Post by schradez on Sept 16, 2010 0:33:09 GMT -5
Name: Edward Chance Real
Nickname: everyone calls him Chance
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight as a ruler
Age/Birthday: April 1, 2434, 27 years old
Race: Caucasian
Place of Birth/Home Town: Born in New York. No home town.
Character Portrayal: Chris Evans
Hair: brown
Eyes: blue/grey
Height: 6’1”
Individual Features:
- Several variously placed scars on his body – none facial
- Chinese character tattooed on his right arm
- Ripped muscles
General Appearance:
Family: none he knows of – he’s an orphan
Friends: mostly contacts around the galaxy – a handful of close friends, but no more. He’s not a trusting person
Enemies: Some in almost every intelligence agency around the globe.
Job: Intelligence specialist/all-around spy-for-hire/whatever he has to be to infiltrate somewhere. On the Venia, his cover is mostly mechanic/electronics specialist
Personality:
Depending on what he wants from you, Chance has a range of personalities. His base personality, though, is a smartass at heart. He holds it back beautifully when he needs to, which isn’t often. He doesn’t really care what people think of him, as long as he doesn’t make unnecessary powerful enemies – he has enough of those. Deep under the sarcasm, and armor, is a heart of gold. It’s rare, because he tries not to care about too many people, but if someone messes with his friends, he doesn’t stop until he’s taken care of the threat.
He plays equal parts smartass, class clown, and dork on the surface, but don’t make him mad, because then combat mode Chance comes out, and he is scary. He doesn’t laugh or crack jokes. He has a variety of guns he’s experienced with, and once he has his mind set on something, he accomplishes it. He’s excellent at manipulating people, but tries to draw a line between subtly influencing and totally controlling.
Likes:
- Smart people
- Witty conversation
- A good red wine
- Fast motorcycles
- Vivaldi
- Screwing around with people
- Black Labs
- Fancy electronics
Dislikes:
- Stupid people, unless they serve his purposes
- People who don’t get sarcasm
- Undercooked meat
- Pop music
- Bad drivers
- Lazy people
Fears:
- Getting killed on a job
- Losing his morals
- Ducks
History:
Chance Real (Spanish pronunciation, reh-al) has a reputation earth-side in the special intelligence scene. They call him the Black Prince, after Prince Edward II, who kicked ass and took names in a particularly ruthless fashion. Not many people would guess it, just looking at him. They’d think he was a playboy, talented but lazy. Under the façade, he drifts from job to job, depending on who’s paying and what the goal is. He grew up in several different orphanages, learning tricks of his trade along the way, until he got mixed up in an FBI investigation at age eighteen. From there, he became what he is today – spy for hire. What differentiates him from the average rogue is his grasp of morals. He’s not above doing a lot of illegal things if the result is for the best, but he has his limits.
Random Facts:
- Multilingual – English, French, Spanish, Russian, and a smattering of Chinese
- He cooks a mean omelet
- Enjoys running long distances and lifting weights
- Owns several sport bikes
- Enjoys underground electronic music
RP Sample:
He turned, and there was pink. Granted, she was also wearing grey slacks, but holy mother, was that color even legal? The fiery fuchsia of her shirt practically glowed. He could feel his retinas searing, swelling, and priming to explode. He was also aware the precise angle of his gaze made him look like he was staring at her chest, which was…well, now that he noticed, not half bad. He shifted his gaze downward in hopes of friendlier territory. Hot pink spike heels. Really? His brain was beginning to burn. He looked up and finally met her eyes, which held friendly naïveté. Who was this woman, and why was she allowed anywhere near anything more flammable than a fireplace match?
Rules: Ha! What are these things called rules?
Nickname: everyone calls him Chance
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight as a ruler
Age/Birthday: April 1, 2434, 27 years old
Race: Caucasian
Place of Birth/Home Town: Born in New York. No home town.
Character Portrayal: Chris Evans
Hair: brown
Eyes: blue/grey
Height: 6’1”
Individual Features:
- Several variously placed scars on his body – none facial
- Chinese character tattooed on his right arm
- Ripped muscles
General Appearance:
Family: none he knows of – he’s an orphan
Friends: mostly contacts around the galaxy – a handful of close friends, but no more. He’s not a trusting person
Enemies: Some in almost every intelligence agency around the globe.
Job: Intelligence specialist/all-around spy-for-hire/whatever he has to be to infiltrate somewhere. On the Venia, his cover is mostly mechanic/electronics specialist
Personality:
Depending on what he wants from you, Chance has a range of personalities. His base personality, though, is a smartass at heart. He holds it back beautifully when he needs to, which isn’t often. He doesn’t really care what people think of him, as long as he doesn’t make unnecessary powerful enemies – he has enough of those. Deep under the sarcasm, and armor, is a heart of gold. It’s rare, because he tries not to care about too many people, but if someone messes with his friends, he doesn’t stop until he’s taken care of the threat.
He plays equal parts smartass, class clown, and dork on the surface, but don’t make him mad, because then combat mode Chance comes out, and he is scary. He doesn’t laugh or crack jokes. He has a variety of guns he’s experienced with, and once he has his mind set on something, he accomplishes it. He’s excellent at manipulating people, but tries to draw a line between subtly influencing and totally controlling.
Likes:
- Smart people
- Witty conversation
- A good red wine
- Fast motorcycles
- Vivaldi
- Screwing around with people
- Black Labs
- Fancy electronics
Dislikes:
- Stupid people, unless they serve his purposes
- People who don’t get sarcasm
- Undercooked meat
- Pop music
- Bad drivers
- Lazy people
Fears:
- Getting killed on a job
- Losing his morals
- Ducks
History:
Chance Real (Spanish pronunciation, reh-al) has a reputation earth-side in the special intelligence scene. They call him the Black Prince, after Prince Edward II, who kicked ass and took names in a particularly ruthless fashion. Not many people would guess it, just looking at him. They’d think he was a playboy, talented but lazy. Under the façade, he drifts from job to job, depending on who’s paying and what the goal is. He grew up in several different orphanages, learning tricks of his trade along the way, until he got mixed up in an FBI investigation at age eighteen. From there, he became what he is today – spy for hire. What differentiates him from the average rogue is his grasp of morals. He’s not above doing a lot of illegal things if the result is for the best, but he has his limits.
Random Facts:
- Multilingual – English, French, Spanish, Russian, and a smattering of Chinese
- He cooks a mean omelet
- Enjoys running long distances and lifting weights
- Owns several sport bikes
- Enjoys underground electronic music
RP Sample:
He turned, and there was pink. Granted, she was also wearing grey slacks, but holy mother, was that color even legal? The fiery fuchsia of her shirt practically glowed. He could feel his retinas searing, swelling, and priming to explode. He was also aware the precise angle of his gaze made him look like he was staring at her chest, which was…well, now that he noticed, not half bad. He shifted his gaze downward in hopes of friendlier territory. Hot pink spike heels. Really? His brain was beginning to burn. He looked up and finally met her eyes, which held friendly naïveté. Who was this woman, and why was she allowed anywhere near anything more flammable than a fireplace match?
Rules: Ha! What are these things called rules?
