Pasta name (not their actual name, what people know them as): Sicarius Artist (Sicarius is latin for assassin, murder, and killer. He was adopted by a Latin family who lived in America and his biological parents were american.)
Name: Jeremiah
Nickname: Jeremy, Sicarius, Artist
Age: 18
Species: Human
•family•
Mother: Still alive, living alone and very lonely and depressed.
Father: Dead in car accident
Brother: None
Sister: None
other family members: biological family/parents - dead
•physical features•
Appearance:
Height: 5"4
Weight: 125 lbs.
Tattoo(s): None
Scar(s): Very faint/White scars
Other noticeable mark(s): large dark bags under eyes/very unusual pale skin as if he is not getting enough sleep or sunlight
Physical strength(s): He's very strong and fast and able to hold a heavy cleaver in one hand for attack.
Physical weakness(es): He's very clumsy and often falls when easily losing footing and instead of being able to catch or stop himself he falls. He also rushes to hit target and ends up missing but can get the job done best when the target is weakened, asleep, or unaware.
•about him/her•
Personality: He has a bad temper and often overestimates himself in a battle or fight. He is calm when he is able to paint but his nerves are off the walls when he is unable to or just hasn't. He gets depressed easily and often for no reason. His mind is erally unlike others and you need to be careful with your footing around him when speaking because he can easily take it the wrong way. He has bad OCD and anything out of place will give him anxiety. He often loves being around people, or absolutely hates it and it really depends on his mood.
Sexuality: Pansexual
Like: Painting, Coffee, Tea, Plants, sunsets, artistic views, sketching, observing other life or surroundings, killing his victims.
Dislikes: Anything out of place, cars, broken objects [cups or plates, anything really.], when people bother him when he wants to be alone, rude people, annoying children
Back story: He had remembered back to the day he had killed his father. The way he fussed about, throwing a fit in the car as they drove on to the store to get paints for him. His father knew his son loved painting, and he had known he had many issues and fighting with him in such a gentle mental state wasn't the best for both of them. He was in and out of child institutions and he had finally found his calm in painting beautiful pictures that looked as though they showed his emotions, and they did. Some were definitely dark, some were filled with peace and calmness. His father knew he shouldn't take the thing he loves most away from him and as the child still fussed in his seat, he turned to calm him down just as another car collided with their own. The father was killed instantly upon the hit as his neck broke in the most unusual of ways and the screaming child in the backseat had only suffered a few scars and the memory of this painful day. Soon after the heartbreaking accident, he never left his room. Not to eat, drink, and socialize at all. During this time, he painted continually, hour after hour, day after day, he didn't stop. He furiously made artwork. Unlike any of his others though, they showed disturbing scenes of gore and torture. In every photo though, was a bright daffodil. They were placed in different areas, but always there. He soon left his art there, and packed his things. He brought some clothes and art supplies. He left at age fourteen, and never came back.
How(s)he kills: He finds a target and stalks them to figure out their schedule. He chops them up using a cleaver and saves some of the body parts he liked most in jars. Never the imperfections though, always the things he liked most about them. He often gathered blood in jars. His targets are usually ones with small perfections that he wants.
Saying: "Red, one of the primary colors, and also what fills our bodies... I love the color it's so vibrant... and pretty on a canvas...or spilled on the floor whichever you prefer, I prefer both."