"It's been my experience that the average male is never a man. Not even for ten minutes in his entire lifespan." - Bethany, Dogma
NATIONALITY • Jordanian American
BORN • Los Alamos, New Mexico
AGE RANGE • 23 to 30
BIRTHDAY • March 20th
SEXUAL ORIENTATION • Straight
HEIGHT - WEIGHT • 6'0" - 175 pounds
BODY SHAPE • Rectangle
HAIR - EYES • Brown - Green
GLASSES • No
LANGUAGE • English, Arabic, Turkish, Farsi
OCCUPATIONS • Linguist, Military
EDUCATION • College
NERVOUS TICK • Tugging his ear
WEAKNESS • Gardening
TIME OF DAY • Any
PIERCINGS • None
TATTOOS • None
SMOKES • No
HOBBIES • Camping, Video Games
EXERCISE • Running, Weight Lifting
MUSIC • Kane Brown, Johnny Cash
MOVIE • The Matrix
BOOKS • Lexicon
FOOD • Kanafeh
DRINKS • Beer
COLORS • Gold, Blue
PET • None
MODERN • CIRCA 2017
His mother always joked if he kept tugging on them they would be bigger than his head.
And perhaps she had been right. They always seemed to stick out under his helmet, and here he stood,
thumb and knuckle of his pointer finger yanking down on the lobe of his ear.
"You want me to fucking what?"
Thick eyebrows pulled up along his brow as Amit peered his gaze over at Dillon, feeling the man’s frustration in his voice as it rumbled in his chest and filled the room. Shifting his feet Amit forced himself to drop his hand from his ear, tucking it behind in back.
He was also not thrilled with the new assignment, accompanying journalists around a war zone. It seemed needlessly reckless – and unneeded.
Of course, at the same time Amit would never truly say no to the chance to speak with another person fascinated with language. And a journalist, while perhaps not a polyglot like himself, they still at least in part shared his life drive.
It hadn’t been what his parents wanted.
All of his parents hard work, all of the attempts to make a better life for him and his siblings – and now he was standing a few hundred kilometers from the desert his parents had, in their terms, escaped. They had traded one desert for another, one life for another. They had left Amman and settled down in the states, in New Mexico, the same climate, but a different world. They had pushed him into the life they assumed would be best for him. Engineering. It had lasted a whole semester at MIT before he transferred to the linguistics department, graduated, and enlisted.
"Are you fucking kidding me? We're babysitting fucking journalists?"
Blinking Amit lifted his chin, gaze looking again at Dillon as he reacted to their assignment. Something else to add to their plates, something else to watch and take care of, something else to loose.
“Yes – you are fucking babysitting journalists! And you better do it well.” A stiff look sneered down at them from their superior, “as you were,” his voice trailing off before walking away from the men.
Taking a step forward Amit looked over, brown eyes barely reaching the base of Dillon’s jawline as he tilted his head up a bit, the sun hitting fawn skin. “If it makes you feel better I can do all the talking…”
CONNECTIONS • FAMILY
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