Vergil Dawes

Only this bit is in first person; I'll make my posts in typical third.

OOC Info

Name/Alias: clokwerk/RoseWyrm
Live Journal: clokwerk

IC Info

Name: Vergil Dawes
Age: 94. Still young, I know.
Height: 5'8'' Never was real tall and the rads sure didn't give me a growth spurt.
Weight: 139 lbs. Like to think I cut a strapping figure.
Hair: What I got left's brown as sugar.
Eyes: Blue before and they still are, only more cloudy.
Skin: Flaky, peeling, pasty. Unpleasant, even I'll admit that.
Race: Ghoul. Not much to elaborate on, really.

Hometown/Origins: From what useta be the Chicago area.
Current Residence: Gotta room, compliments of Carol and Greta.
Employment/Hobbies: Bartend up at Carol's place. Replaced some Gob guy. Never met him. The rare bouncing goes to me too. Been workin' there a while, but not a long while. Smoke like a busted bot too, but never on the job.
Companion: What, like a pet? Or a partner, romantical or otherwise? Either way, it's a no.

Personality: Chatty little gossip hound. Longwinded and loud. Not afraid to admit it, either. Bein' stationary's weird, so I gotta get my news somehow. Rude too, or so people tell me. Butt in to conversations, innerupt, that stuff. Probably goes in hand with the first bit. Vain as a Ghoul can get. Not like I don't have reason, I'm young enough I still got most'a my stuff. Tendency to cuss like a sailor when somethin' gets me goin'. The part of me that has the grand Wastes Cynicism running full on knows I'm a little unbearable. But I am not a bad person, even with my flaws. I got damn morality, which is more than can be said for some.

And I'm gay as a daisy in May, but I keep that a little more quiet.

History: I was born to some x-number of generations Vaultie immigrant parents. Place called the Ringin' Towns, up near Chicago. They're a network of suburb settlements that ring round the ruins of the city proper, thus the name. Got trade routes going between them and everything. Only a few of them are major on their own, and I was from one of them - Bellville. It's the one Town that even suggests ringing in the name, from the big church and bell that we got. Anyway, I was born and raised in Bellville but I still cut and run soon as I could.

See, gangsters have always loved the area, an' that's still true. Them trade networks are thick with chems and rotgut booze. Every bar and watering hole in the area is supplied by them, and near every business pays protection. Ones that don't are warrens for the criminals themselves. Fact, the few Towns that get big are always strongholds for the resident crimelords. And what can I say? It hurt to see the ugly thick in my home; hurt knowing that pretty church was a speakeasy and a brothel under the local boss. Didn't wanna get mucked up in that, even though I was set to live nice on the family establishment. So I took my pretty keister with the only skills I had - bar tending and brawling - and I left with one of the few honest traders to come through.

Swapped around those lines for years, heading a southeasterly way. Looks and charm in equal parts helped a lot, but I am also not much of a diplomat. I hold to my mores and my opinions, which could make trading a mite difficult. Occationally I would be asked to leave, occationally forcibly put out, and every once in a moon I left on my own. Never held anything like a permanent home unless I was waiting on a caravan.

Sometime in all that, I musta accumulated the rads to start the change. My good looks start falling off and the voice begins going. Suddenly I'm "detrimental to business" before I even sign on with a group. People don't wanna look at me, speak to me. Didn't take much to figure I'm turning Ghoul. Tip from a trader I was still in decent with sends me to DC, looking for the Underworld. So I split off and go my lonesome way into the Wastes, first time ever. It was ironic how being a Ghoul probably saved me - there are all sortsa things won't touch me now. I still got real good at runnin' though.

Well, I made it to Underworld and decided to settle, havin' nowhere else. Fell in to what I knew, and that was workin' a bar. Carol seemed real keen on taking in a new youngin'. Greta had her reservations, but soon as she learned I wasn't ever gonna gun for her girl, things went smooth. Picked myself up a room, exchange for working, with a little wage. Like to get myself my own place, but that'll be a while comming. Anything beyond that is the present.

Preferred Weapons: I don't really fight much, but I'll slug you good if I have to, and lemme say that spiked knuckles leave some pretty perforations. The national pastime was fairly big in my area pre-war and the tradition carried on, so I swing fair with a baseball bat too. Know how to shoot too, but that hardly makes me a gunsman.

Preferred Armor: Don't wear much in the way of armor. Not to say I run around in my skivvies, but all I really have is more like clothes. Merc Toublemaker outfit, but I don't really wear the jacket. Too hot here for that.

Motto: "So what can I do you for?"