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vieuxnoyesrp · 7 years ago

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Original Character - Sample Application

⤜ Name/alias: Rose ⤜ Pronouns: She/her ⤜ Age: 25 aka cue the Quarter-Life-Crisis. ⤜ Timezone: UTC + 2:00 (aka Eastern European Time Zone) ⤜ Activity: I think it’s a solid 7. ⤜ Best form of contact: Cami’s Tumblr account. Lurker extraordinaire. I’m there even when I’m not. ⤜ Any Triggers? None that are permitted in this roleplay. ⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés? Aaaaah funny story… ⤜ What drew you to the RP? … Getting the chance to create this world with the two best co-mods on the planet. ⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay? One of my favourite plots from our Plot page is the one involving the Salem witches impinging on the territory that belongs to the New Orleans Coven. The latter might be down and out for the time being, but I don't think it'll stay that way for long and I'm very excited to see whether the witches of New Orleans can become a power to be reckoned with and rebuff Salem's intrusion.

⚜ Desired Character:

⤜ Name of Character: Quentin Herrera, né Adrian Flores.

⤜ FC? Bob Morley

⤜ Biography + Connections:

Adrian Flores Quentin Herrera ⚜ Werewolf ⚜ 26 ⚜ The Sentinel ⚜ ISTP

When I am silent …

He’s staring down the barrel of a gun, pupils dilated in disbelief. It’s not the first time he’s had a gun pointed at him, but it is the first where the intent is to kill.

- “You’re a loose end, Adrian. You know we can’t allow that. Maybe if you’d opened your eyes, been a little smarter…”

- “I won’t talk!! I swear! I won’t tell them anythin’!!”

- “So they all say. I’m sorry, Adrian.” There’s a click as the safety latch is flipped off the trigger, and in that moment, his adrenaline kicks into overdrive - But rather than fear, he feelsrage. Not at their callousness - that’s part and parcel with the job description - but at their greed. Hasn’t he given them enough? Repaid his father’s debts twice over, run competition out of business, extended the trade’s reach like tentacles throughout the city? He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats, he doesn’t dream, his good arm is broken in three places from ‘old lessons learned’ (because ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ is a lie they tell you when you’re young and dumb and still think you can quit)…

So when the gun goes off, anger is still coursing like a tidal wave through his system, blood pounding in his ears. Fear doesn’t come until later, when he’s on the run; fear comes with the realization that he’s killed a man. He doesn’t stop running for weeks, months - and though he changes his address and his name, he knows that death is a stain that cannot be washed off this new slate he’s grappling for. Which is why when every bone in his body breaks down one night only to be replaced by matted fur, claws and yellow eyes - Adrian figured he was paying for his godless crime. It wasn’t far from the truth; an explanation he only got months later when setting up camp in the Bayou of New Orleans.

{He was young; but he knew his own soul, it was precious to him, he guarded it as the eyelid guards the eye, and without the key of love he let no one into his soul.}

Werewolf… Because apparently his life wasn’t complicated enough. It’s yet another gory image to the dreams that have started up again as his insomnia gives way to a disturbed sleep. In his nightmares, he doesn’t know which is worse; when he pulls the trigger or when he doesn’t; blood paints his vision red either way and he wakes up drenched in cold sweat.

But Adrian - or rather Quentin, as he goes by these days - is trying to leave the past behind. If there’s one silver lining in this shitty story it’s the fact that neither the law nor the gang has caught up with him. At first he feared a trap; every street corner implied a surprise-attack, every siren’s wail was the police coming for him. But as the months crawled by, that tiny, deceptive flicker of hope lit up within him again. What if this really was his fresh start?… Maybe he could do it right this time. No drug-peddling, no mafia, and no blood money. He’s taken up a job as a bouncer for a local club,Ampersand, because it’s well aligned with the few talents he picked up while selling drugs; looking for signs of impending trouble, and muscling his way out of it. It’s not a job Quentin loves, but it pays the bills and even leaves a little bit left-over. It doesn’t amount to much once he’s finished paying for his mom’s antidepressants; but given that he has to stay away for her own safety, covering her medications seems to be the least he can do. Besides, if it wasn’t for the fact that the gang took her husband’s life and then reduced that of her son’s to shambles - she wouldn’t have needed them to begin with. But that’s one of the many thoughts he prefers to keep stashed away in a corner of his mind that he doesn’t mess with much. Because he’s gotta focus. Maybe one day he’ll manage to make something of himself and escape the shithole of a city that gave birth to him. Maybe then he’ll be able to get back in touch with his family and really get his mom the help she needs… It’s a dream that stands in stark contrast to the ones he sees at night, but he has to start somewhere, right?

… I have thunder inside of me.

Web of Connections

Lydia Martin: If escaping both the justice system and the criminal underworld was his first lucky strike, landing a job as Lydia Martin’s part-time bodyguard is certainly his second. It’s no thanks to the snarky redhead, of course, but instead to her mother, who insisted on upping security for the family while hosting public events. He doesn’t get why someone of Mrs. Martin’s status would insist on hiring ragtag no-namers like him instead of some quality muscle, but he isn’t about to question it. Besides, the job’s been easy enough so far, as long as he keeps his senses tuned to the world around him - while simultaneously pretending to be blind, deaf, and dumb where Lydia’s forked tongue and she-devil antics are concerned.

Jackson Kenner: ‘Trust’ isn’t a word Quentin throws around lightly; not after what he’s been through. But Jackson’s come closer to earning his than most. He’s answered all of his questions on being a werewolf; including the ones he never really voiced. And the man exudes a kind of raw honesty that’s hard to come by these days. He won’t admit it aloud, but the more time they spend together, the more he feels as though Jackson is the brother he never had. Quentin wants no part in a war - not after he’s waged one his entire life - but if push comes to shove he’d throw his lot in with Jackson. It’s the least he can do for the person who’s become his makeshift family in New Orleans.

Jenna Sommers: He first took note of the unassuming highschool teacher at the library, while getting frustrated over the paltry results of his research on lycanthropy. Miss Sommers was seated a few tables away, tutoring students in what he guessed was History. It wasn’t a topic that had interested him much in highschool; he’d barely scraped by with a C - much as most of his classes. But listening to the passion with which Miss Sommers explained the relevance of the Past, Quentin couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d been too quick to dismiss it. He’s run into Jenna a few times since then and even spoken to her once or twice. She is down-to-earth, and lacks the matronly air that had him avoiding teachers in his youth. He wants to ask her whether she’d ever be willing to tutor him, but he’s never summoned the courage to ask. Besides, what good would it do for a dumb kid like himself anyway?…

Isaac Lahey: Jackson was the one who first told him Isaac’s story; the witch ritual, the intention to sacrifice him for their own self-serving ends, the way the boy had killed the woman wielding the blade rather than lay his head down on the chopping block… There are just too many parallels between Isaac’s story and his own past in a gang. They’re both loners, by nature or by necessity; neither of them can afford the luxury of trust. Because of that - or maybe in spite of it - Quentin wants to help the skittish boy in the hopes of saving him many months of fear and the anxiety of having to shoulder the weight of his burden alone. But Isaac’s been persistently difficult to locate, let alone approach. Which is why when Quentin found out that he was relying on a witch for shelter and a roof over his head, he couldn’t understand it. What would ever compel him to trust a witch again after what he’d endured? Quentin suspects foul-play and intends to get to the bottom of it - even by sticking his nose into business that doesn’t concern him; a tendency he’s normally happy to avoid.

Katherine Pierce: Where stories of Isaac’s past have came to his attention, Quentin remains hopelessly in the dark where Katherine Pierce’s infamy is concerned. The brunette has been trying to cozy-up to him on the nights where he’s working at the club - and she doesn’t seem inclined to take ‘no’ for an answer. He doesn’t know what the hell she sees in him; it isn’t as though bouncers reek of class or wear a uniform. Besides; with her sensual build, sly good looks and come-hither personality, he bets she could snap up just about any guy - or girl. He can’t exactly shake Katherine on the job, but the more he finds himself smirking in response to one of her tongue-in-cheek remarks, the less Quentin finds he wants to rebuff her. Little does he know what those dark, laughing eyes have in store for him…

Plot Teasers:

Quentin’s tentative relief as he settles into his new life will be short-lived once his old debts catch up with him — from both sides of the law…

This lone wolf may soon discover that he isn’t so alone after-all, as familial ties reveal themselves in unexpected places…

On the soundtrack of his life: I’ll Be Good - Jaymes Young (x)

⤜ Personality Traits: (+) Honest, Hard-working, Unpretentious (-) Distrustful, Intolerant, Moody.

SPECIES, FACTION AND AFFILIATION INFORMATION:

⤜ What is your character’s species? Werewolf

⤜ If supernatural, what is their level of experience with their abilities? Triggered within the past year, not very experienced - packless, ie; omega.

⤜ Is your character affiliated with any of our factions? No.

⤜ Why do you want this character? A I’ve always been a fan of trying my hand at characters that are different from the ones I’ve played in the past. Quetin is pretty much Cami’s opposite in so, so many ways. Supernatural, distrustful, more of a lone wolf, not the best conversationalist, wary of everyone… Etc. I just want to see what kinds of trouble he can get up to in the Quarter.

⤜ What are your future plans for this character? I want to work on immersing Quentin into New Orleans and entangling him with the rest of the cast. It’s the last thing he wants to do; get involved, build connections - for all he knows, New Orleans is just a pit stop to his final destination. But that’s exactly why I want to have him forcibly build roots. Also, no matter how much he wants to stay out of trouble, I think he’s drawn to it because it’s really all he knows. It’s his instinct to keep an eye out for danger and tells himself he’ll run in the opposite direction if it comes too close. But because he’s been the victim one-too-many times before, it’s difficult for Quentin to turn a blind eye when it happens - or when he sees other victims in the making. More often than not, he gets involved. One day, he’ll pay for it.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… Where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time?

Quentin lives in a fairly rundown single-bedroom apartment just on the outskirts of the French Quarter. He could probably afford something he’d be less embarrassed to show to a guest, but a) he’s not planning on any guests and b) he’s trying to save up some dough. There’s no illusion about it; he knows the money from his drug-dealing days will dry up soon and it’s extra stress he doesn’t need on his shoulders right now. He used to be an early-riser, back when PTSD and withdrawal symptoms weren’t this big a problem. These days it’s hard enough for him to get three decent hours of sleep in a row - let alone wake up early to face the day. It’s part of the reason why he figures working as a bouncer isn’t costing him much. So he’ll drag his ass out of bed sometime after noon and try to get some type of physical activity in to out-compete the constant lethargy in his muscles. If there’s one plus to werewolf physiology it’s certainly that a little goes a long way. If he’s feeling antisocial - which is most days - he’ll follow it up with day in; updating himself on the news (both local and in Chicago), do his best to keep tabs on the stories that don’t make it onto the news regarding the Mafia’s extensive activities - and try his best not to alert anyone onto his digging. Hours fly by nursing his anxiety in this way - or maybe his obsession - before he remembers putting in a call to his mom to make sure she’s okay. Their conversations usually leave him feeling guiltier than not, and he’d hate to admit that it’s often with relief that he ends the call right before going to work.

On days when he’s had just about enough of his four walls, Quentin seeks out the pack in the Bayou - Jackson’s, specifically. He does so carefully, constantly wary of being followed and hoping that he’ll find the Alpha as close to alone as possible. Sometimes they’ll train together, sometimes Jackson will answer his questions - or sometimes they’ll just sit in companionable silence over a drink or two. He likes those nights best. If he isn’t at work, at home or in the Bayou, Quentin is usually in a meeting with Mrs. Martin, answering an inquisition regarding Lydia’s safety and whereabouts, or in attendance at some glitzy event he doesn’t want to attend. Very rarely, he can be found poking around Tulane University or the local library, thumbing through books he wishes he understood. In the evenings he’ll put on the tv and watch something mindless until he blocks out his thoughts and dozes off for the night.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice.

1) Quentin’s has a petty thievery habit that he can’t quite shake. Things that won’t be missed; Carol Lockwood’s tattered copy of the Great Gatsby, or a french menu he swiped out of a too-expensive restaurant that Lydia was visiting. He can’t really explain why he does it, other than a fleeting curiosity in the objects when he first sees them, but as a result Quentin has a stockpile of random shit at home.

2) Quentin has GAD, or generalized anxiety disorder. It’s yet another of the many side-effects resulting from his years as a drug dealer; with the fear of constant shakedowns hanging over his head. The fact that his brother spent time in prison and that he himself is still under Emilio’s thumb only exacerbated his symptoms over time. It’s subtle for the most part, manifesting itself in the odd tick or repetitive behavior – but it can become quite severe when he’s under stress, and has led to a panic attack more than once before.

3) Quentin’s favourite movie is Slumdog Millionaire, and his favourite book is S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders. He hasn’t had the chance to read too many books in his life but he’s damn near certain this would be his favourite even if he’d read every book in the universe. There was just something about being a Greaser that made him feel like he could relate… Like S.E. Hinton knew exactly what she was talking about. The only thing that changes each time he rereads the book, is which character he relates to most at that particular point in his life. Ponyboy when he was little, Two-bit when he’s stealing, Johnny when he’s breaking down and Darrel, when he has something to look up to.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character? Quentin’s distrust of the witches and the vampires is growing, especially because he sees (or imagines) too many parallels between them and the mentality of the Mob he’s running from. He’s heard of too many abuses of power, and he hates how both set of supernaturals have something about keeping up appearances. I think he’s going to make enemies fast in both camps, and I’m totally here for it. I’d also like to explore a plot where he actively attempts to get back on track with his education (something that's privately important to him) and see where academic life takes him. Lastly (for now!) I want to see whether being a packless wolf brings on pressures of its own as different Alpha powers begin to oppose each other in the Bayou and the threats - both internally and externally - increase.

⤜ Para sample:

This isn’t his scene, not remotely. But if Lydia’s mom wants to pay him fifty bucks an hour to stand in a corner and watch over her daughter, it’s no skin off his back. There’s alcohol floating around and that makes this whole thing a little easier, although it’s been months since he’s really felt the buzz. Jackson mentioned something about werewolf metabolism once, although he isn’t sure he was listening to the details. Now, as he reaches for a pricey shot of whiskey, he wish he’d listened better.

Quentin spots Lydia as he brings the glass up to his lips, briefly makes eye-contact with her before she goes back to pretending he isn’t there. He doesn’t care, he prefers it that way. She’s easier to monitor when she isn’t trying to get a rise out of him or batting those eyelashes with enough emphasis to get him fired. Green eyes, like bayou leaves or the underbelly of a dragon… That, combined with the flaming red hair is as effective as a stop sign.

His eyes travel over to her stepdad, Mr. Lockwood, who’s busy laughing too loudly at his own joke. The dad has a smile that makes him want to kick over a garbage can in his path. A smile made of razorblades. And then there’s Tyler, a few feet away. Tyler looking rich and shiny like a… Well like a douchebag, really. It’s enough to have him knocking back the rest of his whiskey without a second thought. On the bright side, he’s not paid for their security. Father and son could spontaneously combust and he’d still go home with a paycheck so long as Lydia kept away from the flames. On the downside, there’s still three more hours left to this social soirée. He wants to go for another drink but doesn’t in case he’s being monitored. Instead, Quentin finds himself in the empty gallery.

It’s been four minutes, maybe five when he feels the unmistakable sensation of a metal barrel to his spine. The boy stiffens immediately; body one long, taut string. If he moves, he’s dead. Muscle memory knows how this works. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Is that any way t’ welcome an old friend? Huh??” The gun is whipped twice against his external oblique and the werewolf buckles forward in response to the throbbing pain.

“Leave me alone, I’ll-”

“- Or else what? Think you can kill me too? There’s a lotta people coming for you, Flores. And the things they wanna do to you, kid…” There’s a slick, wet sound as he sucks the saliva in between his teeth. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t wanna be you. But the new Don wants me ‘o give you a choice. Calls it amnesty. All you gotta do… Is kill Carol Lockwood. ”

And there it is again, that tidal wave of rage that rises within him without warning. He doesn’t know if he’s angrier at the thug or at himself for foolishly hoping the Mob’s mercy would come free of strings. In a flash he’s rammed one elbow into the man’s stomach and turned to shove his knee where it’ll cause the most damage. “You’re gonna regret that!” The other snarls just as he dives for the gun. It goes off with a deafening bang and misses Quentin by a hairline. Conversation stops in the adjoining room and within seconds his assailant is gone, leaving a crumpled heap on the ground, and a broken window in his wake.

The next thing he knows Lydia is rushing in, closely followed by a bunch of other well-to-dos. The sharpness to her whisper is unmistakable; she’s furious. “What the hell are you doing?? Who was that?… Nothing to see here, people, just a clumsy little slip! Back to the foyer!”

It takes him a good minute to regain control of his vocal cords as the crowd disperses. “Nobody.” His voice is hoarse, and when he grasps the back of a chair in order to help himself up, the tremor in his hand betrays him. “It was nobody.”

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? No.

⤜ Have you read the rules?: Yes

⤜ Would you be willing to have this character killed off? Yes. ⤜ Anything else? No.

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