JIN
Jin is short, even with her dreads bunched up on the top of her head. When clubbing she has to wear them this way, or they’ll be stepped on.
Jin knows this from experience. Nothing breaks her groove like that sudden pain. JIn doesn’t like pain. She likes to loose her self in dance. For a few hours she’ll trancend like a modern shaman.
Minus the drugs.
The drugs are pain. Even when they take it away. Jin dances.
It the only thing the pills haven’t taken
SIMON
Simon i round. His glasses are round, his face is round and the beard framing it makes it even more round.
Wrapped in a denim jacket over an embroidered shirt. Baggy pants with four bags of herbs hanging from his cloth belt completes the look. Like he walked of a commune.
His fingers betray him. Simon hasn’t worked with them a day in his life. Too busy finding balance.
Which is why he is round.
JACK
Jack on a good day is invisible. Like most homeless. Those are the day the voices leave him alone. The day the drugs work.
The other days, and boy are the many of those. Jack will look you in the eye. Smile with his two teeth. He’ll let you know.
Jack isn’t sure. What came first, the drugs or the voices. Now they beam the voices right into his head. It is all a part of the plan. He has been singled out, chosen.
By telling you he hopes they pick you instead.
OLAF
Olaf is small, sporting mutton chops and mop of unruly hair squeezed under a fisherman beanie. His potato like nose doing him no favours. Yet it makes his easy smile even more likeable.
Olaf will drift between groups. Rapidly welcomed, and just as quickly forgotten. Often in the time it takes to buy next round. A nice guy hiding his loneliness by being liked. At least for a little while.
Then Olaf smiles and moves on.
Hoping for a connection deeper than a shared beer.
KATJA
Katja used to be fit. Toned with just enough muscle to make guys slightly uncomfortable. It never bothered her. The way they looked at her.
Now they don’t. An unholy mix of speed, cocaine, molly and ketamine has eroded her chiselled frame. Her hair matted, greasy and unkempt. Voice hoarse from cigarettes. She’ll drink alone. Toasting the reflection in her drink.
She likes the anonymity of their pity.
Yet misses their insecurity.
KIM
Kim is big. A head higher than most men, and built like barrel. It isn’t just the amount space he takes. His head, his hands and hair. It is all big.
Except his eyes. Two small brown specks high up in his face. Looking down on a world that he isn’t built for. Kim knows he is too big for most people. He’ll try to put people at ease. He really wants to.
He is just too big.
They will smile and nod, then drift away.
NANA
Nana has been Nana for close to thirty years. She should have been watching her home bustle with family.
Instead she walks these cold foreign streets, clinking her prayer beads. To old to learn the language or the customs of this place. Her daughters and their families have taken to this land. And scattered.
There was no future for them back home. So they left Nana’s past behind.
It was right.
It was good.
But it is lonely in this modern house.
#collectingpeople #npc23 #ttrpg
KEV
Kevin will never look you in the eye. Not because he is untruthful. No, Kev just don’t want to connect with anyone.
Kev is far from lonesome. He’ll enthusiastically discuss philosophy, politics, even recipes with associates and colleagues. Gesticulating with his hands, his blond curls bobbing as he accentuates his points with his head.
He just wont look you in the eye.
He has set his boundaries.
And wont risk inviting you to cross them.
OLIVIA
Olivia, or Liv to her friends. She says. None of them ever do. Average in most respects, Olivia wants to be interesting.
Hair looking like a helmet, not a bob cut. Clothes accentuating how unfit she is, instead of her petite frame. A social drinker, that drinks a bit too much. Waving her cigarette as she hold monologues on topics she knows little about. Oliva speaks at people, not with them.
Trying to be interesting.
She goes home alone.
Unseen.
MIKAIL
Mikail never prayed for forgiveness. Though he hadn’t set a foot inside a church for ages, he found great comfort in prayer. He would kneel at night at the bottom of the stairs and commune with his God.
Mikail no longer spoke with an accent. Only when upset could the observant tell he wasn’t from around here. It was rare for him to become angry though. He credited God, when in truth he had lost interest in the world around him.
So Mikail prayed for meaning.