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H E I G H TXANDXB U I L D: 6âČ 4âł , athletic
Heâs never put any thought into his looks. Samar is handsome but in that careless sort of way that involves minimal showers, three-day-old shirts, and constantly overgrown facial hair. He bathes when he can tell he needs it and trims his ever-growing beard when he decides the mess is more difficult than the care. His dark hair is always in some sort of disarray, which he either fixes with a fast wet comb or a ball cap. He wears mostly athletic wear in various shades of black and grey- joggers, hoodies, plain t-shirts (occasionally with some very unknown bands horrible graphic gracing the front), and either boots or sneakers.
During the revolution, Samar took moderately better care of himself. He kept his hair trim and facial hair cut short, worked out routinely twice a day, and managed to keep up a healthier diet than most. Most of those habits died with the war, but he still manages to roll out of bed for a run every day. Samarâs smoking has doubled now that his mind is idle, so he usually had a pack or two tucked in a jacket pocket nearby.
He held himself differently during the revolution, like the constant stress gave his shoulders something to hold themselves up for. He was bigger, stronger, more imposing. People look one look at him and understood the choices he was willing to make. Now he's... softer looking. Not mellowed, more like a fire that's struggling to keep burning. He slumps into chairs, leans back rather than forward, and looks the other direction when people call his name.
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Samarâs personality has to be split between the two astronomical parts of his life. Revolution and Post-Revolution.
Revolution Samar was pure passion. His passionate hatred for the government and those that lay with them was borderline pathological, and obsession so intense that he had no qualms doing whatever it took to get there. To him, anyone that was associated with the government was guilty, whether they got in his way didnât matter much to him. His morals were hazy, so hazy that he was often the one chosen for the missions no one else was willing to do. He rarely said no and rarely put himself first.
Samarâs high opinion of himself as a successful anarchist was one of the reasons he developed such a name for himself within the organization. He was confident, prideful, and never seemed to fail when he set his mind on a mission.
Despite that intensity during the Revolution, Samarâs passion made him roguishly charming, magnetic, inspiring to be around. He was generally friendly to those within the revolution and sympathetic to anyone that had their lives torn apart by the government. He clearly cared for those that were on his side and was willing to lay down his life to ensure their victory and survival.
Post-Revolution Sam is barely a blip of what he was six months ago. All his passion has turned to apathy, his intensity into boredom. He cares for watching the news on volume 80, making sure his fridge has a couple 6-packs, and that he has at least one pair of clean underwear in the house. His old charming wit has turned to extreme sarcasm, his proclivity for violence usually ending in drunken brawls. Heâs always been private and independent, but it's now glaringly obvious that he isnât very good at functioning on his own within a normal society. Samar was raised within the revolution movement, his entire life was anarchy from the moment his uncle decided a kid could toss a rock just as well as an adult. When asked about his Post-Revolution profession, he stretches the truth around the various hobbies heâs attempted and immediately dismissed. As the days go by, it's becoming more and more clear that Samar wasnât truly a person outside of the revolution and he now has to figure out who that person is.
Q U I R K SXA N DXO D D I T I E S:
He smokes, constantly, and if he's not careful about it the smoke clings to him.
He tries new hobbies and immediately hates them. Woodworking was boring, writing was egotistical, cooking felt like a chore.
F E A R S:
Being useless, which he is currently living right now. Who needs a washed-up radical anarchist answering their boring 9-5?
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As far back as Samar can remember, heâs always been with his uncle Aryan. His parents died before he knew how to remember them, but Aryan made sure that he filled Samarâs childhood with the love that two parents could give. He thought the world of his uncle, even if the man had to keep his face hidden from cameras in public and rarely ventured out in the middle of the day. Samar gradually became aware of his uncle's job within the earliest forms of the revolution- the gadgets that he brought him were the tinkerings of bombs, the closet he wasnât allowed in was a gun cabinet. His uncle talked to him when he worked from home- sharing protesting stories, of why Samar should never trust the government, of Aryanâs hopes of Samar joining him one day. So like any kid with a hero to look up to, Samar chose to be Aryan.
He fell into the revolution easily and found the rest of his family there. Aryan treated him like an understudy and took Samar to all the early meetings and war-room discussions. And then one day, at a demonstration that turned violent and the two were separated, Aryan never came home. After a week of waiting by the door, Samar came to the conclusion of where his uncle probably ended up. If he wasn't dead, he probably wished he was at this point.
He threw himself into his uncleâs position and took the reins with no qualms or reservations. Aryan was known as the man that got the job done no matter what, so that was what Samar became as well. Samar was extreme, always the voice of violence, but he believed that was the only way to get them seen. Many believed him too radical, but they also knew that getting rid of someone with greyed morals would only be detrimental to the cause.
Getting himself involved with the Wrenley girl was a turning point for him and his ability to actually make an impactful attack against the politicians that fought against them. She gave him everything he needed- he didnât trust her, but he was beyond helpful and a necessary risk. And when she gave him Senator Costaâs itinerary and address, complete with a detailed explanation of his compound⊠Samar had always known that Costa had been responsible for the disappearance of his uncle, so it had been no question that he would strike. After the explosion, heâd been apathetic to the deaths of the senators' family, sure that they had deserved it in some capacity for sticking around.
When the revolution ended, Samar was so focused the first week on clean up that he hadnât had time to think about what that all meant. The revolution didnât truly want him involved in the structural organization going forward- he was just an anarchist now, though heâd always known it would end up this way. So heâd gone home. Home meant regular dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, and vacuuming. It meant waking up in the morning and sleeping at night, it meant finding a job, it meant dating, buying new sheets, magnets in your fridge, a house plant cause he was around to water it regularly. It meant all the shit heâd been fighting so hard to allow everyone to have and he hated all of it.
So instead heâd ordered a pizza, drank two six-packs, turned off the lights, and put the tv on high while news of the new world heâd helped create rang through his living room.