agentchaplin-blog

[agentchaplin-blog]

scarletagent:

All Madeline needed was an inch.

She stepped towards him, further into a shadow, wearing the dim light as a new dress. Reaching over, she caught his chin between her finger and thumb, barely touching him, just a grip enough to move his face this way and that. And she took a mile. Men like this were her weakness. They walked around like ghosts and hid violence behind their eyes. They wore their pasts on their backs, and she saw a challenge where others saw a dead end road. Hm.

Madeline pretended to inspect his hard features for a moment, squinting her eyes until she was satisfied. ��No mess.” She released him and locked eyes with his. “And mine?”

He would have expected his smile to fall the moment her hand touched his face, but it didn’t. Something in it shifted, the allure of her seeping through her hands and into his skin, as though the mere presence of a girl sick with love could teach him what it meant to smile.

The irony of finding something pleasant in his new skin dedicated to violence wasn’t exactly lost on him. He just couldn’t find it in himself to fight it tonight, and when she drops her hand from his chin his body follows suit, taking a single step in her direction. Whatever she was, a magnet or the moon, he was tied to her.

“No mess,” he says, echoing her own words. He is sure that one day a time will come when he regrets the pull Aphrodite’s daughter has on him, to make a part of himself long ago forgotten resurface, but for now it is as it will be. 

So, he smiles.

So, he drowns.  

“Though a part of me thinks even a mess would suit you.” 

[agentchaplin-blog]

agntindigo: 

He felt right at home. With the lush carpet beneath his feet and the fine silks atop the bed, the room felt right, perhaps even more a home than his own for that house still belonged to his father—to Hiran, the man whose name he bears between his first and last. And the man never lets him forget it. But this room was his and his alone, from floor to ceiling, wall to wall his own. And it was a glorious feeling to have something of his own. A place untouched by lesser men. A place where Matthew was unburdened by his brothers. A place to spread his wings and soar out from under dark and looming wingspan of dear ol’ dad.

After a shower, he secured his phone into the dock by his bedside and dressed quickly. Black slacks and a golden jacket with a matching bowtie he needn’t even look in the mirror to complete having mastered the knot so long ago. It was effortless, this look of perfection, this elegance resting upon his shoulders. And there was no other way to start out a night, a celebration like that of a taste of scotch and so he strode across the room to pour himself a glass only to stop dead in his tracks at a knock to his door. 

Well you look fucking important.

He chuckled, hand resting against the doorframe as the other ran along the edge of his jaw, eyes drawing down the frame of what he could only assume was another agent. 

“Well, you’re right on both counts,” a playful smirk spread across his face, “Myself and the suit are very important.” Rather rough around the edges and utterly hopeless when it came to fashion, it was the least he could do to take pity on the poor boy and he ushered him inside. “But I’m always happy to help,” the lie slipped from his lips as easily as a snake slithers through grass. Generous was not the word that came to mind when people, including himself, thought of him, but it’s always better to have someone owe you a favor than you owing them one.

There’s a smile that comes at the end of it all, but it wavers. 

There’s a certain appeal to the man standing before him, a kind of presence that demanded attention and interest, that made Cade fairly sure that this was someone he ought nought make an enemy out of. The smirk on the other’s lips was so confident, and it made Cade feel as though he was being examined.

It was unsettling, to be near someone so settled.

Slipping past the doorframe, he sucked in a long breath of air as he took in the bedroom. It wasn’t altogether too much different from his own, though where Cade’s felt to him like dangerous foreign territory, it was immediately clear that his counterpart had found a home among the four walls. Looking at his standing there now, ease donned and chest light, Cade feels desperately out of place.

He feels like his spine has crumbled. 

Abandoned and hollow.

Suppose I’ll have to get used to that.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his brow furrows.

He steps away from the other agent, moving closer towards the open closet. “I don’t suppose we could find me a suit with a label in English,” he says, eyes skimming over the various languages donning the labels. “I was good at languages in school, but never saw much of a point to French.” He was broader, if only slightly, than his new friend, but it was possible one of the ones hanging there would fit him. If they didn’t, he feared he’d have to go back to that awful room filled to the brim with expensive silks and embroidered finery. 

The costume room, Charlie had dubbed it. Eventually, he’s sure that it will suit the mask Cade is still learning. 

Chaplin. He was still getting used to the taste of his new name on his tongue, learning the ins and outs of those two syllables, trying to make a home out of them the way Cade hadn’t been in a long time. 

“Or is that too much to ask?”

[agentchaplin-blog]

date: idk what this is yet timestamp: about 30 minutes pre-ball location: indigo’s bedroom availability: @agntindigo

It was a strange thing, luxury. It left a poor taste in Cade’s mouth.

There’s something about the decadence of the mansion that makes him feel even more like a shell than he had back home in Monterrey. It wasn’t easy growing up the way that he had, but there was no falsehood to it, no show to be put on save for the shows of power he played into late at night. It makes little sense, to feel more comfort in the gory glory of an underground fight ring than the big white comforter splayed across what was now meant to be his bed. 

Which, coincidentally, was where Cade had laid out his options for costume for this evening. 

Of course, he wondered if even these were the right choice. What was I thinking? He felt he could do little else than scold himself, wonder what it was he thought he was doing, wonder what it was that had made him believed he deserved to call such luxury his home. He didn’t deserve this. 

Frustrated, he pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales sharply, holds his breath, then exhales in a shudder. Biting the inside of his cheek, he makes a split second decision. One moment he is standing before his bed, and then next he’s gone into the hallway and knocked on his next-door neighbor’s door. 

What he sees when the dark wood swings open, of course, does little to make him feel better. 

“Well you look fucking important,” he says, dark eyes flicking up and down the other’s frame to take in the full effect. “Or your suit does at least.”

He pauses, purses his lips, considering. 

He’d never been very good at changing his mind -- “Care to help me with the same effect?”  

[agentchaplin-blog]

scarletagent:

Pretty girl beware of this heart of gold. This heart is cold. Madeline smirked as she brought her champagne flute to her lips and traced the neckline of her gold bustier. It cinched at her waist and frilled out into amber tulle, a gift from her former lover; she’d found it after his demise, tucked in a black box with a card marked only by his initials - no profession of love nor sweet ode. As if a cold heart had ever stopped her before.

The ambiance was so romantic. ( Though she could craft a candy heart out of a cement brick if she wanted to. ) But there was something about an old spy film - the suits and slinky dresses, the high stakes, the fast cars, the bloodshed, that made her want to deliver herself over to the next death. Willingly - with her heart open and her legs spread.

Madeline ( Scarlet, now. Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet - just like her heart. ) bit down on her lip as the bon-bon melted in her other hand. She popped it onto her tongue and licked her thumb, making eye contact with the agent prowling the hors d’oeuvres. “A bit messy, hm?” She cleaned the chocolate off the corner of her lips, then gestured out at the pretty faces shadowed by the darkness of the room. “Just like the lot of us.”

He hears he before he sees her, and there’s something about her voice that makes him feel like a skinny little boy caught with his fingers jammed in the cookie jar. It’s the first genuine taste of humor he’s felt in months. Laughter not at the expense of someone else’s pain. A smile not brought by spilt blood. 

His dark eyes flit up from the expanse of foods he’d never seen before, and he doesn’t recognize her, but that doesn’t deter his fascination.

That was the thing about girls like her--and Cade had surely met girls like her before--they enchanted their audience just as much as the world enchanted them. The most delicate string of words crossing their cherry lips would be enough to ensnare a person in the delusion that was love. He’d always hated girl like that, the ones that turned clouds into candy floss and poison daggers into something romantic to be shared among lovers. 

Red was never romantic.

But girls like her were not her, and wrapped up in a gold like the mid-afternoon sun, he can’t help the coil of his mouth, can’t help the crinkle that catches the edges of his eyes. 

“You could say that,” he says, never sure how to approach conversations with girls who lived their lives as though they were working off a script, as though each word was art. 

“I’m going to need you to tell me if I’ve made a mess of my face, though.” 

[agentchaplin-blog]

CADE ‘AGENT CHAPLIN’ DORIAN + character types.

[agentchaplin-blog]

Sometimes humans just die, and you cannot save them. Sometimes humans do not die, and you cannot save them. — Natalie Young

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Cade Immanuel Dorian.

NICKNAME(S): He’s been called plenty of names, but none that mattered.

AGE: 26.

DATE OF BIRTH: April 9th, 1991.

GENDER: Cis-male.

NATIONALITY: American.

HERITAGE: Paternal heritage is unknown to Cade, while his mother was Filipino.

SEXUALITY: Pansexual.

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: Bob Morley.

HEIGHT: 5′11.

BUILD: Slender, lean muscle.

DOMINANT HAND: Right, but he’s relatively ambidextrous.

HAIR COLOR: Dark brown, nearly black.

EYE COLOR: Dark brown.

SCARS: Too many to name, and most Cade barely remembers getting, but the most immediately noticeable is the one that cuts into his right eyebrow. 

► BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: A small town on the Monterey Peninsula in California.  

FINANCIAL STATUS: Lower-to-middle class. 

EDUCATION LEVEL: Graduated from high school.

FAMILY: His mother and sister are both deceased, and his father could be too for all Cade knows. The only family he knows is his Uncle, who he admittedly wouldn’t mind seeing dead. 

EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: ENTJ.

ENNEAGRAM: 8W7 SP. TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine-choleric.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good.

SIN: Pride.

ELEMENT: Fire.

► THINGS DONE:

broken a bone | gotten stitches | had a near-death experience | invented something | been hungover | kissed someone | slow danced | been in a long-term relationship | had sex | had sex and regretted it | had a one-night stand | had a threesome | experimented with their sexuality | had a kid | gotten married | self-harmed | been in a play | received an inheritance | been in a ship wreck | lost a loved one | been dumped | dumped someone | smoked |gotten high | been slipped something in their food/drink | won a contest | won an election | joined a sports team | gone skydiving | gone hunting | been in a band | had a job | been fired | been in a wedding party | owned a pet | seen a ghost | skipped class/work | learned an instrument | gotten a noticeable scar | sued someone | been robbed | been mugged | been kidnapped | been sexually assaulted | been brainwashed/hypnotized | gone more than one day without eating | had a recurring nightmare | been bullied | bullied someone | seen someone die | attempted suicide | been tied/chained up | shot someone | stabbed someone | saved someone’s life | cheated on someone | been cheated on | had a stalker | been betrayed | been in a fight | been arrested | been to a funeral | had surgery | broken someone’s trust | gotten a tattoo | used a fake name | been tortured | been abused | been blackmailed | had an attempt on their life | gotten away with a crime | gone on a road trip | been in love

► HABITS:

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

[agentchaplin-blog]

CADE DORIAN Ⓞ AGENT CHAPLIN Ⓞ THE CHARLIE INITIATIVE

AGE: Twenty-six DETAILS: Sacramentals, a rosary wrapped around a bruised fist, the SoCal sun, blood on pavement, broken baseball bats, broken roars, iron cages, the point where sand meets street, the sunset burning on the horizon. SPECIAL SKILL: Hand-to-hand combat WEAKNESSES: Hot-tempered, impulsive, considers himself invincible, valiant to the point of his own demise.

“Sometimes humans just die. And you cannot save them. Sometimes humans do not die, and you cannot save them.” - NATALIE YOUNG

FROM FILE 562800 // CHAPLIN ( tw: death, murder, gore ):

To him, the world is nothing more than the difference between the punching bag and the fist. The only power you have over taking the beating is giving it. To think that the very same chapel boy with the golden heart and toothy grin was now laying in a gutter soaked in his own blood and someone else’s, well, that was a falsehood. They were not the same person. Perhaps he had inherited the rosary beads to wrap around his fist and make the punches cut. Perhaps he had learned his prayers only to make his enemies say them. He had given himself to God once, but God had only given misery back.

He used to be something bright. He used to want to live a life of service. He went to Sunday school, studied hard, shone golden. It wasn’t until a mugger murdered his mother and younger sister that vengeance found a home within the wall of his bones. Their apartment above the church, which once was filled with rays of light and quiet laughter, was now empty and cold. It was the perfect place for his crooked uncle to come in and set up shop, running an illegal fight club out of the one place the world would least expect it. Cade was a vulnerable, flightless bird, desperate for something to believe in. 

He began fighting nightly. Spit in the hand, cash on the floor, shirts off, bandages wrapped. The whole thing was as raw and reckless as it came, all locked up in a warehouse down by a pier where God couldn’t see his face. He knew that this wasn’t the life his mother would have wanted for him, nor the example he would have ever set for his little sister, but he hadn’t wanted either of them to die either. With the mugger behind bars for life and his own path marred by the sudden landslide of their deaths, he had to find something to do with all that anger or he’d burst from the ache of it. He threw himself into anything that gave him a high, nights filled with spending all his earnings on long legs and hard liquor, goading on potential sparring partners. It always ended with a smoke and hard stare at the cross his mother kept on the terrace of their apartment, wondering what sin would earn him the key straight to hell. 

It was on one of those nights that a black car rolled up to their oceanside chapel and offered his fight what it had long been lacking. Purpose.

MISSED CONNECTIONS:

+ While sweeping up his church in Sacramento, he once caught a glimpse of a beautiful girl weeping under the statue of Mary, makeup running, red dress, swollen lips. When he rubbed his eyes, she was gone. Unbeknownst to him, this was Agent Scarlet.

+ His little sister’s favorite television show, which she dragged him over to the couch to watch one too many times, was Crown School. It was a teen soap about royalty in boarding school and, unbeknownst to him, it starred Agent Maroon.

+ The fights drew all sorts of people - irritated girlfriends, drunk collegiate pricks looking to slum it with a gory show. One in particular stood out from the crowd the day he was set to fight a man who referred to himself as the Reaper, a mask and suit of black tattoos. He was knocked out within minutes despite his best shots and as he fell, he caught a glimpse of a boy in a white suit, an aura of gold, peering at him with interest. Unbeknownst to him, this was Agent Indigo.

CHAPLIN IS PORTRAYED BY BOB MORLEY. HE IS OPEN.

[agentchaplin-blog]

FILE 000045 // INITIATION

Congratulations, Kaitlyn! You have been selected as an agent for the Charlie Initiative in the role of Cade Dorian, codename: Chaplin. I very deeply enjoyed both renditions of our resident pitbull. I went back and forth quite a bit on this one but ultimately kept getting hung up on the beautiful and stoic imagery that you crafted for our boy, Kaitlyn. There was a particular line, “It’s only fitting, after all, that a man who made a home out of the shadows of a church, would find himself coming alive in the moonlight, in the freedom that comes at dusk,” that just moved me. You set such a grim, morose, muted scene; I felt very lost in your Cade. Also, thank you for correcting my geography error! Your mission now, should you choose to accept it, is to submit your character’s account to the main within twenty-four hours. Once you have completed this task, you will be informed of your next steps. Watch your back. Duck your head. And trust no one.

Keep reading

[agentchaplin-blog]

listen.

( HOW DID YOU SURVIVE? ) they ask.

how much did they have you bleed; how long did they make you suffer; how low did they force you down; how dark did they tint your dreams?

                   —until you had their blood glistening on your teeth;                    —until your suffering paled in comparison to their own;                    —until it was their throats pinned under your boot;                    —until you learned to enjoy the sounds of screams.

                                                         ( I DIDN’T. ) you reply. – m.a.w