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bloodsoulrhythm's Journal
Created on 2008-03-28 19:25:48 (#15255142), last updated 2009-02-17
51 comments received, 373 comments posted
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10 Journal Entries, 12 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 13 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | Charlie Walker |
|---|---|
| Location: | Chicago, Illinois, United States |
BioAppearance: Light brown eyes, deep brown hair that flops in said eyes occasionally, and a beard. A trace of Winnebago heritage in his features that he won't talk about for anything. A dusty brown cowboy hat that looks like it's been through at least three wars. These are not the first things most people notice about Charlie Walker.
Charlie's a big guy. Just under seven feet tall, and broad. Damn close to a walking tank, and most people seeing him at first assume he's got to be bull-in-a-china-shop clumsy.
So of course, he's a dancer, and one of the most graceful things of any size out there. Being an angel -- strength, speed, reflexes -- helps with that. Practice helps more.
He wears whatever's comfortable and will fit him. He doesn't stick exclusively to the cowboy look, but he does tend to keep the hat for anything short of a nice suit... which he does own. He cleans up pretty, when he's got a mind to.
Personality: Charlie's the stoic type. Always has been, always will be, and he's not one for extended conversation or for big displays. He thinks much, says little, and, unless you know him really well, doesn't appear to emote at all.
For those who do know him really well, Charlie's always up for being a shoulder to cry on, wall to lean against, and all-around-cuddly guy. He's the sort of guy certain women (and a few men) go nuts for... big, strong, and completely harmless to anyone who's not threatening them. It's a shame he's never been able to stick around, and he's left a few broken hearts over the past several decades, but he's still looking for his Ward. Still hasn't found them. And the longer he goes without finding them, the more withdrawn he gets...
History: He's been dancing for as long as he can remember. That's the first thing, the important thing. Ballet, at first. Tap. Whatever he could get into lessons for. Didn't matter, as long as he was moving and there was music, the world seemed a bit better. Kids picked on him for doing something as girly as dancing, but then he grew, and kept growing, and they didn't pick on him anymore.
Born in Nebraska. His father was an Archangel; his mother, human. Dad died when he was ten. He suspects a demon, but there was never any proof. Never any sign. His mom lasted until he was sixteen, but she was already dead without his dad around. He learned from her what his father never taught him, and then he was alone. There was some talk about grandparents -- his father's family which he never knew, and his maternal grandmother. But by that point, he was already feeling the call to find his ward, so he packed up and started looking.
He's been looking for the past forty years.
Along the way, he's danced in stage productions, music videos, when their day came around, and occasionally been a dancer in the "male exotic" sense as well. He's got his music, he can pay his bills, and other than that, he's never really cared where it is he's danced. He's bonded with people (other dancers, mostly), only to have to leave again when it became apparent that his ward was nowhere around.
He's spent some time dabbling in martial arts, learning to shoot, whatever it takes to keep his future Ward safe, and has grown especially fond of capoeira, the Brazillian martial art/game/dance. (And with that combination, how could he resist?) He's also gotten a rough equivalent to a formal education over the years, mostly through soaking up whatever bits of knowledge crossed his path. Just because he's not outgoing doesn't mean he's not curious, and, in his mind, anything at all might help him help his ward... so he just keeps learning.
After his most recent stint taking rhythmically undressing to music, and a week to himself, just hiding out in the countryside, he took his truck and headed to Chicago. He'd heard some whispers here and there, and there was no harm in looking, seeing if the Rift washed something -- or someone -- interesting up.
Or, at least, that's what he thought until he met the Doctor. His life just got a whole lot more interesting.
Note from![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
trollopfop: This is a roleplaying journal for ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
beyondtherift. I'm not Steve Bacic. I'm making no profit off Steve Bacic. Any resemblance to my personal canon for Agent Chieftain (from Elite Beat Agents) is purely uncoincidental.
Charlie's a big guy. Just under seven feet tall, and broad. Damn close to a walking tank, and most people seeing him at first assume he's got to be bull-in-a-china-shop clumsy.
So of course, he's a dancer, and one of the most graceful things of any size out there. Being an angel -- strength, speed, reflexes -- helps with that. Practice helps more.
He wears whatever's comfortable and will fit him. He doesn't stick exclusively to the cowboy look, but he does tend to keep the hat for anything short of a nice suit... which he does own. He cleans up pretty, when he's got a mind to.
Personality: Charlie's the stoic type. Always has been, always will be, and he's not one for extended conversation or for big displays. He thinks much, says little, and, unless you know him really well, doesn't appear to emote at all.
For those who do know him really well, Charlie's always up for being a shoulder to cry on, wall to lean against, and all-around-cuddly guy. He's the sort of guy certain women (and a few men) go nuts for... big, strong, and completely harmless to anyone who's not threatening them. It's a shame he's never been able to stick around, and he's left a few broken hearts over the past several decades, but he's still looking for his Ward. Still hasn't found them. And the longer he goes without finding them, the more withdrawn he gets...
History: He's been dancing for as long as he can remember. That's the first thing, the important thing. Ballet, at first. Tap. Whatever he could get into lessons for. Didn't matter, as long as he was moving and there was music, the world seemed a bit better. Kids picked on him for doing something as girly as dancing, but then he grew, and kept growing, and they didn't pick on him anymore.
Born in Nebraska. His father was an Archangel; his mother, human. Dad died when he was ten. He suspects a demon, but there was never any proof. Never any sign. His mom lasted until he was sixteen, but she was already dead without his dad around. He learned from her what his father never taught him, and then he was alone. There was some talk about grandparents -- his father's family which he never knew, and his maternal grandmother. But by that point, he was already feeling the call to find his ward, so he packed up and started looking.
He's been looking for the past forty years.
Along the way, he's danced in stage productions, music videos, when their day came around, and occasionally been a dancer in the "male exotic" sense as well. He's got his music, he can pay his bills, and other than that, he's never really cared where it is he's danced. He's bonded with people (other dancers, mostly), only to have to leave again when it became apparent that his ward was nowhere around.
He's spent some time dabbling in martial arts, learning to shoot, whatever it takes to keep his future Ward safe, and has grown especially fond of capoeira, the Brazillian martial art/game/dance. (And with that combination, how could he resist?) He's also gotten a rough equivalent to a formal education over the years, mostly through soaking up whatever bits of knowledge crossed his path. Just because he's not outgoing doesn't mean he's not curious, and, in his mind, anything at all might help him help his ward... so he just keeps learning.
After his most recent stint taking rhythmically undressing to music, and a week to himself, just hiding out in the countryside, he took his truck and headed to Chicago. He'd heard some whispers here and there, and there was no harm in looking, seeing if the Rift washed something -- or someone -- interesting up.
Or, at least, that's what he thought until he met the Doctor. His life just got a whole lot more interesting.
Note from
trollopfop: This is a roleplaying journal for beyondtherift. I'm not Steve Bacic. I'm making no profit off Steve Bacic. Any resemblance to my personal canon for Agent Chieftain (from Elite Beat Agents) is purely uncoincidental. ConnectExternal Services:
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