A Deal with the Reaper~ (OxO)

(I'm interested! I love Black Butler.)

I don't really care, I'll leave that choice up to your preference. :)

Mmhm! :)

Honestly, I am too. lol

Okay!

It's alright!

(It's alright! No worries!)

(Ai! I'm sorry. I totally forgot about this.)

Name: Jackson Lombardi
Nickname: None
Age: 18
Ethnicity: American
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/him
Sexuality: Bisexual disaster
Likes: Key lime pie, orchid flowers, hamsters, all types of tea, writing stories, getting revenge, cats.
Dislikes: People going against him, coffee, most cakes (this excludes cheesecake), dogs, the colour orange.
Personality: Jackson is what many people would call a "social butterfly". He's willing to talk to almost anyone about almost anything. He doesn't care if the person is "good" or not. If he thinks they're worth talking to, he'll do it. Most people describe Jackson's seeming unwavering good attitude to be "too good to be true", resulting in him being called fake by some of his acquaintances. Though, of course, Jackson has a bad side.

Once someone gets on his bad side, there's almost no going back. It takes a special type of screw-up to get on his bad side, so just him being angry with you won't do it. Once someone is on his bad side, he will do all he can to make sure every second that that person is miserable. He will hold a grudge so tight that you could practically call it his lover. He will spit venom at that person with every word that escapes his lips. But Jackson isn't the type to flat out insult someone. Rather, he will kill them with kindness. He will make them think he likes them until they realize it was nothing but slow poison.

He takes the saying "hold your friends close but your enemies closer" to a whole new level. He'll invite you to his house, smile right in your face and then stab you in the front. That is, if he can be bothered to do it himself.
Appearance: His hair is light brown and short with platinum blonde tips. He wears his hair curtained and it is always kind of messy. His skin is a very pale, alabaster colour. He gets sunburn semi-easily so he doesn't like staying the sun too long without having some kind of protection. His limbs are thin just like the rest of Jackson's body and he has almost no muscling except for some light muscling on his chest. He has light freckles across his nose that slightly dust onto his cheeks as well. His eyes are large, almond-shaped and amber.
Piercings/Tattoos: None
Scars/birthmarks: He has a diamond-shaped birthmark on his collarbone.
Style: Typically knee-length shorts and polo shirts. Sometimes he wears a jacket or a more dressy, long-sleeved shirt if he has something important to do.
Height: He stands at around 5'4".
Weight: 128 lbs
Occupation: Artist. More commonly, painting.

(Is he alright?)

Thanks! And it's alright! I'd love to get this going!

For years and years people told Jackson that his art was going to get him nowhere. That no one wanted his paintings and that he'd just be another dude on the street in a matter of time. It pissed him off. People threw rocks at his windows, vandalized his house with all sorts of items, called him rude names, and much more. He wanted them gone. Though as much as he did, he couldn't kill them himself and get away with it. He'd be one, too lazy to even try to get away with it, and two, people would already be suspicious of him, making it even harder to prove them wrong. It was too much of a hassle.

So, of course, when the same thing that had been happening for years had happened that afternoon, he was less than pleased. Something different was that that time, his window was open. A rock flew threw and hit one of the walls, causing the paint to chip off some. At this point, Jackson was done with it. He walked over, picked up the rock and threw it right back out the window, yelling at the people out there to fuck off.

When all was said and done, he sat back down on his stool right in front of an incomplete canvas. He sighed and mumbled to himself. "One day I'll have them dead. One day. They'll never even know who did it," he fantasized, though he sighed, thinking about how it was likely too good to be true.

Jackson jumped in slight shock. "How, in the name of Hell, did you get in here?" he demanded. "Don't tell me I left my front door open or something." As much as Jackson was shocked by the intrusion of the strange man, he couldn't say that he wasn't interested in the man's offer. The words ran back through his head a few moments before it finally stopped cold at one word. Darling. "And might I ask why you called me darling. It's a pretty strange thing to call a new acquaintance.

'Passing by doesn't explain why you're in my house…' he thought to himself, though he didn't utter this out loud. Though he didn't have much of an objection to Karito calling him 'darling' he spoke against it anyway. "One, don't call me darling, and two, if you wish to kill them, that'd be great 'Mr. Reaper'" he said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the man. Jackson has noticed the red glint in Karito's eyes, though he decided to pass it off as just the light.

"Contract?" he inquired. "Might I see said contract?" Jackson was quite unsure of what this "contract" was possibly going to get him into, so he wanted to know first. After all, it's not all that wise to go a sign a contract that was proposed by a man you just met who has a katana, claims to be a reaper, and is agreeing to murder for you. Just a little weird if you had asked Jackson.