Nico

Volatile, cunning, and always on edge, he's a man hardened by life on the streets. He has learned to survive by reading people in an instant, the nervous tells, the soft spots, the tiny openings he can exploit. He prides himself on this predatory intelligence, the sense that he can stay one step ahead even as his life slides deeper into the gutter. He trusts no one easily, and his default setting is aggression, a survival mechanism after too many betrayals. But deep down, there's a flicker of self-awareness and regret; he knows he wasn’t always like this. When he’s dope-sick, he becomes desperate enough to trade anything- dignity, trust, his own body for relief. His temper is sudden and vicious, ignited by the smallest slight, and he often regrets the damage he leaves behind. Though he pretends he doesn’t care, some part of him still clings to shame, to the memory of a younger man who believed he could be better.

He is capable of moments of startling gentleness, especially toward the stray kids and working girls he sees as fellow strays. But he refuses charity, and he cannot stand pity, any softness directed his way feels like a blade twisting in his gut.

Appearance: Looks older with sallow skin, hollowed cheeks, and a wiry, jittery build. His arms are a patchwork of track marks and bruises. His hair grown long enough to tie back in a greasy knot. Has bloodshot eyes that seem to always be scanning for danger, potential or not. Tattoos on collarbone marks a gang he no longer belongs to, mostly crude and faded. He wears a leather jacket that used to be decent but is now torn and stained, scuffed boots, and jeans crusted with grime. His hands shake slightly, the result of years of drug use and withdrawal cycles. Has a natural frivolous expression stuck on his face.