gunnar van dalen || district two || cb 6/6 || fin

They call you Dirtyhands, for there is nothing you won't do.

But it is a name earned through reputation as much as disgust, for you are nothing if not honorable to your clients. It's one of the few places where the word honor comes into play around you, though you honestly couldn't care less about the word in question.

All you care about is that once you have a contract, you'll see it through to the end by any means necessary.

They call you cripple in hushed whispers, for the limp in your left leg has never quite disappeared ever since you had broken it dropping from a rooftop ages ago. But they're whispers you take with a grain of salt, for even if the sword cane you always carry at your side doesn't shut them up, the unspoken declaration eventually does.

The declaration that there was no part of you that was broken, no part that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of you that was not stronger for having been broken.

Your lock-picking skills and sleight of hand are unrivaled among the district, your influence over the underworld is matched by few, and your heart rests in a careful equilibrium of calculated ice and the flames of righteous anger.

They can call you whatever they damn well please, but it does not change the fact of who you are.

You are Gunnar Van Dalen, scourge of District Two, and you wouldn't have it any other way.