Character Sketch #2

Ok, so Cindy wasn't anything like the character I had come up with...I kind of just rolled with a tangent...but I like it. Moving on! Dreamed this guy up after I rolled over and realized I wasn't going to get sleep last night (this morning).


Across from Cindy was te ever confident, ever dashing, smirk that had become Brad's callsign. A man so deadly he'd made #1 on every KOS list held by every sniper on the Ledian offensive. Yet, one would never assume he was a capable killer by his pretty-boy exterior and his boyish good looks. In fact, this man was out of place if he were anywhere but on a magazine cover. Still, no one was going to complain about having him among the ranks of trained men who went to war in this day, there weren't enough soldiers to go around anymore.
"Well, excuse me for having my opinion," he remarked, chuckling a little as he grinned, "I just felt that keepin' a low profile would help make sure people like us aren't going to be like everybody else. You know," he paused, "dead?"
He was leaned against the table, his back towards where I sat, and his arms were crossed out of sight. Despite all his physique he was hardly a tall man, and it was increasingly obvious that Cindy, who wasn't even six feet tall, was going to tower over this man. Still, he took advantage of the moment, using his leverage to crane over her a little from where he sat beside her. One could have almost assumed he was attempting to hit on her if it weren't for his well-circulated list of floosies he'd bounced between. Every one of those women were unfit for militant assignment, as well as hard labor, too prim and pretty to do anything besides desk work. Brad was the kind of good looking man who dated women with more breast then brains.
Although not scrawny, he was skinny and lanky, much of his height was in his legs as opposed to his torso, where one would expect a man to be built. Such an appearance made it doubtful as to his lethality on the field. However, the trained eye noted the faint smear of oil around his right eye, a personal touch really, but his own way of marking himself as a sniper. His face was always calmly set into either a partially smirked kind of indifference, or the half-smile half-grin he'd trademarked in his last few years in the service. Even being the room with him for only a few moments you could see him change back and forth between the two several times. It fit him somehow, he seemed a little better if he wasn't that complex. He wore a flight jacket, a little gift he swore was from his father. It was faded from wear and the neck was folded, as per usual with those jackets, revealing the fleece coating which made it both light and comfortable. He set that off with a simple pair of blue jeans, not baggy but not too tight.
"All I'm saying is that I'm not keen on riding a tank into combat. Shit, I've got shells which could put a tank out of commision, and my rifle ain't even that big. Go it on foot baby, that's the way."