murdock figures enough silence has passed that dolores is now the proud owner of the mental wherewithal to carry a conversation.

Primer on: Murdock Blackthorne (or My Tav) ( shoutouts to @particlecreator for helping with locking down a faceclaim )

Murdock is the my personal Tav. He is of the fighter class. Prior to his capture on the Nautiloid. Murdock had been a mercenary captain for his fledgling company for about 1-2 years.

Murdock had a fairly normal upbringing. He was the third son among his brothers and sisters. A father and mother who managed a rather popular and local bustling tavern. His life would have remained as such. But a local mercenary company were impressed when a raid along the paths were hampered by Murdock's crafty thinking to keep the civilians safe. Initially not sold on the merc life, he had be persuaded a few times before he gave it real thought on the chance of expanding his horizons in this manner.

During his early days, he met a fellow green soldier by the name of Cain. They hit off their friendships when Murdock had a laugh checking him on his attempts to cheat at their card game. He was like a found brother to Murdock who shared similar thoughts and opinions. Unfortunately, his friend got himself killed after a costly mistake of drawing too much enemies to his line of sight. A mistake that definitely sobered the young man's thoughts about his Cain's ambitions wanting to be the best mercenary on the side of the Coast.

His days as a mercenary would have ended right then and there. But he had personal obligations and ties to the group that had taken them in when he was just a punk new bloods. Some good people with good history. So it takes a few close allies to clear his thoughts, deciding to keep along this path. It would be several years later when come the present, here Murdock is, now leading his own band of mercenaries to handle come what may in Faerun's conflicts.

Murdock is colored by his experience out on the ground with the common folk. He is approachable as he is a bit of a cheeky scoundrel. The night life was like a 2nd home for him. It was where a lot of the excitement and experience comes from between helping his friend out smarting cheats, and grifters, to trying and failing at securing women, or just cashing in their luck to make the biggest payouts. He lived wildly one way or another and it reflects with how he carries himself.

murdock's currently elbow-deep in the guts of a 1956 cessna 172. the radio keeping him company is turned up as high as it can go. he alternates between actually singing along, then humming, occasionally whistling, and just making a vocal racket to the tune of whatever song's playing. his foot taps in time. his hips move from side-to-side. all the while, he performs necessary maintenance on his latest bird. he's in his element.

he catches movement in his peripheral. his head turns, left eye squinted against the sun, and he beams.

good times.

"when the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin' alo—ng! robin. our keyword? robin!"

murdock purses his lips and performs a rushed yet perfect robinsong impression. he reaches over and gently taps his knuckles thrice against the side of dolores' head, grinning like a possum eating saw briars.

"wake up! wake up, ya' sleepyhead! time to go. you spoke to my buddy face earlier today. pretty fella that looks like sonny crockett. he's awful sore over how he spooked ya'. and—between you n' me—real grateful you didn't bust his lip. i know i am. that mug of his 's our meal ticket. wouldn't be able to get any more hotel rooms, see. now folks call me murdock. y'can call me that too, esquire."

my cousin vinny.

"an' scooter—that's what his mama calls b.a., would you believe that sweet woman wanted to adopt me?—said he was gonna—"

his eyes flicker up to the rearview. the aforementioned cop might as well be hitched to their (yes, stolen) gmc sierra. murdock frowns, leans a little closer to the wheel. although his lights aren't on, his mere presence doesn't bode well.

his lips twist thoughtfully to the side. face drives his own nicked pick-up in front. he'll explain later. probably in a few seconds. with a thick jersey accent, he asks his passenger, "if he catches up to us, how far outta town do you think we should be from?"

he makes a split second decision to go off-roading. desert-orange dust kicks up around them, drifting in through the open windows. the cb radio crackles to life with face's voice, a half-decibel away from top-of-lungs shouting: "what the hell are you doing? murdock! do you read?" he can almost hear him regular, drifting away on the wind as they make their bo duke getaway.

the four seasons.

fake teary-eyed, "it just so happens, little lady, all i've had to read these past few days are bad textbooks."

murdock mimes putting a dagger into his heart, complete with dramatic wet, choking noises. he reaches out to her, pleading, and then falls backwards off the edge of the couch.