memento mori.

enduring is what you do best. gritting your teeth and bearing them.

[andrew-aatakni]

[EMILIO SAKRAYA, 29, MALE, HE/HIM] Welcome to Antioch, ANDREW AATAKNI. Local sources report that you’ve been in town for 2 MONTHS and are known to be RESOURCEFUL yet ABRASIVE. Others have dredged up rumors that you’re involved in PRISON BREAK as ESCAPED PRISONER #1, but most know you for your work as a BOUNCER at DEADEYE'S AXE THROWING BAR. We’ll see you around town soon!

{tw: violence, child neglect, drug abuse/withdrawal, death}

ABOUT.

Character Name: Andrew Aatakni Face Claim: Emilio Sakraya Birthday: 05/11/95 (29) Place of birth: Ouarzazate, Morocco Previous place of residence: Toronto, Canada Nationality: Moroccan-Canadian Sexuality: Bisexual Zodiac: Scorpio MBTI: ISFJ (Defender) Moral Alignment: Lawful Evil Occupation: Bouncer Place of work: Deadeye's Axe Throwing Bar Subplot affiliation: Prison Break (Escaped prisoner) Languages: Arabic (Darija), English, French, Spanish Love language: Acts of service + Resourceful, decisive, perceptive - Abrasive, self-destructive, quick-tempered

BIO.

TBC

HCS.

Andrew is incredibly claustrophobic. It's severe to the point where he can't be in a vehicle for longer than a few miles, prompting him to walk or motorbike (without a helmet) most of the time.

He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 23, a few months into his prison sentence. The medication provided by the medical team provided a few years of stability and relief, but following his escape to the US, he's been struggling with mood swings. He spent the first month in Antioch holed up in his room suffering through medication withdrawal.

At any given point he has at least four knives on his person, tucked into sheaths and straps across his body.

He doesn't like being touched without explicit permission. This extends to handshakes or friendly pats on the shoulder. Any crossing of his boundaries results in violence.

PLOTS.

Wanted Connection #1 - {THE FRIENDLY FOE}: a concerned citizen or overbearing neighbour. they're not sure if andrew's face is familiar or if they're just a little paranoid when it comes to new residents. for the good of the community, they decide to keep an eye on him for now. they don't keep up with the news in canada out of principle, but all it would take is one well-placed google search. Wanted Connection #2 - {THE LIFE LINE}: someone who recognises the anger and frustration burning inside andrew, from personal experience. they help him channel and direct it in a more productive way, but whether it's for his or their own benefit is up for debate. Wanted Connection #3 - {THE CATALYST); it's hate at first sight. whatever triggered the animosity between them, it's grown out of proportion. neither of them really know why they dislike each other to such a degree, but it'd be fatal to leave them alone together for too long. it's kill or be killed.

[fatebinds]

"you're not from around here, are you?" being friendly isn't always in antioch's playbook, but being agreeable usually is.

[andrew-aatakni]

"What gave it away?" Andrew thickens his accent, hollowing out the vowels in a way most others don't. He has little time and even less patience for idle chitchat, cocking the gun in a manner he hopes will dissuade further attempts at conversation.

[ofxhollows]

Location: wherever you want tbh Characters: Evelyn & Andrew @andrew-aatakni

She had been wandering around when she noticed a small crowd gathering around someone playing live music. Little stalls lined the area, selling all kinds of things—jewelry, flowers, and food. As she walked, deciding which stall to approach first, she couldn't help but overhear a conversation in a language she recognized: French.

[andrew-aatakni]

Four months after their escape, public spaces still make Andrew twitchy. Being out in the open leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed; triggers the kind of deep-rooted unease that comes from being surrounded by people and endless noise. Even with the vast distance between Antioch and Ford Mountain Correctional Centre, Andrew is loathe to enter any situation that robs him of control.

Unfortunately, public spaces are also the best setting in which to make long calls without drawing attention to oneself. He’s been on the phone with his Alberta contact for near two hours now, voice low as they hash out the logistics of obtaining forged passports and birth certificates.

It’s tedious business, and Andrew’s patience is wearing thin. So when he feels the familiar prickle of someone’s eyes on him, he abruptly ends the call and looks up to meet their gaze. “What?”

[fatebinds]

"a girl you've impressed?" she's certainly not asking as a lawyer. "i'm kal, if that makes it easier."

[andrew-aatakni]

“It doesn’t.” Andrew considers her briefly before turning away, stepping up to the ammunition's table to start reloading his gun. “I don’t care how impressed you are.”

[godsunderfoot]

It's an impressive display: kid looks like he's just beaten someone at least half to death with a bottle and his fists, gore dripping thick from his knuckles, built like a brick shithouse. The fact that he's bending down to check for signs of life has John thinking the damage wasn't intentional, at least not all of it, which creates an inviting opportunity. Space in the armor through which prying fingers could reach.

John comes closer, his boots scuffing the pavement in a casual, quietly-confident gait. "I think we all do, in some kinda way," he answers passively, moves round to crouch by the body across from where Andrew stands - except his knees probably offer a lot more protest. "You did a number. One more good hit, guy's dead... Or you leave him here, ready to give a helluva story whenever he comes around."

The old man reaches down, grips the guy's jaw to pull that broken and bleeding face towards him - no one he recognizes, but that doesn't mean much after Andrew's bludgeoning. "So what'll it be?"

[andrew-aatakni]

“I wasn’t aware I’d asked for your input,” Andrew drawls, fingers smeared with blood when he pulls his hand back. There’s a pulse - barely, but that alone is enough to potentiate all kinds of shit. Survivors invite attention and questions, neither of which bode well for those wishing to remain unnoticed. 

Briefly he thinks of his brother, and of what being caught would mean for them. Returning to Canada is not an option. The decision which follows comes easy. Shifting his weight, Andrew makes quick work of delivering the final blow. The skin protecting the guy’s carotid artery offers little resistance against the sharp edges of the smashed bottle, thick streams of blood pooling on the dirty concrete.

“Your turn. You look like you’ve lived in this shit-hole since the Palaeolithic. Any hot tips on where to dispose of the unfortunately fated?”

[fatebinds]

starter for @andrew-aatakni

"where did you learn to shoot like that?"

[andrew-aatakni]

"Who wants to know?"

[godsunderfoot]

who: andrew (@andrew-aatakni) where: a dark alley when: night

John's pleasantly buzzed as he wanders through downtown Antioch. The river of voices coursing below the pavement is soothed to a gentle whisper, almost comfortable as it hums steady in his chest, and he wonders the reason for the peculiar peace as he rounds a corner, a shortcut back to his truck through a foul-smelling alley.

He doesn't expect what he finds. John tilts his chin up to study the grisly scene before him, keeps his hands visible so this kid doesn't think he's gonna pull a weapon or call the police: no need for a confrontation. "Need a hand, stranger?" he asks quietly, but his low, growling tone echoes, reaches Andrew easily in the heavy dark.

[andrew-aatakni]

The anger leaves Andrew as abruptly as it’d come; it leaches from his body, there one second and gone the next, leaving him empty and numb. He barely remembers what triggered it, feels in that moment only the sting of split knuckles and the warmth of someone else’s blood on his skin.

Blinking himself back into the present, Andrew briefly surveys the scene. There’s a person curled up on the ground at his feet, the jagged-edged remains of a smashed bottle beside them. I’ll fuck you up, freak. Justified self-defence. Unlikely hold up in court. Andrew crouches down to check the victim’s pulse when a voice speaks up from the mouth of the alley. Irritated, he looks up.

“Do I look like I’m the one who needs a hand, old man?”