Cassius J. Still

[Scratch]

[Scratch]

Name: Cassius James Still Nicknames: Cas, Cash Meaning: empty, hollow, vain Age: 38 Height: 6’0” Weight: ~200lbs DoB: March 3 Species: Human Voice: Adam Turla Sexuality: Unconcerned. Occupation: Hunter for hire; handyman and jack-of-all-trades. Location: Where the job takes him.

Appearance: A tall, broad-shouldered, and square build. Even without the pale collection of scars that pockmark his calloused hands and the crook in his nose that speaks of a past break (or three), Cassius Still would cut an intimidating figure – with them, and with that half-feral glint in his eye that dovetails so well with his drawling baritone, he is a force to be reckoned with. There is dangerous edge to the man that he makes no effort to hide, a lone wolf atmosphere that is as much a part of him as his shadow.

He is not a creature prone to dwelling on his own appearance, and what Cassius chooses to wear is almost unerringly practical, a motley collection of secondhand items – flannel, suspenders, and a pair of broken-in boots are all likely candidates, often topped off by a black fisherman’s cap. His only vanities seem to be the regular trimming of his greying beard and the intricate tattoos that decorate his skin, an impressive collection that encompasses each arm and only seems to grow. Though often hidden, the petals of an orchid scrawled onto the side of his neck often show above the collar of his shirt, or peek above the lapel of his favored black wool overcoat.

The enamel grip of a single-action revolver is never far from his reach – often tucked beside the cool metal of a pockmarked flask – and he may frequently be found tending a hand-rolled cigarette.

Cassius is comfortable in his own skin, surprisingly quick on his feet for his build and with a relaxed way of moving that belies his speed. There is a wildness to him, a certain innate mistrust reflected in those steady green eyes, and the impression he gives is one of a man run too hard, too ragged, and too long on the borderline of civilization.

Personality: Quick to anger and slow to forgive, Cassius’ impulsive trigger finger has seen him on the wrong side of the law too many times to count. He possesses a quiet and dangerous disposition, a little too sure with that gun he carries and a little too close to the edge of humanity for comfort. A man shaped by a personal sense of justice, Cassius’ strong – if often grey – morals allow him to stubbornly vindicate his own actions again and again, regardless of how they agree with societal standards; turning the other cheek is not often in the cards. As someone for whom the ends often justify the means, his decisions often read as brash or reckless while still serving some well intentioned, if unconventionally executed, purpose. An outsider might easily view him as excessively violent to the point of cruelty, vindictive and spiteful when the right moment strikes.

They would not be wrong.

Cassius is not a planner, and his intelligence errs on the side of street-smart over any formal education; he learns by doing and prefers action to thoughtfulness every time. Age and the countless repercussions of his explosive temper have managed to gentle some of that unpredictable fire, but his learned patience simply allows that anger to simmer and smolder, ready to boil over when pressed too hard. Humility is a trait that has been beaten into him, though that wisdom is not always enough to keep him out of trouble – he may resist throwing the first punch, but when bitten, Cassius Still bites back.

Willful and obstinate to a fault, Cas is also stubbornly tenacious, unable to discard a skill until it is mastered or abandon a trial until it is surpassed. He is a man of few words, believing that what is spoken should be worth saying, and as a result is a surprisingly reverent listener despite any disinterest. It is only polite, after all, and the man upholds an out of practice, rough-around-the-edges sense of basic courtesy that is most often seen around women and children. His language is colorful even at the best of times, and with a bit of drink in him – a state he prefers more often than not – conversation flows as easily as laughter, the seriousness with which he conducts himself forsaken in the company of whiskey.

Mistakes made to his own detriment had never done much to temper him, but hard lessons learned at the expense of others have managed to quiet him; he has not quite given up, and he has a way to go before given in, but Cassius has learned the value in thinking twice.

History: Cassius was raised by his mother in a rundown homestead in Indiana, his father only a picture on the wall and his younger brother more nuisance than kin. The latter would be resolved as he aged; his mother’s steady hand and diligent manner fostered in him a strong family loyalty, though he was always found rather wanting in her lessons on civility and manners. Something stuck, enough to grow him into a good man, if a reckless one, and though he fell into darker circles upon leaving home he managed to bring a piece of that upbringing with him.

He stole, he lied, and he cheated, in love with his own youth and hungry for some sort of power. A lack of a male influence, his mother would have called it, though Cas always did his best to behave around his younger brother on his visits home. Nights spent in the drunk tank were as frequent as nights spent in the bed of another, and for all his scheming for money and glory Cas always seemed remarkably short on both.

The hard-fisted luck of a barroom brawl found him indebted to a man named Kurt, and with his revolver in hand and the moon high overhead, he was inducted into the world of hunting; his first kill came that night. Working for Kurt was simple, following leads and claiming bounties, and it enabled him to work off some of his steam while rediscovering some nearly-lost morals. Creatures that preyed upon humans were bad, and Cas felt a thrill at his part as silent arbiter, culling the beasts for humanity’s sake.

His mother’s death, a slow and sad thing, knocked some sense into him regarding his choices – and it would be another woman that finally allowed him to stray from his dark path. She was beautiful, though she was never meant to be his, and possessed with the unfortunate affliction of vampirism. Though Maria refused to entertain commitment, preferring her bed over romance, Cassius fell for her still; he worked to keep her safe from Kurt’s cronies and covered her tracks, going so far as to offer himself as necessary to satiate her endless hunger. It was this last that did him in. The bitemarks on his wrist were plain as day, and Kurt demanded he explain, that he unveil the beast and do his part in eradicating the scourge.

He balked, and at length explained, hoping for sympathy from his long-time friend. Maria was not evil, not at all like what he thought he was killing. She was remarkably human. Though Kurt threatened him, betrayed, the man eventually saw reason; Cassius refused the final order to end the vampire’s life and, apparently defeated, Kurt let him walk away.

Kurt, of course, screwed him over.

The papers broke the news before the police, the blurry and censored images of Maria’s body on the bed they had shared, the red of the sheets beneath her all black in print. Cassius didn’t think to run; he was arrested on his own doorstep, confused and furious and terrified, not even given the chance to grieve. The framing was elaborate enough, his past colored enough, that the trial saw him jailed for its duration, and by the time his conviction sealed his fate the man was numb to the decision. Kurt had set him up, his life was in shambles, and Maria was gone. Jail was almost easier than surviving on his own.

He was released two years later, when a successful appeal found insufficient evidence to uphold the verdict, and it was a stubborn shadow of his former self that exited through those front gates. Unwilling to abandon himself, and hardened by his years inside, Cassius returned to the life he understood best – he traveled, he worked, and he hunted, rebuilding himself up from crumbling ash. Something would always be missing, but a full flask and a bullet in his revolver’s chamber did a fair job of filling the gaps.

If he harbors some secret vengeance, the emotion has been buried with a dark-haired girl, six feet in the ground.

[Scratch]

artwork
by quillery
by blizzy
by blizzy
by blitzons ok


+ relationships

+ threads



Rumbrave – Murder by Death
I had jade colored eyes that shimmered in the sun,
If you stared at them too long you’d catch a glimpse of what I’ve done.
The faces of the damned, and all the butchered lambs,
If I had to do it over, I just woulda done it slower.

When we meet, you will see—
I will destroy everything of beauty.
When we meet, then you’ll know—
I’ll be the axe that clears the forest.

The Bullet – The Devil Makes Three
So I will rise like the ashes from a building as it burns,
Screaming at my enemies, you'll all have your turn.
The more pain I feel, the less that it hurts,
The more I move on, the more I am sure

That I will ride ‘til my fingers, they are down to the bone,
Wander ‘til I can't remember my own home,
Drink ‘til I don't know the meaning of alone,
Until that bullet flies to carry me home.

[Scratch]

[Kaili]

too much booze and cigarettes in this profile unhealthy

[Scratch]

not enough of either, nerdboy