- Player: Robo-Craig
- Name: Constantine Lewis Robins
- Meaning: Steadfast or Constant
- Nicknames: Connie, Bushy, Sheepy, Tree, Conifer, Sweet Knees, Stan aka Stan the Man.
- Gender: Man
- Sexuality: Troll.
- Age: 23
- Nationality: Anglo-Jamaican me crazy
- Build: Lean but muscular.
- Height: 6 foot and 7 inches
- Team: BLU
- Job Class: Scout
- Current Load-Out:
- Dust Bowl
His parents are deadddddd, but his adoptive father isn’t.
Constantine was quite a friendly fellow when he first arrived at 2fort and he still is, but after the years of dealing with being at ‘war’ with his enemies and comrades has left him a little bit jaded about the whole situation, to say the least.
He still deals with everything with a smile, whether it may be giving you a compliment, taunting you or kneeing you in the face.
He has learnt that there is almost no honour in a battle in this place, but he still tries to keep a fight clean, even if the other person uses dirty tactics.
He holds a lot of respect for those who don’t belittle him because of his job or race, and for those who do, prepare to be teased into an oblivion.
He can be often found cataloguing blood splatters, causes of deaths of teammates and generally observing everyone and their habits and writes them in his journal, when he isn’t chilling with his team/cooking/eating/annoying Reds.
He is also the team’s unofficial sleuth. You need something found or a crime needs solving, he is on the case, for a price. (That price is usually tea-related products.)
Strengths & WeaknessesEdit
*Excellent aim with his cricket bat and ball with a very vicious swing.
*Monochromatic vision: Without having all those fancy colours to trick or bedazzle the mind, he tends to see what really going on from time to time.
*Very proficient in hand-to-hand/ melee battles.
- Lacteous Intolerant
*Still somewhat of a pyrophob, but he is slowly getting to terms with his fear.
*Sometimes don’t know when to stop talking.
*Monochromatic vision: This doesn’t help when new people join the team.
*A poor aim with his gun; partly because blood is messy and partly, killing someone turns his stomach.
*A bit of a priss when it comes to his clothes.