Hank Grissom signed on to Hope six weeks ago as hired muscle, if by muscle you mean a guy whoíll shoot his guns on your behalf. How well he shoots has yet to be seen, as the mission thus far has been quiet. Hank told his new captain right off that heís got travelling papers and heís warrant-free. Whateverís in his past, itís not dark enough that he fears the law. Those papers name him Henry P. Grissom, but what follows the P is only a smudge of ink obscured by a thick crease off-center in the document.
Hank began the job cool and distant, but
affable enough. Heís been slow to connect with his shipmates, but after the
last few weeks heís been opening up a bit and sometimes even sharing a joke (or
at least a snide comment). Hank doesnít talk much about himself, but he watches
and listens. Heís new to the
Hankís a small fellow, not quite five five, and slender without seeming skinny. His features -- brown skin, big dark eyes, long and straight black hair -- indicate a frontier amalgam of bloodlines: Mexi-Chinese, or something more complicated. His face is handsome enough, clean-shaven and unblemished, giving the impression of youth thatís probably misleading. He claims to be 30, but looks 22.
Hank favors well-worn but clean clothes. He typically chooses tight grey trousers, flared at the cuffs to accommodate his bulky combat boots, and a simple brown tunic, with lacings rather than buttons at the collar. He often wears an expensive-looking sort of truncated jacket, open in the front, with a high collar, padded shoulders, and short but wide sleeves. The jacketís all crimson and gold, with paisleys.
Crew of the Forlorn Hope