Vic Carver

38

Male

'Ol Boy

Quick Service Cook

3

Black

5'6"

220

His extensive history of cosmetic body mods makes him easy to spot in a crowd, albeit an intimidating aesthetic. He keeps gold rings at the base of his tusks and his gang ink covered beneath aprons and sweatshirts and whatever else he can find.

Obviously once fit, he is now slightly overweight

Pale but weathered, with several aging tattoos

Ork

His obvious cybereyes are a reptilian green with slit pupils

A scraggly but short beard adorns his face

Trimmed short, usually underneath a beanie or cook's skullcap

Loyalty is as much a curse as it is a boon. Despite saying that he prefers to stay out of the life and distancing himself from criminal activities, Carrion Crows tattoos still adorn him and feathers still hang in his restaurant. He would do anything for them without many questions, and certain people in the past have tried to use this against him.

Vic is completely non-magical. But he swears his restaurant is haunted!

Other than the limp that he lives with, Vic is in decent shape still and looks as healthy as a horse for a guy who eats his own greasy cooking most days.

Vic is a jovial man with a strong sense of right and wrong. People who have earned his respect can expect him to handle them with a warm outgoing nature while those who have not earned their place in his world can find him cool and often belittling them with biting sarcasm.

Vic wants to enjoy his retirement in the community he fought so hard to protect in his younger days. Working the restaurant, helping the youth, ensuring the Carrion Crows stay on the right path are all he needs to be happy.

If you're not working in the skids to earn your living, are you really alive? Vic can't stand a wageslave or a high and mighty type too good for honest labor. He makes it a point not to associate with them when he can, and speak ill of them whenever they insist on being in his presence. A suit is just a precursor to a fistfight in his opinion.

Beyond being a fabulous fry cook, Vic has a talent for crosswords. He is an ocean of trivia and cannot seem to get enough of them, with completed ones filling up his commlink and occasionally spamming the AR around his dining room when he's especially proud of one.

Crossword puzzles, cooking, does a man really need more?

Blue

The first apron he ever wore is on display in his restaurant. Greasy, stained; it hangs like an honored sports jersey as the path he's walked to own his own restaurant.

Despite owning a chicken joint, Vic really loves to go to town on some cheeseburgers. Extra tomato, add bacon, hold the mustard.

Conservative? Progressive? How about survivalist? Yeah that works, Vic is a survivalist in the era of corporate greed and government failure.

Lapsed Catholic

Frycook. Short Order Chef. Restaurant Owner. Occasional Plumber.

Funny.

None that he knows of at the moment.

Carrion Crows are a constant factor in Vic's life. To expect them not to back him up would be folly and to expect him to turn on them would be idiocy.

English,

Few and far between, he maintains plenty of friendly relationships but no one stands out as someone he would truly call a friend.

Dead. Trust me, don't ask about them.

The last firearm he's ever owned as a member of the Carrion Crows still rests underneath his counter. A Remington Roomsweeper engraved with the gang's emblem is just waiting for an excuse to fire.

Monkeys are hilarious.

Vic grew up like any Algiers kid. Picking fights, skipping school, and scrambling for a little cred here and there. He was never the biggest, the baddest or the brightest. He was far from the angry youth of his peers, seeing the life he led for what it was: An escape from his reality. All the gang warfare, all the drugs, all the drunken nights were just a fight against the quality of life he was doomed to lead.

Unfortunately, all of that eventually caught up to Vic and he ended up in a free clinic recovering from a gunshot wound that richer kids would have shrugged off. Lacking the funds to replace his leg with something cybernetic, Vic's running and gunning days were put behind him. Transitional therapy, a fancy term for sitting on his mom's couch, forced him to find a hobby. Vic found a love of cooking and never looked back. When he was mostly back up to speed, he asked to be let go from the Carrion Crows in good faith and his years of service allowed him to go.

Using what little funds he had, plus a generous loan from the Carrion Crows, allowed him to purchase a condemned restaurant for himself and set up shop. Now he owns one of the most popular chicken joints in Algiers, New Orleans [Finished] and is happy to brag about it.

Pretty good for a High School Dropout, right?

July 14th, 2042

Deceased

Deceased

Deceased

Deceased

None

Chicken? Waffles? Restaurant supplies?

Every once in a while, Vic hears interesting things come from the streets of Algiers, New Orleans [Finished]. What little information he does glean usually goes to friends of his first, but the occasional tidbit can be bought on slow days at Vic's Chicken and Waffles.