Sean Patrick McDonnell

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Description

Sean wears the South Side like a second skin—gray coat, flat cap, and boots scuffed from pacing broken sidewalks. His face is lined from weather and worry, with a jagged scar curling from his right temple to just past his cheekbone, a souvenir from a pipe fight when he was seventeen. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, not because he’s relaxed—but because he’s learned to only draw them when it matters.

Personality

Dry-witted and blunt, Sean rarely raises his voice, but his words cut clean. He believes in action over talk and history as a trap for the lazy. Raised on old grudges and harder lessons, he fights not for legacy, but because the past keeps knocking and someone has to answer with fists. He doesn’t care about looking the part—he cares about owning the corner.

Habits

Sharpens his pocket knife before every meeting, whether it’s needed or not

Walks his old block every Sunday before sunrise, even if it’s dangerous

Refuses to eat unless his crew’s fed first

Carries a folded newspaper clipping in his wallet—his father’s arrest from 1931

Hooks & Angles

Still visits his mother’s grave weekly, even when CPD tails follow

Secretly writes down every death he’s responsible for in a leather-bound notebook

Refuses to use anything fancier than brass knuckles—calls guns “coward’s work”

Holds a deep personal vendetta against Joe Bagels, but hasn’t said why—not even to Meab

Year of Birth

1918 CE 35 Years old

Birthplace

Canaryville, Chicago

Eyes

Pale blue, cold and watchful

Hair

Ash brown, short and combed back

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Weathered, scarred right cheek, cracked knuckles

Height

5'11"

Weight

182 lbs.

Belief/Deity

Irish Catholic, the old kind—fists first, prayers after