Post by crowley on Jul 2, 2011 11:42:02 GMT -5
[/color][/font]I'VE BEEN RE-HYMENATED!
AND THAT, DUDE, WILL NOT ABIDE[/color]
"Bite Me"... "Well If that's your thing"
NAME Crowley, Preferably, but if you must know, and I suppose if I don’t tell you now you’ll come bothering me for it later, my mortal name is Fergus McLeod.
AGE 350+ Years
DOB October 10th, Sometime in the 1600’s.
SPECIES Demon, Crossroads.
SEXUAL ORIENTATION Flexible.
ALLEGIANCE Himself.
OCCUPATION Crossroads King, Future Satan, all that Jazz.
HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?[/color][/font]
ON SILK SHEETS, ROLLING NAKED IN MONEY[/color]
HAIR Brown
EYES Brown
PERSONAL STYLE Crowley always wears a suit, in fact he'll sooner die than be seen in anything less. They are expensive, tailored black suits fitted to his exact measurements, all of which were made by the same man until he got eaten. Pity, that man was a god with a needle and thread. His appearance is almost always pristine, but then he does have a reputation as a trader to uphold. His shoes are always smart genuine leather black shine slips, with black socks. In short, Formal wear is not optional.
As for his Vessel, the man is nothing spectacular, but fairly handsome in a middle aged manner. His hair line is receding slightly, meaning he needs to comb it forwards in order to maintain the appearance of more hair. He does boast very attractive hazel eyes, though. Not that bobby appreciated that, the backwards hick. He is relatively short, and rather stocky, but it suits him well and he knows how to carry himself with an air of confidence and grace. He always wears cologne to mask the sulphuric scent that follows demon’s and never fails to keep himself clean shaven and presentable.
PLAY BY Mark Sheppard
WE SHOULD HAVE ANGRY SEX[/color][/font]
DON'T OBJECTIFY ME. LET'S GO[/color]
LIKES
Good Liquor, Namely a specific brand of Scotch. You probably can’t afford it.
Dealing
His existence
His fine suits
Having the upper hand
Witty banter
Scotland
Sex, who doesn’t?
Steve, His hell hound
His iPhone
Making people uncomfortable
Power
Running verbal circles around people
Poker
Silk boxers
Large, impressive architecture, and no, I’m not compensating for anything.
Wealth
Status
Relics, of which I have many
The black market
Minions
Torture
DISLIKES
Other demons
Sam Winchester
Dean Winchester
Castiel, well, he’s tolerable
Balthazar, because he’s a thieving little bastard
Lucifer
Lucifer’s potential rise
Angels
Arch Angels
Angel Blades
God
Gut-rot Whiskey, the cheap stuff
Cheap suits
Being out-smarted
Being humiliated
Being belittled
Devil’s traps
Salt
Holy water
Wards
Pushy Christians
Fake leather
Motels, they’re disgusting
STRENGTHS
Persuasion
Commanding hells hound, One specifically (according to Mark Sheppard himself, it’s called Steve, I know, we asked him at Asylum 5 –UK Supernatural Convention-)
Magic, of the dealing kind
Management skills
WEAKNESSES
Known to be playing for the Winchester’s side now. Some Demon’s don’t like his up rise against Lucifer
Holy Water, it stings
Exorcism, because that’s a royal pain in the ass
His arrogance sometimes lands him in difficult situations
SPECIAL SKILLS
Has Minions
Is a Relic collector, like Balthazar, and has many of them
Silver tongued
Has a very, very big…Hell Hound
10 WORDS TO DESCRIBE YOU
*Silver Tongued
*Snarky
*Arrogant
*Manipulative
*Power Hungry
*Commanding
*Self Centred
*Self preserving (Coward, some might say)
*Untrustworthy
*Bitchy
WHO'S THE HOTTER PSYCHIC?[/color][/font]
PATRICIA ARQUETTE, JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT, OR YOU?[/color]
HOMETOWN Hell, Demonic wise, otherwise: Scotland. That’s all you’re getting.
PARENTS Mr and Mrs McLeod, Clearly.
SIBLINGS None.
SIGNIFICANT OTHER Bobby Singer, As much as he hates to admit it, We'll go public one day.
OFFSPRING One Son, Deceased.
HISTORY
Fergus McLeod was a tailor back in around the 1660’s Scotland. He was no one of any significant importance in the world at the time. It is assumed he had a wife, for he had a son named Gavin, who later became a spirit. Crowley himself was a dissatisfied man, his life made him bitter, working a dull unimportant job day after day with a wife who complained at him constantly. For these reasons, Crowley was a drinker, a heavy drinker (What scot isn’t?). He had a specific taste for an expensive type of scotch that originated in his home town, and this meant he was often in debt. He was a drunk, low life no-body, with an unhappy marriage, and who hated his son. Eventually, after a while, Fergus turned to other addictions other than the drink.
He started seeing other women outside his marriage, and when that got dull, he dared turned to men. He was lustful, and gluttonous, and felt he forever deserved to be more. He gained a reputation as quite the bastard in his village, and one day, it earned him a little visit. Now you understood in such times that Witches were not looked upon with good impression. They were considered dark, nasty creatures…and this one certainly was. As a woman scorned herself, she delivered information to Fergus that she promised would give him one wish, any wish. What she gave him was the information to call on a cross-roads demon.
His arrogance led him to do exactly that, and of all the things he could have wished for? In his drunken state he wished to be a more magnificent lover so that his wife might shut the hell up and respect him. He was granted his 3-more inches below the belt, and sold his soul for it. Little good it did him, his life did not change much up until the day he died. Oh god then did his existence change. He was ripped down to hell where he was tortured for hell-decades, broken and forged into a greedy, gluttonous and prideful red eyed demon like he’d so been in life.
He worked his way up the chain of command, his arrogance and his greed put him at the top of the food chain of the red eyes. It has been speculated that he eventually became the lover of the demon named ‘Lilith’, which of course upped his status dramatically (It’s suggested in an Episode). He became able to hold his own deals, instead of passing all of his work onto Lilith who usually held all the contracts. He was her right hand man in the series of seal-breaking. However his intentions were much more selfish there than one might have thought. He was purposefully sabotaging Lucifer’s rise, in order to gain himself the role of leader of hell. It is even possible that he had planned the down-fall and deaths of the two powerful white-eyed demons Alastair and Lilith so to take out the only demons who might prove to be competition.
ARE YOU HUMMING METALLICA?[/color][/font]
IT CALMS ME DOWN[/color]
YOUR NAME/ALIAS V
RP EXPERIENCE 12 Years
OTHER CHARACTERS VETIS
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Leaning back on the back on the carved wooden desk belonging to Bobby Singer, Crowley inspected the small holes and white salt markings riddling the breast of his suit jacket. To say he wasn’t impressed was toning it down, he liked this suit, as he’d just announced. He supposed he should have expected such a reaction from singer though, the man was simple, brash and none too bright, of course violence was all the man had to respond with. Not the man’s fault he supposed, he was an uneducated pratt as far as Crowley was concerned. He returned his cold professional gaze back on Singer as the man wheeled his chair around to face him, irritating salt gun in his lap. Bobby had not taken well to his proposal. He had expected a ‘no’...but if he gave in at that then he’d be a very poor salesman indeed. Looking down to him, Crowley hoisted his jacket edge and tucked his hands in his pockets, almost lounging where he stood.
“I’ll give it right back.”
Crowley presented bobby with his best ‘honest’ face, and even a hint of a smile, but avoided a full blown grin. Whether or not he was actually being honest was near impossible to read from his decades-practised poker face. Crowley wanted to smirk as Bobby asked him if he took him for an ‘idgit’ As Bobby said. Of course he took him for an idiot or he wouldn’t be asking him for this. Although it was true Crowley could not simple just ‘grant’ wishes without a deal, he could have gone to any one of the others involved. But he wanted Bobby, specifically, because Bobby was so vastly important to the Winchesters, and it was them he was so desperate to acquire insurance protection against.
“Quite the contrary...”
He ensured he did not leave too long a pause before he answered, else Bobby loose his patience and get the impression Crowley was thinking of his answer, rather than the natural ‘of course not’ that he desired to give the impression that the meant.
“Look, you’re right to be suspicious, but I’m your ally. ‘Enemy of my Enemy’ and all that...I need the Devil back in his stock, ‘fact: my delicate ass depends on it.”
He gave him his best expression of self-concern to back up his statement. Fact of the matter is he was not lying. He wanted Lucifer locked and bound as much as they did, but truth or not it was still a weapon that he could persuade Bobby with. He could see it was working too, getting through slowly to that thick mess Bobby claimed was a brain.
“I promise you. Temporary loan. I’ll give it. Right. Back.”
He could see the contemplation running over Bobby’s face. The man was no artist when it came to concealing what he was feeling and thinking, and Crowley supposed that was a side effect of having so few living brain cells left, especially after the amount of hits Bobby had taken to the head in his life coupled with how much cheap whiskey he poured down his throat. Cheap whiskey – God that was disgusting. He supposed though, from looking around himself, that Bobby’s money wasn’t a high number. Crowley was a man of luxury and this house was a pit to him. He was vain, so vain that even his vessel was of some standard: a ‘moderately successful literary agent from New York’. He allowed Bobby a few moments to think it over, sitting there in his chair. Any good business man knew when to push and when to ease off and give some space. Pushing at this point would only frustrate his thoughts and make him shoot him again, no doubt. It didn’t do much besides hurt, but that was enough to make him avoid the aim.
He relaxed a little on the desk, watching Bobby for any sign of movement in case he raised that bloody arm again. He scanned his face, reading the contemplation and was pleased to find temptation in his expression. Bobby was considering it, and Crowley knew why. How they were going to find Death was currently an almost clueless situation and here he was offering a quick and simple way out of that floundering position. He was offering them the quick route to the end and all it took was one little soul that he was claiming to give back at a later date. A later date that he was not exactly specifying. As Bobby rose his eyes back to look at him, clearly having something to say, Crowley eased his watchful gaze up and looked at him with an expectant expression.
“You’re gunna give us death’s location, right now n’ all it takes is the loan of my soul? Loan!”
Crowley nodded slowly and matter-of-factly to the question, his eyes not leaving Bobby the entire time. If he knew one thing then he knew that if you wanted to pull off a good bluff, you made eye contact, and you kept your story straight. He’d had a long time to perfect the ‘honest’ gaze without making it seem to forceful. He didn’t move other than this gesture, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. He wasn’t going to specify any further than he already had done and Bobby was none-too-smart on these deals. He was not demanding a time limit, and Crowley was not about to put one on either. What Bobby did know would not hurt him. Yet.
“Indeed, your soul on a loan, for Death’s location.”
He exchanged long looks with Singer for a second or two, something in them understanding between the pair. It was about then Crowley knew he’d won already, Singer would do it, because Singer would do anything for his Winchester boys, and if it meant they got the last ring off the oddly gaunt horseman and pegged Lucifer back down in Lilliput then Bobby would highly likely self-sacrifice. Well in all honesty Bobby believed he wasn’t...didn’t mean that was true though. A small smile crept across Crowley’s middle-aged face and he pushed his vessel off the desk, moving a little closer to the crippled red-neck. He stopped in his tracks mind, as Bobby raised that irritating salt gun in his face again.
“I ain’t gonna be kissing yer though...”
His smile increased a little, showing pearl white teeth. He was amused. Sad fact of the matter for Bobby was that a deal required a kiss. He didn’t make the rules here but he was forced to enforce them. He trailed still closer now, until the tip of the barrel was less than a foot away from his chest. Looking down on him he tilted his head ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes a little before he spoke.
“Well my apologies, Singer, but all deals require a seal. I don’t make the rules, but I do have to obey them.”
He gave him a slightly apologetic look before returning his expression to his usual poker face and waited. Clearly this part seemed to be the hardest bit for Singer to accept, which was a joke really. He was selling his soul to a demon, he was trusting him to give it back, but here he was squabbling about the kiss. Well it had to be done, and despite Crowley’s flexible nature as a demon Bobby wasn’t much to look at either, not to mention that beard. Least Crowley was clean shaven. He watched as Bobby gave him a very dissatisfied look, a deep set frown that was enough to tell him that Singer was accepting that fact but was not at all pleased with it. It was almost enough to break Crowley’s poker face with a smirk. He refrained though, at least until after the deal was done.
Bobby lowered the salt rifle and he smiled a little, trailing closer to him again now and stood directly in front of the wheel-chair bound man, unblinking hazel eyes on him.
“Shall we then?”
Bobby gave him another look, this time glaring daggers up at him before nodding and shifting uncomfortably in his wheelchair, bracing himself for it. With a grin, Crowley pulled his iPhone from his pocket, discretely setting it to Camera and used his other hand to place his fingers under Bobby’s chin. He tilted the old man’s head up, watching him close his eyes hard and leant down to him, needing to stoop considerably in order to perform the deal. His lips connected with Bobby’s firmly, and the old man winced a little to the connection. Reaching over he looked up to the camera of his phone, clicking the photo, and then rapidly pocketed the saved evidence. It was not a practise he often made – this photography thing, but he was amused by the idea. Maybe he’d start taking it up.
He drew this kiss out as long as he could, feeling Bobby twitch slightly, how tense and disgusted bobby was and enjoyed it. After a moment, he raised his hand to bobby’s cheek, and ran his fingers down to his jaw line. This made Singer jerk away violently, wiping his mouth on his hand and grimacing. Crowley smirked, chuckling and straightened his spine up with amusement gleaming in his eyes. He patted Singers shoulder softly, and moved back into his kitchen, returning his hands to his pockets.
“Nice doing business with you, Singer. I’ll be seeing you.”
Bobby wheeled his chair around, only to be confronted with nothing more than his empty, slightly untidy kitchen.
“I’ll give it right back.”
Crowley presented bobby with his best ‘honest’ face, and even a hint of a smile, but avoided a full blown grin. Whether or not he was actually being honest was near impossible to read from his decades-practised poker face. Crowley wanted to smirk as Bobby asked him if he took him for an ‘idgit’ As Bobby said. Of course he took him for an idiot or he wouldn’t be asking him for this. Although it was true Crowley could not simple just ‘grant’ wishes without a deal, he could have gone to any one of the others involved. But he wanted Bobby, specifically, because Bobby was so vastly important to the Winchesters, and it was them he was so desperate to acquire insurance protection against.
“Quite the contrary...”
He ensured he did not leave too long a pause before he answered, else Bobby loose his patience and get the impression Crowley was thinking of his answer, rather than the natural ‘of course not’ that he desired to give the impression that the meant.
“Look, you’re right to be suspicious, but I’m your ally. ‘Enemy of my Enemy’ and all that...I need the Devil back in his stock, ‘fact: my delicate ass depends on it.”
He gave him his best expression of self-concern to back up his statement. Fact of the matter is he was not lying. He wanted Lucifer locked and bound as much as they did, but truth or not it was still a weapon that he could persuade Bobby with. He could see it was working too, getting through slowly to that thick mess Bobby claimed was a brain.
“I promise you. Temporary loan. I’ll give it. Right. Back.”
He could see the contemplation running over Bobby’s face. The man was no artist when it came to concealing what he was feeling and thinking, and Crowley supposed that was a side effect of having so few living brain cells left, especially after the amount of hits Bobby had taken to the head in his life coupled with how much cheap whiskey he poured down his throat. Cheap whiskey – God that was disgusting. He supposed though, from looking around himself, that Bobby’s money wasn’t a high number. Crowley was a man of luxury and this house was a pit to him. He was vain, so vain that even his vessel was of some standard: a ‘moderately successful literary agent from New York’. He allowed Bobby a few moments to think it over, sitting there in his chair. Any good business man knew when to push and when to ease off and give some space. Pushing at this point would only frustrate his thoughts and make him shoot him again, no doubt. It didn’t do much besides hurt, but that was enough to make him avoid the aim.
He relaxed a little on the desk, watching Bobby for any sign of movement in case he raised that bloody arm again. He scanned his face, reading the contemplation and was pleased to find temptation in his expression. Bobby was considering it, and Crowley knew why. How they were going to find Death was currently an almost clueless situation and here he was offering a quick and simple way out of that floundering position. He was offering them the quick route to the end and all it took was one little soul that he was claiming to give back at a later date. A later date that he was not exactly specifying. As Bobby rose his eyes back to look at him, clearly having something to say, Crowley eased his watchful gaze up and looked at him with an expectant expression.
“You’re gunna give us death’s location, right now n’ all it takes is the loan of my soul? Loan!”
Crowley nodded slowly and matter-of-factly to the question, his eyes not leaving Bobby the entire time. If he knew one thing then he knew that if you wanted to pull off a good bluff, you made eye contact, and you kept your story straight. He’d had a long time to perfect the ‘honest’ gaze without making it seem to forceful. He didn’t move other than this gesture, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. He wasn’t going to specify any further than he already had done and Bobby was none-too-smart on these deals. He was not demanding a time limit, and Crowley was not about to put one on either. What Bobby did know would not hurt him. Yet.
“Indeed, your soul on a loan, for Death’s location.”
He exchanged long looks with Singer for a second or two, something in them understanding between the pair. It was about then Crowley knew he’d won already, Singer would do it, because Singer would do anything for his Winchester boys, and if it meant they got the last ring off the oddly gaunt horseman and pegged Lucifer back down in Lilliput then Bobby would highly likely self-sacrifice. Well in all honesty Bobby believed he wasn’t...didn’t mean that was true though. A small smile crept across Crowley’s middle-aged face and he pushed his vessel off the desk, moving a little closer to the crippled red-neck. He stopped in his tracks mind, as Bobby raised that irritating salt gun in his face again.
“I ain’t gonna be kissing yer though...”
His smile increased a little, showing pearl white teeth. He was amused. Sad fact of the matter for Bobby was that a deal required a kiss. He didn’t make the rules here but he was forced to enforce them. He trailed still closer now, until the tip of the barrel was less than a foot away from his chest. Looking down on him he tilted his head ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes a little before he spoke.
“Well my apologies, Singer, but all deals require a seal. I don’t make the rules, but I do have to obey them.”
He gave him a slightly apologetic look before returning his expression to his usual poker face and waited. Clearly this part seemed to be the hardest bit for Singer to accept, which was a joke really. He was selling his soul to a demon, he was trusting him to give it back, but here he was squabbling about the kiss. Well it had to be done, and despite Crowley’s flexible nature as a demon Bobby wasn’t much to look at either, not to mention that beard. Least Crowley was clean shaven. He watched as Bobby gave him a very dissatisfied look, a deep set frown that was enough to tell him that Singer was accepting that fact but was not at all pleased with it. It was almost enough to break Crowley’s poker face with a smirk. He refrained though, at least until after the deal was done.
Bobby lowered the salt rifle and he smiled a little, trailing closer to him again now and stood directly in front of the wheel-chair bound man, unblinking hazel eyes on him.
“Shall we then?”
Bobby gave him another look, this time glaring daggers up at him before nodding and shifting uncomfortably in his wheelchair, bracing himself for it. With a grin, Crowley pulled his iPhone from his pocket, discretely setting it to Camera and used his other hand to place his fingers under Bobby’s chin. He tilted the old man’s head up, watching him close his eyes hard and leant down to him, needing to stoop considerably in order to perform the deal. His lips connected with Bobby’s firmly, and the old man winced a little to the connection. Reaching over he looked up to the camera of his phone, clicking the photo, and then rapidly pocketed the saved evidence. It was not a practise he often made – this photography thing, but he was amused by the idea. Maybe he’d start taking it up.
He drew this kiss out as long as he could, feeling Bobby twitch slightly, how tense and disgusted bobby was and enjoyed it. After a moment, he raised his hand to bobby’s cheek, and ran his fingers down to his jaw line. This made Singer jerk away violently, wiping his mouth on his hand and grimacing. Crowley smirked, chuckling and straightened his spine up with amusement gleaming in his eyes. He patted Singers shoulder softly, and moved back into his kitchen, returning his hands to his pockets.
“Nice doing business with you, Singer. I’ll be seeing you.”
Bobby wheeled his chair around, only to be confronted with nothing more than his empty, slightly untidy kitchen.
IS IT BECAUSE OF MY PERKY NIPPLES?
[/color][/font]GIVE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT'S DUE, KAY? THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE
BY CATE (AKA GIRL TALKK OF CAUTION AND RC&R. SO DON'T
STEAL IT FROM HER, OKAY? TEMPLATE WAS MADE SPECIFICALLY FOR
GOOD AND GREAT. SECTION TITLES ARE QUOTES TAKEN FROM THE MOST
AWESOME SHOW EVER, SUPERNATURAL.[/color][/CENTER][/BLOCKQUOTE][/BLOCKQUOTE]
