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Name: Jonathan (Jon) Black
Verse: (dunno yet) Dogs of the Never Never
Species: Human
Family: Mom Patricia, dad Patrick, older sister Bethany (Beth), godfather Uncle Tony (unrelated), cousin Trish lives with them (Patricia’s older sister Harmony’s second daughter (from her third marriage))
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green (Because, of course, I am so lacking in fictives with black hair and green eyes. *glares at Jon who just grins*)
Tattoos/scars/etc: None, I’m saving room for the scars yet to come.
Clothing: I like jeans; jeans, jeans and more jeans. And t-shirts (or polo shirts if I have to dress up). Work is muddy and rough on clothes, so why buy things I can’t wear 90% of the time?
Special Abilities: I talk to dogs. No, seriously, I talk to dogs. Not that they say much, being dogs and all, but every so often it comes in handy. So yeah, one-way communication with the average canine, woo. I wanna respec. (Oh hush.) Help, help, I’m being repressed! (…)
Age: Early twenties. (Twenty and three months does not ‘early twenties’ make.) A mere technicality. (I don’t think the bartenders are buying it) You spoil all my fun, you know that?
Health: No complaints.
Height/Build: Average height, decent build, as I play rugby– (Badly.) That’s your opinion.
Education: Four years high school, and one miserable year in college before I came to my senses.
Job: Construction (i.e. Sullivan gives me all of the braindead, boring, labor-intensive jobs he can, and I do them with a smile just to annoy him) (… That is one really odd method of revenge) Thbbpt.
Life Sum-up: I was born, I went to school, I came to my senses, I got a job where I don’t have to think.. Victory is mine! (I am so making you fill this out correctly later.) You can try, but it never worked for my parents, sooo…
Personality: Easy-going, laid back, hopeless romantic skuzzball (per Allison), directionless, uninspired (ooo, that’s Sullivan!), slacker (thanks sis), and general lay about.
Friends: Too many to count! Okay, well, I suppose I could count them, but really, what’s in a number? Tod, Keith, and Sebastian are at the top of the list (of course). All for one and one for all and whatnot.
Enemies: Apparently the Author (Hey!) Seriously, cut me some slack, I’m just a fictive.
Likes: Pizza with every imaginable topping, rugby, lacrosse, soccer– any high contact sport with lots of running after things, come to think of it. And don’t start with the ‘no contact’ BS about soccer, you’ve never seen us play. Oh! And the Frankencar. Which started life as a Toyota and now has at least one part from every major manufacturer. She’s rock-solid proof that duct tape makes everything better.
Dislikes: Cheese that smells like feet. (You are a very very strange little fictive.) Hey, find me one person who likes stinky cheese and– no, wait, someone has to like it or they’d quit making it. … Or maybe they just make it because they know I don’t like it… (This is not the Matrix.) How would you know? (… *headdesk*)
Goals: (Driving the Author nuts, apparently.) Aww, don’t you love me anymore? (…) Heheheh.