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xxxxxJim's been around. You know the kind of guy. Two ex-wives. A desk cluttered in papers, accumulating brown rings where his coffee sits on them. Cheap shoes and a corduroy jacket. Just on the far side of his prime and seen enough that he hasn't much interest left in impressing people. He's found a niche he likes and he works very hard to stay exactly where he is, fueled by cheap coffee and cigarettes. He keeps his head down and his landlord off his case. He does things old school; hates his cellphone, has his newspaper delivered by a paperboy and still shells out an annual payment to keep an ad for his business in the yellow pages. You know. The one you use as a doorjam.
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xxxxxJim is essentially one with the world's plantlife. In so much as plantlife is generally... symbiotic, parasitic or antagonistic towards other plantlife. In the cosmic well of life and energy of flora growth, what he giveth, he can taketh away, and will do so by default if he's not paying attention. Fortunately, he's had a while to get used to paying attention. Where he flourishes, greenery tends to follow; when injured or hungry or stressed, environmental wilting proceeds, and he can suck a plant's power dry with touch to supplement sleep, nourishment or accelerate healing.
Physiologically, it's a little more complicated. His skin is dry and flaky, his nape, elbows, knees and joints, seeming plagued by psoriasis -- on a good day. On a bad day, it's more bark than flesh, darkened and hard and prone to leafiness. And roots. He tends to avoid this. His internal composition is shot, from a medical standpoint. Plant cells and all.
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