|
|
|
Quote: [Y]ou really want to know...-----[W]hat they can know;;
Biological Name - Her biological name is Quiyue Zhenzhen Mingxia. She changed her name to Tally Jia Daiyu when she came to Forquet.
Alias - Tally or Jia: she has an assortment of alias', but goes by Tally in the gang.
Gender - To think she never had plastic surgery... WOMAN.
Age - Just barely legal: 21.
Height - Tall: 5'10".
Weight - Not so thick: 132lbs.
Appearance - First impression, ladies and gentlemen? What's there to see today, with Miss Daiyu walking by? A gorgeous young lady with an hour glass figure you say? Undoubtedly so, since Miss Daiyu's quite the looker, if oblivious of that one fact. Tall and taller, at five foot ten, she's got legs a yard long that look good in any shoe. Her skin's pale and sweet, like cream on a rose petal, easy to color around the cheeks and hard to burn under the glaring sun. With limbs so long, she's slender, but not dainty, being rather busty and all. Yes, her breasts are real, inherited from her mother, who had busty women along her family line. From her sumptuous chest, her body narrows down along the rib cage until her hip bones merge with her slender form and offer yet another curve for admiring eyes to wander down. She's trim, to say the least, but not obviously muscular or anything like that. She's fit from daily exercises like any health-conscious woman would do, along with the occasional run through the park and swim in the local pool. Her wrists and ankles are slim, but strong, allowing the steadiness of hand and stance she needs when working under harsh conditions.
Her face is a masterpiece, charming and exotic, boasting first and foremost a very large pair of heavily-lashed eyes. Bold and wide and glimmering with a natural merriness, Tally's round russet-brown eyes are flecked with shards of amber, nearly gold in the right light. Like heated bronze, they are warm and inviting, sharing in her amiable nature with a childish demeanor and a naive woman's hesitance. A medium-length, narrow nose ends in a cliche button manner, under which a prime set of lips rest, full and seemingly always smiling. Said lips are pink and pure, which will quiver when upset, making any man feel guilty in the end. Tally has very long hair. In fact, her hair is probably the only part of her body she's somewhat vain about. For one thing, she will not get it cut. She will dye it, occasionally, but only when the color is a natural one. Mostly she wears it down since it's such a hassle to put up; either way, she has beautiful hair that lingers around the back of her ankles at the very end.
Her outfits vary, but in a sense Tally's a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to her heritage. When she's not wearing her favorite outfit, she's decked out in clothes decorated with Chinese dragons and other symbols. She's not afraid to show a little skin, but she doesn't appreciate it when someone's eyes drop down away from hers... Just because she's wearing something a little more scandalous than necessary - more than likely without realizing it - doesn't mean that whomsoever is looking can't be a bit more respectful. As for preferences, Tally likes shoes with heels, dresses with slits and low-rise jeans; in fact, Tally's kind of a shopping maniac. She just loves getting new clothes and accessories and everything! Beware men, because she also likes to drag someone along with her too. Leather? Sure, but only when she's cold or trying to blend in with those... clubs... some of the gang members like to go into. Eheh. Besides, she's got to have a variety of outfits if she's ever going to be successful as a spy!
-----[W]hat they should know;;
Gang - Crimsonian Feathers
Position - Apprentice Spy
Weapons - Considering Tally's a Spy, it isn't exactly necessary for her to carry around weapons in plain sight. However, her history with them has her unconsciously prone to carry around one or two with her at all times. There's her family's heirloom: a katana. Randomly, she also has this other large, rather blunt instrument of destruction: this little number she picked up in China before leaving home. There's random needles and butterfly knives that can be found hiding on her persona: she's not afraid to use them, just not willing to harm someone fatally. There's also a pair of wrist guards she uses when forced to fight hand to hand; she does not, however, ever carry a gun on her. Sorry, no potentially lethal weapons for her.
Talents - Well... being able to turn into a different person every new day must be considered a talent, seeing as being able to do so properly requires a great deal of study and foreknowledge. For such a giggling female, Tally's personality can mold into that of whatever person's shoes she's supposed to be filling: like a character in a book, Tally knows how to handle becoming a new face, a new personality, a new individual. She's nearly a pro when wielding her family's old katana - or any other sharp object for that matter.
Tally's fine around open wounds and blood unlike some people, and hardly ever gets queasy or dizzy... Unless someone dies in front of her. Then she'll feel weak in the knees and totter about like a poor lost soul. Her cheerfulness could be considered a talent since she knows how to get the moods up among her fellow gang members. Something could be said about the fact she's not entirely defenseless: having spent several years in her father's dojo before running away, Tally has some training in defensive and offensive techniques. Probably not enough to beat anyone, but enough to save her life. She's a good swimmer and a really fast runner; her long legs are good for something after all. Unexpectedly, Tally's famous for her ability to knock a guy off his feet with a swift right hook. A secret talent of Tally's, one that she would rather not admit, is the fact she was a ballroom dancer for ten years. In fact, she was a very good ballroom dancer, and at one point she had the opportunity to become the National Champion.
-----[W]hat they could know;;
Sexuality - It'd be a miracle if she could ever figure out why men are always staring at her: and women too, when she stops to think about it. Tally's a bit when someone's coming onto her, so, it could be said that she really doesn't know what she prefers. Not that she hasn't had a crush on someone, of course.
Personality - a few paragraphs, overall personality
Likes -
.:. Dancing, music, glittering outfits, formal affairs and ritzy clubs.
.:. Animals: puppies, kitties, some birds, exotic pets and tigers/wolves/pandas/leopards.
.:. Shopping, new clothes, pretty accessories, nearly every color, dressing up and wearing high heels.
.:. Her heritage and Chinese traditions/symbols.
.:. Hugging people, laughing, singing in the shower, dancing when she's alone and sitting on her knees.
.:. Fiction books, romance books, trilogies, manga, conventions and book stores.
.:. Strawberries, chocolate ice cream, whipped cream, Starbursts, Jolly Ranchers and sour apple rings, frappachinos, Starbucks, pastries, cheesecake, yummy crackers, Chinese food, sushi, fish, soup, cocktails and fruity drinks.
.:. Opera, ballet, Broadway shows,
Dislikes -
Tendencies - Tally tends to change the color of her nail polish every other day. Meaning, she repaints her nails after two days of having them one color. Why? Probably because she now has the freedom to do what she wants with her looks. She tries to hug anyone who she thinks needs cheering up and will exclaim, "So cute!" like a fan-girl whenever she sees something especially adorable. Oh, and she hugs everyone when she's saying thank you or is particularly excited. She likes to sit on her knees with her hands folded in her lap; she refuses to cut her hair, for whatever reason. She blushes whenever she's given a compliment, but she doesn't turn into a bubbly-head because of them. She'll reprimand someone for being too rude or ask them to apologize to who they offended if she catches that person in the act. She stomps her foot and bunches her hands into fists at her hips when she's angry. She screams whenever someone tries to sneak up and surprise her. She'll punch anyone who she thinks is a bad person trying to get her - even in the middle of the night when returning from the bathroom. [XD]
Biography - Quiyue was the b*****d daughter of a secret affair. If that wasn't cliche enough, little Quiyue never knew her real mother, but grew up being cared for by "Crisp Jetteric's" mother instead; the mother of her half-brother. Sound complicated enough? It should, seeing as Crisp only met Tally when she was sixteen and he was, well, older and as far from his family as possible. On the other hand, Tally knew all about her half-brother. As a youngster she followed him around
Reputation -
Weaknesses - Death makes her woozy and pale for days afterwards. Animals make her childish and silly. Sweets are something she can't live without. Pretty boys and girls are people who are doomed to be hugged by her. Getting nervous when seriously flirted with. Not being a particularly fierce warrior - she needs help in a fight if she's outnumbered. Not being able to use a gun gets her in trouble a lot. Being gorgeous and oblivious gets her into even more trouble most of the time.
Additional Information - Tally would love to have a pet of her own. -----[W]hat they don't know;;Theme Song -
Quotes - optional
By me - "So cute~!" ; "Excuse me? Mr. Bleeding Guy? Is something wrong with your vision, because my eyes are up here you know..." ; "You're so mean! If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all! Hmph." ; "Oh, for goodness sakes, can you please shut up so I can keep this guy from loosing a leg?!" ; "Puppy! Aww, I want a puppy! Or a kitty! Can I have a kitty Quinny, can I? Pleeeeaaassseeee?" ; "Roger-dodger, Sir!" [add a cute smile, shut eyes and a salute here.] ; "AIIIEEEEEEE!!!!" ; "Pervert! Go get a life!" ; "Ew. That was really gross, Sir."
For me - "Her name? Well, it's a b***h to remember, so just call 'er Tally. She'sa real sweet heart, but I don't suggest touching her a**. She doesn't carry around scalpels for nothing, ya know." - Quinn ; "Tall, big-chest, long hair... Tell me, why should I say anything more? She's the woman everyone wants: end of story. Now piss off or eat hardwood floor!" - Etna
Username - E- b o n y . E- c l a i r
Quote: [Y]ou really want to know...-----[W]hat they can know;;
Biological Name - Quinn Narcsyz Néill-Savio. [QwuIn Nar-SAyz Knee-EL Saa-vee-O]
Alias - "Seaghdha." || Quinn or Néill by close friends. || Savio by anyone else.
Gender - Male
Age - Twenty-three bottles of beer on the wall... 23 years old.
Height - Six and two extra... 6'2".
Weight - Two and seventeen... 217lbs.
Appearance – The Seaghdha of the Dark Blood gang is a big boy. Standing at six foot two when his hair lays flat, he towers over most of the women in the gang and quite a few of the men as well. Young, foolish rookies tend to think twice about acting up when this large, masculine specimen of mankind looms up behind them, booming at them in a richly brazen voice sporting several distinct, inherited hues and tones. With a name such as his, it’s easy to tell that somewhere down the line of his ancestry someone was Italian, someone was Irish and someone was Polish. Quinn, though? Well, that’s a pretty uncommon name, but its origins are broad and unspecific. Due to this Quinn claims that he has a bit of everything and that’s that. English, German, ect., ect., ect. Then again, his parents were probably the reason behind his eccentric lack of respect for his heritage, as his mother was born out of a French/Polish family that lived in South Africa and his father was an Italian-accented German who worked out of an American biogenetics company. Heritage? Pfft, the word holds no meaning for Quinn, seeing as the final outcome of his parent’s marriage was two damn attractive male children: and that’s all that really matters in the end, isn’t it?
Being big and brawny, Quinn’s weight is primarily due to the muscles packed along every spare inch of his body. Unlike some men who turn out lean and wiry, Quinn’s all muscularity and lion-bodied buff. His arms are ‘guns’ and his legs are ‘pillars’ if one had to describe them and maintain the symbolic nature of strength. With wide, solid shoulders and a long, granite-carved torso, Quinn oozes sex-appeal because of the many years he spent dedicated towards sculpting his body into a fighting machine: for fun and for work. Hours in the gym, hours on the street, hours in the arena: a combination both formidable and valuable. Quinn’s body is a statue of Michelangelo proportions: a Hercules with a wry grin and a pair of heavy fists. What most people tend to notice about the mix-blooded athlete would be the fact he’s more rugged than brawny: Quinn’s strapping, strong-boned looks draw admiration from every sort of eyes. Speaking of eyes, his pair of long, heavy-lidded optics comes across as being quite… bizarre, for a man anyways. To offset the sheer masculinity of his body, Quinn’s eyes are a pure, amiable hue of dark violet, cool and dark, dazzling, and often found behind a few wayward tresses that beg hair stylists for a trim. Speaking of hair, Quinn happened to be born with tresses that should have been a dull, coppery orange like his father’s. By the time he was twelve years old however, his hair color had wandered off from its genetic course and strayed towards a wacky shade of orangey-blonde. When he was seventeen and on his own, Quinn’s younger brother – brilliant conman that he had been – talked Quinn into trying out a few dyes. Never did the lanky teen ever suspect that he would be sporting a peachy-orange mop of hair for the next six years. Nor did it ever cross his mind that something suspiciously similar to pink could look good on a man and attract all sorts of attention. Of course, his hair isn’t actually pink, just a variety of it. It’s more like a light salmon, to be accurate, or even a strange disfiguration of some not-quite-ripe cantaloupe served at a cheap hotel. His hair isn’t something he’s particularly vain of seeing as he likes to wear this one particular hat at all hours. For whatever reason, Quinn always has this hat on, be it when he’s asleep, working, fighting or tending to some personal matters. Perhaps the only time he doesn’t wear his hat is when he’s 1) showering, 2) teaching a rookie who’s boss, or 3) required by social obligations to remove it in public during a meal or party or ect… Unless someone steals it (bad idea) or manages to swipe it off his head (also a bad idea), the hat stays, higher authority or no.
Quinn’s style isn’t very particular unlike his choice in head wear. However, there are a few details about his way of dress that are prone to making themselves obvious. One of these such details is the fact that Quinn’s shirt is nearly always unbuttoned, open, and so on, baring the deep ridges of his chest and abdominal wall beneath. The only one to complain about this would have to be the sorry fellows who find out just how much it hurts to plant a fist on his bare chest (he’s built like a bloody brick wall after all.) Otherwise, complaints don’t often find themselves thrown in Quinn’s general direction. His clothes are comfortable rather than dressy and showy. He likes the occasional geometric design and oddball color, but the rest of the time he’s pretty regular about the style of shirts he wears. Quinn likes pants with pockets since pockets are oh-so useful for a man who often needs a pen, a recorder, a handgun and a cell phone all at the same time. Most of the time his pants are cargo: easy to move around it with plenty of pockets and, of course, comfortable to wear. He likes sandals, tennis shoes and combat boots mostly, since dress shoes have that unfortunate way of rubbing the skin of his feet the wrong way. Plus they’re damn useless. Can’t run in them unless it’s to risk a broken neck; they don’t stand up in a fight and they certainly aren’t comfortable.
Besides his hat, Quinn thinks of accessories as something he’ll have on when he’s feeling ‘glamorous.’ His ears are pierced, once on his left, twice on his right, but you’ll find him wearing arm bands and a simple chain necklace occasionally. Mind, the necklace was his grandfather’s and the armbands sport symbols for ‘harmony’ and ‘turmoil’ on each one. Maybe he just likes irony? Opposites? Nobody really knows for certain.
-----[W]hat they should know;;
Gang – Dark Blood
Position – Hunter Specialist
Weapons – His mind, his eyes, his body, his handguns and his shotgun. He carries a set of knives on him in varying sizes for varying uses. Often the only noticeable one would be the second-largest sheathed on the left side of his belt. He keeps ignitable power in a sealed container in a small bag he carries around his waist, for special cases, as well as a steel wire he has looped and tucked at the small of his back. He carries a palm pilot in his pocket with a few assorted cords when he wants to hack into a security camera or check out a few things about his target.
Talents – Quinn’s got this habit of being right about things in a disturbingly overly-accurate way. Whether it’s from his chosen role as a Dark Blood member or the fact he’s got the memory of an elephant, Quinn’s brain power is unquestionably a powerful tool by itself, or even as weapon in some cases. Irreversibly excitable over the prospect of a good fight, Quinn’s sense of battle lust is a major contributor to his tremendous brute strength and uncanny stamina. Being able to take blow after blow makes him an irreplaceable ally to have around and certainly nothing less than a relief when things get tough. His background accounts for his straight, quick shot with any sort of firearm and his cool conviction in battle. He’s a warrior at heart despite his wealthy upbringing: one of brains, brawn and genius. His tactical sense is another one of those valuable traits that earns him a bit of respect here and there. Coming up with the perfect stratagem for a midnight heist is nothing more than a half-day’s investment for Quinn, seeing as he’s got a head for business, a mind for fact and a loyal, forthright nature that holds the trust of those he works with. As a Hunter, he's one of the best.
-----[W]hat they could know;;
Sexuality - It's hard to tell with Quinn sometimes, seeing as he's good-natured about the whole gay thing and all. His brother Connell is gay, but that hardly implies that Quinn is as well. Maybe he's just too flirtatious for his own good. However, to put things back into perspective, Quinn's only nighttime acquaintances thus far have been females.
Personality – Quinn, or Néill as he goes by for the rest of the time, takes greatly after his parents. His mother was the good-humored sort, with a determined attitude and a keen mind she put to good use for the surrounding African community she grew up in. Saving others in as many ways as possible was her goal in life, and Quinn feels like he needs to do the close to the same. Although he doesn’t have the privileges and resources his mother had, or what he might have had if his parents were still alive, he does have a strong back, two capable hands and a bright mind. Oh, and maybe a semi-automatic here and there, but that doesn’t account for much beyond the checks on his target list. His loyalty to the good of humanity stands sharply in contradiction with his current occupation, but Néill doesn’t look at being in a gang as a bad thing. The people he works with are his friends, companions, coworkers and even his lovers on occasion. Quinn enjoys being around people nearly as much as he likes sleeping – and he really likes sleeping. His affable attitude makes him an easy person to talk to and work with for the most part, but hardly anyone comes away from a conversation with Quinn without having noticed that there’s quite a bit of dark humor, perversion and haughtiness behind the wry grins and engaging winks. His bold laughs are infectious, mostly, unless he’s broken out into laughter while gunshots are flying and everything is caving in around the team: then most people tend to stare at him in disbelief and horror. He must be on crack or something, some would think. But, really, Quinn’s just that way: he doesn’t like to be afraid or confused, so he’ll face every situation brought upon him with a brave, hearty front and a focused mind…
Whether its egotism, overconfidence or stupidity, Quinn rarely fails to finish a job once it’s been assigned to him. Once he's found the target, he'll have them in his 'care' within the next few hours. With such an easy-going attitude and sharp wit, Néill knows how to wheedle and deal. He can be charming when he wants to, especially when he has female company, but inveigling those nervous, distrusting sorts of business men isn’t difficult for him either. Most would assume he likes to play the con man after watching him break down a renown hard-a** vendor/dealer before an hour has past; they’d be surprised to learn that Quinn often gets bored if the dealing goes on for too long. That’s when his firmer, more intimidating side will pop out, revealing the old combat specialist within him. After all he’s endured in his life Quinn’s been hardened and cooled over to a certain degree, leaving him as a walking contradiction of fire and ice: one moment warm and puppy-like, raging and menacing the next. It’s often hard to believe that Néill can be so unapproachable sometimes – most often when he’s pissed or extremely upset – but it isn’t a phenomenon too uncommon to miss.
Another thing that’s noticeable about Néill would be his lack of respect for personal space: he damn well doesn’t understand that some people need their space! Or privacy, or secrets, or solitude, or peace-and-quiet, or… anything, really. After loosing two of the people most important to him at such a young age, Quinn would rather be invasive and personal than detached and alone. It’s like when people walk into a room without knocking on the closed door beforehand: he tends to arouse an instantaneous feeling of irritation and frustration in those around them. Likewise, the idiotic actions of others and a lack of common sense have the tendency of getting Quinn huffy and grouchy. On the other hand, he’s the kind of guy that would be willing to work out a ‘deal’, of sorts, in order to either get his way or bring around a compromise between two butting heads. One of those heads is often his hard-as-a-rock head, but, hey, stubbornness ran in his family: his mother didn’t like to back down, and neither does he. Most of the time. Women often have the upper-hand around him if they know how to coo and coax him into submitting to his wishes, but only when Néill can see some sense in what the female’s trying to accomplish. His blunt tongue accounts for the mild strain of manly arrogance coursing through his veins, as does Quinn’s firm belief that honesty can be coupled with a few white lies without guilt if it’s for the good of others. Yeah, that’s Quinn alright. Rather twisted in the head, candid with what he feels and self-confident that he’ll always be right.
Likes – Women. His hat. Big dogs. Classic cars. Coffee – black with a smidgeon of cream in it. Tea, but only when there’s a healthy dose of some warm spirit added to the brew. Teasing. Being right. Arguing for no reason. Riling up sexy women to see them lose their cool. Getting the facts straight. Nosing into things that aren’t any of his business. Sleeping in. Physical contact. Chatting meaninglessly. Hunting. Having fun. Working hard. Working out. Joking around. Winning an argument. Winning a bet, or anything with the odds against him. Brawling. Showing rookies whose boss. Horseback riding. Amusement parks. Sailing. The ocean. The city. Nightclubs. Women who are found in nightclubs. A mystery. A hard mission. Overwhelming odds. Annoying people who need to ‘loosen up.’ Swimming. Gyms. Hot showers. Wet, good-smelling hair. His hat. A good brand of cigarettes. Guns with a bit of power behind them. Connell. His parents. His old home. Jared. Action movies, as well as a few other types. Car chases. Computers. Hacking. Heist plans that work. Heist plans that don’t work, but everything turns out all right in the end anyways. Saying, “Told ya so,” to those who didn’t believe him in the first place. Sports. Sleeping. Big beds. Good food. Bad food that tastes good. Hard liquor. Loose, comfortable shirts. Comfortable chairs. Comfortable… everything. His grandfather’s necklace. Lacy, silky underwear on pretty women. Long… sexy… anything… on a woman. Being a pain in the arse.
Dislikes – People who don’t have any common sense. An easy, boring mission. Boring, easy to figure out people. Chihuahuas. Plane rides. Teenagers with spoiled, bratty, cliché attitudes. Being alone. Being ignored. Being treated like a tool rather than a person. Nervous, shifty business men who don’t know what they’re getting into but decide to go through with it anyways thinking they’re doing the smart thing and are only interested, as always, the money they can make off this stupid, dangerous thing they are trying to do. Meetings. Having to clean up someone else’s mess – more than likely he might get killed in the process or there’s some crazy situation that he has to take care of within the next five minutes or, kaboom! There goes the neighborhood. People asking about the scar on his shoulder. People not understanding that when he says “shut up” he means “shut up.” Really, too many people die because they can’t button their lip for five seconds. Guns that don’t work. Bad music. Karma. The people that killed his parents.
Tendencies - Quinn likes to approach people from behind and then drape himself on their shoulders when they're least suspecting it. He leans against the door jamb when all he wants to do is watch something go on. There always seems to be a cigarette between his lips when he's stressed, bored or feeling especially good about himself. He works out daily, without fail, unless he has a 'stomach ache'. His hat is his favorite article of clothing and he'll defend it's presence a top his head whenever told that it makes him look 'goofy.' Quinn has this really bad... habit: he sleeps like a bloody log and grabs onto whatever's closest, be it a pillow or a warm, snuggly body. For whatever reason, Néill never actually gets drunk, no matter how absurdly or luridly he's acting at the time. He wears all button-up shirts wide open unless there's a good reason to pull it closed - not that he's a slob or anything, it's just the way he is. Quinn’s largely known as a subtle pervert, aka, a tease, whose loose tongue and large hands have been the antagonist of a number of hot blushes rising on the cheeks of a couple female gang members. He doesn’t mean any harm by it seeing as he’s only having a ‘bit of harmless fun.’ His harmless fun is often the result in the lack of appreciation he has for privacy and personal space.
Biography - Quinn Narcsyz Néill-Savio was born on the outskirts of a South African metropolis as the first son of the wealthy Savio family. His family included his French and Polish mother, Santania, and his German-Italian father, Trent, who had been married for only a year before deciding to have a child. Trent was the CEO of his father’s innovative bioresearch company, based on the West coast of America, hoping to modernize the medical industry with their revolutionary ideas involving the human genome and stem cell research. On the other hand his mother was a woman who had been a missionary for several years after graduating from the local university with a degree in Humanities and two assorted minors. Santania came from a rich family – old money – that had relocated from their home in South Carolina two years before her birth on a private estate in South America. The grandiose residence of the Savio family was situated in an area only somewhat clearer than the dense forest further into the distance, but the twenty acres it sat on was more than enough to fascinate the young Santania. She grew up with only one goal in mind: to help people. As a missionary and a charity-group beneficiary (her parents passed away while she was young and she inherited her parent’s accounts and possessions when she turned twenty-three), she became a well-known figurehead for a large charity group with goals aimed towards helping the poorer parts of southern Africa. Having grown up amid people who had once lived in a poorer village six miles to the east of her home, it was no wonder Santania had no problem understanding the culture of the people she encountered, forming bonds and friendships with the underprivileged people she met, with little trouble adjusting to new situations: until she met one Trent Néill, who had been staying in South Africa during one of Santania’s annual charity events. The two met, and, well, the normally resolved, goal-orientated Savio mistress found herself romanced and, later, in love.
Quinn has a brother one year younger than him – who officially realized that he was gay when he turned twenty – who would be his best friend and playmate through his childhood. Of course, the hired servants of the Savio household had children of their own, and it wouldn’t have been considered an odd sight to come across the two young heirs mucking about with several native children amid the tamed wilderness of the Savio estates. Quinn, it would so happen, had taken greatly after his father physically and his mother spiritually. As he grew, he began getting himself involved in helping his mother at charity events if he had time after or before school, much to her delight. Soon, Quinn began to venture out on his own: he raised money by participating in soccer, basketball, football and baseball games in the local community by donating all the funds collected through tickets and food stalls to the local charity. It was his father, however, that introduced him to the wonderful world of business when he was fifteen. While Quinn did have a strong understanding of what exactly it was his father’s company did, he didn’t feel particularly interested in science or its uses. So, his father showed him the joy of sailing – a sport they both fully enjoyed and one they could do whenever Trent was home – and later Quinn worked under the stern hand of his father’s old friend, Jared McClennan: a fisherman by trade and Quinn’s informal godfather.
All was going wonderfully in Quinn’s and Connell’s life until one year later, his parents were both assassinated three weeks after Quinn’s seventeenth birthday. Quinn and Connell might have also been killed if they hadn’t escaped by running into the jungle behind their home. It seemed that luck wasn’t on their side that night, seeing as they shortly encountered the pack of hyenas that had been haunting the grounds outside the Savio property for the last few months. Quinn and Connell fended them off for a short while until Quinn received a grave wound to his left shoulder and fell to the ground in pain, certain to be attacked within the next few moments. The tides turned for them then, as they were saved by a bunch of local men who they had grown up with – some of their family had worked with their parents and some with Jared. From that moment on, the two brothers secretly lived with the men that had rescued them from the hyenas in their village. Quinn learned how to hunt and wield basic weapons as the days passed, determined to avenge the deaths of his mother and father. It turned out that the assassin worked for a rival bioresearch company whose survival and business had been threatened by their father’s firm. Apparently, there had been some break-through discoveries a few months before the death of Quinn and Connell’s parents: some sort of gene-related research that could would explain why a few diseases like Alzheimer’s and bipolar disorder occurred; not to mention a way to cure them. Seeing as this research could lead to billions of dollars in profit and funding, it was no wonder that the rival company decided to dispatch the Savio family and steal Trent’s company’s discovery. Quinn came across this information by infiltrating the local investigation department’s documentation and the so-called ‘disclosed’ files of that same rival company – through a few weeks of extreme hacking – after finding a suspicious email on his father’s computer when he returned to the Savio home to gather some odds and ends.
Quinn joined the South African military corps: not so much for the love of his native home, but in order to be properly prepared and trained to achieve his ultimate goal… revenge. Quinn could have done a number of things: go public with what he found and reveal the plots of the rival company; but that would have endangered him, his brother, and the village that had taken them in. So, he did what any smart seventeen year old that grew up watching action movies and playing rough sports would do: he decided to rough it out on his own. He left his brother in the care of their new family and friends – Connell wouldn’t have exactly approved of being left behind, but Quinn knew that his younger brother wasn’t cut out for the extreme discipline of military life to having inherited their mother’s medical disorder. After joining the military, Quinn moved quickly through the ranks, having already been close to top physical condition thanks to years of outdoor sports and sailing with his father, not to mention riding horseback with his mother. He learned to use firearms and how to spot a dangerous situation; he learned to use code and prepare for the worst; he learned to endure harsh conditions and worst-case scenarios. Most importantly, he learned to ambush: his superiors had quickly caught on to the fact that Quinn held a great potential to work in stealth or special OPS, and set him up to work among fellow soldiers who used everything from the most delicate technology available to the crudest form of warfare materials. When Quinn was only nineteen, he felt as if he was ready to set off and achieve his goals. Leaving the military with five months left until his twentieth birthday, Quinn returned to that small, hidden village to find it deserted. Feeling anxious, panic-stricken and guilty, Quinn searched for his brother and answers. He found them in the form of a young teen who he had known to be the brother of a soccer player Quinn used to play with/against. The boy told him that armed men had come in the night nearly a year ago, and invaded the village: they had been searching for him and his brother. Luckily, the village men had noticed the presence of strangers days before, ranging closer and closer to their village: after secretly capturing one of those men, it turned out that those strangers were spies for the rival company, seeking to finish what had been started, having caught on to the fact that some very secret files had been hacked into. The village had left hours before the armed men came, moving northwards to a brother village for shelter. Connell had gone with them, heavy-hearted and concerned that he would never see his brother again. When Quinn arrived at the new village, he found out that Connell had gone to America in order to accomplish something with his life, leaving behind only a few messages for Quinn to find him by.
In America, Connell had found his niche among the fashion society. Having always been like the boy’s mother – who had been an accomplished, if private, artist as well – he was quickly recognized for his authentic, original designs based off the village dress and the scenery of Africa that he had grown up in. As a designer, he was happy to be able to create something with his own hands, but soon grew stressed by the demand a fashion designer is often forced to live with. So, still drawing up designs as they came to him, he handed over the cloth-making and such to an assistant and started his own company to manage, preferring to deal with the business aspects instead of risk his frail health, much like the former Mrs. Savio had done. However, he really enjoyed Fashion Week in New York, and often dipped his hands into the business of employing models to showcase his work, not to mention the backstage work during fashion shows. It was at one of these fashion shows that Quinn found his brother again, now twenty and – to the eyes of most New Yorkers – attractive, being a stand-out foreigner with a sexy accent. Perhaps Fate had decided to play games with Quinn, seeing that it was at this same fashion show that he would first lay eyes upon one of the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen: little would he know at the time that Devika would be the same, strict, suit-donning, tea-and-cigar Sir Ankita he would come to work with three years later. Still, Quinn stood in the back of the tent on that day, burning amethyst eyes intent on the fair-haired miss strolling down the cat-walk in a stunning one-piece evening gown, her silky hair dancing about her smooth, young shoulders while supple, cinnamon-skinned legs that appeared a mile long swept her gracefully to the end of the catwalk, revealing a sexy thigh as she posed with an icy smile for the cameras and turned to strut away. Her glacier-blue eyes would leave Quinn grinning for the rest of the evening as he embraced his brother for the first time in nearly two years. Quinn joined his brother at his apartment that night and it was there that explanations were finally shared and secrets revealed: Connell had no hard feelings towards his brother, but he was concerned about Quinn’s future plans. For most of his older brother’s life, Connell had known him to be dedicated towards helping people in need… not planning to kill them. Although he shared his brother’s feelings of grief for the loss of their parents, the last thing he wanted Quinn to do was get himself involved in a situation that could turn out for the worst. Little could be done to persuade Quinn to change his mind, so in the end Connell could do nothing more than to accept the fact that his older brother was becoming a cold-blooded kill for the sake of avenging the deaths of their parents. Not exactly an easy pill for anyone to swallow, no matter how close they are to the person.
Reputation - Quinn, despite his ‘Master’ position among the Bloods, has only been a part of the gang for less than two years. It was one cold autumn evening in the city, with Quinn hot on the trail of a recent clue as to the whereabouts of the man who had killed his mother while she slept, when chaos broke out. A man fell from the second story fire escape of a building to his immediate left: drawing closer to find out what had happened, a woman shortly followed the man’s erratic fall, although she jumped rather than fell. Without thinking, and hearing approaching heavy footsteps, Quinn hauled the man up since the woman was struggling to stay upright on her own let alone carry her ‘friend’, and once he had the groaning male halfway over his shoulder Quinn hissed for the woman to follow him. The two of them were beginning to make their way down the street when a shot rang out in the night: a bullet whizzed by Quinn’s ear and had him grunting with irritation. Grabbing the woman’s arm and practically throwing her into another alleyway, Quinn only winced as another shot grazed his empty left shoulder – the same shoulder that a hyena had mauled some years earlier. Growling under his breath, he tucked the unconscious man into a protected doorway in the shadows, muttering to the woman huffing next to him to get down. Despite the clear disbelief and wariness in her eyes, she did as she was told, deciding that she better see to her partner while she could.
In the next minute, Quinn had to figure out a way to get rid of whoever was following them, stop the bleeding in his shoulder, protect the two strangers he had picked up for whatever reason and get an explanation out of them seeing as he had gone through all this trouble just to save their asses. Not something a man used to kidnapping people to be doing. He hadn’t even know at the time whether the two were the ‘good guys’ in the situation or the ‘bad guys’, but opinions weren’t something to focus on at the time and he didn’t feel in the mood to argue with common sense. His military training and old ‘do-good’ attitude had already kicked into full gear: stealthily, Quinn swiftly pulled out the kit of goodies he carried around with him to complete little infiltration jobs: a steel cord and a high-powered flashlight were all he needed; that, and a semi-automatic from his back pocket. Laying the cord along the entrance of the alleyway and fifteen feet in, tying off the loose end on a pipe near the ground, he disclosed himself behind a pile of cardboard boxes just big enough to let him kneel behind him. About thirty seconds later, three men came jogging down the street, their breath heavy from what had probably been a long chase, which would be their downfall in the end. As the first two slowed and walked into the alley, Quinn waited until they drew close enough before tossing a nickel further into the alley: as it clanked against a trashcan or something, the two men dashed forwards only to trip over the cord Quinn had laid out. Both were shot before they could get themselves straightened out again, although Quinn left them alive. The third, having realized what was up, had made for his gun: Quinn, thinking fast, leapt towards him, flashlight in hand, aiming its white-hot beam straight into the man’s face. The man shot wildly, half-blinded by the light, and only managed to nick Quinn’s right arm with the shot. Quinn, however, didn’t miss. At point-blank, the man was dead before he hit the ground.
Hours later, Quinn found himself being tended by a grumpy nurse-like lady while a couple of fellows listened to the girl he had saved while she spilled the story of his ‘heroics’ and like. Half of it sounded dramatized due to admiration and shock, while the other half was filled with a sullen irritation since the two gang members had failed their mission, nearly gotten one of them killed and ended up being saved by a complete stranger. Of course, Quinn could only grin as she shot him a scathing look when she got to the part about him ‘grabbing her and roughly tossing her into the alley’, but, hey, a guy’s got to feel pretty good about being the knight-in-shining-armor for a good-lookin’ lady with a miffed attitude. Needless to say, the leaders were grateful, and seeing as Quinn had showed up during a time when everyone was on edge due to the mysterious disappearances of their fellow gang members, they decided to offer him a position after hearing about his history with the military in Africa and what had brought him to their district.
Weaknesses – Women. Sexy women. Good coffee. Big dogs. His ‘manliness.’ People in need of assistance, aka help. Silly little kids with sticky hands and faces. Knowing when to give up and walk away. Having no belief in the concepts of privacy and personal space. Not being able to fit into tight spaces – damn shoulders are too wide. Classic cars. Women with their hair wet, or wearing anything from a too-big T-shirt to a revealing evening gown.
Additional Information – He has a big dog. Big being the key word: he is the proud owner of Elizabeth, otherwise known as Eliza or Izza, who is a large, two year old Great Dane. Quinn’s already trained her in the doggy basics, as well as a few nifty tricks for when she decides to tag along on missions. He has simple tribal tattoos circling his neck and right arm. -----[W]hat they don't know;;Theme Song - Bon Jovi - Bounce
Quotes -
By me –
“Shut up, damn it all!” – His favorite daily phrase.
“Seventeen men with guns comin’ towards me, seventeen men with guns! Pick one out, take him out, sixteen men with guns comin’ towards me!” Quinn, obviously half-drunk lookin’ at a gun fight.
“Blegh! This coffee’s got too much sugar in it… Of course I didn’t want sugar! What kinda p***y drinks his coffee with a buttload of sugar in it?” – Waitresses, beware.
“Oi! That you, Duchess? Didn’t recognize you without the pants n’ tie…” – Quinn’s normal way of addressing Ankita when she wears something other than a suit.
“What the flip was that sorry excuse for a tackle? My lil’ Izza can do a better job of knockin’ me on my a** than you.” – Quinn addressing a rookie when interrupting a training session.
“No harm done, Duchess, no harm done. What’s the big problem anyways? All I did was give ya a little bit of a friendly hug? Everybody needs a hug every now and – are you pointing that gun at me because you’re trying to practice or should I be leavin’?” – Enough said.
“Run, gods darn ya lazy, stupid, self-absorbed bitches! Run or I’ll throw ya’ out!” – Quinn shouting as a building starts collapsing around him and some undesired accomplices on a mission.
“Connell, ya sonovabitch, why the hell would I want to wear a shirt that hangs down to my knees? I’m no girl, if ya haven’t cared to notice…” – Quinn, talking to his fashion-obsessed brother at a charity event.
For me -
"Back away slowly, Mr. Savio. I would hate to have to send you to the Healer."
"Mr. Savio, if I may ask, just what do you believe you are doing with my rookie? Choose one of the less promising ones if you would, please, I can't afford to have her get knocked up."
"You have approximately ten seconds to remove your appendages from my person, boy."
"'Duchess'...? Were you speaking to me? I wasn't aware that my name had been changed, nor was I aware that insolence was allowed here."
"... Get. Off."
[All the above quotes were spoken by none other than Sir Girl Ankita herself.]
Username – E- b o n y . E- c l a i r
 b o n n a b y · Sat Jul 14, 2007 @ 05:43pm · 1 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
