Post by Krepta on Feb 13, 2013 9:22:22 GMT -5
Player: Avenant
Canon, or my own: My own.
Civilian Identity: O'Malley, Connell
Nickname(s): Cove, to those he is on friendly terms with. Con, to those who know him.
Gender: Male.
Apparent Age: Mid-forties to early fifties.
Age: DOB 1 Apr, 1875, making him forty-five as of 1920.
Hair: Straight, black and rarely worn over an inch long. Beginning to thin along his scalp. While he doesn't wear a mustache or beard, he is seldom seen clean-shaven (unless the occasion demands it), preferring some level of stubble.
Eyes: Partially hetero-chromatic; Dollar-bill green - canary yellow irises.
Height and Weight: Con stands at six feet, two inches and weighs between two-hundred and fifteen and two-hundred and twenty-five pounds. Con still carries the solid build and physical strength of a man raised on honest manual labor, now lightly padded with the spoils of the comparatively sedentary life he has led for the last handful of years.
Con's appearance varies dramatically between his public and private life. Publicly, he appears gentlemanly; black Homburg, slate-grey double-breasted suit jacket and trousers, white dress shirt under a single-breasted vest, under suspenders. Oxfords, wood-lacquer brown, the leather obviously worn and the laces replaced. Privately, Con has a predilection for going about barefoot in the confines of his own home. Trousers, undershirt and suspenders. Physically, Connell is beginning to gray at the temples, and in his facial hair. Broad-shouldered and solidly built, he carries himself confidently. At times, particularly when he is hurried, he seems off-balanced, as if there were a problem with his left foot. His palm and the back of his right hand are also scarred, as if savaged at some point by a large animal.
Abilities: Aside from his Lycanthropic abilities, Connell is possessed of a keen mind, and a quietly duplicitous nature that he has managed to keep in spite of the latent empathy that he shares with others of the Pack. He has an excellent poker face, and has a knack for being "every body's friend", a trait that he has put to good use in becoming one of the pillars of the Irish community in Timbre Ridge. Officially, he runs, manages, and as of two years ago is a full partner in the local Mercantile. Unofficially, he studies medicine under the town's doctor. This grants Con a basic knowledge of medicine and surgical procedure, though it's little better than a coin flip's guarantee at times, if he truly knows what he is doing.
Equipment: Con rarely goes about armed with anything but his wit and winsome personality. Should he need to arm himself, however, he keeps an M 1909 Colt revolver in his home, as well as a Winchester Model 12. Aside from those, he has few prized possessions save for the large wolf pelt he keeps, draped over the back of his favorite chair in his sitting room.
Origin of Abilities: Most of Connell's "normal" abilities are learned, developed through years of observation and hands-on training. His Lycanthropy, and the resultant changes, are owed to the wolf bite, detailed in his Background. It has not been until recently (the last year or two), that Connell has truly explored his abnormal, lycanthropic attributes in a controlled setting. While he does have a hybrid form, he is very hesitant to enter it because he has a drastically reduced control over his faculties, and can be horribly clumsy.
Weaknesses: Connell is an insomniac, and has suffered from chronic headaches that run the gamut from mild to migraine throughout most of his life. Con has had a soft spot for liquor for many years, his addiction springing out of a need to self-medicate, on account of the headaches. The onset of Prohibition has curbed his habit somewhat, but has had the unfortunate effect of turning him into a social drinker in public, and a binge drinker in private. The other weakness of note, is at the same time one of his strengths; his duplicity. It has given him the strength to overlook trust issues, but it has left trust issues all the same, and as the years have passed it has begun to take a toll on him at a personal level. He still serves his duties as well as ever, but he is guarded even amongst the Pack.
Personality: Connell's personality in public is hard to pin down; it is whatever he needs it to be, to suit the occasion. He is honestly devious, and much as he's deviously honest. But when hands are called, and cards are to be lain on the table, honest or not he is loyal. The quiet acceptance he has experienced in Timbre Ridge, in the last decade or more, has seen to that. Above "th' game of it", though, he expresses a drive that can border upon the manic, when he is set to a task. He enjoys games of chance immensely. Often when agitated, he has a tendency to massage his temples. Despite being a "were", he dislikes making the change between man and wolf, and rarely does so unless compelled.
Born to parents in Westport, Connacht Province, Ireland in 1875, Connell's early years are not something that he is open about, unless he's very deep into a bottle. The "mini-famine" of 1879 saw a severe economic downturn for his family, one that by the time Con emigrated to America at age eighteen (1893) his family still had not overcome. The means by which he afforded this are something he has never shared.
Once in the Land of Opportunity, he worked a series of menial, heavy-labor jobs. Running wire, clearing land, dockyard work. His employment, over the next five years of his life, saw Connell move steadily westward, away from the densely populated cities, the man preferring a rural slant to his surrounds.
Near the turn of the century, Con was laying rail in South Dakota near Belle Fourche, a chance encounter while he was hunting game for food changed his life forever. This, too, he is very hesitant to talk about; suffice it to say that he quit the job as soon as it linked the railroad to Belle Fourche, lingering in the town for a handful of years. It was during these trying years that he came to grips with the changes wrought in him; living as the strange Irishman with the scarred hand and insatiable thirst on the outskirts of town.
This, too, would not last. As his thirty-fifth birthday came and passed, and the dry panic at his situation eased into a feeling of vague martyrdom at his condition, Connell became increasingly restless. The urge to move further South had been eating at him... and so he sold most of what he owned, gathered up the rest, and ventured forth. What he found was Timbre Ridge, and as he did, the deep-seated itch to continue evaporated. And so he stayed on, finding what work he could at first, finding instant kinship with the rest of the Irish community in the town. But that wasn't all. Some of the people, there. They knew. He didn't know how. But the way they looked at him... it was clear. And so, he found his way into the pack, and a permanent place in town. First, as doctor's assistant, and three years ago as an employee at the Mercantile. The rest is recent history...
Base of Operations:Resident of Timbre Ridge.
Criminal Record: He has no known criminal record.
Canon, or my own: My own.
Civilian Identity: O'Malley, Connell
Nickname(s): Cove, to those he is on friendly terms with. Con, to those who know him.
Gender: Male.
Apparent Age: Mid-forties to early fifties.
Age: DOB 1 Apr, 1875, making him forty-five as of 1920.
Hair: Straight, black and rarely worn over an inch long. Beginning to thin along his scalp. While he doesn't wear a mustache or beard, he is seldom seen clean-shaven (unless the occasion demands it), preferring some level of stubble.
Eyes: Partially hetero-chromatic; Dollar-bill green - canary yellow irises.
Height and Weight: Con stands at six feet, two inches and weighs between two-hundred and fifteen and two-hundred and twenty-five pounds. Con still carries the solid build and physical strength of a man raised on honest manual labor, now lightly padded with the spoils of the comparatively sedentary life he has led for the last handful of years.
Appearance
Con's appearance varies dramatically between his public and private life. Publicly, he appears gentlemanly; black Homburg, slate-grey double-breasted suit jacket and trousers, white dress shirt under a single-breasted vest, under suspenders. Oxfords, wood-lacquer brown, the leather obviously worn and the laces replaced. Privately, Con has a predilection for going about barefoot in the confines of his own home. Trousers, undershirt and suspenders. Physically, Connell is beginning to gray at the temples, and in his facial hair. Broad-shouldered and solidly built, he carries himself confidently. At times, particularly when he is hurried, he seems off-balanced, as if there were a problem with his left foot. His palm and the back of his right hand are also scarred, as if savaged at some point by a large animal.
Abilities: Aside from his Lycanthropic abilities, Connell is possessed of a keen mind, and a quietly duplicitous nature that he has managed to keep in spite of the latent empathy that he shares with others of the Pack. He has an excellent poker face, and has a knack for being "every body's friend", a trait that he has put to good use in becoming one of the pillars of the Irish community in Timbre Ridge. Officially, he runs, manages, and as of two years ago is a full partner in the local Mercantile. Unofficially, he studies medicine under the town's doctor. This grants Con a basic knowledge of medicine and surgical procedure, though it's little better than a coin flip's guarantee at times, if he truly knows what he is doing.
Equipment: Con rarely goes about armed with anything but his wit and winsome personality. Should he need to arm himself, however, he keeps an M 1909 Colt revolver in his home, as well as a Winchester Model 12. Aside from those, he has few prized possessions save for the large wolf pelt he keeps, draped over the back of his favorite chair in his sitting room.
Origin of Abilities: Most of Connell's "normal" abilities are learned, developed through years of observation and hands-on training. His Lycanthropy, and the resultant changes, are owed to the wolf bite, detailed in his Background. It has not been until recently (the last year or two), that Connell has truly explored his abnormal, lycanthropic attributes in a controlled setting. While he does have a hybrid form, he is very hesitant to enter it because he has a drastically reduced control over his faculties, and can be horribly clumsy.
Weaknesses: Connell is an insomniac, and has suffered from chronic headaches that run the gamut from mild to migraine throughout most of his life. Con has had a soft spot for liquor for many years, his addiction springing out of a need to self-medicate, on account of the headaches. The onset of Prohibition has curbed his habit somewhat, but has had the unfortunate effect of turning him into a social drinker in public, and a binge drinker in private. The other weakness of note, is at the same time one of his strengths; his duplicity. It has given him the strength to overlook trust issues, but it has left trust issues all the same, and as the years have passed it has begun to take a toll on him at a personal level. He still serves his duties as well as ever, but he is guarded even amongst the Pack.
Personality: Connell's personality in public is hard to pin down; it is whatever he needs it to be, to suit the occasion. He is honestly devious, and much as he's deviously honest. But when hands are called, and cards are to be lain on the table, honest or not he is loyal. The quiet acceptance he has experienced in Timbre Ridge, in the last decade or more, has seen to that. Above "th' game of it", though, he expresses a drive that can border upon the manic, when he is set to a task. He enjoys games of chance immensely. Often when agitated, he has a tendency to massage his temples. Despite being a "were", he dislikes making the change between man and wolf, and rarely does so unless compelled.
Background
Born to parents in Westport, Connacht Province, Ireland in 1875, Connell's early years are not something that he is open about, unless he's very deep into a bottle. The "mini-famine" of 1879 saw a severe economic downturn for his family, one that by the time Con emigrated to America at age eighteen (1893) his family still had not overcome. The means by which he afforded this are something he has never shared.
Once in the Land of Opportunity, he worked a series of menial, heavy-labor jobs. Running wire, clearing land, dockyard work. His employment, over the next five years of his life, saw Connell move steadily westward, away from the densely populated cities, the man preferring a rural slant to his surrounds.
Near the turn of the century, Con was laying rail in South Dakota near Belle Fourche, a chance encounter while he was hunting game for food changed his life forever. This, too, he is very hesitant to talk about; suffice it to say that he quit the job as soon as it linked the railroad to Belle Fourche, lingering in the town for a handful of years. It was during these trying years that he came to grips with the changes wrought in him; living as the strange Irishman with the scarred hand and insatiable thirst on the outskirts of town.
This, too, would not last. As his thirty-fifth birthday came and passed, and the dry panic at his situation eased into a feeling of vague martyrdom at his condition, Connell became increasingly restless. The urge to move further South had been eating at him... and so he sold most of what he owned, gathered up the rest, and ventured forth. What he found was Timbre Ridge, and as he did, the deep-seated itch to continue evaporated. And so he stayed on, finding what work he could at first, finding instant kinship with the rest of the Irish community in the town. But that wasn't all. Some of the people, there. They knew. He didn't know how. But the way they looked at him... it was clear. And so, he found his way into the pack, and a permanent place in town. First, as doctor's assistant, and three years ago as an employee at the Mercantile. The rest is recent history...
Base of Operations:Resident of Timbre Ridge.
Criminal Record: He has no known criminal record.