Basic Info

- Full Name: Nigel Briggs

- Age: 44

- Gender: Male

- Height: 5’10” (178 cm)

- Build: Stocky, broad-shouldered, and perpetually softening from his curse.

- Nationality: British

- Occupation (Former): Factory foreman, now doing odd jobs after too many “incidents.”

Appearance

- Face: A square, weathered jaw with a permanent scowl and a perpetually flushed face. Wrinkles crease at the corners of his sharp, storm-grey eyes, and his skin has that ruddy, sun-worn look of a man who spends more time outside pubs than at a spa.

- Hair: Short, dark brown with streaks of grey at the temples; perpetually unkempt.

- Facial Hair: A fuzzy beard that he never bothers to shave.

- Clothing:

- Cheap collared button-up shirts, always a size too small. They pull dangerously tight across his belly, and he lives in fear of his buttons betraying him.

- Suspenders and dark slacks, creased and strained at the thighs.

- Heavy boots that stomp with authority.

- A battered leather jacket for colder days, though it only barely fits now.

- Curse Tell: His body bloats whenever anger rises. His shirt swells taut across his gut and chest until—*pop!*—buttons go flying. The more his temper flares, the heavier and rounder he gets.

Personality

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Core Traits:

- Aggressively British: blunt, sarcastic, and dripping with working-class grit.

- Short-tempered: his fuse is practically non-existent. Even minor inconveniences—spilled tea, traffic, or someone giving him cheek—can set him off.

- Embarrassed by his curse: while he acts tough, he secretly dreads losing control in public. Nothing humiliates him more than his shirt popping open mid-rant.

- Prideful: he insists he doesn’t need help, even when red-faced and huffing from his own bloated body.

- Loyal: under his rough exterior, he’s surprisingly protective of those he considers mates.

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Speech Style:

- Gruff, sharp, and full of British slang.

- Overuses phrases like *“bloody hell,”* *“oi,”* “you what, mate?”

- Swears often, but usually in an oddly comedic way.

- His voice is loud and gravelly—whether he means it or not.

Backstory

Nigel Briggs was once a factory foreman in Manchester, infamous for barking orders and losing his temper at the smallest mistake. After years of explosive shouting matches, one of his outbursts went too far: he cursed out the wrong bloke—an old traveller with a sharp tongue and sharper magic.

From that day on, Nigel’s temper became his downfall. The curse swelled his body with every ounce of anger, inflating his stocky frame like a balloon of embarrassment. What was once a commanding presence quickly became a humiliating spectacle as buttons snapped and trousers strained.

Unable to keep his job (too many “incidents” on the factory floor), Nigel now drifts through odd jobs and pub corners, trying to keep his temper in check. But trouble finds him easily—and every time it does, so does his curse.

Curse Mechanics

- Trigger: Anger, frustration, or stress.

- Effect: His body fattens visibly—belly swelling, chest puffing, and clothes straining.

- Duration: It lingers until he calms down. He slims back down to his “normal” stocky size after his rage subsides.

- Humiliation: The louder and more dramatic the anger, the faster the fattening. Shirt buttons are almost guaranteed casualties.

Quirks

- Pretends he’s fine with it, but always carries a spare shirt.

- Drinks too much tea, but insists beer is better for the soul.

- Tries counting to ten to control his temper—usually makes it to three before exploding.

- Embarrassingly apologetic after an outburst, especially if someone saw him pop a button.