Age: 48
Gender: big boy manly man
Sexuality: straight...questioning...curious? (Dating @cassbrookes)
Birthplace: Pittsburgh, PA
Location pre-outbreak: Wayne Co., WV
Town job: construction worker/maintenance man/long distance scout
Previous job: boxer/bouncer/security guard/home repair man/groundskeeper
Personality traits: jovial, generous, self-sacrificing, temperamental, SHY, practical
Bio:
Jack of all trades, Sol Reznik can fix just about anything if you’ve got some duct tape and WD-40 he could borrow. Born in Pittsburgh to a family of humanitarians and teachers, Sol found more satisfaction with his fists than his wits. His uncle caught on early after a few fights in grade school landed Sol in the principal’s office, and got him into boxing.
It was a good outlet for the black sheep of the family. He might just have made a whole career out of it, what with living in one of the country’s brawliest cities. But he took a hit to head that knocked a sense of mortality right into him and he gave it up. He floundered for a long time after that, taking the odd job as a bouncer or security guard without ever feeling fulfilled. Two decades of gig work—just enough to get by, but never enough to feel stable.
Then a friend of his offered him a new adventure. A maintenance job out at a state park in West Virginia. He loved it. The peace and quiet of nature was something he didn’t know could soothe him. And it wasn’t glamorous work, but fixing shit felt useful. His day got better every time he solved a problem for somebody.
When the outbreak hit, he was already in a good spot, what with campgrounds, freshwater access, and remote location. He worked with the folks who ended up stuck at the park to build a nice little community. They set it up so well, in fact, that they didn’t really need him. So he went out looking for others that he might be able to help.
In time, he came across Redwood. A survival community in its infancy, he saw its potential to be something truly self-sufficient. So he offered to help. No official leadership position, just good old-fashioned, hands-on, getting shit done. Leave it to smarter folks to make decisions. He still goes out scouting for survivors or groups that could become trading partners, but Redwood will be his home-base for as long as they’ll have him.
Headcanons:
Stereotypical Dad-Rock aficionado. If he had to pick a luxury to look out for, it's Springsteen, Steve Miller Band, and ZZ Top
Very particular about his tools. Don't fuck up his tools
Despite living near the junkyard, his RV's neat and tidy in an almost neurotic way
"Of course I do. Come on in out of the snow, Uncle Sol. Let me get you warmed up, you look glacial."
It's not like Fleet doesn't mean it, the sentiment is genuine even if his own performance feels flat and lumpen, like he's a rookie bumping off the ropes. He should feel more relieved to see his uncle's oh-so-familiar face, or comforted, or even unsettled, but he doesn't feel much of anything. Maybe Sol's feeling the same way. There's a certain Rezniky look that's hard to read, despite none of them being much in the way of dissemblers.
Well, the two left, anyhow.
Fleet knows there must be some specific reason his uncle trudged out here in the snow to his house but he defrays it with a seat at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea, with the mute offer of some plum candy he'd managed to make, with a blanket tucked over Sol's shoulders that probably came off annoying or smothering more than anything, and then Fleet can't put it off any longer or he'll do something insane, like drop to his knees to towel the wet from Sol's feet or while he's there bury his face in his uncle's lap and sob like his head has broken open.
So he sits. Wraps his hands around his own cup of tea and says, calmly, "Did he write up a last-minute will, or something?"
Sol accepts the candy and the tea and even the blanket--he'd rather be the one doing the comforting, but he suspects this helps Fleet. Gives him something to do.
The boy sits with a kind of posture Sol himself never got the hang of and even manages to keep his voice steady when he asks his question.
Sol can't manage any of the same serenity. "No." He can't stop his nose from twitching in preemptive dread and apology and annoyance. "Not a will. A...letter. Think he called it a letter. More of a note, really." He makes sure his hands are dry before he fishes it out of his pocket.
"I read it. If I shouldn't have, then I'm sorry. And then I almost didn't bring it to you, which I'm sorry for, too. We can talk or not talk about all this whenever you want, however you want. I see you buzzed off the curls--I remember how I was feeling when I did that to myself, so I figure you've got shit to sort through. All I'm really trying to say is that I'm here if you want me, and I'm gone if you don't. But I love you a lot, either way, okay?"
He reaches across the table to pass off the letter.
Sol finds his nephew the morning after Cole's death. He'd waited in the precinct, like he promised he would, but when the deed was done and Fleet left the cell, his eyes were set somewhere else. He trusted the boy to find his comfort where he liked.
But he'd made a final promise to Cole and he didn't want to let it sit for long. So as soon as he woke the next day, he found the letter right where his brother said it would be. He found it and read it--against his better judgment--and felt angry all over again. He thought, for half a second, about sparing Fleet. Why not leave him with whatever final memories he'd managed to make? But his nephew isn't a child in need of protecting. And a dying man's wishes aren't to be fucked with.
The walk to Fleet's place is bracing--it's snowing now, the sticky, wet sort that chills a man to his bones. The tension in his shivering body is a welcome sensation, grounding him in his frustration. He's glad to be doing this in the winter, he always felt tougher in the winter.
He knocks on the door and Fleet answers right away, fastidious as always. But his riot of curls is gone, and Sol feels like he's looking in a mirror that reflects the past. It breaks his heart. It makes him a little queasy.
"I uh..." he has to tear his eyes away from the kid's face just to collect his thoughts. "I wanted to check on you. You got a minute to talk?"
"My dad. Mostly my mom and Cole, too, but definitely my dad. Just got tired of failing to please him. Tired of seeing my own face when I looked at him."
"Felt a little jealous when I heard that Alex had a daughter who'd come to town. As for why, I mean, why's anybody get jealous over anything? It's a reminder that there's something out there you want and can't have. Simple as that."
Cass,
If you get home before we do, pretend you don't see the tree. I enlisted Oliver and Henry to help me pick one out, but they want it to be a surprise for you. Apparently they got to make some ornaments at school, so they stuck those on there. But they said it needs more, so we've gone to see what craft stuff Jemma can spare. Be back soon -Sol
So how was your first prom? There is a zero chance of this not including gushing over Cass but branch out!
“I think I hit all the classic standbys! Danced with my girl, had a spectacular chick flick moment, got punched in the face, somehow found glitter in my hair the next day. The only thing missing was a bloomin’ onion at Outback Steakhouse before hand.”
You’re an idealistic person who is not afraid to stand up for what you believe in. You’ve got strong opinions and you are fully prepared to back up those opinions with your fists, if necessary. Sometimes you might come on a bit strong, but you always have good intentions. You’re very determined and you don’t back down easily. You have a protective side and, ultimately, you’re just trying to make the world a better place.
The Oath of Devotion binds a paladin to the loftiest ideals of justice, virtue, and order. Sometimes called cavaliers, white knights, or holy warriors, these paladins meet the ideal of the knight in shining armor, acting with honor in pursuit of justice and the greater good. They hold themselves to the highest standards of conduct, and some, for better or worse, hold the rest of the world to the same standards. You’re a very idealistic person with a strong moral compass. You try to do what you can to be a good person, though sometimes you might worry that you’re not doing enough or that you’re not living up to your own standards. You’re honest, compassionate, and you never go back on a promise. Though you are generally a kind and thoughtful person, you can be surprisingly fierce when you stand up for your beliefs. You strive to do good in the world, in whatever way you can.
sol goes to cole's cabin to check on him after fleet somehow convinces him @solreznik
Sol Reznik
-determined to not let Fleet down, Sol marches across town to the dusty cabin Cole calls home. The door's already cracked open, so he knocks, but doesn't bother to wait for a response before he barges in- Your kid's really decent, yeah? Fleet? A little nosy, maybe, but he's got a good heart and I like that about him. And he's all fucking flustered about your goddamn head wound, and I know as well as anybody you don't need anybody playing nursemaid to it and you know when it comes to a fight you engage in, you're not a goddamn civilian. I don't think Fleet gets that yet. But he's real upset and I don't like him being upset, so this is me saying I hope your fucking head gets better. Just...keep it clean. -shifts from one foot to the other as he runs out of steam- Okay. I'm going now. You want me to close the door?
Cole Reznik
-cole had been sitting in front of his hung broken mirror, examining the stitched wound. fucking ike. his head kept throbbing from the pain and cole promised himself that was the last time anyone in redwood was going to take a piece from him. and yet, that small voice in the back of his head that oddly sounded like fleet protested. cole barely heard the knock from his door when sol entered, pulling cole from his thoughts. brows tugged tightly, cole couldn't help but smirk at his brother rattling on. damn kid's got pull.- Please. -cole turned back to the mirror, shaking his head as he snorted-
Your brother was stabbed through the face and his head torn open! Don't you care at all? Even if he's a man of dodgy character nobody deserves to be attacked like that.
“Whoa now, I’m not over here gleeful about it. I don’t even know what started the fight! But I didn’t see him running away, he engaged in it, he knows how that goes. Does he want me to come cuddle him?”