BEDARD, jackson allen

[jackson]

JACKSON ALLEN BEDARD !?
'you give me miles and miles of mountain and i'll ask for the sea.'

FULL NAME "Jackson Allen Bedard. I don't often give my middle name, as it is something of an honorific to my dear old father, the late Allen Bedard. Keeping his legacy alive is a task that I'm not entirely interested in undertaking."
NICKNAMES "Jackson is just fine."
AGE "I've reached the ripe old age of thirty-nine. I'm a man that's lived his fair share of life. Now it's just a matter of finishing out the rest of my sentence."
GENDER "Male, apparently."
BIRTHDAY "I was born on August third, nineteen seventy-two. A hippie child, by all rights. That's who my mother was, anyway. Loved most things and people. But enough on that for now."
SPECIES "Lucky me, I've risen to the ranks of firetamer. I'd always known that I was something more than these weak, fleshy human things. The fire didn't manifest for a good eleven years though. But when it did, goddamn, it made an appearance."
ALLIANCE "Darkness. It's the natural way of things, isn't it? Survival of the fittest? I'm just carrying out nature's plans."
SEXUALITY "I've been known to attract creatures of all genders, shapes and sizes. But myself? I prefer women."

PLAY-BY Johnny Depp
EYES A standard almond shape and dark brown in color.
HAIR Generally keeps it a little above shoulder length, occasionally slicked back being that it is wavy and consequently unruly as all hell.
BODY TYPE He's a tall, slim kind of guy. There's muscle tone but it's mostly lean. He never had a need to work out. He tames fire. Instant protection.
HEIGHT 5'9
WEIGHT 160 lbs.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES None that he was born with, save for his devilish good looks. But he does have a decent amount of tattoos, that one.
STYLE He went through an eighties phase--who didn't--but has grown-up considerably and settled into something of a effortless cool. He wears and dresses in what would not seemingly go together but he pulls it off, someway, somehow. Hats, scarfs, bandanas and most other headwear seems to find its way into his everyday attire. Totally snazzy.

LIKES

• Coffee. Lots. Preferably black.
  
• Beautiful women.
  
• Cigarettes. Cliché? A little.
  
• Fast cars. He does own a rather nifty BMW.
  
• Bars. He's not a lonely drinker so bars are lovely.
  
• Alcohol, specifically a good gin. See above comment.
  
• Piano music. Gets him every time, believe it or not.
  
• Freedom. America did something right.
  
• Steak. Well done.
  
• The sun. It should be obvious, shouldn't it be?
  

DISLIKES

• Humans. Yup. Even though he is sort of one? Complex.
  
• His dead father.
  
• Being a minority. Not for long though.
  
• Being interrupted.
  
• Confrontation over the stupidest things. It needs to be a valid argument.
  
• Water. It's only essential to an extent.
  
• Electricity. It seems so similar while being simultaneously alien.
  
• Hypocrisy.
  
• Excessive exercise.
  
• Denial.
  

STRENGTHS

• His fire taming. He's done it for years and years. He's incredibly good.
  
• Charming and incredibly manipulative.
  
• Can easily mask his emotions.
  
• Street intelligence.
  

WEAKNESSES

• Has a tendency to procrastinate.
  
• Incredibly stubborn.
  
• Doesn't handle humiliation well.
  
• Gives up on seemingly small tasks.
  

HABITS

• Flickers his fire on and off, passing it between his fingers.
  
• When alone, mutters songs in order to fill the silence.
  
• Messes with his hair quite a lot.
  

FEARS

• Being completely alone.
  
• Dark side plans going to absolute shit.
  
• Death.
  

DESIRES

• To have something resembling a family. He's thirty-freaking-nine. No kids. Maybe adoptions. Depends. He doesn’t really like kids. A wife would be nice though. It's the American dream, right?
  

SECRETS

• He's not incredibly verbal about the fact that he's dating one Aariana Rease Becton. She's all for lightness and whatnot. And kind of seventeen. But he thinks he can switch her thought processes around. She's just so damned beautiful. And young.
  

OVERALL
Jackson is a fairly difficult guy to get along with. Sure, he knows his way around the English language. His powers of persuasion are impeccable. But he's incredibly attached to sarcasm. His dry sense of humor doesn't go over very well with a lot of other supernaturals, forgoing the human race altogether, of course. Humans having to deal with Jackson almost always dislike him at first contact because he drops all pretenses when speaking with them. The only time he's ever cordial to a human is perhaps when he needs something from them. Otherwise, he's generally just an asshole. But of course, being that, in all technicality, he's human himself--to an extent--he can't tell humans from apart from most beasts, thanks to glamours. So he might go one way or the other. Rude or amiable. And he'd stick with it until he got the answers he needed.

I should probably elaborate a little bit on his interaction with females. He really is a good guy for the most part. He treats women that he dates very well. And he's loyal. He has his dignity, after all. Unfortunately, he also likes to be in control of most situations, so the relationship might have a tendency to go sour if the woman is a particularly independent and strong one. He can be blinded to factions if it's a very attractive--and young--girl which is why he is fine with being with Aariana for the time being. She's a giggling, blithering idiot of a faerie, something which is to be expected of her kind, but she's a good kid. A sweet kid. She takes care of him if he asks politely. And he treats her well for it. Her excessive emphasis on lightness is a bit irritating but he's assumed by now that she has learned not to bring it up in front of him. There's no "fixing" him, stubborn man as he is.

MOTHER Justine Lee Bedard - deceased.
FATHER Allen James Bedard - deceased.
SIBLINGS N/A
OTHER PERSONS OF IMPORTANCE Arriana Rease Becton - current girlfriend
ETHNICITY German and French
WEALTH STATUS Middle class
OVERALL
When Jackson was born, Justine had thought that he would be the answer to her prayers. A child in the midst of all this chaos. Surely Allen wouldn't hit her, not in front of the child? But, alas, hopeful dreams fell flat. There was a period of peace, from approximately the birth until about five months in. And then he was back to knocking the poor woman around like she was jui jitsu training equipment. It was always little things. On occasion, it was things beyond her control. Allen was not a patient man. But he was a well-off one. For as many times as he beat her senseless, he also provided her with shelter and good clothes to hide the bruises. He fed her and their new born child. There was no escaping it. They were in a comfortable spot. To leave him at this point would be suicide. And Justine knew it. So, she stuck it out with her child and her hope. Things would get better if she would just hang on.

She was a florist. When Jackson was very young, she took him to her shop in order to keep him from his father. This was all fine and dandy for Bedard senior for awhile. Keeping the brat out of his hair was the best possible solution. Justine was a good and gentle mother and it's safe to say that Jackson loved her very much. He enjoyed his trips to mommy's work thoroughly. But when he began to show signs of wanting only his mother and shunning his father, Allen was livid. He bruised Justine up something fierce and then brought Jackson to work with him the next day. Allen Bedard owned a construction company and it was a solid and successful business. He taught Jackson his trade from age seven all the way up until his son had turned twelve. By that age, the boy had wised up. He was sick of his father's treatment of his mother and him both. Of course, she usually got it the worst. Just the year before, Jackson had discovered his "gift" in the dirt fields behind their gated community. It was an overcast day. No one was there. So no one saw when the child, overtaken by a burst of energy and a fit of passion, seemingly spontaneously combusted into a miniature fiery inferno.

He'd screamed his eleven year old head off at first. But then, when he noticed that the flames did not burn his skin, he paused. The fire went out almost immediately, leaving behind scraps of burnt and charred clothing. He'd never ran home faster than he did that day. And instead of stopping in the parlor to talk to his mother, he ran straight upstairs. How could he explain the smoldering mess that was his clothes? So he changed and said not a word about it. Instead, he knew that he now had an edge on people. On his father. So, at twelve when he finally stopped appeasing his monster of a father, he did so knowing that he had means to protect himself. Unfortunately, instead of lashing out at his son, as Jackson had supposed he would, he took his frustrations out on his aging mother. The boy was horrified by his treatment of her and sat with his mother that night. She nothing but "I love you's" and "I'm sorry's." The next morning, Justine Bedard was found hanging from the posts of her balcony. Her neck had snapped upon reaching the end of her makeshift noose: there was no suffering, save for the suffering of living the life that she had.

Jackson's relationship with his father further suffered. He did not talk to the man if he could help it and any ill treatment he received, he took in silence. This went on for five years. Five years of verbal and physical abuse from a man who essentially killed his mother. She was such a good woman. A weak woman. A human woman. But a good woman. And if a woman such as she had to suffer the fate that she did, well, Allen Bedard deserved that fate tenfold. So at the age of seventeen, he burnt their home to the ground. Allen died slowly, painfully, just as Jackson had intended. He watched the man burn to a crisp, smelled his searing flesh, watched the skin peel from meat and bones with something akin to a smile on his face. When the fire fighters came, they found him crying over his father's charcoal remains with, what they assumed was sadness for the deceased. But really, he was just in absolute shock of what he'd done. He murdered his father. And he was glad of it. It was all over. He turned eighteen a few months later, inherited his father's business and bought a small apartment of his own. He pursued information about what he was and soon found everything he needed. He aligned himself with darkness and vowed to take control of this pitiful species of creature called human that couldn't take care of their selves without the supernatural's help anyways.

NAME/ALIAS kiki
AGE twenty
TIME ZONE pacific
HOW YOU FOUND US caution
OTHER CHARACTERS none
RP SAMPLE

Lying there like that, staring up at the sky, he started to feel, well, good. That delightfully heavy feeling that accompanied slight drunkenness had started to take effect and he set the cup down beside his body and put his hands there behind his head in order to better accommodate himself. And it was nice. Just lying there. Quiet. Well, as close to quiet as it would get in his current surroundings. It was more like, inside his head was quiet. And the rest of the noise, that was all just background noise. An insistent, consistent humming that would have been magnified had his buzz not hit at that moment. And the feeling spread quickly. It intrigued him how slowly alcohol seemed to take effect the more quickly you drank it. All it was, of course, was the fact that, when you finished it so quickly, you weren't giving it time to settle into your system. It wasn't magic. It didn't take immediate effect, just like food wasn't digested immediately. He wasn't one for biology, apparently. He just ran around, taking general education in addition to classes that would render him business savvy. Sciences didn't interest him. In fact, they frustrated him. The human body--or any animal's body, in fact--frustrated him with its complexity.

And then there was movement beside him. He had company. One Devlin Flannigan. He thought he'd met her once but it was more likely that he heard about her from his frat brothers. That was probably why he knew her name. She was a pretty girl. Pretty girls were the main subject amongst the guys, which should have been common knowledge, considering the fact that there was more testosterone packed in that place than would have been acceptable in any other social setting. He didn't acknowledge her at first. What was the rush? He was comfortable. Obviously preoccupied with just relaxing being that he was currently avoiding social interaction. If she was going to make an attempt at conversation then he'd let her figure it out. Thankfully, that's just what happened and Piper snorted, looking over at the blue-eyed girl with something akin to amusement, "They were getting dull before all of this mess, in my opinion." Piper watched her quizzically for a moment, her eyes to the clouds, head tilted back, neck exposed. She was very pretty. He'd give her that much. Despite the fact that he couldn't get that girl from Sam's Club, Anais, out of his head, he still appreciated attractiveness. And besides, Anais wasn't even a sure thing. And that frustrated him.

Raising a brow, he looked off at the rest of the party, gesturing to the drunken mass with a clumsy wave of his hand, "Actually, I take it back. The parties aren't getting dull. The people are. Every fucking day it's the same thing with them. It's like a song on repeat." His head tried to ask him, then why are you here? But the alcohol smothered any sort retaliation. Sure, his current situation suggested hypocrisy on his part but what did he really care about Devlin Flannigan? She was just another pretty face with a cigarette in hand and vodka on her breath. Girls like her were a dime a dozen. If she wasn't interested in him, he could find another. "Devlin, right? Is Dev all right? My tongue's a little lazy right now and nixing the extra syllable altogether would be awesome." Before she could answer, however, another joined their odd conversation, a redheaded kid that Piper couldn't say he knew too well. Definitely didn't know a name. And the face was one of those that he didn't think he recognized at all. Probably kept himself locked up in his room all day. An anti-social, nonconformist type, no doubt. His interest was admittedly peaked. Looking from the kid to Devlin, whom he had easily addressed, Piper grinned amicably, "You know, you're going to be in some trouble when you run out of that stuff," he warned him, pointing to the inhaler in his hand, "If I were you, I'd use it sparingly. You're body's grown an independence to it. When you run out completely, it won't know what to do without it and you'll be royally fucked, my friend." He paused thoughtfully, "And trust me: pharmacies and hospitals have all been ransacked thoroughly by now." Being in track, Piper had had friends with asthma problems, usually exercise induced. They figured that being on a track team would slowly cure them of their ailment. Usually that wasn't the case but he learned a thing or two about the disease in the process.

[izzy]

A C C E P T E D
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