MacCready

I Sell

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• On The Surface

  name RJ MacCready nicknames Robbie age,-date-of-birth 31, march 20th gender cis male species human orientation heterosexual marital-status single occupation police department, parole & probation officer education masters in criminal justice, associates in psychology

  height-&-weight 5'10" & 200 hair-color-&-style brunette, some early graying, shoulder length eyes blue handedness left style dark tones, lack of patterns, maybe a leather jacket. permanent leather cuffs on wrists, college signet ring, boots, dark wash and button ups. scent almost too clean. hand sanitizer problem, rubbing alcohol and cheap pens. tattoos-&-piercings stick and poke crescent moon on inside of left wrist, bullet streaking across shoulder blades & outgrew them.

  desert - brand new ►

• In Depth

  personality things are difficult to express, and there's a dark past that over a decade has finally managed to fade to grey. he's good at keeping his cool, a straight face, steady and unflappable. training and education keep the mask of calm pretty tightly secured, and he's nearly forgotten what it's like to feel overwhelmed or anything like fear. he genuinely hopes to see people get better and will always try to be there to see another succeed. likes & dislikes maple donuts, trail mix, flannel, sculpting, sci-fi, extroverts and thrill seekers, finding joy in life. humour as a defensive, being barefoot, peer pressure and pack mentality, his own voice. history growing up Robert, Robbie, RJ. Bob if you wanted to piss him off. He grew up the single child in a generic southern home, suburbs of a military town, just white enough to be another face in the crowd. Middle-class boring bullshit, he was a nerd that was beaten out of him once ROTC was something he could join. RJ did it, suffered through months, years, of being the sort of student that kept his hair short, sentences clipped, ideas shuttered down. Eventually after a single tour of service, fresh out of high school, a mine that wanted to tear him apart barely did. Friend wasn't so lucky, neither was his throat. Maybe it was his friend's arm too tight around him, maybe it was some debris, but something wanted through him and wanted to nearly kill him. Vocal cords didn't survive. RJ's mind wanted out of this. So he left the desert, left the costume ideal he was groomed into by parents who didn't dive too deep into being nurturers. college years new versailles and the PD currently
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