Tristbacca

you will have fun here

Howard Cobb is a man whose body is starting to betray him, like an old revolver whose parts no longer fit together quite right. Although he’s presumed to be in his late thirties, the wear-and-tear on his face makes him look older– thin furrows etched between and underneath the eyes from years of sun exposure, and subtle scarring around the bottom of his chin and top of the forehead. It is an entire canvas filled with contradiction. Sharp cheekbones that have softened with age, weathered skin with an uneven tan, and a slight crook at the nose from an old scuffle– a fist, or a bad fall. His eyes, once sharp, now flicker with a dull, predatory gleam. They’re tired and worn, though still manage to carry a “no-nonsense” weight that can more often than not stop trouble before it even starts. His hair sports dark strands that have become swept back and pressed down, the kind of hair that can’t quite decide whether or not to let go of youth. It’s a dark, glossy wave that’s become held together with too much pomade and too little effort. Despite all of this labor to keep it under control, it’s begun to turn against him– with small strands falling and curling at the temples. Underneath the shoulder blades sits a sturdy frame you expect from someone who’s spent years chasing off rustlers and dragging drunks out of bars. There’s a slouch to that same frame though, as if he might be getting pulled down in the metaphorical sense by the weight of that badge. It’s a certain tragedy that’s intertwined with that posture, and there’s a slow but calculated air to him– like an aging animal that’s realized it can’t run anymore, but still finds the strength to lash out when cornered. It is clear above all else that the Sheriff is always deliberate, even when he speaks. Howard’s voice is bristly, the kind of voice that’s become used to barking orders and silencing dissent, but there’s a crack in it now– weariness from a man who’s spent years staying rigorously principled in order to keep his county at peace. This is a man who was born and raised within a town that hasn’t been spoken of in decades, swallowed by the dirt roads that continue to stretch and funnel out West in search of more opportunity. Cobb was a lawman within the area of Franklin during his formative years, sometimes referred to as the “gateway” to the West, before his move to the township of Blackwater. Protecting others has always seemed to be in this man’s blood. A deputy by seventeen, a sheriff at twenty-five, and by thirty; his eyes had already lost the spark of youth– replaced by a quiet and inevitable disillusionment. It’s no surprise that he’s seen many friends and accomplices lost during these years. Some disappeared or grew old, others died, and yet he stayed. Howard has stood faithful while the world outside him grew louder, faster, and less predictable..--and many of his fellow stars believed they would outlast all of it. So did he, once. Howard Cobb has a sense of quiet vigilance with him. It’s a sturdy fence that has stood for many years, though some begin to wonder how much longer that calm can hold up under the weight of a changing country. Regardless, he’ll be there, whether the world moves on without him or not.

Haven't had the chance to come across you yet but I'm sure it will happen eventually, hope you have fun with the game.

badass username. makes me want to donate to charity. keep being awesome charitylynn12.

Ringo, an alcoholic who has tried just about everything with a drop of ethanol, stays away from one specific drink; that being Scotch. Surprisingly it isn't due to any kind of allergy or being unable to hold the drink down, but rather superstition. The first time he partook in drinking scotch, it ended with him taking a spill from his horse-- something that resulted in a week-long recovery for a head injury. From then on he's believed it to be the one exception to his vices. The devil's liquor.