope, complain to each other. He thought they were complete losers. If he stayed there, there was no future for him.
He was employed by a guy on his street called Lucious. Obviously at eleven he was expecting guns, and warfare. He was disappointed. He definitely had the heart and mind of a fighter, but not the body, not yet. He was used as a carrier. No cop would ever question a skinny green eyed, blonde haired kid, and he could just scream his way out of a frisk. So, he was an asset, and a vitality to his ever growing gang. They worked their way up the ladder, more drugs, more money. More money, more guns. More guns, more wins.
Lucious was like the Father he never had. He was only fourteen years older than him too. He was inspiring, and loving. He was enthusiastic and gratifying. Derek felt more at home here than anywhere else.
By the time he was fifteen, his hair had grown, his muscles had developed, his face had changed, and he had smoked for three years. Either way, he wasn't seeming as innocent as he was. He was frisked and arrested a few times. If he fought at this point, he would just be judged as a no good teenager. Things got a little harder. You don't trip over innocent-looking eleven year olds wanting to join a gang. Derek was unique in that sense, but it couldn't last forever.
Derek began to feel less useful. Originally the fate of the gang rested on him...in a sense. Now, he was too old to do that, and too young to do much else. He began working harder to prove himself, despite the fact his reputation hadn't changed. He began taking risks, and spying on rival gangs, he was still small in stature. He also learnt to drive, and would follow gang members to their connections. He was a glorified snitch, to put it simply.
He started to hate it. He saw the links between him and his loser Father. He just turned up at the hangouts day in day out, not really accomplishing anything, and complaining about his boredom. Subtle differences aside. He was appreciated for his efforts as a snitch, but his age meant any gratifying comments came off as patronising. Their gang was still moving up in the world, and a few rivals had been shut down thanks to his information.
Of course, Derek has been too arrogant. There was a power struggle situation. Leading gangs became intimidated, and paniced. Gang wars were at an all time high. Derek was sixteen before he held a gun. A rival gang attacked their original HQ, an abandoned warehouse in Urban Detroit. Derek was sat, taskless, nursing a cigarette.
All there was to protect them was a few millimetres of congregated iron. A pick up truck pulled up outside, with six enemies, armed with semi automatic weapons. There was a barage of rapid fire against the walls of the warehouse, the sound of iron thunder echoed through, and deafened the inhabitants. Derek took cover behind the car he was sat on, covering his ears fearfully. He saw his allies fall beside him, fighting for their lives. What a waste...good men.
He crawled slowly to the end of the car, and reached out. Recoiling at the sound of bullets. He was close. A nine millimetre was inches away from his outstreched fingers. He grasped it, hesitating only for a second before throwing out his hand and fireing into the blurred abyss. He retracted, his heart beating faster than ever before. He checked the clip. He loaded pistols as a job when he was younger. He had a few shots left. Most people around him were killed or wounded, including most of the rivals. There was only four of them though, and tens of allies. He heard the door open, and saw the tunnel of light behind his hiding place. He cocked his gun. He saw the two boots walked slowly behind, cautiously. Derek picked himself up, but he hesitated. He breathed deeply three times, and tried again, coming to a full standing position, aiming his pistol at the rival, and pulled the trigger several times. His eyes were clenched, almost closed. He cleared his clip before he could open his eyes, to see him on the floor. Blood gushing from his chest and neck.
Derek smiled.
Lucious had been killed. Derek felt neutral.
What remained of his gang was practically shellshocked. They had no faith in starting up again. Derek stepped in. People argued, but he fought, and he won. He ran the gang militantly, and so began the rebirth of the gang. He devised plots for others to carry. They started earning money, enough to take over a rival gang. Their gang started to grow again. He was respected and feared by all involved.
[Hiricine]. It was a cover story. His final plot was genious. He certainly did go out with a bang. As sirens got louder and louder, he had already left, without a trace. He needed to lie low, where better than San Francisco? He had a decent amount of money from his gang activities, so he could chose almost anywhere, and the reputation of the school tempted his desire for anarchy. He was ready to take it on.
[glow=green,2,300]Fighting Style[/glow]: A combination of Kickboxing and Judo. He is an advanced street fighter.
[glow=green,2,300]Strengths[/glow]: Derek is quick, mentally and physically. His speciality is counters and throughs, manipulating power, weight and balance to his advantage. He also uses his elbows and knees effectively, rather than fists and feet. His light weight and average heights means he is manuverable, coupled with his quick reaction times gives him a solid defence.
[glow=green,2,300]Weaknesses[/glow]: Derek has never been too physcially strong. The jobs he had in his gang never required an optimum of physical strength, therefore he has not spent too much time on it. He also has a relatively weak stamina, which he combats by making his style primarily defensive.
[glow=green,2,300]Name[/glow]: Derek Grant
[glow=green,2,300]Nationality[/glow]: U.S.A
[glow=green,2,300]Ethnicity[/glow]: American
[glow=green,2,300]Attended School[/glow]: Hircine
[glow=green,2,300]Age[/glow]: 18
[glow=green,2,300]Weight[/glow]: 175lbs
[glow=green,2,300]Height[/glow]: 6'1"
[glow=green,2,300]Appearance[/glow]:
[glow=green,2,300]Body[/glow]: Derek appears skinny, and unhealthy, but he is quite muscular and strong. He is definitely not what you would call 'buff' but at least toned. His skin is pale, but thick, and battle hardened. His skin also bears many scars and burn marks. There is a thick circular scar in between his pecs from a cigar burn, a scar down the back of his right shoulder from a past gang war, and a surgical scar down the left side of his abdomen from a knife wound.
Derek's left ear has eight piercings.
[glow=green,2,300]Cosmetic[/glow]: Derek likes to remain fashionable in his clothing. They are all from expensive brands, many items are custom made. He wears thick, dark coloured clothing, and lace-less boots. He favours the combo of black jacket, dark coloured T-shirt, and black denim jeans, but also likes three piece suits, without a tie. The only clothing he refuses to wear is 'hoodies', which he calls the 'uniform of peons'. As for accessories, he wears simple silver rings through his ear piercings, as well as silver pendants, and sunglasses most of the time.
Derek also lets his nails grow slightly longer than norm. Not extremely, or grossly, but subtlety. He finds them useful.
[glow=green,2,300]Eye color[/glow]: Light green
[glow=green,2,300]Hair[/glow]: Thick short hair. It is naturally straight and blonde, and he styles it backwards in spikes.
[glow=green,2,300]Habits[/glow]: Derek smokes a variety of substances.
[glow=green,2,300]Other Information[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]Personality[/glow]: Suave, and smooth. He is confident and well spoken, even upon first meeting, he finds it easy to speak to people, and to make friends or enemies. He can manipulate people through his smooth composure, and knowledge of verbal and non-verbal communication.
However, to the more observant, Derek can also appear untrustworthy. He is arrogant and self righteous, and almost never admits to being wrong. He is undisciplined, and finds it hard to take orders. Derek considers himself a 'true anarchist'. He loathes conformity, and actively rejects authority.
Hobbies: Derek likes to work his mind. He enjoys games of strategy and skill, particularly chess, and poker. He also enjoys completing crosswords, and sudoku. He also trains frequently, his body and his fighting style.
[glow=green,2,300]Extracurricular[/glow]: None
[glow=green,2,300]Important Details[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]History[/glow]:
"You want a story? I got a story. This is a very weird fuckin' situation. I was fifteen at the time, making it just over three years ago. Our gang was the talk of down town Detroit, our actions were famous to all. We were heroes of anarchists, and fears of conformists. Anyway, new gangs sprouted like wild-flower, and it was getting hard to stay on track. I had more gang wars than i had meals for a few months, it was ridiculous.
Now listen, i was known as a mystic. Really i favoured and worked for one gang, but everyone considered me an ally. Before i moved here, i figured i would go out with a bang, one more ingenious prank, a plot. It took me a long time to figure out how many gangs there were, and which ones were rivals, but i managed it. If i wasn't gonna be the head of my gang, as far as i was concerned, no one is. It was easy to pull off too. Each gang has the 'noob', the guy who just joined, who doesn't know how things work. Naive, but useful, they are all looking to prove themselves.
So, here, i told this member of a gang that i just left their rival gang, and that i knew where they were gonna be, and i told them how they can take them out, all of them. I lead them all to the same location, a club."
"Why a club?"
"Easy, it was new in town, like dogs, gangs like to mark new territory. In this club, there was a handful of members from each vital gang in the city, all arriving at the same time through different entrances. I had already nabbed a decent spectator spot on the skylight. The pressure was intense."
"Didn't they all just tear each other apart?"
"They hesitated, don't ask me why. So, a ring has been created, hell is about to creak lose. The door opens again, and guess who it is. Lieutenant Rafferty, a brown nose cop from the local presinct. He strolls through the parting in the crowd, oblivious. Everyone froze."
"Now that's an awkward situation man."
"Your telling me!? I faced them with their enemies, their pissed and want a fight, they can't because of the cop sitting right at the table. You could see it in their eyes, they moved over the flip knives in their pockets. I go to mine, and bring out a new year party popper. I stuck my wands through the hole in the skylight."
"There was a hole in the skylight?"
"Urban Detroit man, besides, i made it. I pulled it, it went Bang, echoes through the crowds of gang members, someone thinks a shot has been fired. All fucking hell. Breaks. Loose. That ain't the half of it either."
A silence drifted across the table. Derek adjusted his shades, and took another drag of his smoke.
Derek was raised in down town Detroit. He left home at eleven years old to join a gang. Since he could remember, he wanted to be a gang leader. He craved respect and wanted to inflict fear with a glance. He hated his conformist ass hole parents. They went to their dead end jobs day in day out, made peanuts, just enough to live, and then come home and mope, complain to each other. He thought they were complete losers. If he stayed there, there was no future for him.
He was employed by a guy on his street called Lucious. Obviously at eleven he was expecting guns, and warfare. He was disappointed. He definitely had the heart and mind of a fighter, but not the body, not yet. He was used as a carrier. No cop would ever question a skinny green eyed, blonde haired kid, and he could just scream his way out of a frisk. So, he was an asset, and a vitality to his ever growing gang. They worked their way up the ladder, more drugs, more money. More money, more guns. More guns, more wins.
Lucious was like the Father he never had. He was only fourteen years older than him too. He was inspiring, and loving. He was enthusiastic and gratifying. Derek felt more at home here than anywhere else.
By the time he was fifteen, his hair had grown, his muscles had developed, his face had changed, and he had smoked for three years. Either way, he wasn't seeming as innocent as he was. He was frisked and arrested a few times. If he fought at this point, he would just be judged as a no good teenager. Things got a little harder. You don't trip over innocent-looking eleven year olds wanting to join a gang. Derek was unique in that sense, but it couldn't last forever.
Derek began to feel less useful. Originally the fate of the gang rested on him...in a sense. Now, he was too old to do that, and too young to do much else. He began working harder to prove himself, despite the fact his reputation hadn't changed. He began taking risks, and spying on rival gangs, he was still small in stature. He also learnt to drive, and would follow gang members to their connections. He was a glorified snitch, to put it simply.
He started to hate it. He saw the links between him and his loser Father. He just turned up at the hangouts day in day out, not really accomplishing anything, and complaining about his boredom. Subtle differences aside. He was appreciated for his efforts as a snitch, but his age meant any gratifying comments came off as patronising. Their gang was still moving up in the world, and a few rivals had been shut down thanks to his information.
Of course, Derek has been too arrogant. There was a power struggle situation. Leading gangs became intimidated, and paniced. Gang wars were at an all time high. Derek was sixteen before he held a gun. A rival gang attacked their original HQ, an abandoned warehouse in Urban Detroit. Derek was sat, taskless, nursing a cigarette.
All there was to protect them was a few millimetres of congregated iron. A pick up truck pulled up outside, with six enemies, armed with semi automatic weapons. There was a barage of rapid fire against the walls of the warehouse, the sound of iron thunder echoed through, and deafened the inhabitants. Derek took cover behind the car he was sat on, covering his ears fearfully. He saw his allies fall beside him, fighting for their lives. What a waste...good men.
He crawled slowly to the end of the car, and reached out. Recoiling at the sound of bullets. He was close. A nine millimetre was inches away from his outstreched fingers. He grasped it, hesitating only for a second before throwing out his hand and fireing into the blurred abyss. He retracted, his heart beating faster than ever before. He checked the clip. He loaded pistols as a job when he was younger. He had a few shots left. Most people around him were killed or wounded, including most of the rivals. There was only four of them though, and tens of allies. He heard the door open, and saw the tunnel of light behind his hiding place. He cocked his gun. He saw the two boots walked slowly behind, cautiously. Derek picked himself up, but he hesitated. He breathed deeply three times, and tried again, coming to a full standing position, aiming his pistol at the rival, and pulled the trigger several times. His eyes were clenched, almost closed. He cleared his clip before he could open his eyes, to see him on the floor. Blood gushing from his chest and neck.
Derek smiled.
Lucious had been killed. Derek felt neutral.
What remained of his gang was practically shellshocked. They had no faith in starting up again. Derek stepped in. People argued, but he fought, and he won. He ran the gang militantly, and so began the rebirth of the gang. He devised plots for others to carry. They started earning money, enough to take over a rival gang. Their gang started to grow again. He was respected and feared by all involved.
[Hiricine]. It was a cover story. His final plot was genious. He certainly did go out with a bang. As sirens got louder and louder, he had already left, without a trace. He needed to lie low, where better than San Francisco? He had a decent amount of money from his gang activities, so he could chose almost anywhere, and the reputation of the school tempted his desire for anarchy. He was ready to take it on.
[glow=green,2,300]Fighting Style[/glow]: A combination of Kickboxing and Judo. He is an advanced street fighter.
[glow=green,2,300]Strengths[/glow]: Derek is quick, mentally and physically. His speciality is counters and throughs, manipulating power, weight and balance to his advantage. He also uses his elbows and knees effectively, rather than fists and feet. His light weight and average heights means he is manuverable, coupled with his quick reaction times gives him a solid defence.
[glow=green,2,300]Weaknesses[/glow]: Derek has never been too physcially strong. The jobs he had in his gang never required an optimum of physical strength, therefore he has not spent too much time on it. He also has a relatively weak stamina, which he combats by making his style primarily defensive.