<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Nick Voss</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> none yet<br/></div></div><br/>Sometimes it paid to be the biggest nastiest son of a bitch in the room.<br/><br/>From the way the bouncers had eyed him, his horns especially, he was pretty sure they didn't like letting him in. But tonight was a special night, normally he'd have just greased their palms in a properly subtle fashion, and not worry. But tonight, someone was looking for people to do "work". As the crowd generally attempted to part for the cloven hooved Satyr, Nick couldn't help but smile. Yeah, sometimes, being him didn't suck too hard.<br/><br/>As he walked up to the bar, he saw an orc bouncer from further back in the club shift uncomfortably at Nick's outfit. Normally, he loved a suit. Pin striped, tailored, and oh so sexy. But tonight, since he could, and since he was trying to market his physical talents anyways, he had decided to play it up. His black shirt was tight, and sleeveless. His arms were bared, thick and fairly hairy, knife, bullet, and other scars criss-crossed half of the skin. The shirt itself was unadorned, but the wide black jean-shorts he wore, that hung down to his backward bending knees, hiding only some of his furry legs, were adorned with chains and spikes aplenty. He had left his brass knuckles with the bouncer, and his pockets felt a little light without them, but he'd deal. Besides, the chains wrapped around his right forearm would be useful enough in a tight spot, and the lock binding them so the bouncers didn't flip their shit were useless and fragile little things anyways.<br/><br/><strong>"Delver Draft, pint."</strong>his speech was far more civilized and measured than his appearance, but his voice itself was deep and rough.  He stood at a walk up area, too broad to fit on one of the stools, and took his drink there, tipping well enough that the bartender let him stay there. Drinking a long sip of the beer, he decided not to look around more than those also at the bar. There was gonna be a lot of tense, and mercenary type folks around tonight. If the big ram-horned guy was tense and suspiciously eyeing everyone else, well, tense and armed was a bad combination. Of course, he might just be pessimistic about that sorta thing, but he'd always found it was safer to prepare for the worst. Besides, he wasn't here to get laid, and if a potential employer didn't have the sack to approach him, then that wasn't the sort he wanted to work for.