User blog:A Five Star Dining Experience/Ricky Tamor

Appearance
Ricky Tamor is a 39 year old male, with a very rugged appearance. He has dark blonde hair that he has slicked back. He also tends to wear classy clothing as well.

Backround
December 17, 1995

"1,2  1,2  1,2" Ricky thought precisly in mind as he jabbed the punching bag as quick as he could and as hard as he could at the punching bag in front of him. In reality, he barely moved the object an inch. He stopped punching the bag and leaned against it to rest, breathing heavily. "Come on, Ricky. Again" his trainer Manny simply said. "Manny, can I take a small break? shit''." ''Ricky said, still breathing heavily. "In the ring, you don't take breaks when you want to." "Breaks only happen when the timer for each round runs out, or if your opponent knocks your ass out." Manny said. Ricky grabbed a bottle of water sitting on a chair next to him, and opened it to drink. "Yeah, whatever" he said rolling his eyes. "You signed up for this didn't ya'?" Manny said "I remember when you were 2 inches smaller" he grinned ''"I wanna sign up for boxing, and maybe, I might be one of the best!" ''Manny mocked, reciting Rick's voice when he was just 17, now 19. "Tch" Rick said with an attitude while looking away. "Rick, c'mon, I was joking" "If you wanna be a good boxer, you gotta train hard. In life there's no such thing as shortcu-" "Yeah, I know; life ain't foreign to me, I'm livin' am l?" he said lazily as he walked to and sat at a bench behind the punching bag. Manny followed with. "You doin' good on your own?" he said. "Yeah" Rick said simply. Rick is currently living in a motel, sometimes eating off of ramen and processed foods, since he saves some of his money on fresh produce, though they're quite expensive. At 19, he would have no problems staying and living in his parents house untill he was on his early 20's. Unfortunately, his parents fought numerous amounts of times, up to the point were his father carlessly walked out the door with his stuff packed up. After his dad left, his mother was a complete hollowshell, not caring for anything but tv, hell, the tv seemed to be more of a son than Rick; his mom basically had the "what is the purpose of life?" syndrome, so you can basically call her a "Nihilist". Because of this, she was no use to him; following the steps the same as his father, he packed his bags and left. Ricky works at an office, sterotipcly enough, it's boring as all hell, shit, working at the office might as well be a bonus circle IN hell. Rick does finance, he was responsible for ensuring that all bills are paid and invoices sent out. It includes keeping the financial accounts up to date and legal. The job was $11 per hour, so it's a pretty medicore job to say the least; but if it's paying your bills, you might as well be happy about it.

It was 9:39, Ricky and Manny said their goodbuys and Ricky left training to return home. It was blistering cold, the wind bit his face and his hands. Rick shoved his hands in his pockets, as walked along the white layered concrete path. In Chicago, Illinois; winter time will be the worst season experience you will ever face. It is if like Jack Frost had chronic diharrea, and that he used Chicago as his toilet. It's horrible. Ricky was walking home through a very washed up neighborhood, there was nobody in sight, the enviroment was eerily quiet; the only thing making noise was the assholish wind. "Yo" Rick stopped at his tracks; the voice sounded like it belonged to male. Ricky turned around and found 3 men, in heavy fur coats, (obviously) they wore very baggy jeans, with two of them wearing Timbers and one wearing Jordans of some sort; all them wore black masks. One of the trio was carring and pointing a glock at him. "Don't fucking move." "If you run, I'll kill you, deadass." the guy with the gun said harshly. "I don't have anything of worth." Ricky said camly; "N****, I don't a fuck what you think on what you have, or don't have; don't fucking move!" The man with the gun said with alot of anger. The trio closed in, the masked man with the pistol was the closest, he moved in and agressivly checked Rickys pockets from a gray hoodie that he was wearing. Still having the gun aimed at him, He then moved on and checked his pockets on his khaki pants. From Ricky's right pocket, the burglar pulled out a leather wallet. "And this dumbass said he had nothing of worth." The gunman snickered, looking back at his friends. Ricky did not hesitate. Ricky threw the hardest punch he could muster at the gunmans temple, the man went down like a sack of bricks. His two other friends then took action. One of the men had a knife, the man ran in and aimed for Ricky's throat with the knife, he swiftly dodged under, and his fist striked the mans chin, stunning him briefly. Ricky then took the knife, and dodged an incoming fist straight for his head coming from the 3rd man to his right. With amazing strength, he took the mans face and dropped him, slamming his head to the ground. He then saw blood slowing pour out, staining the white snow. He quickly turned around rushed towards the man he stunned before, and jabbed the knife threw his neck without him reacting to anything. The man gargled profusely, blood spraying out from his neck. The man then dropped dead. Ricky sighed, and then turned around to the man with the gun he "supposedly" knocked out. The man squirming, trying to reach the gun he dropped. Once the hand reached the pistol, and foot came crashing on his hand; the man cried out in pain. Ricky then kicked him on his back, and straddled him. "Y-you fucking-" Ricky then crashed his right fist to the mans face. The once gunman coughed hard; a left fist then came in on the mans face, then a right, then a left, then a right, then a left. Rickys eyes were bloodshot, he was filled with bloodlust. A flurry of rights and lefts rained down on the victims face. "1,2  1,2  1,2  1,2" Ricky thought precisly, as his fists were smeared with blood. Ricky then stopped, and looked down at his handywork. The mans face was completely unreconizable, all Ricky saw was blood, meat, and teeth. Ricky then stood up and picked up his wallet that was on the ground. He then pulled out $4:00, and lazily dropped it on the mans chest. "Here, use this to buy a train ticket to hell." Ricky said simply. He then shoved his wallet in his right pocket, as well as his hands in both; and walked on home. Were you also reminded that it is really cold in Chicago?

August 7, 2017

"PLEASE DON'T FUCKING KILL ME MAN! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! I DIDN'T EVEN GET LAID YE-"  BANG  a loud shoutgun blast rang across house. Ricky took out a cigarette from a pocket of a two piece suit he was wearing, and placed it between his lips. He then took out a lighter, and lit the end of it. At age 39, Ricky is a hitman. He thought of this when he went surfing around the deep web to join in a hitman job from a site called "Black Mamba" The deep web is notorius for ordering hitman's and such, which basically caught Ricky's attention. Ricky was getting paid $1000s of dollars just to kill people; and killiing people was his sport, it fueled his state of being. Man, senior citizen, woman, or child; Ricky couldn't care less whose blood is on his rough hands. Ricky doing what he loves while he's getting paid massively for it seems like he is heaven, where honestly he should be in hell. It was 11:06, jobs like this makes it things alot easier since practically nobody is up this late outside. Ricky walked out the door of a family he just killed, It was wife and husband with two kids, a 12 year old girl and a 18  year old boy. Way too easy. As he walked over to the trunk of his car, he opened it and placed his pump shotgun in there. Once he closed the truck, he found a kid standing at the left side of his car. The kid wore a black Addidas track jacket, with skinny green khaki pants and sperrys. He brown skinned with black curly hair; he had his hands in his pockets, and what irrated Ricky was that he had a shit eating smile on him. "Oi, Shouldn't you be in bed?" Ricky said to the kid. "Nah, I tend to walk around the neighborhood at nightime alot." the kid said, still with that smile on his face. "Stop it with that smile, it's annoying me." Ricky grumbled. "So, you like to kill people?" the kid piped up. Ricky furrowed his eyebrows, "Says who?" Ricky said, with suspicion in his voice. "Says you" the kid replied still smiling. The kid then raised his hand foward, signaling him for a handshake. "My name's Brandon, yours?"

(WIP)