I'll edit this shit later
Name: Jackson "J" McMarr
Age: 23
Alignment: Heroic
Appearance: To describe Jackson as burly would perhaps be overstating his stature, though it would certainly fit his demeanor. Standing lean with milk white skin at a staggering five feet ten inches flat, the slightly bruised features of a former high school linebacker wouldn't be out of place on some background tough in a cliche action movie and seem to scowl as if they were formed exactly to do so. His face seems half filled, with gaunt cheeks supporting the telltale exhaustion black bags below mahogany brown eyes and angry red eyebrows. A pronounced nose, previously broken, pokes out south of a short crop of ginger hair that itself peaks out of a long suffering grey hoodie emblazoned with the initials of a college he's never even looked at on the West coast.
Jeans, frayed at the ankle and worn light blue from years of wear seem otherwise unremarkable if not for the multitude of well disguised patches and mismatched stitching that truly make the pair unique, a testament to both the family's finances and his mother's loving patience with the sometimes infuriatingly dense Jackson. His shoes are the same kind of tired eight year old once white sneakers of the kind that perhaps wasn't so aged as to be cool back when kids could shout about the evils of the Bush administration but still rather venerable. His knuckles have the multitude of scars and grazes one might associate with a man who used to punch inanimate objects as a profession, but had to retire and start coaching once the ICC caught wind of his shenanigans. On his right wrist is a somehow still ticking antique watch, burnished brass and gold construction so sturdy it could probably stop a bullet. Which it had, according to his grandfather, at any rate.
All in all, a man perhaps out of place at a Comic Convention.
Personality: Out of all the things one might accuse Jackson of, one could never call him a coward. His ability to stand and fight despite whatever ridiculously overwhelming odds he finds himself is more of a self destructive trait despite any admirable connotations . Stubborn, brash, impulsive, ignorant, and even thick would be valid although poorly taken criticisms. Almost incapable of backing down from something once committed and quickly finding himself on the wrong side of events once the dust has settled and it turns out he was mistaken. His lion's pride being what it is, he finds it difficult to apologize but capable of recognizing when he was wrong. Anger and Jackson are constant companions, companions that try the best to smother each other to death in the struggle for who really controls his life. Furious outbursts punctuate his life like a malfunctioning typewriter, usually as preludes to a firing or getting beaten up.
One could say he was a simple man, interested in little outside of his life or interests and possessing little of what one could call general knowledge outside of baseball or the city itself. A man who has scarcely left his neighborhood as a child and lacking a mind inquisitive enough to wonder what lay beyond the wall developed a strange sense of tribalism for all things New York, distrusting anything beyond the confines of the State and downright refusing to go out of his comfort zone in general, much to the bemusement of his family and the approval of his peers. Has a healthy taste for Chinese food and fast Italian cars, but doesn't seem to mind the mental incongruity.
History: Born the eldest son to an unassuming blue collar family in an equally unassuming lower middle class suburb in New York, Jackson could have happily spent his entire life in the comfortable and familiar surroundings of his neighborhood, with his family that despite the occasional stress was an overall happy one. With his father, mother, and younger and decidedly more intelligent nerd of a brother. Merciless teasing and pranking about his comic books and video games aside, Jackson became quite protective of his younger sibling once he began to be bullied at high school, resulting in his being on the receiving end of one or two beatdowns, but he nearly always gave it back as good as he got.
The typical place to start a telling of someone's life would be a short sentence or maybe a paragraph describing their early school life before branching into the part of their lives that they found purpose or some greater calling in life. For Jackson, whose life peaked in the senior year of high school and had no direction to go but down from there, anything coming after would be a description of whatever part time or minimum wage jobs he was capable of holding down between stints as an expendable dealer for his friends who ended up in a less savory profession. Popular, athletic, and academically disinclined; Jackson was typical of those people many would grumble about behind their locker doors about never getting a real job or being the youth responsible for the demographics terrible reputation. Partying instead of studying may have been a fulfilling choice, but it was hardly going to open the doors he'd need later in life.
Football was what he was good at, but what he really wanted to do was play baseball, despite the complete lack of any talent in the sport. Still, stubborn as he was he tried repeatedly to make it onto the team, and was repeatedly laughed back into the pack. Although it was a trivial thing the experience affected him deeply, a simple humiliation which stung more than it should have, and became compounded by the fact that his brother was on track for a fancy scholarship out West in a prestigious college.
When high school ended, along with his chances of pursuing his love of baseball, he found he had nothing left to do but mope and apply for the dead end jobs his teachers had warned him about. For every car washed and burger flipped, he felt the strangled cries of his wounded sense of self worth grow louder and louder, and it reflected in his mood. Fired for lashing out at a string of different bosses, the normally cheerful and unflappable Jackson became angry and sullen, his bruised pride making him sour at otherwise innocuous jokes and ribbings from his family, who in turn became equally concerned and frustrated for him. When some of his less than reputable friends from his school days approached him with a chance for "action" and easy money, Jackson leaped at the opportunity to peddle small amounts of whatever substances they needed sold in the area. Jackson was never the brightest man in his class, and so found it difficult to hide his activities from his parents, and he found it impossible to escape the all seeing gaze of his younger brother.
After a very long and painful argument, with much shouting, Jackson begrudgingly agreed to stop after it took the combined efforts of all three other family members almost literally begging him to steer clear of his seedier friends. Freshly humiliated, and forced to start the soul crushing hunt for work again, Jackson was hardly in the best frame of mind when he went to some dumb comic convention in his brother's place due to said brother being out of town touring campuses on the West coast and being so upset that he couldn't go that he asked him to pick something up.
Armed with a list and a hundred dollars, and more uncomfortable than he'd ever been in his entire life, Jackson walked through the doors and into the chub filled carnival that was Comic Con 2017.