Leslie Warwick

Leslie Warwick · February 13th, 2009, 3:52 pm

'''Name:''' Leslie Warwick [pronounced 'Warrick']
'''Age:''' 19 [Roalis 26]
'''Race:''' wick
'''Place of Origin:''' Anaxas, once Black Hand

!!!Backstory:

Leslie Warwick -- usually 'Warwick', due to a lack of fondness for his girly first name -- has never spent more than a month or two of his life solidly planted in one place. His childhood was spent gleefully knocking around from one place to another in a manner fitting only for the wicks. His tribe was the Black Hand, his parents wrapped up in seedy business that really wasn't the concern of a young boy who wanted nothing except to be the center of attention all the time. His upbringing was left to Reese, his brother and his elder by seven years.

In the manner of younger siblings, Warwick loved his brother with a hopeless abandon that tottered on the edge of [and eventually tumbled over into] hero worship. Nevermind that Reese was cold, to Warwick that registered as cool, as slick, as self-confident. Nevermind the calculating edge behind his eyes, that was just because Reese was clever, brilliant in a way that Warwick never would be. Nevermind the occasional careless cruelty that came tumbling out of his mouth, because that was just teasing, and didn't all older brothers tease their siblings mercilessly? Warwick could take it. And he did. And, in any case, Reese did love him, in his own strange and muted way, even if it wouldn't show to any onlookers.

The upbringing was a good one, as well, a solid one that left Warwick more than able to stand up for himself in a scrap [with the advice, "kick'em in the 'nads and then run" how could he fail?] and take care of himself in day-to-day life. More than that, even, because before he hit the age of five Reese was able to recognize a simple sort of charismatic charm in him, and to start profiting on it, teaching Warwick how to use equal parts big eyes and cheeky smiles and pert comments to startle coin out of people. Before he was eight, Reese took notice of the lanky athleticism to him, a simple kineticism and comfort with his body and the way his body moved that translated perfectly into tumbling and juggling and silliness that could coax even more people into lightening their wallets for them.

By twelve, they were working on full-fledged team acts, things that could be set up wherever they were. Tumbling and acrobatics, Warwick as the funny man and Reese as the straight man, the support beam -- and, of course, the hat holder. The best part of it was that this was all Warwick ever wanted. He knew then and there that this was something he could do his whole life; he'd been born to it, after all, hadn't he? And where better to do it but among his family, his tribe?

Except his tribe was the problem. Because Reese was older, eighteen or nineteen now, and while tumbling was enough for his brother it was not profitable enough for him. He preferred the seeder aspects of his tribe, he leaned toward swindles and even moreso toward violence and fell into those things that gave the Black Hand its name and its reputation. Of course he tried to pull his brother and his best friend along with him. And of course Warwick followed, with those wide-eyes full of hero worship...

And of course, when he finally came of age unto his own right, opened his eyes to what was going on around him -- at the age of nineteen, blinded until then -- he knew very well that this wasn't for him. He didn't hold that streak for violence or that cold calculation that allowed him to turn off the sour distaste he felt for the swindles. The big swindles, anyway, the ones where people didn't know they were being swindled. He wanted to stick to the small ones, where everyone knew and everyone was on the same page.

So he tore a piece of his heart out and drifted, leaving Reese and his tribe behind.

Since then, he has taken back to old ways in a less-than-brilliant fashion. Doing just enough street performances to get by; he could do better if his smile didn't register just a little false, if his winks weren't too broad, if he could stay in one place for more than a handful of days. But perhaps he could stay settled in a city crazy enough that every corner is different and one can move about without leaving...Old Rose?

!!!Personality:

Warwick seems to have two personalities; the one used with people around him, one-on-one, individual to individual...and then the one that crops up when he has a large crowd of people around him, standing and watching, cheering for him to succeed or for him to fail.

On stage, he is as much of a charmer as anyone could ever want. He will do or say anything to get a bubbling of laughter out of a crowd of people and he has a well-trained way with it. He knows when to wink and who to grin at and which young woman to sling his arm over and draw inward to help him as a volunteer. His smile is bright enough and his eyes honest enough that she doesn't even worry about her wallet as he does it -- and lucky for her, he's not the sort to take it. This is what he lives for, and all he wants. All eyes on him, people drawn toward the friendly teasing note in his voice, and exaggerated bigger-than-life way he moves and acts.

In person, he is quieter, and one would almost expect that he was shy. It's not the kind of shy that hides in the corner and keeps its head down, but instead the kind that spills out awkward comments and seems uncomfortable with them, like once the stage [whatever the stage might be] has gone away, that light in his eyes has faded down to a glowing ember and that bigger-than-life sense seems instead like a stork uncomfortable in its body. He is still charming, perhaps, but the way a newborn puppy is charming. Quiet and small with hopeful smiles and hunched posture.

!!!Physical Description:

All of Warwick seems stretched and bendy, with a bouncy edge behind it like a loose spring. His features lean toward galdori -- pointed chin and strong cheekbones and sharp nose, his mouth wide and narrow-lipped and generally stretched into a smile or a grin full of white teeth, his eyes almond-shaped and supremely galdori except for the brightness of their blue. People have described them as peacock blue, but this is an exaggeration, they are merely distracted by his own peacock appearance during performance. People remember them as peacock blue, yes, but they are actually more the blue of a clear winter's day.

His body is the same, long and lean and tall for a wick, even if most humans would still stare down at him from a comfortable height. He is not strong but he is quick, and it shows in his shape; gazelle instead of ox or bear, most of his height in his legs, longer from fingertip to fingertip of outstretched arms than he is tall.

His hair is naturally a rooster's crest of red, but very little of this natural color has been seen in quite a while. He leans toward a goldeny sort of yellow if he can, or almost-white, which frequently leaves his hair a course and fine texture that doesn't quite seem natural. He laces it through with blue and green; vibrant colors that serve to make his eyes brighter.

He has also delved deep into the culture of his people, in his nineteen years, and has covered most of his visible skin with the stark black lines of abstract tattoos. People must look long and hard at these tattoos before seeing shapes within, creatures and plants and sometimes words hidden in the jagged lines. The most prominent is across the back of his right shoulder, old and faded; at first it seems to be some kind of wildcat or an osta, arched back and hissing mouth. After a moment, like magic, the word pops out and into focus -- 'Reese', his brother's name.

!!!Inventory:

Clothing:
*Several shirts that were once bright colors but have been faded by wear.
*Well-fitting pants, tight enough to stay on but loose enough to really move in.
*Ancient shoes that somehow continue to survive, battered, looking like the most comfortable shoes in existence.
*Speckling of studs in his right ear, as much jewelry he is going to wear when it can potentially catch on things during a tumble.
*One light cloak, meant more to keep the sun off of his shoulders than protect against warmth.
*One heavy cloak, about six inches too short for him.
*One hat with a secret compartment and just enough shape left in it that, when set down, it serves as a perfect place for contributions.

Traveling bag:
*Two patchwork blankets, made up of scraps of fabric of different sizes, shapes, colors, and patterns.
*Three small juggling balls, two medium-sized, and one large, all in bright colors. They seem hand-made.
*Two old hoops, one approximately a foot across and one somewhat larger.
*Deck of playing cards.
*A copy of the Spoke's Amanac snatched from his brother.

Purse:
*Not enough coin to really get by, but always augmented by fresh from his hat
*Shiny trinkets that may or may not be worth money; he just picks them up when he finds them.

Weapons:
*There are a handful of knives among Warwick's things, but these are not as sharp as they could be, and are really meant more for juggling than battle.

Personal Items:
*A stone painted like a white egg spotted with blue and green on a long leather tie around his neck, hanging to the center of his chest and usually tucked into his shirt.

!!!Career

Street Performer
*Tumbler especially, leaning toward humorous acrobatics.
*Juggler extraordinaire, of his juggling balls, knives, fruit, and whatever else an audience wants to fling at him
*Some contortioning, as seen by the hoops, which he can easily work his body through. Through both of them. At once.
*Charming smile, sense of humor, stock of 'gimme your money!' jokes.
*His magic leans toward flashy, looking more impressive that it is. Galdori would scoff. He is also rather good at shrouding himself -- run and hide is the best policy in a fight, no?

!!!Goals

First and foremost, Warwick's looking for a fresh family. He might not know he's looking, but he wants one. Desperately. Any sort. He is ripe pickings for whoever wants recruits, and would almost certainly be easily drawn into the human troubles.

He thinks, however, that he merely wants to perform. To come up with fresh acts. To surprise people and make them laugh. This is also true.

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