Tags: Charisma Fairchild<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Nick Voss (Satyr)</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Name:</strong>  Nick Voss<br/><strong>Age: </strong>31<br/><strong>Race:</strong>  Satyr.<br/><strong>Appearance:</strong> While some satyrs are short weedy gits, Nick is one of the larger breed. Standing at 6'6", he is appears largely to be a very muscular human male. The thick ribbed horns that curl from behind his temples, their dull tips curling away from his head, much like a Ram's. His face is otherwise that of a handsome man, but not strikingly so. Otherwise, the only thing that classifies him as a 'sub-human' are his legs, backward bent and with thick fur from the top of his thighs to several inches above his cloven hooves. A scowl usually darkens his features, which helps him cut a very physically intimidating figure. He often dresses much like a bouncer, or enforcer, but when he has the option, fine suits are by far his favourite thing to wear.<br/><strong>Sexual Preference:</strong> Heterosexual. Dominant, and very physical. Also, Satyr, you can guess what his appetites are like.<br/><strong>Former Gang:</strong> The Unleashed.<br/><strong>Gang Position:</strong> Enforcer.<br/><strong>Weapon of Choice:</strong> Brass knuckles / horns.<br/><strong>Additional Skills:</strong> Businessman and planner. Very intelligent, but often underestimated because of his race and size.<br/><strong>Personality:</strong> A very smart individual currently frustrated by the limitations others put on him. Generally very serious, but can find humour in terribly morbid or odd events. When he isn't stormy and broody, likely to be very dangerous, as things are going according to plan.<br/><strong>Theme Song (optional):</strong> Battery, by Metallica (see full character profile)<br/></div></div><br/><br/>Nick was done his drink faster than he intended, and had to flag down the orc for another. The fresh drink hit his lips perfectly cold, and the massive beastman let out a grunt of contentment as he set the glass mug down again. A waif of an elf, whether it was a boy or girl was beyond Nick's powers of perception, squeezed in beside him to try to get their table drinks. Amused at how folks would rather inconvenience themselves than actually ask him to move, he remained where he was, taking a look down the bar at the scattered few drinkers there.<br/><br/>As he looked down the bar, he caught sight of a pair of familiar white wings, and his nostrils flared in surprise. Charisma was hard to miss, and harder to look away from. It had been months since he'd seen her, but he certainly remembered how it felt to have the woman squirming in his hands, her arms and fingers wrapped around his horns as they fucked like beasts. She was hard to forget allright. He snorted and looked down the other side of the bar, hoping she hadn't noticed him. It had been only two weeks, but she had left quite an impression. He didn't regret much, but treating her like he did near the end... well she hadn't exactly been a fuckin saint either. Didn't mean he was proud of himself. A snort earned him a scowl from the orc bartender, but Nick ignored it.<br/><br/>He began to wonder what she was doing here though. It was a while ago that they had been going out, but from what he could remember, she was only flirting with the gang life. If she was here though, maybe she'd decided to dive in. Or else she was here with a new guy. The idea didn't really bother him, but knowing her taste in partners, he wasn't expecting to get along with whoever she arrived with. Which, if she had, was probably the one more interested in the work. Well, the evening sure was looking<em>promising</em>. One ex, and likely one very aggressive asshole.<br/><br/>Nick decided to order a shot for good measure.