Description

Reaper
⌈Adios, asshole. ⌋

⌈Name⌋
Alejandro Vasquez. Some people call him Al, but he usually kills them, so you might want to go with “Mr. Vasquez.”

⌈Age⌋
103- Yeah, you read that right.

⌈Appearance⌋
He’s a nice, even six feet tall. Pretty well-muscled, too- more than lean, but far from beefcake. His family’s from Peru, but he inherited his mother’s pale skin tone as opposed to his father’s swarthiness. He does tend to tan nicely, though, or he would if he bothered to go out in the sun much. His eyes are a light amber color- kind of like a well-aged brandy. Well, that’s what he’d use to describe them, anyway. He’d also say he’s damn sexy, but really, I’ll leave that for you to decide.

His two most common looks are disdainful and arrogant. No, really. He’s got that kind of self-satisfied smirk that just shouts “predator,” and it’s pretty obvious from the way he carries himself that he’s confident to say the least. He’s got a pretty damn scary angry face, mostly because there’s just enough sadism there for you to notice, but not so much that he looks like some kind of cheesy comic-book villain. Really, though, for the most part he keeps himself neat and very clean. His nails are trimmed, his shoes are shined when appropriate, he smells like sandalwood, and his hair always looks fantastic, in that just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way.

Al’s style of dress changes with the weather, but it’s pretty much always expensive, from his fireproof jumpsuit (sorry, ladies, it’s not spandex) to his more everyday shirts, vests, and slacks, with fedora hats, no less. He sometimes carries a cane, cause damn if he doesn’t love the irony in that, and there's pretty much always a cigarette between his lips if he's not working. When on more clandestine errands, he dons all black (and quite a bit of leather), with a balaclava and combat boots.

Personality

Equipment

History

⌈Home⌋
He’s got several homes, actually, including one with an actual front lawn for kids to get caught playing on and threatened with a shotgun- well… an angry-looking fist-shake, anyway. Mostly, though, he lives in his penthouse suite in one of the fancy high-rise buildings on the nice end of town.

⌈History⌋
Alejandro’s life wasn’t always as glamorous and dangerous as it is nowadays. His Peruvian childhood, son of a nonnative documentary filmmaker and anthropologist mother and laborer/musician father, was pretty normal for the poverty-stricken, second-world at best slum he lived in, while mom tried to lobby the government and dad just tried to feed everyone. He was the oldest child in his family, and reckless even then, always inventing new and perilous games for himself and the other children to play.

Oddly enough, it was while playing chicken with the cars on a major highway (yeah, he’s surprised it didn’t kill him, too) that he was discovered by the first talent agent. Something about the kid just screamed star material, or more likely exploitation opportunity, and though his mother protested, she was convinced that if he became famous, it would draw national attention to the plight or Peru’s poor, blah, blah, blah, bull. But it didn’t matter. He was sucked in anyway, and became one of the few child actors that ever transitioned successfully into the adult world. He wasn’t half-bad at it, either, and was nominated for a few awards.

This was all before the accident. Alejandro had never really lost the same reckless streak that caused him to tease death at the age of six, and it was hardly a surprise to many when a stunt for a movie went horribly wrong and he plummeted from some scaffolding for a chase scene two hundred meters onto the concrete below. What was surprising is that he got up a minute later, completely unharmed. Not one nick or scratch.

From that moment onward, he ceased to age entirely. His powers had been activated, and there was no going back. Gradually, he withdrew from the spotlight, unsure what he should do with this information, and watched his friends and family grow old and die while he remained unchanging, ever the same.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and he grew weary of the world, simply wanting to die himself. Human beings, he firmly believes, are not meant to live beyond their allotted seventy to one-hundred years, but Alejandro himself has no choice in the matter. It’s made him bitter, resentful, and envious of those with normal lifespans, to the point that he tends to mock everyone he meets ruthlessly. At some point, he decided to do whatever it took to die, and began a new and lucrative career as a death-defying stuntman, in the hope that one day, something really would kill him. In the meantime, he’s rolling in the dough, and living as well as his cynical attitude will let him.

He moonlights as a vigilante, fascinated with death and only too willing to visit it upon scum. He doesn’t kill kids, and he doesn’t kill innocents, but honestly, murderers, rapists, and gangsters are all fair game. He’s earned the moniker “Reaper” because those that see him die, almost without exception, and honestly, most people aren’t even sure if he’s real or not. For the most part, though, Alejandro Vasquez is your typical, run-of-the-mill immortal daredevil millionaire douchebag.

Just stay the hell off his lawn.