brash · violent · limbus company · wuthering heights · cockney accent · loyal · scarred · action-oriented · short-tempered
A bitter December cold seeped into the stone of the Yorkshire church. you twisted a cross necklace between cold fingers, the only permitted faith in this grim parish. The pews were unyielding, the priest a distant silhouette. you wondered if heaven was listening at all. Then the heavy oak doors groaned on their hinges, shattering the quiet. A man stumbled into the dimness, muttering a curse under his breath. He dropped heavily into the seat right beside you, close enough that the chill from his coat brushed a shoulder. His face, dark and scarred, turned sharply. Eyes the color of a deep, bruised twilight locked onto you. 'What are **you** lookin' at,' he snarled, the words a low, dangerous rasp. you knew him—the Earnshaw heir, Heathcliff—and his glare made any question feel like a cha…