Post by RHYS NOAH BLACKBOURNE on Feb 1, 2013 23:22:36 GMT -5
[/style][style=width: 386px; border-top: 1px dashed #bbb;]
[style=width:350px; font-family: josefin sans; font-size: 30px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align:center; color: #000; line-height: 80%; text-transform: uppercase; padding-bottom: 5px;]RHYS NOAH BLACKBOURNE
CRIMINAL. ABBY. TOM HARDY. LAWYER FOR IRISH MAFIA. THIRTY. CHARMING. RUTHLESS. CHARISMATIC.
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,386,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, width:130px; height: 200px; background-image: url(http://dfquahprf1i3f.cloudfront.net/public/system/posters/7308/medium/aYWIZ7ywOFzyK7B1HHCQj2nq8s4.jpg);][/style] | [style=height: 180px; overflow: auto; font-size: 9px;]Rhys has the type of self-assuredness that only comes from knowing who he is and carrying a very large gun. It’s a valuable trait in the court room. The self-assuredness, not carrying a very large gun, although he has no doubt that that wouldn’t also be helpful. He was eighteen when he moved to America. He and his family were Scottish, born and bred. Rhys was the oldest of six children, four sons and three daughters. His father was a fisherman, and so wasn’t around much, and his mother worked as a seamstress. She wasn’t well. She had set routines, and if any of her children upset those routines, she’d fly into rages. The woman also had to keep everything as clean as possible and rarely touched her children in fear of germs. If she wasn’t working on a project, she would often sit there listlessly or even lock herself in her room. When Rhys was older and in college, he’d realize that it was very likely that she had undiagnosed OCPD, obsessive compulsive personality disorder, that he actually had himself. When he was young, though, he was expected to make sure that all of his siblings’ hair and teeth were brushed and they were wearing neat clothes. He They were never without food, though, due to their father’s profession. Rhys still went to the markets, alone when he was ten. That was where he discovered one of his greatest skills, that of his silver tongue. He was incredibly good at bargaining down prices and getting good deals. He could convince any of the vendors to sell to him at a price that was obscene in how low it was, even at his young age. At the age of sixteen, Rhys was trusted to go out and do almost whatever he wanted as long as he made it back by curfew. He was doing exceedingly well in school. He was intelligent and quick, but his sarcastic quips weren’t always appreciated as much as he thought they should be. He was bored by school, after a while. He needed a more spontaneous environment and the school he attended with his family was monotonous except for the occasional fight. That was when he met Peter Jones, an eighteen year old Irish boy who had come to his small town, of all places, to work. He had left his old town for reasons that he wouldn’t tell Rhys. The two clicked and were good friends, often entertaining each other and playing games. They were virtually inseparable. After some time, Rhys realized that what he felt for Peter was what he was supposed to be feeling for girls, attraction and warmth. He very tentatively broached the subject with Peter, and found that he felt the same way. A romance of sorts quickly brewed. Rhys was smart. He was careful about how he treated Peter in front of other people, and how he could hide their meetings. However, Peter was more sloppy about his affections. It all culminated barely a year later, when Rhys was seventeen. The details of their relationship slipped out when Peter was a little too drunk and being carried home by his friends. They made a stop by the Blackbourne home, where Peter kissed Rhys in front of his entire family. There was an uproar, as Peter was swiftly taken away by his companions and Rhys was told to either see the priest to be “fixed” or to leave. He chose to leave. He had the last laugh. He had been accepted at Harvard Law. Rhys excelled in college. He learned how to put on a more posh accent than his natural one, and he learned how to really harness his intellect in his arguments. The college party lifestyle was also quite appealing. Rhys went to a lot of parties and talked himself out of numerous tickets, even half-drunk. He was known for his flirtatious, charming nature and conversely for his work ethic. He graduated top of his class and passed the bar in one fell swoop, a prestigious start to what seemed to be a promising career. Unfortunately, the disorders that ran in his family that he thought that he had eluded managed to chase him down. He found that he was slipping into his own routines, that he had to tie his shoes a certain way or something terrible would happen, and the idea of losing any of his materials sent spirals of true terror down his spine. He cleaned obsessively. He skipped out on other activities just because he deemed cleaning more important than them, his apartment had to be perfect. His compulsions were getting bad enough that he was starting to turn into his mother. Not being able to handle the thought, he found a therapist who told him that from what she could see, he was fine. He began to spiral into depression because of his upset routines and the fact that he was emotionally isolated and couldn’t seem to connect with anyone, and that he was becoming like his mother despite his best attempts. He got depressive enough that he’d not eat for days at a time, and barely get up. When he did get up, he meticulously scrubbed every inch of his apartment, until his own hands were bleeding and raw. He cleaned the dishes again and again, he made his bed with hospital sheets, tore it apart and redid it. Everything had to be absolutely perfect or else he was overwhelmed. Rhys neglected his classes in order to keep his apartment in this perfect shape, deeming it to be the more important task. He was beseeched by his friends and finally got medication. It was a sore point with him, and people found it odd that despite his laid back nature his apartment had to be so clean. Talking to him about his past was never a good idea to get him friendly. Now armed with medication and a slippery, tough exterior, Rhys found himself wanting another challenge. It would give him drive to not fall back into routines and patterns, and he needed something to focus on. Bingo. Connor Selwyn. At the tender age of twenty five, Rhys approached the Irish mafia with his expertise. As one would assume, he was laughed at until he took a step forward to insist, and he had several guns pulled on him. They were minor members, of course, but he guessed that someone was impressed by the Scottish kid in the cheap suit’s ability to talk himself out of a hostile situation without looking flustered at all and get a job, to boot. He’s been working with the Irish for five years now, getting them out of various binds with the law. Rhys is the guy to call when you need someone convinced that you’re not a troublemaker, found and spoken to in a way that will get them off your back, or just need backup. He’s handy with a gun. Really. Just because he has a desk job doesn’t mean that he isn’t devilishly good at the fighting part of the mafia. Rhys has his own private practice, but best call his secretary so he can get back from the Irish compound in enough time to get his "challenge" under control. |
