Roll the window down
This cool night air is curious
Let the whole world look in
Who cares who sees anything?

PLAYER:
Name/Alias: Kristin
Age: 20
AIM SN/E-mail: Winsome Wizard / Badfairy@gmail.com
Time Zone: EST

CHARACTER:
Name: Marcas Wolf

Age: 38

D.O.B.: June 5th, 1971

Place of Birth: Glasgow, Scotland

Physical Description: Marcas is, without a doubt, an extremely handsome man…or he is according to most people who know a good thing when they see one. He stands at 6’3”, with broad shoulders and a sturdy frame made out of mostly muscle. His hair is usually well maintained, though it’s never ‘styled’. It’s combed back to keep it from falling into his face, when it’s long enough, or trimmed down so he doesn’t even have to worry about it. His jaw line can hardly ever be found without stubble lining it, but that too is always very manicured and neat. His attire can be described as casual chic – a button down shirt with sleeves folded up to ¾ length with a button or two undone, and a pair of well-made jeans, or maybe even a t-shirt with a blazer worn over it, jeans once again included. He’ll dress up when he needs to, but he’d prefer not to as often as possible. His eyes are a steely green-gray with specks of blue hidden in their depths. His bone structure is nothing short of masculine, and he has a smile that can make women melt from across the room.

Personality: Marcas is a cunning, controlling, manipulative son of a bitch. His main goal is to get you under his thumb, attach some strings, and watch you dance – sometimes quite literally, depending on the person. He’s egotistical, but will flatter someone when the opportunity arises, if only to keep him in their good favor, though he will never stoop so low as to kiss someone’s ass just to gain their support. He figures out how to gain the respect of those who can benefit him in the long run, but couldn’t care less about being respected by people who don’t matter – people who are beneath him. He hardly ever raises his voice, and can probably tell you to ‘go fuck yourself’ with one of those charming grins on his face, making it difficult for people to figure out if they love him or hate him, just because of how well he can bend someone to his will. People can rant and rave about Mar when they aren’t around him, but few can be in the same room as him and still hold feelings of resentment towards him, because of how well he can sweet-talk women or boost a man’s ego without seeming fake, even though most of the time, it’s complete bullshit.

Sexuality: Heterosexual

History:

Marcas Wolf never had a picture perfect childhood. As a matter of fact, there was hardly anything about his childhood that could be envied, considering he got handed the shit-end of the stick the day he was born. His parents were quite the pair: a whore and a dirt bag lawyer who ditched the mess of a woman the second he found out she was knocked up. Pathetically enough, the only reason she didn’t get an abortion was because she couldn’t afford one, though all the shit she did while pregnant with her darling baby boy probably could have done the job if she tried hard enough. The woman had a bad cocaine addiction that she would not give up.

June rolled around, and the woman’s water broke and she went into labor that lasted for about 12 hours, and then…Marcas Wolf was born. He was an unusually small baby, considering all the shit his mother had done while he was in the womb, and the doctors had to keep him under observation because he was having such bad withdrawal. The whore of a woman who gave birth to him didn’t even give him a chance at having a normal life by giving him up for adoption. Instead, she kept the poor child, but never raised it like a mother should raise her son. No, she always thought of him as more of a burden than a child she should love. Most of the time she brought him to work with her – the strip club where she danced, the owner of the establishment being a pimp for most of the girls who worked there. Needless to say the place was shady as fuck, and only the seediest of people who were looking for entertainment and the guarantee that they would get laid dropped by.

The other girls took care of the baby more than she did, but then again considering she didn’t take care of him at all, that isn’t really saying much. Sure she fed him every now and then, but that was only to shut him up when he was crying. Toys didn’t exist in the Wolf household, which lead Marcas to learn how to read at a very young age. One of the strippers, Marianne, was the woman who gave him some sort of an education before he started school, and was the woman who Marcas would look at as more of a mother than his biological mom while he was growing up. Marianne would walk him to the library every afternoon, and help him collect a set of books before bringing him back to the club.

Needless to say, his upbringing was very unorthodox, being a very young boy in the company of scantily dressed women and men who were probably very dangerous. He was witness to several of the girls being smacked around, but one time when it was Marianne being subjected to the violence, 8 year old Marcas tried to help her, and wound up being knocked into a wall, unconscious for a few minutes. When he woke up, his mother was yelling at him, telling him that he was causing trouble, while Marianne was being taken care of by one of the other girls. To this day, Marcas still has a scar on his right temple, something that has been a reminder to him every day that he needed to toughen up, and learn how to fight in order to protect women like Marianne – good people who didn’t deserve the abuse, even though they put themselves in rather horrible situations.

Over the years, the young Wolf learned how to do several things, obtaining several different skills from various sources – dancing, playing instruments, speaking different languages, and most importantly fighting. He learned this from some of the male figures who came into his life over the years, but most of his less violent abilities came from the women who twirled on the poles to upbeat music with a bumping bass line. His mother had even grown a little fond of the kid when he was old enough to be ‘useful’ to her, but it wasn’t until him ‘causing trouble’ was what saved her life one night. He was 17 years old when he came home to the sounds of his mother screaming, and after he managed to break down the door, his fist collided with the man who had been attacking his mom until even his mother couldn’t recognize him anymore. From that day on, their relationship changed…but that didn’t mean Marcas was able to get over the way she had treated him the entire time he had been growing up. The only good things she ever gave him was life, an education, and introducing him to the women at the seedy strip club – women like Marianne, and the others who had treated him more like a son than she had.

This resentment for the woman was what caused Marcas to reach the decision that maybe he needed to get away from Glasgow for a while. After he graduated from the local college, not having the funds to make it into a better school, he received a scholarship to continue with his education due to his excellent grades, taking with him a diploma in Accountancy & Finance from Glasgow University. He hopped on a plane, and flew to England, where he would attend Cambridge Judge Business School, getting an Advanced Diploma in Entrepreneurship. He stayed in Cambridge for another year or two before receiving a call from Marianne, telling him that his mother had died – apparently she had overdosed.

One last trip back to Glasgow was taken, spending his time in his childhood home before he decided to sell the small house to pay for a ticket to the United States, in order to put his diplomas to good use. It had always been a dream of his, to move to America and become successful, and his intense drive to make something of himself along with his education made that dream come true…though it took longer than he had hoped.

His trip to the states brought him to a city called Obsidian, a dark and dingy place...but a place that would give him the opportunity to have a lot of power. He got himself a place in the Ivory Narrows, and actually got himself a job working at The Amethyst Theater until he could save up enough money to buy a building to set up his own business. By the time he was 30, the perfect location was picked out, and ‘The Whistling Wolf’ was in the works. He had made several connections over the years - having the gift of persuasion under his belt made it easy for him to sweet talk the wealthy aristocrats of the city who would come to enjoy the shows put on at the Theater.

It took a few more years to get everything in order, but soon enough, opening day of the club rolled around…and it was a great success. It was nothing like the club he had been brought up in, something he had made sure of. It was sophisticated, for a strip joint, and each employee he hired had to go through him before they even stepped foot on a stage, or played bouncer at the door.

He doesn’t run a brothel, and he makes that perfectly clear to all who enter his domain. The women who dance aren’t whores, unless they make the decision to be one on their own time…but if he finds out they’re fucking around with one of his clients, they better be prepared to get booted out on the street. He refuses to lose good business, and money, just because they have an itch they need scratched…especially since there’s a good chance he’ll take care of that for them, if they ask nicely…and he’ll make sure they don’t need any other man scratching anything any time soon.

By the time he was 36, he had saved up more than enough money to grant him a location in the Diamond District, and has been located in his pricey loft for nearly 3 years now.

Special Skills/Abilities:
Fluent in Italian and French, and has picked up a bit of Russian over his time living in Obsidian. Has the ability to play the piano. Is proficient in several different styles of fighting. He's also rather proficient when it comes to firing/aiming a gun or wielding certain weapons - he prefers a blade over anything else.

Personal Weaknesses:
- Doesn't know how to keep himself uninvolved when he knows a woman is in trouble.
- He can never say no to Marianne.
- When he loses his temper...he loses his temper. It takes a lot to get the man riled up enough to make him express how pissed off he is, but if you get him to that breaking point, all hell breaks loose. Between his massive size and his knowledge of combat, he's a very dangerous man - so be sure to not piss him off.

Personal Strengths:
- Smooth talker; extremely persuasive. Because of this, he has several allies, and people who can get him out of a jam if he ever slips up somewhere.
- Knows how to keep his emotions at bay, making it easier for him to not form many emotional connections to people...but he can only be pushed too far before he finally snaps (See Weaknesses).

Likes: cigars, tobacco, women, beer, red wine, classic rock, large dogs

Dislikes: apricots, white wine, milk, fish, rap music

Family: None to speak of. The closest thing he has to family is a woman named Marianne, who acted as a second mother to him his entire life.

Profession: Businessman – owner and proprietor of ‘The Whistling Wolf’ gentleman’s club.

Living Conditions: Lives in a pricey loft in the Diamond District.

Affiliation: Neutral

Preferred PB: Gerard Butler

RP Sample:

“Hello, beautiful.”

The blonde who was fixing her makeup in the vanity turned to glance over her shoulder, already tipped off by the older man’s presence due to the smell of his burning cigar – something that was currently being held between his gleaming rows of teeth, both of his hands extended outwards to press against either side of the doorframe he was standing in. The man just so happened to be the blonde’s boss, and she gave him a flirtatious little smile as she canted her head at him, those golden curls falling over her bare shoulder.

“Hello, Wolfy.”

The little pet name she gave him caused him to chuckle, reaching up to grab the cigar from his grin using his pointer and middle finger, but not before taking some smoke into his mouth. One of his hands dropped so that his shoulder was leaning against that particular side of the threshold, the other hand still extended outwards with his palm pressed flat against the smooth wood. A stream of silver smoke was expelled into the room through his lips, something that made the dancer, dressed in nothing but a pair of heels and lace underwear, scoff.

“Can’t you put that out when you come in here? That smells disgusting…”

Marcas raised a brow at the question, though a crooked little smile was given. “You should know by now that I can do anything I want, love…” He gave another small smile before he pushed himself away from what he was leaning on, and approached her, cigar still burning in his hand as he came up behind her, lowering himself down low enough so that his chin was hovering just an inch or two above her bare shoulder, looking at her using the mirror she was using to apply a new layer of mascara to her long lashes.

“Correct me if I’m wrong…but doesn’t Logan Murphy also smoke cigars?”

He kept the tone of his question light, but he could tell she knew where he was going with his question based on the way her entire body froze, her pale blue eyes snapping to make ‘eye contact’ with him through the mirror. The reaction was enough to make Marcas give a devilish little smirk.

“What’s the matter, baby? Lost your will to speak?”

She lowered the mascara brush, her expression less sultry than before…and now much more nervous. Marcas turned his head to view her profile, his hand moving to carefully move some of her hair away from her shoulder, almost as though it were an affectionate gesture.

“You know the rules around here…don’t you, baby?”

She flinched and started to wring her hands in her lap, still keeping her eyes on the mirror before she tried to turn her head to acknowledge him…but his hand reached around, taking hold of her chin in order to make her look at their reflection. She whimpered a little.

“I-I’m sorry, Wolfy…”

Those gray-green eyes looked at the glass before them, creating quite the pretty portrait of the two individuals.

“Oh, I know you are…” His tone and expression could have been construed as sympathetic…if someone didn’t know him. He moved the hand that was holding her chin to let his thumb brush against her bottom lip, moving his mouth closer to her ear. “How does it feel, to be a whore?”

The blonde’s eyes went wider, and Marcas grinned. “You realize that’s what you are now, don’t you? When you fuck men in my establishment…while you’re on the clock, working for me…that makes you a whore…because I’m paying you…” His head canted to the side, his smile fading. “And that would make me…your pimp, wouldn’t it? Do I look like a pimp to you, baby?”

“N-no, Wolfy...I’m sorry, I didn’t-…”

“Oh, but you did…”

Again with that tone that could have been considered sympathetic. His hand dropped in order to once again stroke her hair, his eyes directed on her profile again. “Get ready for your performance…make yourself look pretty for Mr.Murphy...and then gather your things, and don’t come back.” His eyes were on the mirror again, taking in her expression, though she had finally managed to turn to him, eyes wide.

“Please, Wolfy! Please, I don’t…I don’t got anywhere else to go!”

He tilted his head at her, and then raised a hand to catch the single tear that was streaming down her cheek. “You don’t have anywhere else to go…because no one wants to hire a whore…at least not a very good one, who doesn’t know how to be very discreet…” He gave her a smile and then let the back of his fingers brush down her damp cheek.

“Now no more crying, baby girl…we don’t want your makeup to smudge…”


Journal Entry:

I must have missed the memo that was sent around, telling people that ‘Pour some Sugar on Me’ and ‘Cherry Pie’ were the only two choices of music women can dance to. Whether or not other people are as frustrated by this as I am, I don’t know, but I don’t exactly care, either. I refuse to let either one of those songs play through the speakers at my club, and if anyone has a problem with it…quite frankly, they can kiss my ass.

I had to audition a few new girls tonight in order to replace Bianca. The girl got caught in some cross fire while walking through the Ruby District…but she should have known better than to be creeping around that part of town on her own. Guess you never learn till it’s too late or some shit like that. Now, I don’t know if this town is just lacking talent, or if these girls aren’t trying, but I swear to fucking Christ, the performances I saw this afternoon would leave a 15 year old boy completely flaccid.

Here’s hoping tomorrow’s batch brings a little something special to the table. I’m not about to hire someone who’s just looking for a reason to take her clothes off, and I’m sure as hell not about to pay someone money just because they know how to move their hips and unclip a bra.

ETC: Goes by 'Wolf' - never Marcas, unless you know him extremely well. He's often referred to as the 'Big Bad Wolf' when people are talking about him.

Character Journal Name: moral_principle

Do you authorize your character to be, at any time, appointed/selected at random as part of an important plot, whatever the outcome?: Yes. Yes I do.