Aliases: Alex, Thirteen, Chapel the Thirteen, Chapel
Age: 17
Hair: Black (fades to ash grey) with blue streaks, messy (like he combs it, hah)
Eyes: Freakish green...ok, maybe just *bright* green...
Height: 5'9"-5'10"
Weight: He's scrawny
Weapons: Brass knuckles and rocket launcher. Basically, if he can't punch it into a bloody pulp, then he'll turn it into a crater in the ground.
Skills: Agility, accuracy (with the hand-to-hand combat, anyway), lots of speed (especially when running away), high stamina/endurance, can scale all sorts of buildings/cliffs/whatnot with no particular trouble (then he realizes what he's doing, and has no idea how he did it).
Weaknesses: Consumes huge amounts of food and drink (like any goofy protagonist), and tends to be off-guard during that time (or when drinking... too much of a good thing, and that's the end of his sanity for the night). Sleeping is also hazardous... when he's really tired, it takes a brick in a pillowcase to wake him if there's trouble. Coffee, tea, he loves anything with caffeine (ie, 11 cups a day may be fun, but potentially dangerous).
Physical description: Wears yellow sunglasses, (often perched on head) wears a walkman (with an everlasting fuel cell), leather jacket, combat duds, leather gloves with brass knuckles, heavy combat boots, and a lightweight rocketlauncher slung on his back.
Backgroung/Personality: Thirteen has never really been
considered dangerous by *anybody*, except maybe his friends back in Lastor,
his hometown. Lastor is a slightly more oriental city than most of the
settlements in Gunsmoke, and Thirteen was sent to an abbey to get an
education, be a monk, enjoy the peace and serenity, etc, by his parents.
(This is where the nickname 'Chapel' comes in...him being a monk and all -
just a joke from the abundance of gun-toting priests out there)
Unfortunately (or fortunately), he didn't understand how the monks could
train in the way of the Homicidal Maniac (*ahem* you know how martial arts
are.) and still abhor violence, write poetry about flowers, etc...
So, one day, he slunk out of the abbey, refused point blank to ever shave
his head or wear towel robes again, and wandered off in search of adventure,
hoping to meet hordes of interesting people. (Incidentally, that's where
everyone else comes in) Laidback, friendly, slightly vague and
possessing a hopeless sense of direction, Thirteen justs likes to wander
wherever the lack of water takes him, humming New Orleans jazz along the
way.
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