Joaquin

M, 5'6", 25 in 1871. Born in Oklahoma to a relatively wealthy family.

Joaquin is the name he uses to make business with whites. He does not have a last name. His actual name is Keewake, meaning "Dainty Hawk". His name was originally just Hawk but his brothers tacked on Dainty when he came of age. He hates it and refuses to tell anyone his real name. Then in a saloon some drunk stooge came up from behind, mistaking him for a woman, and slapped his ass while calling him señorita. His brothers never called him anything but Señorita since that day. Now that he's a bounty hunter (a successful one especially), the nickname spread and became infamous among outlaws.

He has deep-seated insecurities about his masculinity. They mainly stem from his comically high-pitched voice. He's also the youngest of 5 brothers. Being the runt of the litter with balls that never dropped and literally no hair on his chest, he got pushed around constantly growing up. Didn't help that all the men in his family were 6-foot giants who put Louis Cyr to shame. He ran from home when he was 20 and took up bounty hunting to prove his might and manliness (which mostly involves just being a bloody brute).

He avoids talking as much as possible for obvious reasons. He prefers action (or inaction) over words and is easy to irritate. While Joaquin does his best to be a southern gentleman and avoid confrontation, his trigger finger often gets the better of him. Once he runs out of bullets, that's when he draws the line. Across the neck. With knives. Ambidexterity and combat readiness just runs in his family. He's very perceptive and has extremely good eyesight (hence his name Hawk) so it's difficult to get the drop on him or sneak away. God help you if he finds your wanted poster. Good luck trying to outdraw him - he'll empty both his revolvers into ya before you can blink. Your best bet is to be polite and pray you're worth more alive.

If he doesn't kill you, a random rock falling from the sky will. Or falling down the stairs. Or quietly in your sleep. Or noisily in your sleep as you get chosen as a serial killer's next victim. Or struck by lightning. Or just inexplicably dropping in the street one day. That sort of thing happens a lot around him, for whatever reason. Wherever he goes, at least someone - or something - will die. (every time I mention being a Grim Servant my Marshal makes a bird drop dead lol)

He's not an angel when it comes to morals, but a sense of guilt pushes him towards good and fairness. He might steal a horse or two out of desperation and shoot a man dead in the street without so much as a glance back, but if you give him a hot meal and a place to sleep he'll assassinate the railroad gang that turned your husband into a robot, even though technically they both work for the same guy. Just don't mention it. Seriously. Friendship is for softies and you're making him feel real mushy right now.

He's not interested in love or sex. The thought barely ever crosses his mind. Repulses him when it does. And that worries him. What kind of man does a virgin bachelor make? He has basically no women in his life, both from a lack of trying and because they usually lose interest once he opens his mouth. The ones that stayed interested were... strange, to put it lightly. He doesn't have many friends, either. Almost never stays in town long enough to make connections and is adamant about being independent. He actually enjoys his time alone, though, so loneliness is hardly a problem.

Other than those things, he's literally just a guy. That's his whole deal. Non-descript clothes and non-existent mien. No notable or recognizable features. He just blends into the crowd. His eyes are always shadowed over, not in frame, or otherwise obscured by something. Even in drawings and photographs. Pretty much only his family and very, very close friends have actually seen his eyes. (it's just a subtle visual gag in my comic lol but it does symbolize something about his character.)

The only personal affect that could possibly identify him is his cloak. It's an oversized blanket he has to fold in half to wear without dragging on the floor. His mother weaved it while she was pregnant with him, and she died shortly after giving birth so was unable to make a new fitting one. The dye has faded to the point it's basically just a tan piece of cloth. In the right light, if you squint really, really hard, you can still see the faint outlines of a geometric pattern mimicking hawk wings. An argument could be made for his matching Starr revolvers, but he doesn't notch them or anything. Joaquin's not extra like that. If you offered him a Buntline Special he'd probably have to say..."Fuck you."

Being followed by the Undertaker, he didn't have time to properly care for the bullet in his leg. He eventually got treatment so it's fine for the most part, but it aches sometimes.

New hindrance: Winter Bones. Penalty to Pace when cold or damp. On the plus side, now he can tell when the weather changes or if a storm's coming.

Please God bring Jace back. Joaquin can't stand this goddamn deserter. Angus just talks so, so much. And they have to share a train cabin from Colorado to Lost Angels. Anything he does well just reminds Joaquin of how much better it would be if Jace were here instead. I told you to keep your mouth shut about the goddamn werewolves Angus are you trying to turn this shithole into a hellhole.