Post by RICHARD BRADLEY BOONE on Aug 25, 2010 6:40:14 GMT -5
RICHARD BRADLEY BOONE
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Name: Richard Bradley Boone
Age: 80
Gender: Male
Orientation: Straight
Occupation: Entertainer, general nuisance
Species: Vampire
Ability and Talent: Dream Seer
In his past life, Ricky spent a long time perfecting the swagger of a rock n' roll legend. Now that he's moved on to other prospects in life...er, death, though, a little humility is often in order, and he's gone from confident and cocky to downright timid a lot of the time. If someone were to look at him and be asked to describe him in one word, seventy-five percent of the time, that word would be "nervous." He has a habit of glancing back over his shoulder a little more often than is necessary, and is extremely alert. The only time he seems to visibly relax is when he's around Diana.
As for clothes; the reason Ricky picks the clothes he does is anybody's guess. He's well aware that wearing the same things he did back in the fifties wouldn't be appropriate, but it would be rather dishonest to say that he's completely picked up all the modern trends. He still does venture into the eccentric (he has a thing for suspenders) and unexpected, though he does his best to keep from wearing anything too horrifically obvious.
Facial hair, yes, that is, in a manner of speaking, a personal choice. He had it when he was brought across, so he has it now, preserved as it was when he died. If he shaves it, it comes back exactly as it was, but it never grows any longer. It does return very quickly, though, so if he actually wants to be clean-shaven (which he does sometimes), he doesn't even have an entire night in which to enjoy it before he has to shave it again. He was twenty-six years old when he was brought across, and is forever preserved that way.
Though Ricky has been a vampire for over fifty years, he has yet to reach a maturity level equal to that of any of the other immortals around him. He depends on Diana more than he will ever admit, both for companionship and to keep him alive when he frustrates the older, less affectionate vampires in the coven. He is vastly immature, and has a tendency to do what he wants, when he wants, even if it inconveniences those around him. He doesn't mean to be inconsiderate, it's just that he's...well, inconsiderate. He's terrible at thinking about the consequences of things before he does or says them, and would in all likelihood be dead by now if Di hadn't kept him in line and stood up for him when he's caused trouble. He is extraordinarily fond of her, though, and would likely be a lot more practical about protecting her than he is of keeping himself safe.
Ricky is extremely outgoing, and makes friends easily (usually with humans, much to the chagrin of his own kind). He will talk to anyone, and has even been known to make a few sales for Diana just because he told someone he thought a particular thing looked nice with their eyes (even if said thing was oh, say, a lamp, or a chest of drawers). He doesn't have the eye for antiques Diana does, but he does have a sense of fashion and an appreciation for aesthetic beauty.
He is also, though, as we've mentioned, highly nervous - mostly around people he knows (because the people he knows are usually the ones who'd want to kill him). This is part of the reason he associates far too frequently with the tourists who come to town, and one of the reasons he's gotten into trouble for doing so in the past. For someone who sees the future in his dreams, he really has no practical sense of foresight. But back to that - Ricky's dreams of the future began when he was quite small, but he never put much stock in them, even when they came true, until he was older. They never seemed to do him much good, either, because he was never able to do anything about them until they'd already come true.
The one thing Ricky loves above all else is performing. The skittishness, any shyness he might have, any fears he might be harboring, all of it goes away when he's on stage. He sings about a lot of things, sometimes dreams he's had, sometimes things in his life, but whatever he's singing about, one can be sure it means something. He has no tolerance for the modern, empty pop that's playing on the radio these days, and usually listens to music from the fifties and sixties.
Ricky was the youngest of six children and the only boy in his human family. He was utterly spoiled by his older sisters, who considered him something of a plaything as he was six years younger than the closest one. An accident child, he missed being old enough to fight in the second world war by a few years, though he remembers a lot of the news vividly. World War II, though, was only the first part of his human existence. Ricky had listened to the radio long enough every night to have developed a keen appreciation for music as well as the news that came through the speakers, and by the time the war was over, he was all but obsessed.
The family's piano, which before had been nothing but an artifact in the corner of a happier time, became the focal point of his world. He sat at it for hours, teaching himself to play, and eventually putting words to the songs he wrote in his after-school hours. He barely graduated high school, and by the time he did, it was apparent that his focus would not be on continuing his education, but on pursuing his musical career (as much as that dismayed his parents). In the beginning, he stuck mainly to traditional jazz-like tunes, but it wasn't to last. In the 1950s, the phenomenon that was Rock N' Roll took the country by storm. Parents hated it, teenagers loved it, and Ricky was fascinated by it. The people brave enough to play it were adored and scorned equally, moving from town to town for one-night-only performances, topping radio charts with hits that were considered scandalous by many people.
And just like that, Ricky became an aspiring rock and roll legend, and ended up as one of those artists who chose to seek his fortune and fame on the road, traveling from town to town. He was one of many singers trying to make it big in their newfound genre, and he probably would have burned out like so many others had it not been for one fateful night in in Mercy, Colorado.
The town wasn't much; Ricky and his band stopped to eat, fill up on gas, and hit the road again, but somewhere between the cheeseburgers and the gasoline, something went horribly wrong. He went out behind the restaurant to smoke a cigarette, which he had only just lit when he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck, followed by burning fire in every part of his body...then nothing.
The headline the next day read "ROCK N' ROLL STAR MURDERED" thanks to a few well-placed rumours by a select bunch of people who wanted the world to believe Ricky was dead. But for Ricky himself, the next few years were a blur of bloodlust and pain, but one thing he does remember of them is the constant presence of his sister, Diana. It wasn't until much later that his sire, Lionel, explained why Ricky had been brought across at all - as a gift, of sorts, for Diana. Ricky spent the better part of the Vietnam war restrained for his own good or kept under house arrest in order to keep him from doing anything stupid, although he did spend a lot of time sleeping, too.
There are probably no words in human understanding to describe the unique bond that exists between Ricky and his sister. It is not a relationship of a romantic nature (yes, they went there once, with a kiss, and found it exceedingly awkward, although Ricky is convinced she tried to feel him up once after that to make sure she wasn't missing anything good), but it is stronger than any friendship or family tie Ricky ever had when he was human or has ever had since then. Even his relationship with Lionel does not approach it, and it is an undeniable truth that he would have died a long time ago if it weren't for her protection.
One more thing Ricky has done since his transformation is draw a lot of attention to himself and the town he lives in. The thing is, performing for the undead, while it has its perks, can get a little monotonous after a while, and he's been known to associate a little too much with the tourists. Most of them are from another generation, people who wouldn't recognize him if he told them his name. But there are a few...older folks and some youngsters into music before their time...who have noticed him, and it's almost become a sort of Elvis-type legend in the area, especially since a lot of people who come here are only coming because it's "the town where Ricky Boone was murdered." Generally speaking, the other vampires prefer that he doesn't draw that kind of attention to his existence...but sometimes he just can't help it. He doesn't ever tell them who he is, of course, but he admits to being a dead ringer to a dead rock n' roll legend (a little pun on his part)...although he does, of course, refuse photographs.
Your Name: Tibby
Age: 22
How Did you Find us: Psssssh
A little bit about you: I love chocolate, Dr. Pepper, root beer, cheese omelets, running, Taekwondo, and reading. Um...I'm Texan through and through, I have a degree in biology that I don't know what to do with, and I'm a serial procrastinator. Oh, and I all but worship Brandon Flowers. I want to be him. Or make out with him. Or something. Probably be him, I don't think I'd have it in me to ruin his marriage/random Batman
Trip seemed intensely focused, and Bruce wasn't sure if it was his own words or something else that were catching his attention so completely. He hoped it was the conversation, and was willing to give him the benefit of assuming it was. When he rose out of the chair, he was expecting to be at eye level with the younger man, and was surprised to find that he actually stopped short (no pun intended) a couple inches below that. It didn't bother him particularly. It was a matter of debate whether a height discrepancy like that would ever have bothered the cocky public persona Bruce Wayne portrayed, but now, after the number of criminals (many larger than him) that he'd put away (literally or figuratively speaking), it wasn't even an issue to the quieter, introspective side so few people ever saw. It was just a fact, and once he put aside the initial unexpected nature of it, he moved on quite easily. After all, what was he going to do? Curse the kid out and tell him to get the hell out of his office because he had the misfortune of being two inches taller than the Great Bruce Wayne? Even in the mild discomfort Bruce currently found himself experiencing, that thought made him smile. Lest the kid think he was some kind of nut, he allowed the smile to broaden, one corner of his mouth pulling upwards just a little farther than the other.
When Trip gave him his name, Bruce knew right away why he hadn't been able to recall it himself; because it was exactly the same as the kid's father's name. No wonder he'd been confused. He also knew he wasn't going to be able to call him Nathaniel. That would get confusing. He already knew a handful of Nathaniel's, perhaps not personally, Trip's father included. "The third, eh?" he said, musing. "How about I call you Trip, so I don't get you and your old man confused?" He hoped Trip wouldn't mind; and if he did, that he'd at least have the guts to tell him. Once before, Bruce could remember having an intern...her name had been Emily, and he'd called her Emma, only to have her tell him a week before her internship was concluded that she really preferred to be called by her full name. That had been embarrassing, and he hoped this newcomer would have the pluck to tell him and avoid such a situation. Whatever the case, he had other things to discuss with his newest employee before he could get the hell out of this building, back to his apartment, and pass out on his bed. All in all, this hadn't been one of the top ten worst days of his life, but it wasn't a great one, either, and he'd rather just go to bed, sleep it off, and start over in the morning fresh.
Right now, though, he had the matter of showing Trip a few things to attend to. "I'm not exactly sure what your father wanted me to have you do here," he said, "That is, not that there isn't anything for you to do, I'm just not sure what field you or he would prefer. So how about I give you a week or two around the office just to get a feel for things, and see what you might like to do more permanently? I could put you in the empty office on the other side of the lobby...it's empty other than the coffee maker, that is." He grinned. "So we could just have you do some filing, make some calls, do a little coffee making, and that'll give you a chance to see around the office a little bit and get an idea as to what sort of things you'd like to keep working on. Don't worry, I won't make you play water boy forever."
He toyed with his keys, inside the pocket he'd stuck his hand into, and ran the other hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. He remembered Alfred telling him to get rid of that habit when he was younger, because it made him look "unkempt". At the time, Bruce had had no idea what unkempt even meant, but it didn't really matter because the habit had stayed with him, and one could almost judge the level of thinking Bruce had been doing by how messy his hair was. Thinking of that, he tried to pat it smooth, then dropped the hand to a desk, picking up his pen, which was still warm from having been in his hand so long at the meeting. "So, is there anything you think you need for your office?" he asked. "Furniture, office supplies...anything like that?" Bruce made it a point to let employees in his own suite decorate their offices however they liked on his dollar, within reason, of course. His own office was evidence of such custom decoration; the ceiling, though normal height, was painted black with a smattering of white paint spots that gave it a look almost like that of a field of stars. The walls were papered with the same black, and trimmed with white. Other items, like the desk lamp on Bruce's desk and the handles on the desk itself, were painted red, which he thought (or in his limited fashion sense, speculated) contrasted nicely with the monochrome of the rest of the room.
