OOC: Can I roleplay a drunk bartender?
Can I? Can I? Huh? Huh?
Name: Wolvie
Age: Twenty-something methinks.
Species: Wolvark.
Gender: Mans.
Appearence: Your average male wolvark in casual boots, an old cap with the rim facing forward and dungarees. Some little pinprick scars run up his arms, usually hidden by sleeves.
Personality: Nice with a squeaky voice, but is a major wuss. Can't really get into any gunfights, and will turn desperate when it comes to his addictions, even surpassing some of his moral standards to steal for drug or beer money.
Occupation:
Bartender. Is a bit notorious for getting drunk on the job. Has a gun hidden behind and under the bar, but is unfamiliar with it since gunshot sounds and general violence scare him, sooo...Gets bad at his job and makes for useless security
.
Equipment: A gun behind the bar, the clothes on his back and the needles and pills in his pockets.
History: (No idea how wolvark's actually breed but I'll assume its normal like clakkers)
WARNING: EMO PAST IS EMO. MARY SUUEEZZZ His dad's involvement with a notorius small gang of wolvark's who saw themselves as pretty hard worried his young mother sick. When the young wolvark Wendy got pregnant, push came to shove and the father-to-be left them.
Feeling scorned, the leader had him killed off. Fours years later, they slain his mother too out of some kind of sadistic dominance, but Wolvie managed to get away when she pushed him through a window.
He met a teenage male wolvark in an old shack in the woods, and the boy raised him. He grew up watching a black and white tv on an old sofa, seeing him as a big brother figure.
After he was shot by wolvarks, Wolvie found himself alone with a house too vandalized to live in.
/Present daaayyyy
The guilt and grief from losing people in life took its toll, and he turned to drink and drugs to escape it. It started off mildy, such as knocking back soulstorm brew and chill pills to numb it out, but then he began moving on to some strong stuff certain outlaws gave out which was less then legal by clakker standards. Debt ran up, he had to sell some of his old possesions but clung to the particularly sentimental ones. When he had no home or moolah to pay the big boys back, he took what he had in a bag on a stick and bolted for it.
He came to find Spittoonstone, and took the bartender job out of its simplicity and desperation. Nowadays he sleeps behind the bar like the homeless bum he is, not letting on to his employer (?) or customers that he pretty much lives there and feeds off opples and 'free' beer.
TL;DR: Homeless druggie and alcoholic bartender wimpy wolvark that lives behind the bar.