Ruse

blue@harlemgirls.cjb.net

Full Name: *a mean looking brown-haired boy sneers at you* James Murphy. Dey cawl me Ruse 'round heah. *he narrows his already beady eyes* *he speaks in tight, drawn-out tones, almost hissing at times* Always game fer a good joke, ya know? *he grins tightly and gives the table a hearty smack, so hearty that the table threatens to topple*

Age: *scowls* Nineteen. *this is a lie; he's twenty and is touchy about not being in better paying work at his age* *however, lying about his age is somewhat of a moot point--only those with a death wish would so much as insinuate that Ruse is inadeqate in any way whatsoever*

Appearance: *he speaks rather sarcastically* Ohh, ahh, let's see now... oh, I'd say I'm pretty tall *he glances over his 6'2" tall body*, doncha think? *his raises an eyebrow and waits for an answer, apparently unaware of the rhetorical nature of the question* Well, anyway, got me some hair *he ruffles a scraggly mop of reddish brown hair* here... an'...what color wouldja call these, eh? *he leans his pig-like face forward, widening his tiny, close-set eyes* Aw, nevamind. *he suddenly sits straight in his chair* Cassandra usta say they was, ahh...aqua. Yeah... *his eyes narrow* Aqua. Now ain't dat a pretty word... *he trails off, a slight sneer playing at his thin lips*

Background: *he crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow* Oh, what's it to ya? *his eyes take on a rather frighteningly manaical gleam* What, you gotta problem wid where I come from?! Huh? *he places his enormous hands on the table leaning forward* What's dat ya say? *he narrows his eyes* None 'a your business? Yeah, I'd say dat was about right, buddy-boy. *he glares, leaning back in the chair; he would never dare admit that he grew up in extreme poverty in the Irish shantytowns along the Harlem river*

Relationships: *he scowls* What da hell's dat supposed ta mean? *needless to say, Ruse is not the most personable guy and most of the Harlemites regard him with some measure of discomfort, if not out-right fear* *at one time, Ruse was a rather charming guy, but circumstances, including the unsolved murder of his girlfriend, Cassandra, left him in his current state*

Other notes: *he squints slightly* Oh, ya got somethin' right there. *he indicates your shirt front* No, no, right there. *he swings his fist up, knocking your jaw shut* Aww. *his face is a portrait of mock sympathy* Sorry.
*For the most part, Ruse is a lot of talk and a lot of practical joking that isn't very funny any more. But, as any of the long-time member of Harlem will tell you, do no underestimate him.*

Full Name:	a mean looking brown-haired boy sneers at you James Murphy. Dey cawl me Ruse 'round heah. he narrows his already beady eyes he speaks in tight, drawn-out tones, almost hissing at times Always game fer a good joke, ya know? he grins tightly and gives the table a hearty smack, so hearty that the table threatens to topple
Age:	scowls Nineteen. this is a lie; he's twenty and is touchy about not being in better paying work at his age however, lying about his age is somewhat of a moot point--only those with a death wish would so much as insinuate* that Ruse is inadeqate in any way whatsoever*
Appearance:	he speaks rather sarcastically Ohh, ahh, let's see now... oh, I'd say I'm pretty tall he glances over his 6'2" tall body, doncha think? his raises an eyebrow and waits for an answer, apparently unaware of the rhetorical nature of the question Well, anyway, got me some hair he ruffles a scraggly mop of reddish brown hair here... an'...what color wouldja call these, eh? he leans his pig-like face forward, widening his tiny, close-set eyes Aw, nevamind. he suddenly sits straight in his chair Cassandra usta say they was, ahh...aqua. Yeah... his eyes narrow Aqua. Now ain't dat a pretty word... he trails off, a slight sneer playing at his thin lips
Background:	he crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow Oh, what's it to ya? his eyes take on a rather frighteningly manaical gleam What, you gotta problem wid where I come from?! Huh? he places his enormous hands on the table leaning forward What's dat ya say? he narrows his eyes None 'a your business? Yeah, I'd say dat was about right, buddy-boy. he glares, leaning back in the chair; he would never dare admit that he grew up in extreme* poverty in the Irish shantytowns along the Harlem river*
Relationships:	he scowls What da hell's dat supposed ta mean? needless to say, Ruse is not* the most personable guy and most of the Harlemites regard him with some measure of discomfort, if not out-right fear* at one time, Ruse was a rather charming guy, but circumstances, including the unsolved murder of his girlfriend, Cassandra, left him in his current state
Other notes:	he squints slightly Oh, ya got somethin' right there. he indicates your shirt front No, no, right there. he swings his fist up, knocking your jaw shut Aww. his face is a portrait of mock sympathy Sorry. For the most part, Ruse is a lot of talk and a lot of practical joking that isn't very funny any more. But, as any of the long-time member of Harlem will tell you, do no underestimate him.