Ras

You ever meet someone who walks into a room and owns it without saying a word?

Yeah, that’s Ras.

We’ve been friends since back when he was just another cocky bastard with too much energy and not enough patience - before the city learned his name and started whispering it like a warning or a promise, depending on who you ask. He’s a raptor, sure, but that’s not what gets people. It’s how he moves. Like a coiled spring in designer jeans, muscles always flexed just enough to make someone bite their lip. Tail always twitching. Eyes sharp and golden, constantly sizing people up - half for fun, half because he likes reminding folks what he is.

He lives in a slick high-rise now, all glass and cold steel. Says watching the city crawl beneath him helps him relax. Not that Ras ever really relaxes. He’s got this restless energy, like if he stays still too long, he might explode. It’s probably why he works the door at The Rift. That club's chaos on a good night, but Ras thrives in it. He doesn't just bounce troublemakers: he draws them in, flirts with danger just to see who breaks first. And when it comes to flirting, don’t get me started. He’ll lean on the bar, smirk like he’s got a secret, and say something that walks the line between dirty and dangerous. Nine times out of ten, it works.

He’s got a short fuse, though. Real short. I’ve seen him go from a smirk to snarling in seconds. But weirdly? People like it. Some of them crave it. It’s that whole “dangerous but hot” thing, and Ras? He knows it. Plays it.

But under all that cocky, short-tempered bravado? There’s a guy who’s loyal to the bone. He’d rip someone apart for me if I needed it. Probably wouldn’t even ask why until afterward.

So yeah, Ras is trouble. Hot, wild, unpredictable trouble.

And gods help you if he decides you’re interesting.