The morning sky had been the same stormy shade of blue that always heralded a night of skin-splitting wind and the type of rain men his age felt in their knees. That kind of weather made Hector want to stay home with a hot cup of coffee. Instead, he had a laundry list of shit to do. The warehouse at the docks was old enough that the local sailors had been climbing up his ass about repairs for the past month, but he'd only gotten enough lumber to start a day prior. Two of the freight ships were due to have the barnacles cracked off their hulls. One of the old tourist ferries had broken down, but that was something he intended to put off given the lack of tourists. Last but not least, a fishing ship was supposed to bring in more of the experimental drug the Mayor wanted.
That job required his full attention.
At the end of the day, the whole lot of bull exhausted him. He was getting too old for the mantle he wore. If the Mayor's money wasn't so nice, Hector would have retired a long time ago. Maybe he could have bought the Black Pearl before Jack went and lost it to the Swann girl. No point in lamenting would'ves and could'ves.
If he'd bought the distillery, it wouldn't be some wannabe posh hangout. He'd have left it as-is, all the old charm of a fisherman's bar lost to the tastes of some townie girl. That's why his old ass only frequented the bar at the Jolly Roger. If he ignored the chatter of boys who looked too young to be hanging around a place like this, it was pleasant enough.
The bartender poured drinks stronger than they should be, and didn't overcharge for cheap whiskey. Sometimes when Hector found himself in a chipper mood, he'd even order some of their top shelf scotch($20 a pour was nothing to scoff at) and savour it some.
Tonight he wasn't so lucky.
All Barbossa craved a quiet night where he could nurse a few drinks, pull his coat tight, and wander home in the pleasant warmth of a buzz; instead, someone slid onto the barstool beside them and bumped his side in the process. Cornflower blue eyes had darkened to slate in the shadows of the bar, and he curled his lip into a scowl as he sat up a little straighter.
"Half the damn bar is empty." Hector was used to sharpening his tone into a cutting-edge, employing the skill as he spoke. "If yer down here, it's to ask me a favor or annoy the piss outta me. Make it quick."
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Looking at the carnage gave him a headache, no hangover or hard work required.
The storm's wrath had come out of nowhere, pelting the town with rain like bullets as the wind tore at old buildings and moored boats. Some of the vessels barely survived. Paint had been scraped off the hull from smacking the docks while others were total losses. A quarter of them had sunk into the shallow harbor, and he'd nearly lost some of his workers to the choppy water right along with 'em.
After they'd managed to tie down the most expensive of the lot, he'd ordered them all home. He'd taken extra time to shore up the warehouse for the mayor, lest he lose his income to the water like his did his ships.
Water flooded half of it all the same, consuming parts of the docks with its hungry maw. Nothing he could do about that but set out the neck day. Men wirh buckets and shovels milled about, others worked to pull wreckage from the sea to salvage what they could. Of all the buildings, the docks seemed to have taken the hardest beating. More work for him, of course.
He'd dressed for the labor. Long boots protected his faded jeans from the water, a flannel kept him warm against the chill mist rain left in its wake. Even a hat had been tugged on as he left his house despite the itch of the wool. No point in risking a cold when he would already be working his ass off to fix the mess.
"Frank, get the damn buoys back out before someone sails into the shallows. "Ragetti, go check on the lighthouse- huh? Yeah yeah Pintel go with 'em." The title of harbormaster came with spending half the job yelling what to do to, considering most the staff had half a brain. He was already deep into the autopilot of command.
This meant when someone not in his employ pulled up, they got an order shouted their way. It took Hector an additional minute to realize who it was, grumbling under his breath.
"Sorry 'bout that. Mid-repairs. Storm blew my head crooked and it ain't back on straight yet."
ORIENTATION: Straight (In reality, Bi, but he's never experimented.)
NICKNAMES: N/A
Appearance:
HEIGHT: 6'0"
EYES: Blue
HAIR: Red-Brown streaked with gray
BUILD: Sturdy, was once well-built
RACE/ETHNICITY: White/ English-Scottish
FC: Geoffrey Rush
Personality & Behavior:
HOBBIES: Sailing, Fishing, Gambling
LIKES: Whiskey neat, the sunset over the ocean, the stray cats at the docks
DISLIKES: Brats at his favored bar, Sparrow, Clean cops who try to work around his shady deals.
QUIRKS: toys with his necklace when deep in thought, sings when no one is around to watch, spins his rings
STRENGTHS: Hard-working, Determined,
WEAKNESSES: Critical, Proud, Spiteful
Biography:
TW: Child Abuse, Alcohol abuse
As a child, Hector's mother told him that any good man born in this town sours. Something in the water rots them from within until nothing's left but the bad. His daddy had been a good man once. He'd been the Harbormaster of Godscobh like his daddy and his grandad. Like all the rest they'd gone bad.
Beat a boy enough and soon all that will be left are the scars.
Hector grew up never having seen the good side of his father. His mother died when he was young, and with her went all the good he knew. Edward Barbossa ran his home like he did the docks. Every rule was followed, and every task was completed by the day's end. If Hector made a mistake, it cost him.
Such an upbringing does not make a soft man. Even in his early years of adulthood, when he helped the old fishermen navigate the choppy sea, he was hardened to the way of the world. Nights not spent working, he found himself in the uglier bars that Godscobh had to offer. No point in brushing shoulders with the people that had enough money to look right past him.
Those days he was considered good-looking. At least, enough so to find his way into a few warm beds. Somewhere out there he probably had some blood running about that he wasn't aware of. Until they came knocking, they weren't his problem.
After his father's death, the title of Harbormaster fell to him. By then, he was in his thirties and had been working the docks for twenty years. It was a formality to consider other candidates. Harbormaster Barbossa had been a name on the lips of townsfolk longer than most had been alive. It was easier not to consider changing it.
Days were spent on the coast, monitoring shipments and sailors. Nights were spent looking for the bottom of a bottle, usually meeting sleep before he could find it.
Hector had made a place in life. With the mayor and the casino in need of discrete transport, his pockets were heavy with ill-gotten gains. No one questioned him, not when his word was law at the docks. He liked this quiet life. No one bothered him save for that brat Sparrow on occasion, but the annoyance was minor enough to ignore.
His mother said no good man ever survived in Godscobh. Good thing Hector had never been a good man.
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Basic Information: Rourke
NAME: Lyle Tiberius Rourke
BIRTHDAY: June 6
AGE: 54
HOMETOWN: Beaumont, Texas
ORIENTATION: Pansexual
NICKNAMES: Real Estate Asshole (Barbossa)
APPEARANCE:
HEIGHT: 6'4
EYES: Blue
HAIR: White-Gray
BUILD: Sturdy and toned
RACE/ETHNICITY: White/Good old red-blooded American.
FC: Steven Lang
Personality and Behavior:
HOBBIES: Gambling, Stock trading, Traveling
LIKES: Whiskey on the rocks, casual hookups, finding new ways to expand his portfolio
DISLIKES: Headstrong businesses partners/enemies, profit loss, how dingy people seem insistent to keep this town.
QUIRKS: chews toothpicks, picks at his nails, mumbles to himself when alone
WEAKNESSES: Prideful, Blinded by greed, often susceptible to flattery
Biography:
Texas born and bred, Lyle Rourke was raised as a good old-fashioned cowboy. His father had been a Lieutenant in the Army, and instilled in Lyle the type of morals expected of a good military man. He drove cattle, worked hard until the salt and blood of his body was part of the Earth he walked on. Any man not raised this way was doomed to fail already, his father would say. Too many soft men these days.
Lyle was determined not to be a soft man.
The younger version of himself was intelligent, if not too headstrong for his own good. After getting in one too many scraps on his property, Lyle was sent to a military boarding school. Here, the fights didn't stop, but Lyle learned exactly how not to get caught in one.
It seemed only right that a man with his talent for tactics and habit for fighting went into the Army. Following in his father's footsteps was easy, and Lyle surpassed the rank of lieutenant and found himself a decorated commander. He won decisive battles overseas, and earned a reputation as something of a war hero as America pulled out of the 2nd Gulf War.
While he'd been away fighting, the family farm had passed down to Lyle. His father and mother had retired from the business and left most the land and money in the hands of their only son. With this sum, the commander bought up land in a few choice locations and eventually his sights fell on Godscobh.
The town was costal, promising for starting up a new vacation destination. With a newly acquired law degree and real estate license, Lyle Rourke and Ulysses Real Estate took the town by storm. He was quick to buy up failing businesses and rotting buildings to destroy and rebuild them in his image.
No one shakes up a city like that without getting the attention of the ones pulling the strings.
Soon, Lyle found himself meeting with the Mayor and Mister Bourne in talks to change the city for the better. With just a minor caveat or two.
Every purchase was seen by the mayor, and every new item added to Rourke's portfolio was brought into the fold of the boogeyman's money laundering scheme. These shiny new shops cleaned the dirty gambling money and filtered it back into the public.
That set Lyle Rourke in a certain position of power in the city. Alongside Mayor Zika, Mister Bourne and the Harbormaster they'd shape this city in their image... No matter the cost.
Sprung from Zeus' head, clad in full war regalia, Athena took her place as goddess of Wisdom, War, and Crafts with full confidence. Though she wasn't perfect, she took her position seriously. Creating the olive tree, the chariot, and the justice system, she solidified her legacy through ancient Greece and beyond.
While she was personally neither for or against the creation of the town, she saw that for some gods, it would be best to have a safer outlet for their tendencies. So she voted in favor and helped create much of the infrastructure the city resides on. It was through her wisdom that the gods wiped their memories so as to protect the town from all of their hubris and destructive powers.
The Mortal
Driven and unrelenting, Thea Pallas worked her entire life to be as educated as thoroughly as possible. Teacher's pet, anti-social, brown noser. She heard it all but used it as fuel to complete her schooling. She'd completed high school by 16, then got through undergrad and law school by 22. Served as public defender, then District Attorney and finally by 30, The Honorable Chief Judge Pallas of Godscobh.
Her judgements are swift and ironclad and never without due diligence or cause. Even the most elite of the town has felt her wrath from time to time.
In her private life she does try to relax more, finding peace in hobbies that keep her sane when life seems to be against her. Weaving especially gives her ample time to calm her mind and recenter herself.
Growing up she's been plagued by the occasional vivid dreams that feel like memories but surely can't be. Probably just her over active imagination.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Scars from a wild animal attack when he was younger on his back
Personality & Behavior
HOBBIES: exercise, clubbing, reading
LIKES: alcohol, sex, solitude, attention
DISLIKES: deep conversations, intrusion, drugs
QUIRKS: will growl when angry, either under his breath or loudly
STRENGTHS: looks, physical strength, charming
WEAKNESSES: vulnerability, temper
Biography
(cw: parental death)
The most important thing in Adam Bête's life is his image. His parents were killed when he was young and he inherited their wealth, privilege, and business. Business that other people wanted. Even though he hasn't been actually running the Bête Inc. company long, he knows it's the only thing he has left of his parents and he has to keep it alive.
So he can't appear weak at all.
The way he hones his body isn't just for looks (though that certainly doesn't hurt), it's so people can take one look at him and know that he's in control and if they try to fuck with him, they're going to get hurt.
Running the company hasn't been smooth sailing of course, but once he took over, he's managed to steer it to mostly steady waters. Many have tried to bring him down and take over but he's held strong.
He keeps people at a distance, unable to trust they're intentions. They're either after his company, his wealth, or his looks. No matter what they're after, they'll only get the shallow, skin deep version he presents. And that's fine with him. Why would he risk someone seeing the most vulnerable parts of himself? They could just use it to hurt him and his parents legacy.
His staff are the only people who have any idea of what the real Adam is like (or rather has the potential to be). Some even still remember the kind boy he once was before that one winter night. Adam does care about them, but is scared they'll leave or be taken from him too.
So best to keep them and everyone else at arms length.
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LIKES: getting chased, black licorice, praise from peers
DISLIKES: getting caught, snitches, cops
QUIRKS: says "Toodles" instead of "bye"
STRENGTHS: loyal, fast, observant
WEAKNESSES: impulsive, irreverent
Biography
tw: mentions of drugs and death
The only thing Timothy Leeson's parents ever gave him was his name.
Okay that's not fair to his mother when she took him to the orphanage. His mother named him while the orphanage owners were trying to convince her not to give him up. They took him from her arms as she fainted then quietly passed away before they even had a chance to keep her alive.
He grows up to be fast. Crawling, then walking early. And as he got older, running faster and faster. The orphanage was so impressed, up until the point he started trying to run away. That's when they took away his bike. Didn't stop him from running.
Then when he'd saved enough, he got a skateboard and became even more of menace. Especially to the nuns at his catholic school. The only place that would take the rabble like him.
They were absolutely happy to send him off when he turned 18. By that time he'd had more close calls with the law than the other orphans combined. The police always get close but he manages to slip away with a smug, "Toodles" on his lips.
He caught the interest of Peter Pan and some would say the rest is history. Though life is much more complicated.
He's Pan's fastest and most consistent dealer, because he's not interested in partaking in the merchandise. He just wants to be chased, to prove he can't be caught. That's a better high than Pixie Dust could ever provide.
Besides the more he sells, the bigger his cut.
Now his day job is at the coffee shop, while his side and night job is working for Pan.
And even sitting at the counter during the day is not going to give anyone he doesn't want to a chance to catch up.
