surprise,⠀surprise

you⠀wouldn't⠀want⠀an⠀ angel⠀watching⠀over⠀you.

[unvertuous]

unvertuous is  a  private & dependent  multi - muse blog  affiliated  with  carpeomniahq. dark & mature themes will be featured.  please DNI with this blog if  you're  not  a  part  of  the group ! penned by kloudy. 

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bellamy  quinn  @  BILLY :  ★ the wayward. getaway  driver  for  the jackals.

sidney  sharma  @  SID :  ★ the revenant. assassin  for  nameless.

[sanctifiedcrimes]

Mia glanced up from her drink at the sound of a familiar voice. For a second, her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Billy standing there in an actual button-down shirt. The cigarette was somehow the least surprising part. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "Jesus Christ." She gestured vaguely in his direction with her glass. "Who died?" Her gaze dropped to the lighter pinched between his fingers before reaching into the pocket of her leather jacket. A moment later, a silver Zippo appeared in her hand. The flame sparked on the first try. Unlike his. "Here." Holding it up between them, she watched the cigarette catch before snapping the lighter shut again. "Don't tell me that's the same piece of shit lighter you've been carrying around for the last six months." The look she gave him suggested she already knew the answer. "You clean up alright, by the way." The corner of her mouth twitched. At least there was something oddly comforting about seeing another Jackal here.

[unvertuous]

he leans in just enough to catch the flame, then pulls back with the cigarette between his fingers, taking the first drag like the zippo has personally restored his faith in expensive metal.  “ nobody yet, ”  he mutters, eyes dropping to the shirt when she gestures at him and he gives the front of it a quick, pointless tug.  “ i was told there was a dress code and apparently my least worn out shirt didn’t count. ”  the lighter in his hand gets tucked away before she can look at it too long.  “ yeah, alright, it's done. i just haven't thrown it out yet. ”  he turns his head to let the smoke drift away from her, then looks back with a faint squint at the compliment.  “ don’t sound so surprised. it’s one clean shirt, mia. a borrowed one at that, so i’m trying to keep it in one piece. ” his gaze flicks briefly toward the machines beside them, then back to her.  “ you clean up well yourself. did you get anything decent out of this place besides the drink? please tell me you at least took some idiot’s money before i found you. ”

[agravemstake]

This may have been neutral territory but Bentley had his doubts. The great corrupter of most individuals is the ego. With all groups in attendance - even absentmindedly there was going to be some kind of hostility. Duty didn't mean jack shit to some. Bentley knew what he himself was capable of - so he preferred to keep a low profile. Away from the action so to speak, at least that way he wouldn't have to be put into a situation where his patience was tested. Hues followed the source. "You're lucky." Though the comment could be directed to the other and himself. Sharing was not caring to the man, but here he was offering his own Zippo to the other. Reaching out and flicking so a light appeared. "Just don't try to blow the smoke towards me. Trying to quit." But temptation was a real bitch.

[unvertuous]

for a second, billy looks more interested in the zippo than the man holding it. not because it’s pretty, though it is, in the way useful things usually are, but because there’s something almost funny about being warned away from temptation by someone carrying it in his palm. “ trying to quit but still keeping that on you? ” he prods, not quite accusing but more amused. still, he leans in, cigarette tucked between his lips until the flame catches and the first thread of smoke curls up between them. “ appreciate it, ” he murmurs, drawing back enough to turn his head before he exhales, sending the smoke away from the other and into the bright, restless noise of the casino. everywhere else, people seem committed to the night in a way billy hasn’t quite managed. it isn’t bad, exactly. just strange. “ is this what it’s usually like? ” he wonders, glancing back at the room before his eyes return to the other man, who looks a little too used to all this to be guessing the same way billy is. “ i’m starting to feel lucky in a few different directions here. ” his tone is light, though the sarcasm is hard to miss.

[inthegardcn]

"Well shit—What gave me away, Billy?" Couldn't have possibly been the fact that she had an already lit cigarette propped between two loose fingers, could it?

Her gaze dropped to the 'smoking gun' that sold her out, and for all the world Shay seemed completely unbothered by how it appeared just as likely to slip free of her grip and singe the Lucky Coyote's precious carpet as it was to make a return trip back to her lips.

Depending on whether or not her mood turned before she had a chance to finish, she just might let it.

The jury was still out on that front but, in the meantime, her free hand dipped inside the neckline of her dress. It reappeared with a scuffed up silver zippo seconds later. "And people say I don't know how to play nice."

People being Rafe, usually, but he was the lucky exception to her temper, not the rule. Mostly. Sometimes.

At the very least, there was genuine warmth for him in her eyes when she smiled and passed it over. Then, finally deigning to make use of the burning object in her hand, Shay took in a slow, deep drag. Smoke blew free to mingle with the scent of Cuban cigars and overpriced perfume while she settled more comfortably in her seat. "You havin' a good night?"

[unvertuous]

the cigarette in her hand gets his attention first, then the zippo she pulls from her dress and his mouth gives a small twitch. “ gut instinct, ” he says, taking it from her. “ that, and i took a wild guess that you didn’t light that thing with manifestation. ” the lighter turns once in his hand, thumb passing over the scuffed silver before he flicks it open and leans in to catch the flame. it lights on the first try, which already gives it more dignity than the dead piece of shit that's now back in his pocket. “ well, shit, ” he adds, snapping it shut and passing it back before it can become one more thing he forgets to return. “ you really do, shay. you didn’t even make me beg for it. ” the surprise giving way to a small grin. the first drag gives him a second to look past her over the room. “ good’s probably overselling it. not bad though. i've had one drink and lost no money, ” he says at last, smoke leaving him on a quiet breath. “ everyone’s acting like they’re having a normal one which is starting to creep me out a little bit. almost makes me want to start shit just to see who drops the act first. ” his gaze comes back to her before glancing around, half expecting company, then lets his shoulders settle when he finds none. “ how’s your night going? you by yourself? ”

[slamina]

𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: the lucky coyote

𝔣𝔱. bellamy 'billy' quinn, @unvertuous

Rafe has spent exactly three minutes inside the Lucky Coyote before Billy becomes a problem. Not a serious one, not yet. But enough of one that he catches sight of Billy across the casino floor and immediately feels the familiar pinch of a headache forming behind his eyes.

It's almost impressive, really. How, the entire city has gathered under one roof for a rare evening of peace. Gang leaders are actually behaving themselves. While old grudges collect dust for the night. The carpet remains stubbornly blood-free. And Billy? still somehow manages to look like he's one bad decision away from personally violating at least three of the casino's posted rules.

Rafe watches from where he's stationed at the bar, bourbon in hand, as Billy weaves through the crowd with the particular energy of someone who has either already caused trouble or is actively searching for it.

His money might be on both, though.

With a low exhale, Rafe eventually pushes away from the counter and begins making his way through the sea of bodies. A few people greet him in passing. He ignores most of them. His attention remains fixed on Billy, who appears entirely unaware of his approach—or just entirely unconcerned—by being hunted down by the enforcer himself.

By the time he reaches him, Rafe doesn't bother announcing himself. Instead, a hand lays heavily against the back of his shoulder. "Tell me you haven't been banned from anything yet." The words arrive as dry as desert heat.

That's when Rafe steps around him, finally planting himself in Billy's line of sight. His dark eyes sweep over him once, checking for injuries, signs of intoxication, or whatever fresh disaster might be brewing beneath the surface of Billy's presence. It's become a habit at this point.

A deeply annoying habit. His expression remains unimpressed nevertheless, though the fact that he came looking in the first place tells a different story. "You've been here, all of what?" He glances toward the ceiling as though he's calculating it. "Twenty minutes?" There's a beat. "Which statistically speaking means, you're due." The corner of his mouth twitches, despite himself.

Meanwhile around them, the casino buzzes with life. Laughter erupts from a nearby craps table. Someone wins big at the slots. A server slips between guests carrying enough alcohol to bankrupt a small nation. The celebration continues uninterrupted, blissfully unaware of the headache currently standing in front of him. Rafe lifts his glass and takes a slow sip. Then levels Billy with a look. A knowing one. "So." His brow rises. "Who are we avoiding, who are we lying to, or who do I need to stop you from fighting tonight?" Another pause. "Actually, don't answer that. Let me enjoy these next ten seconds with the belief that you came here tonight planning to behave."

[unvertuous]

the hand on his shoulder makes him pause for half a second, not because he startles easily but because some tired, well-trained part of him already knows who it is before rafe even opens his mouth. by the time he steps into view, billy has an expression that is doing its absolute best to look innocent under inspection. he lets rafe look him over, mostly because swatting at concern from the older manusually ends with twice as much concern and half as much patience. “ wow. hello to you too, ” he says, brows lifting as his gaze drops briefly to the bourbon in rafe’s hand, then he tilts his head a little, like he's considering the accusation with the gravity it deserves. “ for the record, i haven’t been banned from anything. not officially. i've been standing, smoking, making observations which apparently people don't take lightly around here. ” his eyes flick past rafe toward the casino floor before returning to him.

he shifts half a step then, casual enough to look accidental, except it puts rafe very neatly between him and the roulette table. “ also, unrelated, ” he adds, already proving it is not unrelated at all, “ if you could stand right there for, like, five minutes, that’d be great. ” his mouth pulls faintly at one corner, but his eyes cut past rafe’s shoulder again before he can help it. “ there’s a guy behind you who keeps looking at me like he either he knows me or i owe him money and i don’t really feel like helping him figure it out. ” it comes out light, almost lazy, but there's enough truth underneath it to explain why billy has not wandered too far from the crowd. “ before you go on, i’ll have you know this is me behaving. old me would’ve just gone over and asked. ”

[unvertuous]

closed (4/4) cap has been met !

featuring: billy & your muse !

billy has been loitering near a row of slot machines for a while now, not playing so much as occupying the space beside them. he’s dressed better than usual, which mostly means someone has bullied him into a shirt without an oil stain, though the cigarette tucked between his fingers ruins most of the effort. around him, the lucky coyote is all noise and shine, smug laughter spilling over the machines here and there while glasses catch the light every time someone lifts a drink. he has lasted longer than he thought he would. long enough for one drink and the realization that these things are mostly just people standing around with nicer shoes and worse grudges. not bad, really, for his first proper night at this kind of thing. the lighter clicks once, twice, then gives him absolutely nothing for his trouble. billy looks down at it, unimpressed, before movement nearby pulls his attention. he lifts the useless thing between two fingers, mouth pulling slightly at one corner. “ hey, got a light? ”

[freakytikigifs]

Dev Patel as Kid MONKEY MAN

[unvertuous]

⸻  hey,  wait  a  second—  i  could  swear  that  was  BELLAMY  ‘BILLY’  QUINN  that  just  walked  past.  don’t  tell  me  you  haven’t  heard  of  the  GETAWAY  DRIVER  of  THE  JACKALS?  they’ve  been  a  member  for  1  YEAR  and  apparently  they’re  actually  TREACHEROUS,  so  make  sure  not  to  forget  this  time.  i’ve  heard  they’re  known  as  THE  WAYWARD,  and i  can  tell  you  for  sure  that  they’re  LUDIC  and  RESILIENT  on  a  good  day,  but  i  don’t  think  you’d  like  to  see  them  when  they’re  ERRATIC  and  FATALISTIC.  rumour  has  it  that  they  TOOK  THE  FALL  FOR  THEIR  SIBLING  AND  SERVED  YEARS  IN  PRISON,  but  i  don’t  know  if  anyone  has  ever  lived  long  enough  to  confirm  it.  either  way,  most  people  would  use  UNCOMFORTABLE  by  WALLOWS  to  describe  them,  as  well  the  smell  of  petrol  clinging  to  motel  sheets,  half-crushed  redbull  cans,  low  self-worth  dressed  up  as  loyalty.  god  only  knows  how  they  ended  up  here,  but  love  them  or  hate  them,  they’re  not  going  anywhere.

— 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝚰𝐂𝐒.

full name: bellamy quinn

nicknames: billy, bells

age & birthday: 27 & april 30th, 1999

gender identity & pronouns: cis man & he/him

gang & role: the jackals & getaway driver

primary & secondary weapon: switchblade & whatever's close enough to grab

occupation: gas station pump attendant

born: kingman, arizona

past residence: various rentals and motels across arizona, four years in prison, a few cheap rooms he never stayed in long enough to unpack

current residence: sunset hollow motel in coyote's rest

— 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒.

parents: dennis quinn & pauline quinn (bakery owners / weed growers)

siblings: twin / older sibling (wc on main), julian & delaney quinn (younger siblings)

extended family: scattered, estranged or relieved not to be involved

relationship with the family: painfully aware that their parents failed all of them, but anger never comes cleanly to him. most of it turns inward instead. his twin was always the closest thing he had to safety which makes losing them harder to separate from losing himself. as for julian and delaney, he loves them with the guilt of someone who helped raise them and left. he doesn't know if they'd want him back in their lives but he thinks about them every so often

pets: none, though he regularly feeds strays around the motel and gas station

orientations: bisexual / biromantic

relationship status: single

exes: tba (this is an open wc !!)

— 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

face claim: finn bennett

height: 5'11"

build: average-slim, not particularly athletic, careless posture

eye colour: blue

hair colour: light brown

style habits: faded shirts, crop tops, worn denim, gas station hoodies, sneakers that look like they've survived several wars, usually wears thrifted/sometimes stolen accessories like bracelets and necklaces

tattoos: the jackals chain tattoo on his upper arm, a small stick-and-poke star near his wrist from his sibling and a faded matchbook tattoo on his ribs

scars: a split through one eyebrow from a crash, a scar near his hairline from a bottle thrown during an argument and one along his ribs from a prison fight

— 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀.

positive traits: ludic, resilient, soft-hearted, adaptable

negative traits: erratic, fatalistic, self-destructive, flippant

label: the wayward

aesthetics: petrol clinging to motel sheets, half-crushed red bull cans in the passenger seat, a chain tattoo hidden under a sleeve, loyalty with its teeth worn down, a rearview mirror full of things he should've left behind, low self-worth dressed up as devotion

fears: being abandoned, going back to prison, living long enough to become exactly like his parents, becoming someone people have to recover from

habits: cracking jokes at the worst possible time, tapping his fingers like he’s counting down to a green light, sleeping in his car

hobbies: driving with nowhere good to go, fixing cars badly, old racing games, people-watching, feeding strays behind work, collecting weird objects

mbti type: enfp ("the campaigner")

moral alignment: chaotic good

character parallels: dally winston from the outsiders, silas botwin from weeds, cook from skins, jesse pinkman from breaking bad, rue bennett from euphoria

— 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝚰𝐂𝐀𝐋.

disorders: major depressive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, suicidal ideation and self-destructive tendencies

allergies: tree nuts, especially walnuts, pecans, almonds

sleeping habits: unstable. swings between nights where he doesn’t sleep at all and days where he sleeps too much

exercise habits: what is that? he's not disciplined about it, but the gas station keeps him on his feet and the jackals work keeps him moving so i guess that counts

drug use: occasional. not loyal to one substance so much as the feeling of not having to sit inside his own head for a while. pills when they’re offered, weed when it’s around, stimulants when he needs to stay awake through a shift or a drive

alcohol use: inconsistent but rarely wise. he can go weeks only drinking socially, then have a bad night and turn reckless with it fast

smoking habits: heavy. it's a part of his daily wiring

— 𝐇𝚰𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

cw: drug use, child neglect, violence, crime, self-destructive behavior

billy grew up in kingman, arizona, where his parents ran a bakery that did enough honest business to keep people from becoming suspicious. the real money sat behind it: plants under artificial light, cash moving through back rooms, adults coming and going after closing with voices lowered. dennis and pauline quinn were not clever enough to be untouchable, only careless enough to believe they were. when they were not high, they were working. when they were not working, they were high.

billy and his twin were born first, which meant they inherited the worst of it before there was anyone else to protect. pauline could remember oven times and which jar held the money nobody wrote down, but she could forget what her own child could not eat. more than once, billy got sick from something she should have known better than to put in front of him. his twin was the one who noticed. his twin was the one digging through cupboards to steal something safe from bakery stock, making sure billy ate when their mother’s attention wandered elsewhere. after them came julian, eighteen now, and delaney, only ten. two more children dennis and pauline had no business raising, though that never seemed to trouble them for long. by then, the twins had already learned the house’s private language. billy was not naturally responsible so much as trained into it. useful children got yelled at less. useful children were harder to throw away.

los angeles was his twin’s dream first. billy only carried it because it gave him somewhere to follow. they talked about it like a promise, but there was always a reason to stay. julian was too young and delaney was too small. someone had to watch the house when dennis and pauline forgot how. then the raid came. the family scattered badly. dennis took one child, pauline took the other, splitting julian and delaney between them because it made everyone harder to track. there was supposed to be a meeting point after, some panicked little plan to regroup once the danger passed. billy and his twin never went. they turned west instead, chasing los angeles with stolen rides.

by the time billy realized they were being followed, they were already too far from any clean way out. he pulled off near a highway cut-through and told his twin to get out. they argued, of course they did, but billy was already pushing their bag into their hands, already looking over his shoulder and making the decision for both of them because he knew they would never make it for themselves. he told them to keep off the main road, not look back unless they wanted both of them caught, then got back behind the wheel and drove the car in the other direction. by the time the police caught up with him, billy was alone. the chase, the stolen car, the whole stupid mess belonged to him because he said it did and then refused to say anything else. he served a little over three years and got out early for good behavior, which was a neat way of saying prison had made him very good at not causing trouble for anyone but himself. outside, no one had kept the world still for him. coyote’s rest was meant to be a pitstop. a gas station job, cash under harsh fluorescent lights, then back on the road.

billy lasted about three weeks before the city found a new and deeply stupid way to ruin his life. it happened after a late shift when he was half-asleep in his own car behind the station. two jackals came running out of the alley and threw themselves into the backseat of his car. for one bright, humiliating second, billy looked at them in the rearview and they looked back at him with the shared horror of people realizing everyone involved had fucked up. then one of them pressed a gun into the back of his seat and told him to drive, so he did. what followed was the worst unpaid trial shift of his life: two gang members arguing behind him, billy taking turns too sharply while calling them both idiots under his breath and a rival’s car staying close behind them.

he had successfully driven them out of trouble and straight back to one of their hideouts, which meant everyone had a new problem sitting in the room. they could have killed him, probably. they joked about it enough that billy did not find it very funny. instead, someone decided it made more sense to keep an eye on him and make use of the fact that the gas station guy could apparently drive better under threat than most people did. they came back a few nights later, not with another gun at first, but an offer that sounded temporary if he was stupid enough to believe it. billy should've said no. instead, he told himself it was one favor, then one more, then one more after that, until somehow it turned into a year with the jackals. he figured he could use the extra income, because it meant he did not have to stress over rent or keeping his car running for once, and because they had not given him a reason to go against them. not yet, anyway.

— 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒.

has a soft spot for ugly keychains and novelty air fresheners. the more stupid they look, the more likely he is to keep them. he once bought one shaped like a tiny cowboy boot and got annoyed when someone moved it from his rearview mirror

appears like he doesn't plan that far ahead, which is only half true. he doesn't plan a future but he does plan escape routes, backup cash, where to sleep if everything goes wrong and which people to call and which people to avoid

doesn’t take himself seriously. he has already made peace with being kind of pathetic, which sounds funny until it becomes clear how often he uses it to excuse reducing himself before anyone else can

has an annoying habit of making himself look less capable than he is. it works until there's an emergency and then people have to deal with the deeply irritating discovery that he has, against all evidence, been paying attention the whole time

kind of easy to talk into things for someone who acts like he is difficult. the trick is not even good manipulation. he just has terrible judgment with people but strangely good instincts about danger. emotionally, he's a locked door with a broken hinge

once he cares about someone, he gets stupid about it lowkey… like he's probably already mentally put himself between them and every moving vehicle in the state. currently, the only person who has ever had him that completely is his twin

tba !!

[unvertuous]

⸻  hey,  wait  a  second—  i  could  swear  that  was  SIDNEY  ‘SID’  SHARMA  that  just  walked  past.  don’t  tell  me  you  haven’t  heard  of  the  ASSASSIN  of  NAMELESS?  they’ve  been  a  member  for  10  YEARS  and  apparently  they’re  actually  LOYAL,  so  make  sure  not  to  forget  this  time.  i’ve  heard  they’re  known  as  THE  REVENANT,  and i  can  tell  you  for  sure  that  they’re  COMPOSED  and  METHODICAL  on  a  good  day,  but  i  don’t  think  you’d  like  to  see  them  when  they’re  OBSESSIVE  and  RANCOROUS.  rumour  has  it  that  they  TOOK  ON  A  NEW  IDENTITY  TO  SEVER  TIES  TO  HIS  OLD  LIFE,  but  i  don’t  know  if  anyone  has  ever  lived  long  enough  to  confirm  it.  either  way,  most  people  would  use  MISTAKEN  FOR  STRANGERS  by  THE  NATIONAL  to  describe  them,  as  well  trust  curdling  years  after  it  was  first  poured,  watching  your  own  funeral  from  somewhere  no  one  thought  to  look,  hands  meant  for  blueprints  learning  the  shape  of  a  trigger.  god  only  knows  how  they  ended  up  here,  but  love  them  or  hate  them,  they’re  not  going  anywhere.

  — 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝚰𝐂𝐒.

full name: aditya shah sidney sharma

nicknames: sid

age & birthday: 35 & september 9th, 1990

gender identity & pronouns: cis man & he/him

gang & role: nameless & assassin

primary & secondary weapon: suppressed handgun & garrote wire

born: ahmedabad, gujarat

past residence: family home in denver, colorado (1990-2014; on and off); attended acc and resided in littleton, colorado (2008-2010); attended nau and resided in flagstaff, arizona (2010-2014), coyote's rest inn (2015-2020)

current residence: driftwood suites in coyote's rest (2020-current)

— 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒.

parents: karan shah (funeral home director), aruna rawal (columnist, deceased)

siblings: nathiya shah (mortician, younger sister)

extended family: unknown relatives in ahmedabad, plus a few distant relatives scattered across the us though all ties were severed after his supposed death

relationship with the family: sid once sympathized with his father, resented his mother and tried to protect his sister from the worst of the house, only to later realize all of it had been built on a lie. his feelings toward his sister, nathiya, are complicated by the evidence he found that suggested she may not have been entirely innocent. sid still doesn't know if she was complicit, afraid or merely obedient and that uncertainty has kept him from looking for her

pets: none

orientations: bisexual / demiromantic

relationship status: single

exes: tba (this is an open wc!)

— 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

face claim: dev patel

height: 6'2"

build: lean, wiry, stronger than he looks

eye colour: dark brown

hair colour: black

style habits: very plain and understated. neutral to dark color shirts, jackets, straight-cut trousers or jeans, usually worn-in but never sloppy. nothing flashy and nothing that makes him stand out from any other man on the street

tattoos: crowned star tattoo for nameless placed high on his ribs. not really thrilled about getting inked. somewhere in him is still the mortician’s son thinking the body is a temple. unfortunately, the temple joined a murder gang

scars: a healed line along his shoulder from a bullet graze, old bruising damage on his knuckles (he doesn’t punch people often but walls haven't always been spared)

— 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀.

positive traits: composed, observant, resourceful, decisive, loyal when earned

negative traits: resentful, distrustful, obsessive, unforgiving, judgmental

label: the revenant

aesthetics: a framed deity print watching over a house that never felt blessed, a clean handgun on a motel desk, funeral lilies left to brown in a vase, the silence before someone realizes the door is locked, wire coiled neatly in a coat pocket, holy men with dirty hands, revenge made quiet enough to pass for patience

fears: mercy making him hesitate at the worst possible time, being made powerless while someone else controls the story, being betrayed by someone he trusts

habits: dragging a hand through his hair, listening more than he speaks, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, watching reflections instead of turning around right away, lowering voice when close to losing patience

hobbies: sketching, exploring abandoned places, shooting at the range, swimming laps, combat training, old noir films, calligraphy, experimenting with tea

mbti type: intj ("the architect")

moral alignment: lawful evil

character parallels: the results i got feel inaccurate so i'll do it again later lol

— 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝚰𝐂𝐀𝐋.

disorders: post-traumatic embitterment disorder (pted), obsessive compulsive disorder (ocd), insomnia

allergies: none known

sleeping habits: poor and inconsistent. nightmares are less frequent than the long hours where he simply can't switch his head off. he usually blames noise, heat, the mattress or whatever else is nearby enough to accuse

exercise habits: regular and practical. he keeps himself fit not because he's chasing a gym mirror, though he is annoying enough to know the results are there

drug use: none regularly. he dislikes anything that makes him feel less in control. painkillers are taken only when necessary

alcohol use: light to moderate. he can nurse the same drink for an entire night but he doesn't really like crossing the line into being visibly drunk

smoking habits: smokes often. mostly when stressed, restless, unable to sleep or looking for an excuse to leave a room before his patience does

— 𝐇𝚰𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

(cw: abuse, death, murder, trauma references / ptsd, violence)

sidney sharma wasn't the name he was born with. before coyote’s rest, he was aditya shah, the son of a respected funeral director from a small town in denver, colorado. his father’s funeral home was known for community burials and after-death services. to everyone outside the house, his father was generous and dignified. at home, that dignity curdled into entitlement. respect was the one thing he believed he was owed and he treated even small defiance like humiliation.

for most of his life, sid believed his mother had abandoned them. his father told him she had cheated and run away with another. sid hated her for it, though there was always something unfinished about that hatred. in his mind, his father was the one who stayed. the one who carried the business, the family, the embarrassment. so when his father pushed him toward mortuary school, sid went along with it for a while even if it was never what he truly wanted. he had always been more interested in urban planning and development, and that offended his father deeply, though things softened somewhat when nathiya expressed interest in taking over the funeral home herself.

the truth came years later. sid found a letter his mother had hidden before she vanished, tucked among old documents from the funeral home. it didn't read like a woman running off for love. it read like someone scared, careful and trying to leave proof behind with enough details to make him question almost everything he had spent years believing. he tried to investigate it properly at first, compared funeral records, land transfers and sheriff paperwork, only to learn that the people meant to look into his father were already part of the reason nothing had ever been found.

one of the last threads led him into coyote’s rest, where an old record tied to an unidentified woman lined up with the period of his mother’s disappearance. sid arrived there under the cover of planning work and spent months digging through municipal records, condemned properties and old files. that was how nameless noticed him. he was an outsider asking too many specific questions in a city he didn't belong in. when they caught him, they found someone who was not an enemy or a rival, but a man with mortuary training, a planner’s eye for routes and enough determination to keep going long after fear should have stopped him. nameless didn't take him in out of kindness, they had use for him and he had use for them.

at first, he worked more as a surveillance analyst than anything else. in return, they gave him access to information he couldn't have reached alone. eventually, he found enough to know the truth: his mother hadn't left them. she had been dead the whole time, murdered by his own father then made to disappear. by then, sid's anger was no longer just grief. with nameless' help, he staged what looked like his own death, letting aditya become another tragedy attached to his father’s name while the evidence was released beyond the sheriffs’ reach and sent to people who couldn't all be silenced at once. it damaged his father’s reputation and may have ruined parts of the business, but it didn't fix anything. it didn't bring his mother back, punish everyone involved or undo the years sid spent believing a lie. it's didn't fix him. by the time anyone began to question the body, aditya was gone and 'sidney sharma' had returned to coyote’s rest for good.

his first one had been urgency more than intent. he was sent to track a traitor who had stolen internal records and tried to sell them to another crew. sid was only meant to find them and report back, but they had reached for the gun under their jacket, forcing the assignment into a struggle sid ended by getting his hand on the weapon first and shooting them with it. by the time nameless officially placed a weapon in his hands, killing felt more like the final step in work he had already been doing for years.

those who knew aditya might have called him passionate. ambitious, maybe. a man too willing to follow a thread until it cut into his own hands. sidney is not so different. the devotion remains, only the purpose has been ruined. what once might have become justice has curdled into grievance and nameless knew how to make use of it. now, the revenant doesn't kill to correct the world. he kills because there is always another name, another room and another body onto which old hatred can be moved.

— 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒.

loyal to nameless in the way a starving man is loyal to the first locked door that opened for him. if someone inside nameless ever became a liability, he wouldn't need to hate them to end them, though even that loyalty has limits of its own

his weapon of choice is usually a handgun because he likes things done clean and quick. his second yet not least would be a garrote, but that's something he saves for personal kills and not something he pulls out for every job

a hands-on person, almost to a fault. he's never been good at talking someone through comfort or concern but will show up for them. if he cares about someone, they're more likely to find the problem already being handled

his humor is dry enough that people sometimes miss it completely. he'll say something mildly horrible in the same voice he uses for everything else, then look faintly amused when everyone realizes he was joking (loser behavior)

doesn't have a grand vision for himself anymore, which might be the saddest part. the old him wanted a life with shape: family, cities, a future he could build with his own hands. he deals in narrower things now. loyalty to nameless, control, the next job, the next reason not to look back

hasn't made peace with the fact that his father's still out there, breathing. he's only made a temporary arrangement with it. some days, leaving him ruined feels more satisfying than making him dead. other days, sid understands very clearly that the matter isn't finished. he simply has other uses for his anger now

remorse isn't completely absent in him but he's learned not to feed it. he doesn't ask where a mark came from, who loved them or what they might've been before they became a name passed to him. the less he knows, the better

tba !!

[shesnake]

Dev Patel in The Wedding Guest (2018) dir. Michael Winterbottom

[bennettfinn]

FINN BENNETT as PETER PRIOR TRUE DETECTIVE: NIGHT COUNTRY

[sundaynightfilms]

We All Loved Each Other So Much, 1974

[feral-ballad]

…my anger is a secret, a small stone only I can feel settled heavy in my throat.

Molly McCully Brown, from Places I’ve Taken my Body: Essays

[gaylecleven]

are you always this inquisitive with new clients?

just the criminals […] that’s a joke.

[technicolourtelevision]

"He really loves the wolves." || Tanner {1x07}

[delsincloud]

[qotsgifs]