CIVILIAN . CHOU, QUENTIN

MALE

AMBIGUOUS

TWENTY-THREE

OCTOBER 21ST 1988

AMERICAN

ENGLISH, CONVERSATIONAL MANDARIN CHINESE. LEARNING FRENCH.

QUEQUE. HE DOESN'T CARE.

0.5

CIVILIAN

N/A

N/A

N/A

ROGUE

HAYDEN GREEN
COLIN COX
CALLUM SNOW

NO

VY2 from VOCALOID

Quentin hails from an upper-middle class family from San Marino, California. However, right now he lives alone in an apartment between Anaheim and Hollywood, and earns just enough to pay the bills and feed himself with the occasional treat.

Street Magician - Quentin does magic tricks outside the Chinese Theatre at the Hollywood Boulevard for some spare change between gigs and his shifts at work. The pay is entirely dependent on the whims and fancies of his crowd, and it's difficult to stand for so long under the sweltering sun, but it's all for the love of what he does.

Disneyland Cast Member - For some actual income, Quentin also works part-time at the Magic Shop at Main Street USA, charming customers and doing tricks. He hasn't been there for all that long, but guests and staff alike love him, and his boss has offered him a full-time position. He didn't take it though-- he figures it'll be easier to get spotted by taking gigs and working on the streets. That being said, he's pretty confident that he'll make a bunch of contacts on the job. You never know who'll turn out to be useful in the entertainment industry.

Stage Magician - The closest thing he has to living his dream. Occasionally, Quentin will get booked to perform at trade shows, or manage to get a spot at a birthday party or a corporate event. He's pretty good, and private shows pay incredibly well, but these bookings occur only about once every couple of months if he's lucky. He's certain that at this stage, he wouldn't be able to live on the earnings from that alone, and he isn't ready to give up his part-time work just yet. Not until he's certain of a steady income.

Sure, he's got a college degree, but computer science was just a fallback, was never what he wanted to do with his life. He's given himself until he's twenty-five to make it out there before he throws in the towel and starts working a desk job. Time's a-ticking, and there isn't much left for him to mess around. He's young, but not foolish. Daring, but not unrealistic. Because for Quentin, it's always been a matter of go big, or go home. He's never going to accept anything in between.

People don't know if they want to bang him, or if they want to be him, and that's how Quentin likes it. Slender, serene, and whipcord lean, he has the build of a runner combined with a tranquil, composed grace. This is reflected in his calm baritone and cool brown eyes, how he stands up straight without holding his head too high. Everything about him is well-planned, well-calculated to give off an aura of confidence without arrogance, of someone firm without being forceful. He will stand close to you, having learned the exact distance to form camaraderie without intruding on one's personal space. He will look into your eyes when he speaks, maybe even grip your wrist with a little half-smirk: Quentin is an attractive man, and he uses every facet of his looks to his advantage when dealing with people. You need to cast a spell onto your audience to charm them into believing your tricks, after all, and if it means you have to sell yourself a little, he sees no reason not to do it.

Of course, as a magician, you must mask your intentions, must cover your imperfections up as wisely as you can. Quentin isn't perfect by any means, no. While he is certainly good-looking, it can be said that he has not inherited the best of his combined Asian and Western genes. He is average-sized at best, standing at only 5'8". A spattering of freckles dot his nose and cheeks, easily covered by a light dab of concealer. Small almond-shaped eyes with lashes slightly too long for them give the impression that they are perpetually half-hooded, creating a sleepy, lackadaisical expression that tends to surface when he is not performing, or not paying attention. This is usually circumvented by just the tiniest touch of white shadow in his inner eye, and maybe some brown liner along the edges of his upper lid. He isn't afraid to use a little makeup even when off-stage, but just enough so that it isn't immediately noticeable-- even if asked about it, he won't share the tricks of his trade, chalking it down to witchcraft itself.

His hair is impeccably cut and styled, falling into choppy layers around a heart-shaped face, tousled with just the slightest bit of hair wax every morning before he leaves for the day. Quentin refuses to say whether its reddish tint is natural or hair dye, though the fact that it looks magenta, almost pink, under the sun might be a hint towards the latter. Truth be told, he wouldn't really mind people knowing the truth: in this day and age, it is only natural to care a little about your appearance, after all. But what would be destroyed would be the aura of mystery, the allure of not knowing for sure, the sense of enchantment that he exudes as he draws a coin from your ear, or breaks through a set of ropes when he is bound and gagged. But like every other magician out there, almost everything about him is rehearsed. Practiced. Learned. Man-made.

If Paris was cherry fizz and Rhiannon was strawberry lemonade, Quentin would best be described as fine wine with a rich flavour, carrying the freshness and spice of a Pinot Gris. The first thing one will notice about Quentin is that he is charming, very much so. Friendly enough to make others comfortable and smart enough to figure them out, he takes pride in his ability to get to know others, to form a quick assessment of their strengths and weaknesses and mentally catalogue them for his own purposes. He will sweet-talk himself into your heart, will play the role of a confidante or a best friend; when in reality all he wants is information, to find out what makes people tick, learn the workings of their inner mind. Psychology has always fascinated him, and to a large extent people do fascinate him as well-- though it is arguable that he treats them as audience members or test subjects rather than fellow human beings.

It should also not come as a surprise that Quentin, like his siblings, likes to perform. He enjoys being the centre of attention, much as he is cautious to admit it, but then it is arguable that he is not willing to show much weakness, or reveal any secrets, at all. He has carefully crafted an image of himself that he puts on for the world, and believes that the streets and the workings of his daily life are a stage that he has to walk through with pride. He does his best to maintain a level of self-awareness, though: just because he might act superficial does not mean that he cannot acknowledge his own flaws. One never knows when his own tricks might be used against him, so he keeps up with his own psyche, taking great care to repair whatever anything people might try to exploit. The world of entertainment is not an easy one, after all, and he has learned the benefit of being one step ahead of everyone's game. It's gotten him to where he is now, and he'll be damned if somebody manages to catch him off-guard.

Keeping tabs on people is important, especially when they will have some bearing on your lives; Quentin strongly believes that one should keep their friends close, and their enemies closer. He is not afraid to resort to underhanded means to obtain what he wants, or to ensure that someone he considers malignant is out of the life of those he cares about. A master of sneaking and snooping around, he has resorted to pulling strings more than once to somehow erase people from his siblings' lives, and would not hesitate to do so for a close friend. The problem with Quentin's idea of toying with people is that it soon gets old, and he tends to develop what he has internally dubbed reverse Stockholm Syndrome: he can and will get attached to those that he initially dissects if he thinks they are fascinating. And he will keep you safe. He will protect you.

Yet his protection, once obtained, is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. Quentin will do absolutely anything to keep someone he cares about safe, as long as the means justify the ends. But with his skewed sense of relationships, and the fact that he holds the people closest to him in only the highest regard, one can bet that aforementioned means can definitely trudge into territory only described as nasty. He is a magician, which people tend to forget, and rational as he might be most of the time he isn't afraid to try defying what one would consider within the traditional boundaries of the real world. If you want something to be possible, you can make it possible, but you have to weigh the pros and cons, the gains and losses. If you believe it's worth it, then go for it-- though be prepared to pay the price. Magic is a skill trained and honed, at the end of the day, and involves much more than waving a wand and muttering a few words. No matter how easy it may seem on the surface, there is always something deeper, something hidden, something enchanting.

His first kiss was Carol, at the playground near his childhood home in San Marino. They were sitting on the swings as he waited for Rhiannon to finish her turn at the monkey bars, him shuffling his first deck of cards and her watching the children laugh and play. Out of the blue, she had tapped him on the shoulder, asking him wide-eyed with a small smile to give her a kiss.

To say that Quentin had been taken aback would have been a complete understatement. Carol was his little sister's friend, and she was very nice, but he didn't want to promise her marriage or anything. He'd been seven years old then, back when girls were supposed to have cooties and the only crabs you caught were on the beach, and back then he had believed that a kiss was supposed to mean forever. But she was pleading and wide-eyed, and quite pretty to boot; he also didn't want to upset Rhiannon, and turning her friend down was sure to make her cry like other little boys always did. So he'd gone against his instincts and gave Carol two quick pecks: one each, on both her cheeks.

The next time he kissed someone was slightly less like it was out of a children's movie. Quentin had been twelve, and there was a girl in his class who had a crush on him. Tessa, her name was, and the elementary school gossip grapevine was saying she liked him because he did cool card tricks and was always chosen to be group leader when they did projects. Other children giggled in the hallways when they were seen walking together or having lunch, and Quentin started to wonder whether he should just ask her out and be done and over with the rumours. It wasn't as though he disliked her, too-- Tessa was a friend, and certainly more intelligent than most of the goons who were wowed by his charm and grace. So he'd taken her to the giant canopy trees in the schoolyard, sat her down, and asked her to be his girlfriend. When she replied with an ecstatic yes, he went in for the kiss: the right way this time, directly on her lips, just like he had seen in the movies.

But relationships were supposed to be all kinds of wonderful and lovely and right. Much as he did adore Tessa as a friend, she wasn't somebody who he could see himself dating, and they broke up three weeks later, with him trying to explain himself and her running away in a fit of tears. He was determined to win her back as a friend though, and so win her back he did. It took little more than a few well-placed playing cards at her desk a month later in homeroom, with an apology scrawled out in black ink on their backs. With that he came to realise the extent of his charm; with just the wave of his hand and the muttering of a few words, everything was all right once more. Just the way he liked it.

It should have come as no surprise that his next kiss came with another experiment. Juliana was a friend of his sister's who he'd met at a gathering for her eleventh birthday, and they were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven like they thought teenagers did when they got together at parties. He'd thought of her as vapid, shallow, and all-too-keen to grow up. Then again, all his sister's childhood friends seemed to be like that, which made them safe for Rhiannon to hang around: he'd seen from the outside how vicious and vindictive children could be, and if she was one of the pretty girls she wasn't going to get hurt. Juliana was the most vapid and shallow of them all, and when she'd been told that it was her turn for closet time, she'd batted her lashes and asked if a then fourteen-year-old Quentin, who had been the entertainer for the day, would kiss her rather than one of the boys in the circle.

Naturally, he'd agreed. What kind of stage magician would have refused such a simple request from his audience? Besides, he'd thought as he got up from where he was sitting, he'd see whether he could use this kiss for her to treat him different, make him special to her. So in lieu of a closet big enough, they were locked in Rhiannon's pink, pony-filled room, and she grabbed hold of his face and started kissing him sloppily, with far too little restraint and far too much tongue. But he kept at it, trying to at the very least tolerate her actions while reminding himself that this was an experiment, and like the gullible fool she was she would definitely play right into his hands. As usual, he was right, and she gave him her cell phone number with a wink, on her way to being his new source of information so he knew exactly what was going on in Rhiannon's life.

The next few kisses went by in a quick flurry. In fact, he couldn't really say that they were a few kisses at all-- they quickly dissolved into a mess of names and faces, gaining the girl's trust after they had locked lips. But he never kissed without purpose, never exchanged saliva unless he needed something, or if they were just another test. Crystal had been another of Rhiannon's friends, and she'd quickly turned into one of his own after they'd laughed off what he pretended was an awkward, unplanned moment. Jennifer had a younger brother in Paris' grade: how else did the his little brother escape bullying when he'd exhibited so many stereotypically gay traits from the get-go? Caitlin had been the ninth-grade president he'd dated to worm his way into student council himself. But he took care to be cautious, took care to ensure that his manipulation was either kept a secret or that it would end up being inconsequential for his image in the end. If he wanted to keep charming people, he would have to remain on top of the social ladder. That way, he would have his fair pick of people to toy with, enough amusements to keep him sane, and would make protecting everyone so much easier. He'd cast a spell over his peers, and he had to maintain the illusion.

Call it dramatic irony, call it whatever you wanted, but it was his first kiss in college that served as his Achilles' heel. He'd been at a party, like college students were wont to do. Brandeis University wasn't exactly known for its party scene, but Quentin had made friends with the right people that told him where to go and who to meet. It had been at a bar where he'd met him. Yes, him-- a man called Remy who smelled like oil paint and wore dreadlocks in his hair, and it had been after a couple of drinks that they'd found their lips crushed together in passionate embrace, and Quentin found that he'd liked it, was lost in a sea of torrential longing for a person that he had never experienced before.

A dramatic way to discover your sexuality, yes, but it had been a kiss he'd never regret. It was probably not as much of a surprise to him than it would have been for most, seeing as Paris and Rhiannon were already painted various shades of the rainbow. It was even in their Chinese names, with Hong meaning red, Zhi meaning purple, and Qing meaning green, which leads Quentin to wonder whether his father had cursed them to be more than a little bent right from the get-go. But either way, he'd discovered a lustful, carnal side to him that he'd never experienced before, and he soon found that he liked it. Weekends were often spent tumbling into bed with a different boy, someone easily charmed by his good looks, a few tricks, and his whispering sweet nothings into the other's ear. There was the occasional relationship, but nothing that lasted beyond a couple of months at most, and certainly nothing that he would let anybody else hear about.

In fact, it was arguable that he kept the boys around so he could enjoy the sense of secrecy, rather than the intimacy that a relationship would bring. He did enjoy maintaining his aura of mystery, and it was useful for him to deceive girls into thinking he liked them too. A magician never reveals his secrets, after all, and if he could use his charm to his advantage he would push it as much he could. Needless to say, he continued keeping tabs on Rhiannon and Paris back home, using his self-built network of contacts to keep them out of any trouble he deemed unnecessary. He would let them run into just enough bumps and pitfalls so that they didn't get too arrogant, that they learned from experience, but any unsavoury characters were somehow eliminated.

Some sweet-talking and secret lip locking with his computer science TA taught him how to hack. He soon obtained full access to his siblings' social networking accounts. But then again, he'd realised with a smirk, he hadn't even had to hack to do that, which was useful seeing as his skills hadn't extended that far just yet. No, it was because Rhiannon and Paris' passwords were extremely predictable. el1esaab528 was the most generic thing that Rhi could ever have thought of, and Paris wasn't even sophisticated enough to use numbers, simply going with girlsgenerationlover. Not that they would ever know-- Quentin never changed or said anything, but always kept an eye out for them. Yet oddly enough, the same level of protectiveness never extended to his lovers, because of just how disposable most of them were. Other than a whirlwind romance with a study abroad student named Aleksandr that ended when he'd gone back to England, it was arguable that Quentin had never really wanted any of his relationships in the first place, just the tantric nature, the forbidden ideal of stolen glances and secret kisses.

In fact, kiss after kiss after kiss later, and Quentin found that he was bored of the Boston crowd, sick of the same places and the same faces. He'd found one or two friends who he genuinely cared about and would carry with him for the rest of his life, but with graduation he was ready to pack up and return to California, to make his own path as a magician within the next few years. His professors called him crazy, his friends called him genius, though he was quite content with just being called Quentin. So he packed his bags and rented an apartment in a slightly dubious neighbourhood, ready to return to the place of his youth to steal kisses and win hearts.