Dane Lynch.

[Dane Lynch]

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Character Introduction for: Dane Lynch.
Played By: R.
AIM/AOL Name: AIM; stoic resolution.
Avatar Name: John Mayer.
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Physical Stats:

Age: 28.
Birthday: January 10th, 1985.

Height: 6'3"
Weight: 187 lbs.
Build: Athletic.

Hair Color: Brown.
Eye Color: Pale brown; hazelnut.



Identifying Features:
Full tattoo sleeve that includes tribal, a koi fish, and other random colorful ink. Cuts off just above his left wrist.


Typical Clothing Choice:
Jeans and wifebeaters; customized black leather jacket. Motorcycle-style Hi-Tek boots.


Mental/Personality Traits and Weaknesses/Phobias:

Mental & Personality Traits:
Very untrusting of people in general. Could be deemed as slate cold, whilst working. Stoical. Dane is definitely the 'strong and silent' type, but when something truly gets under his skin, he's damn sure to let everyone know. Fierce protector of those close to him, loyal to his family and few friends, and work. Witty, sarcastic, but soft spoken when he speaks.

Weaknesses & Phobias:
None other than the fact that he bleeds like everyone else. Phobias, however, come with good reason; his daughter, Lea, has been kidnapped three times up to date. More than anything, he fears it'll happen and he won't be able to get to her that next time. Never being able to put a stop to the wrong-doings of his late brother's 'work.'


Home, Haven and Occupation/Hobbies:

Home:
131 Eldridge St, NYC, NY.

Haven:
Ireland.

Occupation:
Assassin. Hitman. Contractor/Murder for Hire.

Hobbies:
Watching old movies. Tombstone being his favorite.
Cleaning his weapons.
Spending time with his little girl.


Skills, Talents and Education/Training:

Skills & Talents:
Using sniper, or long-range (scoped) rifles.
One bullet, three holes -- just sayin'.

Education & Training:
General Education Diploma.

Hand-to-hand combat.
Rifles, pistols, and combat knives.
Subtlety.
Focus.


Property, Pets and Toys:

Property & Toys:
A deep purple '92 Camaro RS, with T-tops.
Twin Desert Eagles (his initals engraved in the chrome).
Twin combat, serated knives.
Throat mic (when necessary).
Marlboro Reds.
Chrome Zippo with a "L" engraved on the side.

Pets:
None.


Friends, Enemies and General Contacts:

Friends:
Kip (NPC) - Red headed, foul-mouthed, fuck. The watcher/guardian for Lea.

Enemies:
Everyone, until proven worthy.
Charles Nevarie (NPC), & company.


General:
Lea Lynch - daughter. (NPC).
Canin Lynch - father. (NPC).
Aithne Cavanagh - mother. (NPC).
The Fraternity.


Brief History:
Slate cold and objective; you weren't any of his concern, only a target that would be gasping for their last breath between the beats of his own heart, and held breath.

He knew pistols, he knew rifles, and he was fluent in hand-to-hand combat. His sights were calibrated, his hands as hard as stone. Little did his old man know that he was training a natural in the art of killing, and that it'd come back around to bite him in the ass once the boy was old enough to realize what they were all about.

It'd all come full circle. He'd ended it once he'd tapped into all the lies. Each head accounted for was double-tapped from above, his brother included.. and the mansion he'd once called home had been reduced to rubble, smoldering wood, and sky-licking flames that burned hotter than when the old gas station down on 55th Street had been set ablaze. Dane had walked away unscathed.

Dane. The modern day gunslinger who quoted Doc Holiday, and was only missing the hat. Smoked Marlboro Reds exclusively, and drank half a glass of scotch a night to soothe away the day. Leather jackets with chains, and steel toed boots. Denim, and messy hair. The kid was a walking fashion statement, and he didn't give two shakes of a rat's ass.

He'd shoot you between the eyes without as much as a blink, and you'd never know what hit you unless he wanted you to. A low-toned whistle was all he'd give, and once you were in his sights.. it was lights out. Goodnight, sleep tight.

All in a night's work. Dane had his enemies, but he didn't fear them as most would have.. for he was trained, and trained well. Fear was nothing but weakness leaving the body, and he'd run dry.