O'SULLIVAN, sam

[Sam O'Sullivan]

SAM O'SULLIVAN

Full name: Sam Austen O'Sullivan
Nicknames: Sam, Sully, Sammy
Gender: Male
Age: Twenty Four
Nationality: Irish National

Hair:
Depends if he brushes it or not. Colours easy to do, well I say that but... It’s a mess. It sticks up everywhere. It may look as though it’s never brush, and you’d be right, since it never is. He doesn’t need to brush his hair, for the obvious point that he really doesn’t care. But that’s a little obvious, even to a first glance. He does enough tracking through the brush to just get it messed up by twigs and such like. He does manage to keep it free of twigs, but you can’t help the wind and the rain or the snow. That just messes up a guy’s hair. But then again, Sam never did mind the rugged, messed up look. Gives the look that he’s actually done a days work, and that’s something everyone should think. He does work hard, since he works mostly on his own, and when he was working with a team it’s not usually for long.
Colour wise it varies. It’s brown, but differently brown. There’s a darker brown near the roots but for some reason that’s never been fathomed, it grown out into a paler brown. No-one knows why, it just does. That’s how things work. It does, on occasion, look blond. Actually on most occasions it looks blond, but that’s just because it’s pale brown. Very pale brown. Excruciatingly pale brown. Okay that was over the top, but you get the whole idea. Its brown, but it looks blond.
It’s not actually strait. Ever. It’s got a slight curve to the sides. I wouldn’t say wavy, I wouldn’t go that far, but it’s not strait. It’s stravey. I shall keep that word forever. But seeing as he wares it so short, it’s hard to tell. Its just hair to him. Not like other guys who spend years on their hair in the morning, Sam would be spending wasted time, wouldn’t he. It’s growing out of his Marine cut, so it just looks like he doesn’t cut it…which you’ll never believe this but…he doesn’t! If you really want to know the length, say it’s the length of a piece of string.
Eyes:
There’s always something that most people see first, and usually with Sam it’s the eyes. Most people do notice his eyes first. He does have quite a pale complexion as they go, so the green eyes stand out. They’re not exactly dark they’re just…noticeable. Not very useful, I know. You would say they sparkle, but obviously no eyes actually sparkle in the sense of sparkling. They’re bright and cheerful, reflecting his personality, but they do not sparkle. No eyes sparkle. However, they do in a way, blaze. It’s the first human trait of childish joy. They’re active and lively and are always looking at something. It could be anything really, but it’s not the creepy shifty eye sindrome that makes them look as if they are always moving, afraid at what may be around. No. It’s just the occasional glance this way and that to see what’s there. He’s always had good special awareness, so his eyes do like to see what’s around him, but then again, sometimes he doesn’t care.
The colour is usually what’s interesting. There isn’t one colour you could place on them being. Moss green is too dark, and moss just isn’t what his eyes are. Teal has too much blue in there, and his eyes aren’t really blue at all. Just typical green is probably too dark, since they’re just lighter than that. However, they do tend to take on the colour of what he’s clothed in. Well it sometimes does. Usually does, anyway. So usually in army camo it’s a dark green. If you want to just be easy and not to spend too long discussing eye colour. Sam’s eyes are green, end of story.
Height:
Six foot
Weight:
Never really weighs himself
Build:
Toned muscle, used to working, fit, slender, he's just used to workin' hard

General likes:
• Hunting
• Tracking
• Muffins
• Coffee
• Calm day out
• Mapping
• Trekking – usually up hills
• Training
• Socializing
• Amateur photography
• Any good film – knows whatever you’d want to know about the film of your choice
• Any sort of music – excluding any classical
• Vintage cars
General dislikes:
people who just don’t laugh ,,
too hard workers ,,
the song ‘HERO’ ,,
baseball ,,
people who have no patience ,,
maths ,,
betting ,,
airplanes ,,
sitting at a desk [much prefers sitting on a hay bail] ,,
typing [what’s wrong with a pen and paper]

Personality:
Over all, Sam’s not a very hard guy not to like, but really it just depends what kind of person you like.
CHEERFUL
He always tries to keep on a cheerful face. There’s nothing like a smile to help you through the day. He may not me n it, but at least he’s still trying. He’s no actor, but you can’t always see through him. He can be an open book, sometimes, but not always. He’s always got what he tries to make a calm exterior. He may be screaming inside, but he’s keeping calm outside. It helps to have no expression when you’re lining up cross hairs. Start to like or feel for the animal and you might not get any dinner that night. He does sometimes look a tad worse for ware, but he can pull over the ‘long night’ and ‘he’s just tired’ exterior and most people leave him alone. In some ways he looks rather bedraggled and that could be for numerous reasons, but his positive attitude means that whatever comes around the corner, Sam O’Mara would most likely meet it with a smile.

SOCIAL
Oh he loves a good talk does our Sam. Grew up in a traditional Irish village, he can drink most people under the table. Not that he’s really one to drink. He can drink and doesn’t mind letting down his guard among friends. In most ways he’s a likeable guy. He has an easy, open exterior. Sadly that’s an act. He’s always been a bit wary about meeting strangers, so if he can act it up enough, people ignore it. Its not that he’s rude to others, to tell the truth he’s probably the most polite person ever. It wouldn’t be surprising if he’s just stepped out of the eighteen fifties. Well maybe it would be, but the point still stands. He’s very polite to strangers. He can talk like there’s no tomorrow, usually to anyone. But not the sort of tell his life story, just involve himself in a conversation and join. He’s good at doing that.

HIS OWN WORKER
Sam knows where his place is and he knows it’s not at the front lines. He likes being more of the backstage crew rather than the cast. He’ll always strive to do his best, or at least what he considers his best. He’s a hard worker, so his best can be rather…more than others. In the Marines he’d pushed his squad when their commander had taken a fall. However, he knows when to stop. That doesn’t mean he will stop, but he knows when to let others take a breather as not to kill them. He is a man that knows his own boundaries, but he can usually push himself beyond them, even if it’s not his best work that will come out at the end. Sam’s contented to live his own life as he wants, not what others want and he will live it as he wishes. Sometimes it benefits others, sometimes he doesn’t.

LEVEL
Sam’s not usually one to rush into things. He’ll think about things, judge and contemplate. He considers risks as if he was an insurance company. He’s good to have in a crisis as he can make decisions, he hates to and sometimes they will be the wrong ones. He’s a guy who likes to take him time, and he will take his time if he has the time. He does keep his head, even if he really doesn’t like the situations. He likes to think through the options rather than just pick the easiest or the quickest. There’s usually a safest, quickest, easiest and best. He tries to find the best rather than all the others. He likes to be thorough rather than sorry.

PATIENT
For heavens sake. He sits in a tree branch all day looking for a deer to come past. That’s got to add up to patient. He doesn’t really mind the solitude as long as he’s going to get something out at the end. Things need to ass up and he can wait forever to make sure they do. He’s not one to believe in coincidences, there’s a reason for everything.

QUIET
Sam doesn’t generally shout, he has no need to. Or for that matter talk at all unless he has to: hence the ability to sit in a tree all day. He does have the thoughts in his head, but then most people do. Although most people only have one, he has two. If they were written down on paper they would be in black and red, why, no-one knows. However, when he wants to and when he needs to he can talk to Australia and back, an easy and effective way to distract people. Mostly he does keep to himself though. He knows the consequences of speaking up in the wrong moment, and he does care for those around him. Talking brings about things no-one wants so he learnt to keep quiet and just let himself think of ways out or around obstacles. He can look after himself if worse comes to worse; at least he thinks he can. He’s not one to boast and prefers to keep quiet.

HUMOR
He loves a good laugh does Sam. He’s got a big sense of humor, could be something to do with the thoughts that constantly fight in his head, but maybe not. He hates to see things and people depressed, as for one reason he left the force. Its rare that he himself gets depressed and if he does, he gets over it quickly, or as quickly as possible. Anything involving depression is swept aside and if it can’t be, he keeps it to himself, whatever the cost. He keeps himself in any cases from falling into the pit of depression usually by thinking about his luck. He seems to have been born under a lucky star, did our Sam.


History:
TWO
Madison O’Sullivan, his older sister by four years, had always asked when they were taking Sam back to the shop. Annie O’Sullivan would just laugh and keep making the dinner. Sam would sit and look around the kitchen, stroking the family dog, Carrie. Primo O’Sullivan was seldom home. He spent long hours working at the office, only coming home after eight each night. Eight was early for Primo to come home. Annie was more of a house-wife, seeing as she was mostly on maternity leave. They didn’t have a nanny, so Annie quit her job as an Accountant to work at home with the children.
FOUR
Sam started school. A small state school just down the road from the O’Sullivan’s house. Madison would always take Sam to school while Annie took care of their youngest sister, Meredith. Sam was an exceptional student, passing through his first and second years without so much as a blip on his school report.
SIX
Madison and Sam had been walking home when their father’s care pulled up in the drive way. That was an odd occurrence, seeing as it was only half past three. Proceed with caution. Both could hear Meredith crying, a door slamming. Both stayed outside, couldn’t exactly blame them for not wanting to go in, could you. Neither went home that night, staying with the cousins that lived half a mile away. Somehow they didn’t seem so surprised when they told their story of how the door was locked and Primo wouldn’t let them in. Jason O’Sullivan, Primo’s brother understood perfectly of his brothers “temper”. A normal day at school, a normal day at home. The kitchen clock clicked past six, past seven. Nothing unusual about this. Watching a re-run of a film. The soft knock on the door. Sam was the first up and at the door. The young boy smiled at the two tall police officers at the door. That was the night his father went to hell. Not literally of course. No, caught in the act of robbery. Fired from his job, left Annie, Sam, Meredith and Madison without any source of income. Charming.
TEN
Sam’s grades started to drop, and he stopped caring. Homework wasn’t handed in; he got into fights at school. Madison’s as well. Only Meredith stayed on at school, or at least did well in them. Sam sort of stopped caring, stopped bothering. Annie was back at being an accountant and was offered a job in America, Virginia. By then, Sam had just finished his A-Levels. He was young to finish them, at just seventeen. He’d been move dup a year, so had done GCSE and SATs a year early as well. The family moved to Virginia. Madison received a middle class, alright paid job as a secretary. Sam, however, had different plans.
EIGHTEEN
At seventeen he enlisted in the Marines. By his grades and schooling, it would seem that he was eighteen, and therefore old enough to join the Marines. Boot camp was hard work, but he endured and made enough friends to last a life time. Sad that they didn’t exactly last very long.
TWENTY
Such a young age. The helicopter landed with a rush of air and created a hell of a mess. The grass lay out flat on the ground, making an unusual pattern. The Marines took off their helmets and ear phones. The heavy packs were strapped on and in a mob the troop left the copter behind. Sam looked around, at the black sky, heard the soft rumble and saw the tanks and camouflage. He nudged his buddy, a man called James Riford.
“Nice looking place, eh?”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll rethink the bookings we had at the Ritz.” A tall man in camouflage gear hurried up.
“Alright boys! Welcome to Hell.”

And it was. Explosions plastered the sky. Sam crouched low in the brush, lining up the cross hairs down his rifle. The bullet took out a computer system thirty yards away, which burst into flame. He winked at James who had just hefted his own weapon onto his shoulder.
“Ready?” James hissed. He turned and crawled, getting out of range.

“James?” Sam tried again, pressing down harder on the wound. James grunted, his eyes flickering.
“Hey, c’mon.” Sam tried desperately, looking around. Where was backup!
“I…I guess the…reservations are…off.” James managed a smile, his dark eyes fading.
“No, c’mon. When we get back, I’ll personally call the Ritz and get the best rooms.” Sam replied, ripping down the length of his sleeve. The rain was heavy and unrelenting.

Sam hefted James over his shoulder and took the tramp through the undergrowth, keeping to the shadows of trees.
“Gunny!” The hiss came. Sam turned his head to where the sergeant was. He smiled with relief

TWENTY-THREE
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Sam answered, handing over the paper, signed.
“You were a good Marine, O’Sullivan.” His commanding officer said, signing his own name.
“Thank-you, sir, but I’ve had enough of war.”
“You keep that silver star clean.” His CO instructed. “Riford wouldn’t want it to gather dust.” Sam smiled, standing up and shaking his CO’s hand before leaving to catch his train.
TWENTY-FOUR
A friend of Sams came to him with a proposition. He had been on the Cross Forces Equestrian Team, riding the horses given and the taking the team position of eventing, but when he was younger he'd taken up western, taking to it quickly. It had just been something he'd enjoyed. He didn't want to go back to a menial job. So...ranch work, hardly menial. He’d been working with the CFET horses since he’d discharged and now was looking for something less...dramatic. He was given a younger horse to carry on with training, as well as the horse he’d used in all of the CFET competitions. So, he looked around, scouted for somewhere secluded and interesting and came up with...Westin. Seems strange, but an old buddy of his had lived there. So, at twenty four, ex-marine and willing Scottish worker, Sam moved up to Westin as a ranch hand.

Roleplay sample:
Having only arrived a few days ago, both of Breckan's handsome bay geldings were settling in nicely. Parker was standing almost moodily at the back of his stable if you just gave him a glance, but Breckan had known the gelding long enough to realise that was really just how Parker rested. In all fairness, Parker wasn't the most expressive horse when it came to relaxation. He'd stand with his back to the world, turned away from the door with his head hanging comfortably down and his ears resting back. That was Parker's relaxed imagine, which he wouldn't change unless he heard you unlock his stall. Then he was likely to move off, turn towards you and hope for something interesting to happen. Occasionally it did, like a ride or food, but at the moment those moments were usually only for the latter option. Parker had managed to spook himself in a field whilst back in the CFET training combo and catch his foreleg in a fence line. It wasn't a bad injury, just a large one which would take a while to heal. Therefore, Breckan's former competition mount was with him for recuperation.

Right now, Breckan stepped back from the slightly taller three year old Trekhener he'd only met a month or so ago. The gelding was a feisty, flighty young thing, but willing enough. The former marine laid a hand across the gelding's flank, patting gently. The gelding had an ear flicked towards him, whilst the other was swivelling occasionally, interested in the now familiar surroundings and the other horses. He was an inquisitive young horse, endearing and generally a nice ride. Ash had his little quirks, but he had been trained well so far. Being only five, he'd only been broken to saddle late year before last, which wasn't all that long, but Ash had come on leaps and bounds. Breckan had taken to taking him on longer rides and throwing in some faster paces.

Standing back, Breckan glanced over the Trekhener for a moment, remembering the leggy, uncoordinated colt he'd been shown pictures of back at the CFET camp. Ash had come on since then, being a careful horse when his feet were involved. Turning slightly, Breckan discarded the brush he'd been using and reached for the lightweight, all purpose bridle that had been fitted to the newly grown gelding a few months ago. He still rode Ash in a snaffle when just out riding mostly because Ash was pretty responsive. He wasn't a hard handed rider, never had been. For charity events he'd often opted for the minimalist style of riding with as little tack as possible. For those events he tended to either ride Parker without a saddle or the prize dressage and pleasure mare of the CFET, Larna, without a saddle or a bridle, just a headcollar. It was something which tended to bring amusement easily and Breckan really enjoyed it. He'd started off Ash with bareback in the school, and the horse seemed to enjoy it; the next step being taking the horse out bareback.

Ash took the bit willingly, playing with it between his teeth before settling down. Breckan quickly fastened up the buckles, checking they weren't too tight or too loose before unlocking the door to Ash's stall and leading the tall gelding out. He'd probably spent more time out of a saddle when learning to ride because his instructor had had a policy of cleaning your tack every time you rode. Breckan had reasoned that riding without a saddle would improve his balance and he wouldn't have to clean his saddle. He'd just grown to enjoy it more. He saw Parker raise his head and turn it to watch them pass, ears pricked up. He knew the gelding was feeling rather sorry for himself, locked up lame in his stable, but he was here to recover, not make it worse. He'd just be incredibly fresh when Breckan put a saddle on him next.

Ash's long stride wasn't quite measured yet, but he walked with pride, pacing beside Breckan as he led the gelding over towards a mounting block. He didn't quite feel like testing Ash's ability to withstand a vault right now. Not that he doubted the gelding, but he was still going slowly with training. Halting beside the block, Breckan swung one leg over his back and settled gently in position. Ash stood remarkably still throughout, only shifting his weight and giving his head a slight flick. Breckan murmured nonsense to the young horse before urging him into a walk, steering more with his leg than the loose rein contact he was holding right now. As has been said, Ash was always the inquisitive horse, his ears pricked up as he walked gently up the path leading out from the stable yard onto the flatter plains surrounding Solo. He gave a thick shake of his carved head, revelling in the long rein contact as he let his stride lengthen. The sun left a long shadow which followed them as he moved out into the grassland, Ash's head rising as his nostrils brought the scent of a close by horse, ears swivelling back and forth to catch sound of the near by equine.

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