Post by Bryen Kinney on Apr 12, 2012 6:56:45 GMT -5
Player: 0173
Contact: (PM me)
Intentions: Neutral
Background
Name: Bryen Kinney
Race: Werelord
Species: Otter
Age: 23
Tier: 2
Social
Place of Birth: Greenwich
Allegiances: None
Aspirations: None
Nicknames: -
Titles: -
Relatives: Andrew Kinney (Father), Nerissa Dewclad (Mother), Miriam Kinney (Sister), Emmet Kinney (Brother), numerous maternal cousins
Significant Other: -
Mental
Personality: Calm, reserved, and unassuming, Bryen prefers to stay safely out of the spotlight and tuck himself away in some quiet corner to safely watch the proceedings. He keeps out of trouble, listens far more than he talks, and keeps his temper out of sight, safely buried under several metric tonnes of patience. Quite the wallflower at times, he's practically docile around his friends, and while he doesn't often go out of his way to extend a helping hand, he'll readily provide assistance to anyone who asks, even strangers - but if, and only if, they ask first, and they address him directly. The rest of the time, the world can get along just fine without his help.
Likes: Sunlight, rivers, swimming, jogging in the woods, autumn, warm summer nights
Dislikes: Making decisions, arguments, cold summer days, squirrels
Strengths: With a lifetime of practice in not rocking the boat, Bryen has become very good at avoiding trouble and staying under the radar. He's a safe, stable, harmless person who keeps his own counsel and minds his own business - exactly the sort of person who's good for confiding in, because he'd never tell a secret. Subsequently, people give him plenty of their own to keep. He keeps his head very well in the midst of full-blown hysteria, which sometimes has a calming effect on the panickers around him; in less tense situations, his even temper becomes a source of near-infinite forbearing. He's fully aware that many things take time, especially the good ones, and he's fully prepared to wait.
Weaknesses: Having never excelled or stood out at anything in his life, Bryen has grown resigned to an existence of mediocrity. That he's only shown any real success in helping others get ahead in life cements his self-image of being everyone's stepping stone, and with his passive, non-aggressive mindset, he's all too easy to take advantage of. Social situations that involve him are awkward all over, given his reticence and general lack of initiative - he rarely makes the first move, and doesn't make eye contact, preferring to stare almost - but not quite - into a new acquaintance's face, if he ventures to look up from his shuffling feet at all. Especially in the presence of unfamiliar faces, he has a tendency to stutter or pause mid-sentence.
Physical
Major Details: Green eyes, brown hair, 5 ft 10 in as a human; brown fur, 7 ft in his were form.
Appearance: Bryen's human frame leans closer to muscular than athletic, the result of his Were nature accentuating years of exercise and physical work. His straight hair is often messy, and he's recently given up trying to defy his genetics by shaving and settled for keeping his beard trimmed. All these traits might make him look threatening, if not for the slightly slouched back, hunched shoulders and dazed expression which always follow him around.
Natural Abilities: Bryen is a good swimmer and runner, with the stamina to travel a few miles on foot or by the waterways without breaking much of a sweat, even in human form with a heavy load in tow. Regular exercise has granted him a much better lung capacity than most his peers.
Natural Traits: Bryen's Were form, while still bulky, comes with a flexible, streamlined shape, webbed hands and feet, and a rudder-like tail, all of which improve his ability to maneuver underwater.
Strengths: Bryen's physical health - his strength, stamina and agility - surpasses that of many of his (human and beastfolk) peers. He can endure a substantial amount of punishment and survive, and be back on his feet in short order - all of which is before factoring in the supernatural augments to his endurance. He doesn't shy away from menial labor, and has the right build for doing more of it for longer periods of time.
Weaknesses: Bryen has never won a fight in his life, and with no combat training under his belt, he's not likely to be winning any for the foreseeable future. His spatial awareness is limited to what's directly in front of him, making him easy to blindside or ambush from behind. When he gets into a scrap, his options are limited to fleeing the premises, or simply hunkering down and hoping to survive. It's less an inability, and more a refusal to fight - he's afraid of what else will get out of control if he starts hitting back.
Magical
Specializations:
- Tier 1: Mental (Plants), Proficiency 2. Bryen can create and manipulate plant life with his thoughts.
- Tier 2: Physical (The Weaver), Proficiency 2.5. With his movements, Bryen can manipulate, disintegrate and reshape plant matter such as cotton or wood.
Visual Display: None
Special Abilities: Enhanced Sense: Smell, Enhanced Speed 1, Psychometry
Bonus Special Abilities: Enhanced Recovery 1, Enhanced Recovery 2, Enhanced Sense: Touch; Transformed: Enhanced Strength 1
Unique Abilities: -
Strengths: Common herbs have more uses than most people give them credit for, and Bryen quite conveniently has access to as many of them as he can imagine. Those in his repertoire include plants with effects such as dulling pain, improving concentration, accelerating recovery, and producing an incapacitating scent. His clothing, being made from plant fibers, provides a ready (and often unexpected) source of plant matter that he can alter to suit the need at hand.
Weaknesses: Bryen's knowledge of herblore only scratches the surface of a plant mage's arsenal. For all their versatility, common or garden herbs are unmagical, sometimes fragile, and all too easy for another mage to resist or destroy. However, his biggest weakness, magic wise, is himself - his lack of self-confidence, and his struggle with the animal that shares his mental space. Otters are excitable, active creatures that enjoy noticing all the fiddly bits in the environment and would very much love to fiddle with them or think about fiddling with them. Otters on land are excitable, bouncy creatures that alternate between tussling with their fellows, leaping after butterflies and juggling pebbles. For these reasons, otters as a feral species are unsuited to the focus required for mental magic and the steady, deliberate and similarly focused movements used in the physical magic of the Weaver. Even as a werelord, the animal in Bryen's head succumbs readily to such mental pulls, and often bogs down his concentration in the process.
Inventory
Mundane: Clothing made from cotton and other plant fibers, a haversack, and a handful of acorns in his pocket.
Magical: None
History
Some people are born lucky. They come into the world cold, naked and bawling their lungs out, and life hands them favorable genetics, natural talents, an adoring crowd to fawn over them...
And some people, like Bryen, are lucky to be born.
Bryen's father was a werewolf, infected during an attack and subsequently turned out into the wilds to preserve his family's reputation. He survived and found a new life by the grace of the Selkie clan that took him in. During an age when the 'civilized' folk of Greenwich were effectively at war with their Wildfey denizens, this was nothing short of a stroke of good fortune.
Long before the first child of Andrew Kinney and Nerissa Dewclad was born, the mages in the family, the fortune-tellers and potion makers and charm-singers, were already preparing for the worst. The offspring of a Were and a Wildfey could take after either parent, becoming fully human, or fully Fey, or human, but blessed in some way by its Fey ancestry... or it could be afflicted with the same curse that rose to the fore once a month, turning the human parent into something wild, savage and utterly not human.
A cocktail of potions and wards, intended to detect the Were curse and bring it to heel, instead backfired on Nerissa when she was pregnant with her first child. She took ill during the first full moon of her pregnancy, and the second, and the third. Once was misfortune, twice was unlucky coincidence, but thrice...
Bryen was born a month early, weak and sick and struggling to breathe. His mother was also torn from the birth, and neither seemed likely to live. They clung to life for weeks, with Bryen making a miraculous recovery during the next full moon while his mother stayed frail for months afterwards.
The clan accepted him as one of their own, just as they had taken his father in. They helped care for him, minded him during the nights when the full moon kept his parents busy, and as far as they could, treated him as if he was just another Selkie child...
The problem was that he simply wasn't, and they all knew it. He couldn't take to the rivers like a seal to water; he couldn't instinctively understand the feral song that was their language; he had no aptitude for magic; and in a crowd of beautiful fey children, an ordinary human looked almost unseemly. He couldn't move under his own control for months, let alone swim; while cousins of his age were diving and chasing fish, he was only beginning to crawl.
Three years later, he had a sister.
Miriam's fortunes were the complete reverse of his. Beautiful, precocious, talented, everything he couldn't be; and while both children were given the same doting care extended to all children of the clan, it was quite obvious which one commanded their fey kin's favor, and which one received their pity.
Bryen grew up with the keen awareness that he was loved anyway, even though he was the luckless one, not extraordinary but extra ordinary. Then his parents had another beautiful fey child, Emmett, and the contrast between himself and his two siblings only became that much more obvious and jarring.
And then he turned thirteen, and his fortune took a turn for the worse.
He was swimming with his cousins, lagging right at the back of the group as usual. A few of them were a bit rougher in the water, as adolescent seal pups could sometimes be, and the slow, awkward, human shape was the most obvious and easy target for playful aggression - nothing harmful, beyond the usual splashing to the face, climbing onto his head when he came up for air - nothing he wasn't used to, until he tried to take a breath and one of them grabbed his ankles and pulled him down.
He'd always been watched, with more meticulous care as his age neared the double digits. It was the only reason things didn't get out of hand. His uncles managed to subdue the enraged creature and drag it from the river as it snarled and hissed and thrashed. Only a few limbs, a lot of teenagers' prides, and one single Were-otter's reputation were damaged in the scuffle.
He wasn't allowed to leave his home the next day. He wouldn't have stepped outside for the world.
Now that he was of the right age to begin learning the art, and with the need for it, an aunt took it upon herself to teach him magic. They lived in the forest and knew it well; plant magic, therefore, seemed the most viable course of study.
He showed promise from the first day, when the spark within him was stirred to life, and his thoughts reached out to make the leaves and grass dance. It was hardly a feat, compared to the adept mages of the clan, but it was a start, and it was promise.
It was promise unfulfilled, three years and two exasperated teachers later, when he still could barely coax a sprout to grow. It wasn't for a lack of trying... rather, it seemed he just didn't have the talent, after all. Nothing to deserve being looked down upon, his teachers insisted, even as they threw in the towel. He just... wasn't that sort of person, and he had their sympathy, if not their applause.
His sister, in one of her usual fits of goodwill, joined him half a year after his magic lessons began in an effort to encourage him. She ended up surpassing him in the course of a few months.
After going through five more relatives, none lasting as his tutor for more than a year, Bryen's mother took up the challenge of making something out of his magical abilities. No great magician herself, she was still a decent potion maker, and she could teach him to identify and recreate a number of useful herbs for basic potions.
Here, Bryen was little more than barely passable - not a failure, but nothing remarkable, and it was quite clear that she had been hoping for better, even if she was pleased enough that leaving him to mind a pot wouldn't lead to an explosion. She approved that he could puzzle out a way to make herbs sprout from his own clothing, but not that it was still a strain of will to transform the strands and make them grow, and only have a handful of leaves for precious minutes of effort.
Nine years went by in this fashion, with Bryen's magical prowess crawling forward at a snail's pace while the Were curse sculpted his body into something oversized, awkward, and good for physical work, if little else. Life settled into a comfortable pattern of struggling with his magic for a few hours, earning a sigh as expectations went unmet once more, and then disappearing for the rest of the day. When he wasn't to be found, he was deep in the woods, exercising to work off the constant urge to shed his sentient mind, lose himself somewhere down a river and never again care what the world thought of him.
His father, by now a trained mage in his own right, eventually decided enough was enough. His maternal relatives had coddled him all twenty-two years of his life; what the boy truly needed was a stern talking-to; something to shake him out of the idea that he could spend his whole life skiving off in the woods, then coming home to collect handouts from his fey relatives.
Bryen listened as he put his foot down, looked him in the eyes, and said nothing.
The next morning, he was gone as usual. The following night, he didn't return.
Stamina and supernatural agility, built up over nine years of exercise, brought him to a town in the northeastern corner of Greenwich, where no one took much notice if an awkward young man took up room and board in the staff dormitory of an inn, and worked odd jobs for the innkeeper to pay it off. Hardly anyone asked questions about the accent that sounded more accustomed to southwestern Greenwich, and those who did learned to give up after a few rounds of single-word answers. Rumors were bandied about, but they made a nice change from living where everyone knew the truth. After a lifetime of sympathy, even a little malice didn't seem so terrible. At least they weren't feeling sorry for him, if they bothered to pay attention at all.
Bryen found somewhere to exist and settled right in, far away from home and secure in the knowledge that he could never go back, and no one from his past could find him here. Little by little, his accent shifted north, blending into the background as easily as the rest of him. It made a nice change from sticking out like a sore thumb.
Workmates invited him to football games and parties sometimes. He gained a reputation as someone who could do his job without causing a ruckus. It wasn't much of a job, and inns tended to be noisy anyway, but it was something he was useful at for once, even if it wasn't likely to lead him anywhere forward in life.
It wasn't that bad. He wasn't about to go anywhere.
He just wasn't that sort of person.
Contact: (PM me)
Intentions: Neutral
Background
Name: Bryen Kinney
Race: Werelord
Species: Otter
Age: 23
Tier: 2
Social
Place of Birth: Greenwich
Allegiances: None
Aspirations: None
Nicknames: -
Titles: -
Relatives: Andrew Kinney (Father), Nerissa Dewclad (Mother), Miriam Kinney (Sister), Emmet Kinney (Brother), numerous maternal cousins
Significant Other: -
Mental
Personality: Calm, reserved, and unassuming, Bryen prefers to stay safely out of the spotlight and tuck himself away in some quiet corner to safely watch the proceedings. He keeps out of trouble, listens far more than he talks, and keeps his temper out of sight, safely buried under several metric tonnes of patience. Quite the wallflower at times, he's practically docile around his friends, and while he doesn't often go out of his way to extend a helping hand, he'll readily provide assistance to anyone who asks, even strangers - but if, and only if, they ask first, and they address him directly. The rest of the time, the world can get along just fine without his help.
Likes: Sunlight, rivers, swimming, jogging in the woods, autumn, warm summer nights
Dislikes: Making decisions, arguments, cold summer days, squirrels
Strengths: With a lifetime of practice in not rocking the boat, Bryen has become very good at avoiding trouble and staying under the radar. He's a safe, stable, harmless person who keeps his own counsel and minds his own business - exactly the sort of person who's good for confiding in, because he'd never tell a secret. Subsequently, people give him plenty of their own to keep. He keeps his head very well in the midst of full-blown hysteria, which sometimes has a calming effect on the panickers around him; in less tense situations, his even temper becomes a source of near-infinite forbearing. He's fully aware that many things take time, especially the good ones, and he's fully prepared to wait.
Weaknesses: Having never excelled or stood out at anything in his life, Bryen has grown resigned to an existence of mediocrity. That he's only shown any real success in helping others get ahead in life cements his self-image of being everyone's stepping stone, and with his passive, non-aggressive mindset, he's all too easy to take advantage of. Social situations that involve him are awkward all over, given his reticence and general lack of initiative - he rarely makes the first move, and doesn't make eye contact, preferring to stare almost - but not quite - into a new acquaintance's face, if he ventures to look up from his shuffling feet at all. Especially in the presence of unfamiliar faces, he has a tendency to stutter or pause mid-sentence.
Physical
Major Details: Green eyes, brown hair, 5 ft 10 in as a human; brown fur, 7 ft in his were form.
Appearance: Bryen's human frame leans closer to muscular than athletic, the result of his Were nature accentuating years of exercise and physical work. His straight hair is often messy, and he's recently given up trying to defy his genetics by shaving and settled for keeping his beard trimmed. All these traits might make him look threatening, if not for the slightly slouched back, hunched shoulders and dazed expression which always follow him around.
Natural Abilities: Bryen is a good swimmer and runner, with the stamina to travel a few miles on foot or by the waterways without breaking much of a sweat, even in human form with a heavy load in tow. Regular exercise has granted him a much better lung capacity than most his peers.
Natural Traits: Bryen's Were form, while still bulky, comes with a flexible, streamlined shape, webbed hands and feet, and a rudder-like tail, all of which improve his ability to maneuver underwater.
Strengths: Bryen's physical health - his strength, stamina and agility - surpasses that of many of his (human and beastfolk) peers. He can endure a substantial amount of punishment and survive, and be back on his feet in short order - all of which is before factoring in the supernatural augments to his endurance. He doesn't shy away from menial labor, and has the right build for doing more of it for longer periods of time.
Weaknesses: Bryen has never won a fight in his life, and with no combat training under his belt, he's not likely to be winning any for the foreseeable future. His spatial awareness is limited to what's directly in front of him, making him easy to blindside or ambush from behind. When he gets into a scrap, his options are limited to fleeing the premises, or simply hunkering down and hoping to survive. It's less an inability, and more a refusal to fight - he's afraid of what else will get out of control if he starts hitting back.
Magical
Specializations:
- Tier 1: Mental (Plants), Proficiency 2. Bryen can create and manipulate plant life with his thoughts.
- Tier 2: Physical (The Weaver), Proficiency 2.5. With his movements, Bryen can manipulate, disintegrate and reshape plant matter such as cotton or wood.
Visual Display: None
Special Abilities: Enhanced Sense: Smell, Enhanced Speed 1, Psychometry
Bonus Special Abilities: Enhanced Recovery 1, Enhanced Recovery 2, Enhanced Sense: Touch; Transformed: Enhanced Strength 1
Unique Abilities: -
Strengths: Common herbs have more uses than most people give them credit for, and Bryen quite conveniently has access to as many of them as he can imagine. Those in his repertoire include plants with effects such as dulling pain, improving concentration, accelerating recovery, and producing an incapacitating scent. His clothing, being made from plant fibers, provides a ready (and often unexpected) source of plant matter that he can alter to suit the need at hand.
Weaknesses: Bryen's knowledge of herblore only scratches the surface of a plant mage's arsenal. For all their versatility, common or garden herbs are unmagical, sometimes fragile, and all too easy for another mage to resist or destroy. However, his biggest weakness, magic wise, is himself - his lack of self-confidence, and his struggle with the animal that shares his mental space. Otters are excitable, active creatures that enjoy noticing all the fiddly bits in the environment and would very much love to fiddle with them or think about fiddling with them. Otters on land are excitable, bouncy creatures that alternate between tussling with their fellows, leaping after butterflies and juggling pebbles. For these reasons, otters as a feral species are unsuited to the focus required for mental magic and the steady, deliberate and similarly focused movements used in the physical magic of the Weaver. Even as a werelord, the animal in Bryen's head succumbs readily to such mental pulls, and often bogs down his concentration in the process.
Inventory
Mundane: Clothing made from cotton and other plant fibers, a haversack, and a handful of acorns in his pocket.
Magical: None
History
Some people are born lucky. They come into the world cold, naked and bawling their lungs out, and life hands them favorable genetics, natural talents, an adoring crowd to fawn over them...
And some people, like Bryen, are lucky to be born.
Bryen's father was a werewolf, infected during an attack and subsequently turned out into the wilds to preserve his family's reputation. He survived and found a new life by the grace of the Selkie clan that took him in. During an age when the 'civilized' folk of Greenwich were effectively at war with their Wildfey denizens, this was nothing short of a stroke of good fortune.
Long before the first child of Andrew Kinney and Nerissa Dewclad was born, the mages in the family, the fortune-tellers and potion makers and charm-singers, were already preparing for the worst. The offspring of a Were and a Wildfey could take after either parent, becoming fully human, or fully Fey, or human, but blessed in some way by its Fey ancestry... or it could be afflicted with the same curse that rose to the fore once a month, turning the human parent into something wild, savage and utterly not human.
A cocktail of potions and wards, intended to detect the Were curse and bring it to heel, instead backfired on Nerissa when she was pregnant with her first child. She took ill during the first full moon of her pregnancy, and the second, and the third. Once was misfortune, twice was unlucky coincidence, but thrice...
Bryen was born a month early, weak and sick and struggling to breathe. His mother was also torn from the birth, and neither seemed likely to live. They clung to life for weeks, with Bryen making a miraculous recovery during the next full moon while his mother stayed frail for months afterwards.
The clan accepted him as one of their own, just as they had taken his father in. They helped care for him, minded him during the nights when the full moon kept his parents busy, and as far as they could, treated him as if he was just another Selkie child...
The problem was that he simply wasn't, and they all knew it. He couldn't take to the rivers like a seal to water; he couldn't instinctively understand the feral song that was their language; he had no aptitude for magic; and in a crowd of beautiful fey children, an ordinary human looked almost unseemly. He couldn't move under his own control for months, let alone swim; while cousins of his age were diving and chasing fish, he was only beginning to crawl.
Three years later, he had a sister.
Miriam's fortunes were the complete reverse of his. Beautiful, precocious, talented, everything he couldn't be; and while both children were given the same doting care extended to all children of the clan, it was quite obvious which one commanded their fey kin's favor, and which one received their pity.
Bryen grew up with the keen awareness that he was loved anyway, even though he was the luckless one, not extraordinary but extra ordinary. Then his parents had another beautiful fey child, Emmett, and the contrast between himself and his two siblings only became that much more obvious and jarring.
And then he turned thirteen, and his fortune took a turn for the worse.
He was swimming with his cousins, lagging right at the back of the group as usual. A few of them were a bit rougher in the water, as adolescent seal pups could sometimes be, and the slow, awkward, human shape was the most obvious and easy target for playful aggression - nothing harmful, beyond the usual splashing to the face, climbing onto his head when he came up for air - nothing he wasn't used to, until he tried to take a breath and one of them grabbed his ankles and pulled him down.
He'd always been watched, with more meticulous care as his age neared the double digits. It was the only reason things didn't get out of hand. His uncles managed to subdue the enraged creature and drag it from the river as it snarled and hissed and thrashed. Only a few limbs, a lot of teenagers' prides, and one single Were-otter's reputation were damaged in the scuffle.
He wasn't allowed to leave his home the next day. He wouldn't have stepped outside for the world.
Now that he was of the right age to begin learning the art, and with the need for it, an aunt took it upon herself to teach him magic. They lived in the forest and knew it well; plant magic, therefore, seemed the most viable course of study.
He showed promise from the first day, when the spark within him was stirred to life, and his thoughts reached out to make the leaves and grass dance. It was hardly a feat, compared to the adept mages of the clan, but it was a start, and it was promise.
It was promise unfulfilled, three years and two exasperated teachers later, when he still could barely coax a sprout to grow. It wasn't for a lack of trying... rather, it seemed he just didn't have the talent, after all. Nothing to deserve being looked down upon, his teachers insisted, even as they threw in the towel. He just... wasn't that sort of person, and he had their sympathy, if not their applause.
His sister, in one of her usual fits of goodwill, joined him half a year after his magic lessons began in an effort to encourage him. She ended up surpassing him in the course of a few months.
After going through five more relatives, none lasting as his tutor for more than a year, Bryen's mother took up the challenge of making something out of his magical abilities. No great magician herself, she was still a decent potion maker, and she could teach him to identify and recreate a number of useful herbs for basic potions.
Here, Bryen was little more than barely passable - not a failure, but nothing remarkable, and it was quite clear that she had been hoping for better, even if she was pleased enough that leaving him to mind a pot wouldn't lead to an explosion. She approved that he could puzzle out a way to make herbs sprout from his own clothing, but not that it was still a strain of will to transform the strands and make them grow, and only have a handful of leaves for precious minutes of effort.
Nine years went by in this fashion, with Bryen's magical prowess crawling forward at a snail's pace while the Were curse sculpted his body into something oversized, awkward, and good for physical work, if little else. Life settled into a comfortable pattern of struggling with his magic for a few hours, earning a sigh as expectations went unmet once more, and then disappearing for the rest of the day. When he wasn't to be found, he was deep in the woods, exercising to work off the constant urge to shed his sentient mind, lose himself somewhere down a river and never again care what the world thought of him.
His father, by now a trained mage in his own right, eventually decided enough was enough. His maternal relatives had coddled him all twenty-two years of his life; what the boy truly needed was a stern talking-to; something to shake him out of the idea that he could spend his whole life skiving off in the woods, then coming home to collect handouts from his fey relatives.
Bryen listened as he put his foot down, looked him in the eyes, and said nothing.
The next morning, he was gone as usual. The following night, he didn't return.
Stamina and supernatural agility, built up over nine years of exercise, brought him to a town in the northeastern corner of Greenwich, where no one took much notice if an awkward young man took up room and board in the staff dormitory of an inn, and worked odd jobs for the innkeeper to pay it off. Hardly anyone asked questions about the accent that sounded more accustomed to southwestern Greenwich, and those who did learned to give up after a few rounds of single-word answers. Rumors were bandied about, but they made a nice change from living where everyone knew the truth. After a lifetime of sympathy, even a little malice didn't seem so terrible. At least they weren't feeling sorry for him, if they bothered to pay attention at all.
Bryen found somewhere to exist and settled right in, far away from home and secure in the knowledge that he could never go back, and no one from his past could find him here. Little by little, his accent shifted north, blending into the background as easily as the rest of him. It made a nice change from sticking out like a sore thumb.
Workmates invited him to football games and parties sometimes. He gained a reputation as someone who could do his job without causing a ruckus. It wasn't much of a job, and inns tended to be noisy anyway, but it was something he was useful at for once, even if it wasn't likely to lead him anywhere forward in life.
It wasn't that bad. He wasn't about to go anywhere.
He just wasn't that sort of person.