Peter Browning
Human Rogue 3/Swashbuckler 3/Invisible Blade 3
Age 29
Alignment N, but with a healthy disregard for the law... so, bordering on CN, but not at all the raving loony flavor of CN
Personality:
Peter is a charmer. He's handsome, and witty, and he knows it. He's pretty cocky, but it works. He tries hard to flatter everyone - to make everyone feel good about themselves, and to let them know that he is interested in them. He needs to be loved, and won't settle for people being apathetic. Under all of this, though, is steel - he has done unspeakable things to keep his family alive, and he will do whatever it takes to keep himself and his friends safe.
Appearance:
There’s really no getting around it – Peter Browning is a very handsome man. He’s tall and athletic, strong enough but not overly muscled. Every move he makes, even the way he stands, the way he sits, is deliberate, but still effortless, feline. His youthful face is framed by a well-trimmed goatee and a mop of carefully tousled ebony hair, held in preposterous positions by some unknown substance. It might look ridiculous on another, but the wry smile on Peter’s face lets you know that the ridicule is part of the charm, and it works. The wry smile is always present, but it occasionally brightens and widens, and white teeth flash along with those deep green eyes. A small silver hoop in his left ear and a simple ring on his left thumb are all the jewelry he wears, but his attire hardly lacks flash. Soft black leather boots and black leather pants seem tame enough, but the white silk shirt is expensively tailored, and a perfect fit for his frame. And that black leather coat, also tailored, hanging to his knees, and with a hood no less! But it's really that belt… bright red silk a foot wide, with gold embroidery in fantastic patterns… it can’t possibly look good, can it? But strangely, it does… even though you know it shouldn’t. You wonder if he knows that dagger tucked in the sash is occasionally visible, but then he winks at you as he catches you looking. Similarly, that flash of finely crafted chain links under his silk shirt can’t be an accident. You look away, realizing that he’s aware of your attention.
Background:(Peter's from China Mieville's Perdido Street Station world, so he's already plane-hopped at least once. The story below gets him to his adventure in Sigil.)
Peter Browning is a common criminal, born and raised in the Bonetown slums of New Crobuzon. He and his younger sister Gillian have had a difficult life, having been left behind at the ages of 14 and 12 when their mother was arrested for organizing a dock worker’s strike and was Remade and forced to work the docks 24 hours a day. The boy took his natural charm and agility and made himself into a useful tool for the local crime lords. He specialized in working his way into the houses and often the bedrooms of targets – male, female, human, xenian, it made no difference – and finishing his assignment from the inside. Murder, burglary, intimidation, simple prostitution… he was willing to take any job for a reasonable price, and managed to make enough money for he and his sister to keep their musty apartment and eat enough to survive. Over time, as he got better at what he did, he managed to make enough money to buy tools that helped him at the job – including a few minor magicks, and some well-tailored clothes. Anything else was spent by his sister, who continued her mother’s activism by writing for the Runagate Rampant, a seditious and socialist tabloid. Throughout all of this, Peter remained upbeat and amused by life – he knows his life could have been much harder, and having made himself useful, he has ensured relative safety for him and his sister. By refusing to take sides in the wars between crime lords – he intentionally takes very public jobs for both Ma Francine and Mr. Motley – he remains useful to both sides, and has developed a reputation as a charming rogue for hire, exactly as he intended.
Sometimes, however, he has to take jobs he doesn’t really want, because the price is too tempting, or the boss too insistent. Such was the job that led to the current adventure. Peter took a job that involved stealing some dangerous biochymical apparatus from one of the research labs at the University. He charmed his way past the security guards, and made his way into the halls of the labs where his stealth skills came in to play. He managed to pick the locks and locate the toxins he had been sent to acquire. Along the way, he acquired a wonderful set of goggles with strange cloudy lenses that he pocketed. But when he took the toxins themselves, the alarms went off, and guards – both human and Remade – began to converge on him. He dove out the nearest window into the alley he had scouted earlier, and, with pursuit close on his heels, had no opportunity to decide how he felt about that strange, smoking portal. He dove in, and everything went black… and then he was on the streets of an entirely different city.
At first, he was pleased enough with his escape, and didn’t worry about the strange relocation – he assumed he had simply moved across New Crobuzon to a neighborhood he didn’t know. So he rushed around a few corners and mingled with the strange crowd… and only then began to look around. Perhaps his experiences with the xenian races of Bas-Lag prepared him for the variety and strangeness of the alien species. He was surprised to learn that his native Ragamoll also passed for the Common tongue of this strange city, and he began to investigate. Only then did he learn how far he was from home. He returned to the alley where he had arrived but there was no portal there any longer. Resigning himself to his situation, he set about trying to find a few stiff drinks, and some money to pay for them… in that order. He managed to make it through a few days simply charming strangers at bars to buy him food and drink, but has started to earn a reputation at the local establishments. With no money left, he has been forced to find lodging at the Cheaphall, and is not enjoying his first experience with communal living. Desperate for cash and desperate for a way to get home, he keeps his ear to the ground looking for opportunities for either. In addition, he makes sure to work on learning more about this strange city, knowing that if he is stuck here for any length of time, he’ll need to learn the way things work if he’s to continue working his “profession”.
Ambition: To get home, to protect and support his sister. Barring that, staying alive and finding someone who can get him home.
Role-playing sample:
Godshit, "assassin"? That seems a bit harsh, doesn't it? Ok, yes, I've killed people. And yes I got paid for it. But I've done a lot of other things for pay, and I'm not proud of them, either. I don't think that makes me a prostitute, or a sadist, or a thief, or an arseing drug dealer. I do what I have to do for me and Gill to survive. New Crobuzon ain't kind to people like me. Me and my sister were dirt poor even before they took Mum off to be Remade, and it didn't get any easier after that. Living in Bonetown, your options are limited. You either learn to fight, or you learn to make yourself useful. I'd much rather be the whore than have poor Gillian do it, I can tell you that! Of course, she knows what I do, and she's not happy about it. But she doesn't ask for details, and she keeps spending all we make writing for that liberal rag of hers. I love that she thinks it will work, this "popular unrest". It's sweet, and it's innocent. But that's not how things go down in this town, and the less she knows about where our money comes from, the better.
Oh, but you want details, do you? Well, I'm not saying much. The militia's still looking in to some of what I've done, and I'm not dropping you any names. I get asked to do a job. I'm not picky - can't afford to be. I get a good rate, because I'm good at what I do. I charm them, I woo them when I have to. I get them alone, and then I do what I've been asked to do. None of them are missed, I assure you! I'm not offing politicians, much though they need it, and I'm not ****ing any priests. I pick up what was asked for, or I dispose of what was asked for, or I deliver the message asked for, and I get out. Preferably without being seen. I'm not bad in a fair fight, but I'd rather the fight not be fair, if it's all the same to you.
I have to say, I don't like my next job. I've already asked them to consider someone else, but the boss man said no. And you don't ask this one a second time. Offered a lot of money for it - more than we've seen in years. But **** and Jabber, Brock Marsh? You can SEE the magic hanging in the air, never mind breathing it. I don't like it. It feels wrong. And if this job goes wrong, there's nowhere to run. I scoped out that strange door in the alley. Always unlocked, but nobody ever goes through it. The badgers seem to steer clear of it. Don't like the looks of it, but if the thaumaturges don't like it either, maybe they'll wait a while before they look there. No telling where it goes, though - that's no normal darkness.
I've said enough. I'm happy enough to chat, but if I hear this come back to me from somewhere... well, I know where to find you, too. Don't make me come looking.
10-16-2010, 09:54 AM
