TSW Writing competition

So I recently dipped back into The Secret World forums and found that they will be holding the 3rd installation of what they refer to as The Tournament of Secrets. Basically it's a writing competition based off of The Secret World, an MMO still in closed Beta that is set in modern day. 

The idea behind it is that all the old legends and myths are true, as are most of the conspiracy theories. Your character is a member of one of three secret societies; The Templars, The Illuminati, and The Dragon. Each secret society uses the others as it sees fit in attaining it's own ultimate goals. The Templars(Europe) are about tradition and "defeating the unholy", The Illuminati (America) are about attaining power, and The Dragon(Asia) are about maintaining greater balance through chaos (mainly by keeping the other two at eachother's throats). The continents mentioned aren't exclusive when it comes to membership. There are members of all 3 factions from around the globe, but they definately hold power on their own respective continents. However, recent events have unfolded and ancient evils have begun to surface that are a large enough threat to make all 3 factions form a sort of uncomfortable alliance of sorts. They still play their machiavellian games at each others expense, but they do cooperate a bit more on the surface atleast.

Having done a little reading on the structure of the 2nd competition, I decided to do a retroactive entry of sorts to stretch my creative muscle. Since I had tested as a dragon, I decided to stick with it for my story character. So over the past few days I've been coming up with the personality of Kelly Green, a call boy from Southern California. Part of the competition involved writing up a sort of Bio for the character so that they could be written into the other contestants stories (which I've included most of at the bottom of the introductory story). As the competition progressed, characters would be picked off(non-lethally) and storylines would begin to take dominance, so that remaining contestants would have to follow another writers previous line, at least that's what I think was go

ing on. I wound up getting so caught up in my own writing that I barely scratched the surface of what was written in the last contest (it had 24 contestants writing 10,000 words or less per entry.)

Kelly Green is a redhead male prostitute from Southern California who has a penchant for chaos magic. He's basically a spin on the hooker with the heart of gold. The Dragon took him into the fold because he's a natural at misdirection and spin, in addition to being chaos oriented. He's very independent and moves around alot, changing his name almost as often as some people change their underwear. No, Kelly Green isn't his real name. No one's really sure what his real name is... not even the majority of The Dragon who know him.
In the end, he pretty much walks alone and he knows it.

Introductions and observations.

You know, you often see shows like "The O.C." and "The Real O.C." and "The Real Housewives of O.C." and think, "Wow... those people are fucking morons, but Orange County looks awesome!". Only thing is those of us who have lived here their whole lives know that A) The local sugar-daddies look nothing like Peter Gallagher, who still won't return my calls, B) it's mostly shot in LA, and C) most of the nicer bars have been closed down as Maushwitz continues to attract an exodus of retirees looking for the best method to get their grandkids to visit.

The one nice thing about living amongst old professionals is that you can make a little more money practicing the oldest profession. Dirty old men are a dime a dozen here, and the foundation of Lauren Conrad's career becomes less and less a mystery the more you accept the obvious. In all fairness the skills she likely used to get her own TV show often do involve acting... well, faking anyway. Most of the good things in life can actually be gotten with those skills, with a few exceptions. I can personally tell you that it is very difficult to use them in the acquisition of arcane artifacts, anima laced threads and authentic Mickey Mouse memorabilia. Most of the time you'll find it's just a cheap knockoff they picked up at the local swap meet, and you wish they'd at least have the decency to throw in a churro.

You can also learn a lot of very important life lessons from a career centered around those skills.

For example:

1) Always wear protection. Diamonds may be a girls best friend, but sorcerously strengthened clothes and magical tattoos are a working girls best friend. Oh and condoms... don't forget the condoms. There are more ways to die than being stabbed or shot you know.

2) Always demand payment up front. Otherwise you find that once they've gotten what they want, you don't always get what you want. Let me tell you.

3) Beware men with crew cuts in hawaiian-shirts. If it smells like a cop, chances are, it's a cop.

Today's lesson?

Don't lean too close to a limo with tinted windows. You never know if the guy inside actually intends to pay you for the services you're about to offer, or if he's just going to shove a chloroform soaked rag in your face and subject you to dossiers and self-destructing videos regarding third-world conflicts while pointing the business end of an anima laced gun at you.

Once again, optimism had gotten the better of me.

Lesson learned.

Stirring the cobwebs from my head I found myself wondering if I had indulged in one too many stohli ginger ales tonight, and whether or not I was going to find myself in yet another harness, being pawed at by some leather daddy in latex gloves. Don't get me wrong, most of them will politely untie you once you've gained enough coherence to express that this really isn't your thing, and that brutal stretch-marks can REALLY lower your market value. Occasionally, you'll find one who's a little too enthusiastic for anyones' good and you'll have to dislocate their shoulder to help them understand that no means no.

Much to my chagrin, tonights special looked like it would prove a bit meatier than the occasional repercussions of another Thursday-night binge at "The Mine Shaft", but since the only other body present had pinstripes keeping me from assessing whether or not his nipples were pierced, your guess was as good as mine. At this point I decided to take inventory of the situation.

Artisan Marble inlay... $1,500!

Maybach stretched limo... $780,000!

Glowing gun... an arm and a leg(more than likely someone elses)!

Pasty stick figure in Armani suit and low-end Manolos... 6 figure income(minimum)!

Chivas Regal Royal Salute... $10,000!

The chance to reduce a life and death situation to little more than a Mastercard commercial in your head... priceless.

I'm leaning towards Illuminati, but this could be a setup. Templars have an inbred attraction to highballs of old scotch that manifests the moment they turn 30, if not sooner. You'll always find a bottle of Chivas Regal Royal Salute in their company on those occasions they go slumming it. They reserve the good stuff for when they get home from a particularly rough day at the office, and getting them to actually pour you a glass is like haggling for high-grade plutonium.

That said, there's only one way to be certain the situation has been thoroughly assessed.

*sniff, sniff, sniff*

He's sober.

Definitely Illuminati... no one else would be so gauche as to point a gun at you without the smell of liquor on their breath to let you know that plugging you in cold blood would at least require a little liquid backbone to ease their conscience.

Why this shmuck was after me was anyones guess. Sure I've fucked a few Johns over, but come on... REALLY?
An employer of his maybe. I doubt I'd have forgotten this guy. Sure he was pasty and thin, but he had beautiful eyes. The kind that would scare you a little even if he weren't pointing a gun at you, and scare you even more if they were smiling at you.

Since my still fuzzy memory was drawing a bigger blank than a vasectomy patient on Viagra, I opted to attempt dialog with the man in the cheap Manolos.

"So who do I have the honor of thanking tonight for these fine accommodations?" I said, as the surroundings slowly stopped spinning like the god damned tea-cup ride.

Quoth the creepy old capo: "...".

As my head continued to clear, the man with the gun (I think I'll call him Bill... he looks like a Bill to me) tossed me the ubiquitous dossiers and pressed a little button next to the limo's wet bar, causing a flat-screen to smoothly roll-down from it's well concealed housing. If there's one thing you can give the Illuminati cred for, it's posh audio video installation.

After the film had run it's course, my not-so-international man of mystery pressed another button on the little panel next to the wet-bar, probably destroying it. This, I think, was for the best. It would have bombed at the box offices no matter how much you paid the critics. Don't get me wrong, the visuals were nice, but the plot had alot to be desired and the cliffhanger actually left me wanting less.
After allowing myself another moment to stare at the gun as if to say "Uhhh...I realize I have little choice in the matter", I decided I should begin negotiations nonetheless.

"You know... I usually charge two-fifty an hour, but kinks like yours cost extra." I said with a playful smile, trying not to let on that I was scared shitless.

Quoth the creepy old capo: "...".

Reaching into his pocket, the pallid man produced a rather dubious looking bracelet with little neon numerics that indicated it was either meant to tell time or count it down to a definitive zero.

"Oh you know, it's gorgeous Bill, but I've already got a watch and I just don't think I've got anything in a color to mat(click)...............................................................then again it's rude to turn away a gift."

As he firmly clasped and locked the damned thing to my wrist I couldn't help but wonder if he had one that looked more like a nice watch and less like something you'd see in an episode of Doctor Who.

David Tenant, it should be noted, had also not returned my calls.

"Well it's not Gucci, but I suppose it's the thought that counts." I said, giving another nervous smile and trying to hold back tears. "you know, I rarely get the chance to travel. So when do we leave?"

"You leave tomorrow morning. You'll be staying in a hotel for the night."

His voice was at once deep and soft, and I have to admit that under almost any other circumstances he could have probably talked me into just about anything with it. I'm a sucker for pretty eyes and sultry voices. But the present situation demanded I hate him.

"Room Service?"

"No."

God, did I hate him.

On that note, my face lost all semblance of bullshit mirth and contorted into what a friend of mine had dubbed the plus twenty look of discontent.

"Tonight just gets better and better. You know, I have half a mind to let all the other local working girls know what a fucking cheapskate you are." I snapped, maintaining absolute eye-contact as I reached to my side where I had previously taken mental note of a complimentary clove dispenser.

For the first time, as I lit the clove that I was rightfully due, my "employer" let the hint of a grin slip from the steely grasp his face had held over any signs of emotion. If I'm going to face the potential of dying a horribly grizzly death in some god forsaken corner of the world, I could at least take comfort in knowing that the person who sent me there would miss me.

Then again it could be the thought of me lying dick in the dirt, covered in my own blood that was making him smile, but failing to really want to know the answer I opted to keep that little line of inquiry in tow. Regardless of the truth behind Billy's sudden source of bemusement, I really wanted some of that fucking scotch at this point, and since a smiling captor is one who is less likely to begrudge you a damn drink I opted to press my luck.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to hand me a glass of that tasty looking beverage you've got sitting over there to help wash this shit down, would you?" I said, squinting my eyes and crossing my arms in a decisive deathblow to any lingering doubt regarding my mood.

Note to self: I prefer bourbon.

*********************************************************

Name of character:

Kelly Green; aka Jimmy Sundae; aka Johnny Pockets; aka Lulu Firefly; aka Bobby Anob, aka (Let's just say no one's sure what his real name is and call it a day. I only get 10,000 words after all.)

Faction Affiliation:

The Dragon

Physical Stats:

"Yes the carpet matches the drapes, dick!"

~Kelly Green

Male. Early to mid-twenties, Strawberry blond hair cut short, green eyes, 5'7" Mildly muscular(swimmers build), johns often marvel at his flexibility. Can perform several very difficult Kama-Sutra positions. Experience running from cops while "on the clock" has lead him to be fairly fast on his feet and adept at vaulting things like fences and bag lady's shopping carts in order to escape pursuit. Who knew high school gymnastics would do so much for a career outside of the Olympics? :D

Equipment/gear/clothing:

"If boy scouts taught me anything, it was to always be prepared. That and there are shortcuts to Eagle scout they don't write about in the handbook."

~Kelly Green

His wardrobe is that of a social chameleon. Everything from leather and barbed wire to skater boy to emo to preppy to drag(hence the alias Lulu Firefly).

In this scenario...

Wears untucked dress shirt/vest and loose tie over khaki pants with VERY nice shoes. Watch on the left wrist.

Shirt Pocket: 2 packs of spearmint tic-tacs*

Pockets inside of Vest: butterfly knife and a pair of brass knuckles in an opposite vest pockets.

Front pants pockets: wallet and zippo in the left/sharpy, pepper spray and a pack of camels in right.

Back Left Pocket: A bright green handkerchief that is either tucked in or slightly out depending on whether or not he's “on the clock”.

lock picks are hidden in a seam in the back of his pants.

Carries a backpack.

Under the clothes he has a few blessed tattoos with protective qualities. The most remarkable one is a tramp stamp that prevents him from suffering the dreaded walk of shame the next morning as reflexes are key to survival. Otherwise they're mostly to keep him from dying. You know... Usual stuff. Nothing too ostentatious. Harder to hit, don't bruise so easily, quit bleeding so damned much, etc.

In the bag:

A Ruger revolver with the word "Baby" engraved on the handle and a box of bullets, loose cash ($395.57), Ipod and earplugs, Blackberry, A black and white leather Jacket, 3 joints*, 2 small bottles of Svedka*, a swiss army knife, pocket dictionary, a notebook and more sharpies/pens.

* "What could this mean?" O.o I hear you ask. it means some of these are laced with tranquilizers. Sometimes a John just don't feel right and you need a way to knock'em out, roll'em, and split... and sometimes a John just has bad breath or is nervous because they've never done this sort of thing before or is nervous because they can tell you can smell their bad breath.

Lastly: Around his neck is a chain with an old gold coin bearing the goddess Tyche on it. It is not advised your character remove this... >.> (Further down the line you will find a spell called "Nice shootin, Tex". Removal of this little trinket will result in being the epicenter of a similar effect. Note the use of the word epicenter as opposed to eye of the storm. Think about it.)

Fighting Style/Magic Style/blahblahblah...:

"Not the face! That's my bread and butter!"

~Kelly Green

A serious martial artist could slap him around. In the right context he might even like it a little.

The average shmuck is in for a world of hurt. He's roughly a red-belt in Kung-Fu.

Chaos Magic... it's 5 parts luck, 2 parts ritual, 4 parts act of god, 3 parts improv and 2 parts gin.

Chill and serve with appetizers.

Examples of "Tried and True" spells might include...

-"Get the fuck out of Dodge!": A spell that essentially allows him to instinctively guess where things he doesn't want touching him are about to go, so that he can go the other way. This allows him to dodge anything from fists to bullets to shrapnel through what looks like sheer luck. If you've seen The Fantastic Mr. Fox, you've seen this effect. Sometimes it's as graceful as ballet. Sometimes it's as graceful as an epileptic being devoured by termites.

It works better when he's running away from the source of what he's trying to avoid, so he's very wary about using it to bridge the gap between himself and a shooter (for example). He's been clipped a time or two while trying that sort of thing.

Also useful in escaping pursuit if he can get out of LOS, as he runs in the direction they aren't going to follow. This has come in handy on several occasions when running from police, Secret Society members, ex-boyfriends and angry wives.

Can be cast fairly quickly.

-"A pound of flesh": Literally cutting out wounds. By cutting a square of flesh away (Which HURTS!), he cuts out the wound, and as the chunk is pulled off, underneath it is perfectly healthy (albeit sensitive) tissue to take it's place. Other people might object to being carved like a thanksgiving turkey, but it works.

-"Nice shootin, Tex": Tex, in this case, refers to Tex Avery. By firing his gun in random directions, bullets go spanging and ricocheting all over the place, setting off environmental domino effects that can lead to anything from inconvenience to death for people in the vicinity. Treats him like the eye of the storm amidst what can only be chalked up to Rube Goldberg playing drinking games with God.

It goes without saying that Deus-ex is a two edged sword. Use the edge that suits your needs or not at all. Have fun, but don't get carried away and use sparingly.

Strengths:

"You're probably thinking I'm a do it myself kind of guy. Ya know sometimes, in the morning, when I haven't eaten anything yet and I do a little stretching first...."

~Kelly Green

Aside from martial arts, he has also learned escapology from The Dragon. He has yet to graduate to the level of Houdini, but handcuffs and most wrist restraints are a breeze. Since his normal line of work involves encounters with the police and the odd bondage situation, this was deemed a must. More complicated bonds can likely be escaped given time. A straitjacket or the ubiquitous rope and chair might require anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour or more.

He managed to pick up a little sleight of hand and lock picking while living his life of "experience", but rest assured Fort Knox is safe.

Can he lie? No, never... NEVER EVER! (cough). Yea... um... right...

Hustling also requires a certain amount of wits, savvy and good instincts regarding a person's intentions. While he's not necessarily a mind reader, he can tell when untrained people are trying to pull something over on him. Professional liars (see Trained Secret Society Members) can fool him if they're specialized in deception. Someone specialized in combat might as well have their motives written on their foreheads (even when the motive isn't to just shoot him). As always, writers judgment call.

Improvisational magic: In addition to his tried and true spells, he can come up with some bizarre affects on the fly... and some interesting fizzles as well. :D Feel free to have him do some weird ritualistic thing that results in success, failure, or my personal favorite... other. Use it for deus-ex-machina, filler text, or whatever the hell you can come up with.

And oh yea, he's pretty... let's just get that little part of wish fulfillment out of the way and move on.

Weaknesses:

"FUCK THIS SHIT!"

~Kelly Green

He has a conscience. At times, he has trouble doing "what needs to be done".

His conscience prevents him from mindlessly using things like "Nice Shootin, Tex" in places where there are innocents due to the potential of collateral damage hurting them. If enemies are shooting from across a room/street and there are innocents around, ALWAYS try to think of something else first, even to the point of using GTFOOD to draw the shooter away from the people or to close the gap if it comes to that. Don't be a sloppy careless asshole when there are people around who don't deserve to be hurt. It's that simple.

This is a weakness because it will sometimes limit his courses of action and give ruthless opponents an edge.

With that said, if he's facing life or death he WILL use whatever means necessary to survive, even to the point of unleashing absolute chaos into a situation.

Improvisational magic: Didn't we see this one up on strengths? What's it doing down here? (reads again) Oh yea, fizzles and... other. The down side of chaos is it's not all that dependable at times.

Aside from that, he's physically very well put together but certainly not super-human, and most combat specialists would likely have an upper hand. He's combat capable, but is much more suited to escaping. He's a survivor. Standing and fighting is what people who have something to prove tend to do, and he has nothing to prove to anyone. He might take potshots at opponents that team mates are fighting, or he might keep opponents busy with distraction tactics, but he tends to avoid playing the hero in combat situations.

That's someone else's shtick.

Personality:

"I am a deeply superficial person."

~Andy Warhol

In 3 words...

Gay, gay, gay

In 3 different words...

Aloof, Detached, snarky.

His demeanor is usually calm and confident, but when the going gets tough the tough get bitchy.

He deals with serious moments by cracking one liners as deflating the situation helps him to gather his bearings and/or cope with whatever the hell is going on. Hyperbole is your friend.

Often strikes people as being shallow and materialistic, but it's mostly a mask to get them to use things he doesn't really care about as dangling carrots. If they knew he actually cared about people, they might try to use it as leverage.

The truth is he really feels for other people, but hides it behind his cynicism. Part of learning to read people is developing empathy, and at times he might have a little too much for his own good.

Just don't ever let it show or they might use it against you. Make sure to give the impression of not caring... people are more impressed by that anyway.

Occasionally swear like a sailor to help this image... but always try to use the swearing as a spice in a saucy dish rather than treating it like the main course.

In other words, do try to sound clever rather than like another stoopid hood-rat.

And be aware that as a hustler there are times to play other, less dry and sarcastic roles. Sometimes a sugar coated deceit*, sometimes a little bittersweet honesty, sometimes a harsh truth. If you feed them too much of any one at a given time, they might actually see through you.

Finally...

Avoid developing major emotional attachments to people. They always leave you in the end, even if they don't mean to.