Realistic or Modern Blackcoat & Ivy -- (Closed RP)

[CastoffCaptain]

Jonathan

B A S I C S ~

​

NAME • Jonathan Blackcoat


AGE • 42


Rank/Job • Ghost Hunter with an obsession for documentation.​

L O O K S ~

​

HEIGHT • 6'4"


EYE COLOR • Blue


HAIR • Brown

​

P E R S O N A ~

PERSONALITY

Direct • Compassionate • Blunt • Single-Minded • Dry-Witted Humor

​

O T H E R ~

OTHER • Limited psychometric abilities.

Just returned from india with his daughter.

Muted color palate, dark plaids and pinstripes.​

[/i]

Jemma

B A S I C S ~

NAME • Jemma Blackcoat


AGE • 19


Rank/Job • Ghost Hunter

L O O K S ~

HEIGHT • 5'4"


EYE COLOR • blue


HAIR • Auburn

P E R S O N A ~

- PERSONALITY -


Bright • Mischievious • Outspoken • Independent • Sympathetic • Caring

O T H E R ~

OTHER • Just returned from India with her father.

Possesses broader psychometric abilities, such as room reading, and is sensitive to spirits.

Prefers autumnal, warm colors and flora and fauna patterns.

[/i]

 

[zooka]

Hugo

B A S I C S ~

​

NAME • Hugo James Cullen


AGE • 23


Rank/Job • Ectomancer/Charlatan

L O O K S ~

HEIGHT • 5'9"


EYE COLOR • Cool, light blue


HAIR • Black

P E R S O N A ~

- POSITIVE TRAITS -


Cunning • Charming • Kind-Hearted


- NEGATIVE TRAITS -


Flaky • Deceptive • Easily Intimidated

O T H E R ~

OTHER • Hugo possesses what is referred to (in the incredibly secretive and alarmingly small magical community) as a minor talent. His mother had a more general talent in the mystical arts, serving her community in secret with minor spells and potions for those she thought deserving and the occasional trick for those she didn't.

Hugo's gift manifested differently. He is able to perform thaumaturgy through ritual communications with ghosts. Of course, this naturally is accompanied by a certain sensitivity to the spiritual world. And while all of that is great, it wasn't quite as flashy as the general public was expecting and he adapted his "bit" to satisfy his customers.

[/i]

Ivy

B A S I C S ~

NAME • Ivy Elisabeth Chapman


AGE • 28


Rank/Job • Governess/Ghost Magnet

L O O K S ~

HEIGHT • 5'5"


EYE COLOR • Brown


HAIR • Brown

P E R S O N A ~

- POSITIVE TRAITS -


Graceful • Composed • Patient • Sweet

She has a good sense of humor about life in general.


- NEGATIVE TRAITS -


Quiet • ... until she isn't. • Private

O T H E R ~

OTHER • Excellent with children, though she never had any of her own.

Ghosts gain strength in her presence. She gives off a unique spiritual aura that is "absorbable" by spirits and allows them to manifest stronger than normal. Thus far, it is not noticeable to her, though she admits an unusually high amount of "supernatural incidents" that she keeps to herself.

She prefers earth tones and settling down with a book in a room with a view, preferably of something green. She likes the countryside, but she's always lived in the city.



[/i]

 

[CastoffCaptain]

~~~~~~
If you could read my mind love
What a tale my thoughts could tell
Just like an old time movie
About a ghost from a wishing well
In a castle dark or a fortress strong
With chains upon my feet
You know that ghost is me
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost you can see
~~~~~~~

​

The Clarence sailed through the cobblestone avenues of Mayfair, a pair of black geldings at its head. Three figures sat within, perhaps silent due to the cab's noisy progress--hence its street name: The Growler-- perhaps subdued by the fog rolling in on the morning breeze, or most likely, because Jonathan Blackcoat wasn't terribly impressed by the new hire his daughter kept sneaking peeks at when she thought he wasn't looking.

For the most part, his gaze traveled from the notebook in his lap to the posh housing on display beyond the carriage window. His pencil hovered over the page open to him, having most recently underlined the name Hamish for the fifth time, but his attention wasn't on the case at hand, not entirely. Although he took pains to appear otherwise occupied, his scrutiny was locked on the new fellow, Hugo, and his rakishly handsome features. Smoothing down a wrinkle in his forest-green waistcoat, he shifted in his seat and tipped an eyebrow at his daughter, Jemma.

She had her mother's auburn hair and disarming smile, paired up with her father's blue eyes and softly rounded features. Where Jonathan was massive, taking up more than his allotted half of the cab seat and looking achingly cramped because of it, Jemma was slender and elegant, small for her age, although he'd hesitate to call her dainty. She was sturdier in health and frame than her mother had been during her last years before her death in India, but the resemblance to Emma was striking. It sometimes took Jonathan's breath away, twisting a bittersweet knife of pride and loss into his heart.

Which is why he monitored her reaction to the little confidence man who sat across from them, hunting for hints from either of them that might signal danger.

He hadn't wanted the lad along, but Jemma had insisted. She had a knack for weeding the genuinely gifted from the fake, at least a good two-thirds of the time, and even though the performance he'd put on the other night had been little more than chicanery and fast-talk, she'd sweet-talked her father into getting her way, as she invariably did. Jonathan sighed, and was rewarded with a mischievious but gentle smile from her directed at the cab window. She knew what he was about and would give nothing away.

"So, lad, do tell," Jonathan's voice boomed suddenly in the Clarence's confines, as low and sonorous as summer thunder despite the fact that he spoke quietly--for him, "how is it you acquired your abilities? Had you a father or grandmother with the gift who passed it along to you? And what was it exactly that you do, again, seeing as I must have missed the divine spark my daughter saw in you during your... how should I put it?" He paused and leaned forward, tilting his head from side to side as if searching for a word with less bite than the one on the tip of his tongue, "Sideshow? Only, I'd hate go into our clients' house misinformed." Implying with his unwavering stare that such a thing would be frightfully unfortunate. "We could still happily part as friends should you decide this isn't the venue for you, and none would be the worse for it."

"Papa," Jemma chided him, aglow with restrained impishness. She peered out the window, her gloved hands folded across the autumnal yellows of her day dress, and refused to acknowledge the shakedown her father was so politely--for him--conducting now that the poor wretch across from them had no means of escape. She flicked a glance at Hugo from under the brim of her flowered hat and smiled, "You'll have to forgive him. We've had our share of charlatans who were, unfortunately for all parties involved, incredibly convincing. And he tends to a become a bull elephant if he's not had his tea in the morning."

"I do not," Jonathan muttered, but sat back nonetheless, snapping his notebook shut.

​

 

[zooka]

Yes, I know that love is like ghosts.​

A smile broke across the face of the third member of the Clarence, disrupting the attempt at nonchalance. It wasn't so obvious that the man was uncomfortable - he was pretty good at hiding such things - but he was rather used to people liking him. Then again, he didn't meet many fathers of pretty daughters, and if he did, he only flirted when the couldn't see.

Charlatan. Hugo knew it was a negative term. But he always thought the term sounded rich. Not in the monetary sense (though he'd had some luck in that sense under the title), but the word itself. It was silky, or perhaps velvety, but something about it had always felt right. That made sense, of course, seeing as he quickly realized that lying and cheating people out of their money and sending them on their merry way none the wiser was the first thing he was actually good at.

After all, he only possessed a "minor" talent in the craft, as his mother often reminded him. The thought reminded him of the question at hand.

"I inherited from my mother," Hugo informed Jonathan after redirecting the smile away from the man's lovely daughter, difficult as it might be. She had a warmth that tended to draw a person in. Though, he would much rather ease himself away from it than have the icy gaze of her father thrown at him like a bucket of ice water.

"She had a much... broader talent, but we play the hand we are dealt." Hugo turned his gaze out the window and straightened one sleeve of his jacket. "I am able to communicate with them," he continued, though he didn't mention that they might sometimes communicate with him when their opinion was unwanted. And they'd been more talkative than usual. "And, on occasion, they can help me find things."

Thaumaturgy was a rather common practice in the modest magical community, but his own practice of that branch of magic was restricted to what spirits knew and could assist him with. In some ways, it was more powerful, but in most ways, it was less direct.

Hugo turned his eyes back to the senior member of the Blackcoat family, tugging on his jacket collars, straightening out his shoulders to reduce any shrinking he'd done in the man's presence. "I'm sure I'll prove plenty useful, sir. Had I known there was such a noble profession that could use my ectomantic abilities, I would have pursued it sooner."

Not that "ghost hunters" were some grand secret. He just would rather play innocent than admit that he never desired to use his powers for the greater good, so to speak.

Oh, few have seen it, but everybody talks.​

 

[CastoffCaptain]

With one word, Jemma's attention became fixed on Hugo. Although she possessed her father's keen observational skills, she lacked his ability to keep said study from being anything but obvious. Where Jonathan occasionally afforded the young man a glance now and again, appearing more interested in going over his notes for the hundredth time, she stared. Her watchfulness lacked the brunt of the act's impropriety due to her seemingly innocent nature, but both father and daughter quirked an eyebrow at the phrase:

They can help me find things.

Jonathan's lips twisted to the side, accompanied by a sniff. The boy's further words had placed no shining impression upon the big man, and he tucked his notebook into his coat's breast pocket. Tapping his fingertips against one another, his elbows resting on his hips, he deliberated before speaking.

"A noble profession?"

"Papa," Jemma tilted her head, deftly slipping a cushion of caution under the accusation of slick--and useless-- flattery she was sure he'd soon drop. Quickly, before he could continue, she spoke for him, "Mr. Cullen, please be aware that for many, yes, what we do could be considered noble. But of course, many think we're no less showmen and charlatans than some might think of you. It's a thin line to walk, you see, so..." she paused, her pale brows puckering in thought, "your talents, your real talents are going to be much more useful to us than your others in maintaining a level of professionalism."

Although he wore a much sharper suit than she'd expected he would, judging what he'd been wearing the first time they'd met. It fit him rather nicely, and set off his blue eyes quite well.

She finished in the next breath that came a little too shortly for even her own liking, "I believe that's what my father was about to say."

Jonathan's rumble was soft, "Actually I was about to say he'll prove more useful if he can carry the baggage for us. We're here."

The Clarence had slowed, and the driver was easing the horses into a stop.