InsaneJournal

User:

_hiss (4284915)

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Name:

Frankie Lawson

Location:

Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

E-mail:

dew.searchlight@gmail.com

Bio:

…DETAILS…
	FULL NAME: Frank Lawson AGE: 37 DATE OF BIRTH: 23 March 1983 NICKNAME: Frankie, Fritz SPECIES: Were-Cat OCCUPATION: Low Level Fence / Police Informant HAIR: Dark/Dirty Blond EYES: Blue HEIGHT: 5'11 LIKES: 80s rock music, most food, gambling, nightlife, neon, Skittles, having a good time, clean laundry DISLIKES: rats, anything sour, organized crime, violence, getting wet, storms, cheaters

…PERSONALITY…
Frankie is a happy guy. His life isn’t perfect but he calls his own shots and he’s content with that. For an occasional thief and part-time fence, Frankie has a relatively strong moral code; he thinks money and material things should belong to whoever gets them in hand last, but he doesn’t like violence and can’t stand bullies. He’d rather run than fight, but will use whatever abilities he have to help the loser in an unfair fight. As such, he’s become a valuable resource to the LVPD, working as an informant when the stakes are high and his handler lacks the ability to move forward without a fly on the wall -- or a cat in the alley. He’s always up for a good time: movie marathons, bowling, card games, he could probably even be talked into toilet-papering a house if you tried hard enough. The early and often lingering deaths of those he loved have taught him to value every second, and sometimes that means acting like a kid, spending to excess on a fine meal, or even acting the fool to make someone else smile. He takes debts deadly seriously -- as in favors, not cash -- and always repays what he owes.

…HISTORY…
Frankie was born to Marilyn and George Lawson in Brooklyn, NY in March of 1983. He had a fairly uneventful upbringing until when, just a few days after his ninth birthday, he was bitten by an alley cat he had been attempting to feed scraps from his ham sandwich. The wound looked red and angry for a day or so before disappearing entirely; his mother thought he had gotten off lucky without an infection and left it at that, until the next full moon when she was putting her son to bed for the night and suddenly found herself tucking a black and white kitten into his Star Wars sheets instead of her little boy. After much wailing and hand-wringing, Marilyn and George learned to deal with the fact that their boy was a were-kitten, keeping him out of school during the full moon. When Frankie was twelve, his father developed a persistent cough, staving off a doctor’s visit to save money until it was no longer an option. The cancer diagnosis took a month’s time between a primary care visit, then being handed off to a specialist, and then waiting on x-rays and testing at an off-the-books clinic in the Bronx; by the time the words ‘lung cancer’ were finally spoken, it was already too late. George Lawson lingered on painfully for a year and a half before he died, with young Frankie heading home from school each day to take care of his bed-bound and oxygen dependent father while his mother went to work at an all-night diner. George’s death was a relief for the entire family, loathe as they were to admit it; even George himself was glad to see the end come. Three months prior to his father’s death, Frankie’s mother, only in her late 40s, began to have a few worrying episodes of memory loss. She kept them to herself and persevered until, three months after George’s death, she woke up, made him breakfast, and waited a full hour in confusion at the kitchen table, wondering where he was. That was when it became noticeable to Frankie, who insisted she see a doctor; he was certain it was just stress or dehydration, but he wanted to make sure she would cover all her bases. ‘Early onset dementia’ was nothing either of them expected; by the time Frankie graduated high school, she didn’t even recognize him anymore. She died in her sleep of an undiagnosed heart condition several months after entering a skilled care facility. After that, Frankie didn’t see the point of trying anymore. He had developed a habit of shoplifting and placing a few bets here and there to try and stretch his family’s meager income since his father first became ill. He was tired of pretending that he gave a damn and was determined to use his remaining years, how ever many he had left, to just have a good time. He sold everything he had of value, packed the rest into the family’s rustbucket of a 1984 GM station wagon, and headed west. The money ran out just as he hit Las Vegas, and he took that as a sign to settle down and start fresh. Frankie lives in a cheap studio apartment and spends his days working part time at Gold Mine Pawn & Guns, where it is known that when Frankie is on duty, anything goes; he fences jewelry and other valuables under the table, but never guns. He supplements his income by working as an informant for the LVPD, employing his therianthrope abilities to spy and gather information on smaller scale criminal activity in the area, receiving cash payments in exchange for his work. Any free time he has left is spent enjoying his life -- something his parents never got to do.

…SPECIES…
Frankie is a therianthrope. He was at age nine under a full moon, by… a New York alley cat. When he transforms, Frankie takes the form of a thin tuxedo tabby with green eyes. He can transform at will and uses this to his advantage, getting out of more than one scrape by slipping in and out of areas too small to be chased through and simply confusing his attackers, who rarely even notice the mangy cat that had appeared in his place. Thanks to his were-cat abilities, Frankie is very spry and almost always lands on his feet when in human form; he has enhanced vertical leap and can typically climb one to two story buildings in short order. Unlike the cat who bit him -- who he later learned was a Brooklyn housewife named Carol Proctor -- his fight or flight response is firmly entrenched in ‘flight’; his abilities serve him best when he is on the run. Frankie’s transformation into an alley cat in a world where other therianthropes can become far more powerful creatures is not really a bother to him personally, though he receives his fair share of ribbing from other members of the supernatural community, if not outright disdain from werewolves and the like.
…SOUNDTRACK…
1. They Might Be Giants "Birdhouse in Your Soul 2. Stray Cats "Stray Cat Strut" 3. The Proclaimers "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" 4. Len "Steal My Sunshine" 5. 3 Doors Down "Loser"
…OOC…
	PB: Jonny Lee Miller PLAYER: Dew TIMEZONE: CST EMAIL: dew.searchlight@gmail.com DISCORD: literatec#8574

Schools:

None listed

Friends:

	13:	0roborus, _annieareyouok, _hiss, batfish_crazy, birthrightmods, briancampo, cian_oneill, hipcat, nrowan, onlyforme, rhiannon_lee, starsmisalign, winters__breeze
	2:	birthright_ooc, birthrightrpg

Friend of:

22: _annieareyouok, _hiss, anthieamalum, bakayaro, birthrightmods, boughtthefur, cautiousfury, cian_oneill, dragonflywings, just_cj, lukejager, marshgrey, moirabyrne, nrowan, patchofblue, pixielated, rmilam, rskye, shadowsremain, sowandreap, starsmisalign, talldarkand_

Member of:

3: birthright_ooc, birthrightrpg, premium_users

Account type:

Free Patient

Date created:

2020-07-14 20:27:49

Date updated:

2020-07-15 21:26:07, 39 weeks ago

Clients used:

Web: 2.0.0

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Comments:

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Posting Access:

2: birthright_ooc, birthrightrpg