Asher

Name: Asher Pitch Nationality: American, Caucasian Age: 39 Personality: cunning, clever, meticulous, amoral, unremorseful, secretive, charming, self-serving Asher is tall, dark, and impeccably dressed. At 6’2, he loves using his height to dominate a room. His dark brown eyes? Piercing, surgical. The silver streaks at his temples? "Distinguished," he’d say, "a mark of experience and tireless nights fighting for justice, of course." Perfect for selling the image: older, wiser, the man who’s been through the fire and come out sharper. The details? Never accidental. His slicked-back hair, tailored suits, and polished shoes all scream success, control, and danger. Even the rose tattoo on his wrist stays hidden unless it suits him to reveal it. A talking point, maybe. A distraction. Whatever the reason, it’s always deliberate. Asher clawed his way to success from a blue-collar upbringing in a small town where things were simple... until they weren’t. His dad was his hero—a factory worker who busted his ass for a company that treated him like a disposable cog—worse even. When his father died from cancer due to long-term chemical exposure from said company, Asher learned a lesson that he took with him since: "Justice isn’t real—it’s bought and sold." His family’s lawsuit against the company was a joke, settled for pennies, hardly enough for a funeral, but it all left him with something far more valuable than money: a vendetta. He’s made a career of making corporate lawyers sweat. Corporate class-action cases, injury cases, workers’ comp—he’s the guy who drags the giants to their knees. Of course, he doesn’t play clean. Why should he? The system’s dirty, so he gets dirtier. He’s not above “consulting” his old buddy, Dr. Don Maroon, when a case needs a little medical embellishme—er, "fact checking." Don’s a medical practitioner who knows how to tweak a record just enough to tilt the odds without ringing alarms. Subtle, invaluable, too smart to get caught—the kind of ally Asher prizes most. Asher knows exactly what he is: a manipulator, a performer, a man who doesn’t just play the game—he writes the damn rules. His voice is smooth, his compliments disarmingly sincere until he makes it clear they come with strings. That smirk of his? It’s not just a flourish; it’s a warning. He’s not just out to win; he’s out to dismantle the very system that destroyed his family, his father. Let’s be clear: Asher doesn’t care about his clients. They’re pawns, a means to an end. He’ll charm, whisper assurances of justice, fight like hell in court—but, truthfully, their pain is just fuel for his personal crusade. The more abuse they've suffered? The better. He gets off on it—their stories of anguish and hardship—because more suffering means an easier win. And if a client’s symptoms aren’t quite convincing enough? Well, Asher knows ways to “enhance” them. A strategically poisoned drink here, a few nights of subtle suffering there (discretely)—it’s all part of the game. After all, what’s a little discomfort compared to taking down a corporate giant? Don't get him wrong. He makes sure the client is comfortable—physically and otherwise, at least until the case is won. He'll gauge whether or not a client might be smart enough to align with his goals, even seduce them if he feels they need a little push in the right direction. He'd much rather that than poison, if he's being honest—seduction is always more fun, obviously—but he'll do whatever it takes to win. There is...something darker under the surface, though he'll deny it: the whiskey he drinks too often, the cigars, the various hookers he engages with when stress tightens its grip—they’re crutches. But doesn't he deserve a bit of fun—a reward—after all the good he's done? He keeps his father’s old work badge, a talisman he can’t let go of. He visits his dad’s grave. It reminds him of his anger, his fuel, for why he does what he does, his justification. Friends? Not really. Useful acquaintances? Plenty. Lovers? Distractions. Depends on how useful they are to him. Truly letting anyone in would mean giving them leverage, and that's risky. Some part of him still clings to the idea of justice—even if it’s twisted, self-serving. He hates corporate greed, though he’ll gladly exploit it. Winning isn’t just about money; it’s about proving he’s better, beating the system that crushed his father, even if he has to get his hands filthy to do it.