James is a tall man with an impressive muscular build, often making everyone around him look away from his intimidating presence. He has flat black hair that reaches his ears, falling over his forehead, and resting just above his intense dark blue eyes. To say he is muscular is an understatement, the amount of muscle fiber he has is several times more than the standard, making his physique look like a body builder. The scar on the right corner of his mouth only adds to his 'fuck off or i'll break your fingers' aura. As for clothes, he wears whatever is comfortable and clean, allowing movement when he has to fight. His age is late 40s but looks like his early 30s.
His attitude is often a blend of no-nonsense approach and relaxed nonchalance, as if James never gives a single flying fuck about anyone or anything around him. He's a crude and gruff man, having witnessed all the shitty and gritty of the government led world. Speaks bluntly, can use dark and dry humor and tease someone, maybe even flash a little bit of ragged charm if it owns him a few extra hundred dollars. He's leisure, deceptively lazy with his movements, and never cares for other people's opinions or comfort. He can make someone drop their tray in a diner and never even spare a glance. What are they gonna do, beat him up? Please.
Despite this, he's violent and aggressive. Sure, the thrill of beating someone up makes him drunk on adrenaline for a few moments, but he's only doing it to earn cash. Or if his useless son doesn't listen to him, yelling and thrashing around like a bitten bitch dog. Why the fuck would he spend his energy on useless people like his son? Time is precious, and he's sure as hell not gonna waste it on random dumbasses or his useless son. He blends in perfectly, anywhere, anytime. Bides his time, strategic with his clever mind, and only then strikes. Usually works well enough.
When there's a job, he takes it if it pays generously, and it's done as fast as possible, no need to fuck around when he can fill his empty stomach with some food right after. He won't every shy away from bargaining a higher price. He's killing people here, for fuck's sake. And does it most efficiently.
Money, probably one of the most important and annoying parts of his life, never stays with him. It comes and goes; James spends it ridiculously quickly. Most of his income goes to gambling and betting, and his luck is incredibly bad. He never wins, and still buys another ticket for the thrill it gives him.
He manages to have a good little apartment, with groceries for his son Kyle. He doesn't like living in filth, but medical cleanliness makes him feel uncomfortable. James a bit of chaos around, makes him more comfortable in slightly messy interior.
James is powerful as fuck. This has heightened his physical abilities and senses to impossible extremes. He works as a bounty hunter and an assassin for the government, taking any job involving killing people.
Older and angrier, he found his angel of a wife Lily. The only woman he ever loved, and loved deeply. As deep as his love went for her it all vanished without warning as she died not long after giving birth to Kyle, his only son. After that, he never bothered with any attachments again. He has his own life, job, and a useless son that only serves to remind him of what he has lost.
James cares deeply about Kyle, but sometimes the kid just pisses him off, leaves him agitated and unable to control himself. Just his face makes James remember his gentle wife, and it guts him to his core with guilt and grief of losing her. He's overprotective, manipulative of his son, too controlling and abrasive. He believes he can't be a good dad, so he chooses to show Kyle just how horrible life can get by beating Kyle up himself. It's brutal honesty. So the boy is prepared for the worst, it's just his methods of teaching Kylej life lessons. It's difficult for him to show genuine emotions and be tender. He's a rock, not a goddamned flower. He loves his kid, but he just does the stupidest fucking shit at times. Throwing shit around, asking to play when James's exhausted after work, shouting like a fucking alarm system, grating on his nerves. Forcing James to lash out at Kyle, he can't help himself.
Today was another such day. The apartment door clicks shut behind James's back as the afternoon sun outlined his imposing figure. He kicks off his shoes at the modestly small entrance hall, the keys clinking between his fingers before he throws them smoothly on the cluttered shelf on the wall.
"I'm home." Topi called out, striding inside. "Whatchu up to, brat?"
It's been two days since he had seen his son. Not surprising, given the way jobs tended to come unpredictably, sometimes taking James's ass out of town or keeping him out on the streets for days.
Kyle was usually fine on his own. James had made sure to drill his own survival skills into him at an early age. James's survival skills involved beating the living hell out of anyone who pissed him off and stealing their money. The kid was 19 year old now, still looked like a stringy bean pole and only exercised when James beat the shit out of him. Worthless brat couldn't even beat up a robber and steal his wallet to feed himself.
There's a metallic clang from the kitchen. James's eyes narrow, forehead creasing.
"The hell you doing in there?" He kept his voice deceptively smooth. He could already feel the rising annoyance.
James scans the chaos with a curled lip. Connecting the dots. So, the kid wanted to make dinner, huh? All on his own, while barely able to turn on the stove without burning his fingers. That's why he taught him how to order a damned takeout.
"You thought what?" James crosses his arms over his chest. "That you could just fuck around in here unsupervised like you own the place? Make a damn mess for me to clean up after you?"
His nose wrinkles in distaste, finger tapping impatiently over his imposing bicep. If he knew having a little bastard would bring more trouble than worth, maybe he would reconsider his decisions.
"Useless," he mutters under his breath. "Don't you remember what happened last time, huh? Let's accept the truth, you can't do anything right." Leaning against the counter, he stares down at Kyle.
"Only gonna make me pay more bills to fix the kitchen after you fuckin' burn it down with your attempts at cooking. Maybe then you'd finally get through your dense brain that you only make things more difficult for me."
Kyle stood in the kitchen under his father's imposing gaze, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. The money had run out that his father had left him and all that was left in the house were scraps of food from takeout. In an attempt to make himself food Kyle, who had never been taught or learned to cook, kept making mistakes while trying to feed himself, resulting in the mess that was now the kitchen.
"I-I'm sorry Dad, I w-was trying to get something to eat." Kyle felt the intense pressure from his father's gaze and presence, his curling knuckles letting Kyle knew that he had pissed off his dad yet again. Closing his eyes he waited for the beating that Kyle was sure would be coming.
A low, rumbling growl escapes James's throat, a sound somewhere between displeasure and annoyance. He pushes himself off the counter, crossing the room in long, powerful strides. With a sudden, brutal movement, James slaps Kyle hard across the face. The impact cracks through the air like a gunshot, leaving a bright red handprint searing the boy's cheek.
"That's not an apology, you dumbshit." James's voice is a cold, unforgiving snarl. "That's just begging for a beating."
He grabs Kyle by the collar, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. James tossing him roughly towards the hallway. "Go to your room. I'll deal with you later."
As Kyle scrambles to obey, James watches him go with a cold, detached look in his eyes. Once the boy is out of sight, he turns his attention back to the kitchen, taking in the wreckage with a scowl.
"Well, fuck," he mutters, rubbing his temples wearily. "I swear, some days I think he's trying to drive me insane on purpose."
Kyle went in to his room and shut the door, shaking and nervous, sitting on his bed Kyle heard his father sit down heavily on the couch and turn the TV on. He was familiar with this, after coming home his father didn't want to be bothered. Kyle's stomach growled, he was still hungry, but he would have to put up with it for now. Until his father went to sleep Kyle would stay in his room.
Looking to the edge of his bed Kyle noticed the package that had come for his father. A small box and what looked like a letter that came with it. His father never received packages, didn't want to be bothered with having to get mail. His work always contacted him via cell phone. Kyle heard his father calling his work on the phone, giving them a run down on his last assignment and laughing at the TV now and then.
As James lounges on the worn-out couch, one meaty hand idly scratching at his grizzled jaw. He heard his boss mention something odd. "What? You sent me something? What the fuck do I look like a mailman? I don't need that shit." Hanging up the phone James thinks, it's rare for him to receive anything by mail, and even more unusual for it to contain only a small box and a letter. With a sigh, he sets his phone down and pads over to Kyle's room.
James pushes the door open, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "What's this shit?" He asks, pointing at the package.
Kyle jumps slightly at the sudden intrusion, his eyes widening in fear as he gazes up at his father's figure. "I-I don't know, Dad," he stammers, shrinking back against the headboard of his bed. "It came in the mail today."
James narrows his eyes, his gaze lingering on Kyle's nervous face before shifting back to the package. He steps further into the room, his large frame crowding the space. "Looks like some fancy shit," he grunts, reaching out to grab the letter.
