Post by tully on Oct 24, 2012 3:57:06 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 10px;,bTable][style=margin-right: 12px; height: 100px; width: 100px;float: left;][cs=2][classy=boorder] [/classy][/style] [style=margin-bottom: -5px; font-weight: bold; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 35px; letter-spacing: -3px;]DOCTOR TULLY[/style] [style=border-top: 1px dotted #ebebeb; font-family: helvetica; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 10px; padding-top: 3px;]COLD . TOUGH . BUSTED [/style] | |
| [atrb=vAlign,top][style=margin-top:5px; width: 90px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; font-weight: bold; background-color: #2a2a2a; color: #ebebeb; text-transform: uppercase; padding: 3px;]BASICS[/style] | [atrb=vAlign,top][style=width: 305px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 10px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 1px dotted #ebebeb;]DOCTOR BRENDAN CUÁN TULLYDoc, The Irishman, and to his friends Cheshire for the scar-grin of his Glasgow smileFORTY SIX 06/02/1966MALE peopleCIVILIAN Trauma surgeon & underworld shot-doc – Tully drives a 1960 Buick service-car – a black hearse that gets used as an ambulance, heralded with an oh shit as often as a thank fuck. He works his regular job at Hope hospital but he's also on call to various criminal elements, specifically the Russian mob, as a shot doc: digging bullets out of the asses of injured criminals for who a hospital visit could mean jail time. Conversely, his black hearse, flask of whiskey, and sardonic grin sometimes appear when interrogations might get messy.[/style] |
| [atrb=vAlign,top][style=margin-top:5px; width: 90px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; font-weight: bold; background-color: #2a2a2a; color: #ebebeb; text-transform: uppercase; padding: 3px;]PERSONALITY[/style] | [atrb=vAlign,top][style=width: 305px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 10px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 1px dotted #ebebeb;] Everything worth knowing about Brendan Tully you can work out in the following: his Irish accent comes out worse when he's pissed or pissed off and neither of those are common. He knows how to keep somebody alive long enough to show them their own beating heart. He's afraid of dolls. He lets the nurses on his floor boss him around. He still has reoccurring nightmares about drowning and wakes up in a cold sweat. He has two adult daughters but was never married: he has a crow tattooed on either shoulder to represent them. He refuses to eat Italian food. He never, ever gets drunk on vodka or anything based on it. He's good with kids. Tully lives his life gray – it works out more than equal, the number of deaths he's helped cause against the number of lives he's saved. In the underworld people know him for fixing bullet wounds tipsy and way too mouthy with authority figures, staring down powerful men with the kind've cold you get when you're too dumb or too sad to care. In his other life he's a good doctor known for his ability to break bad news to families as much as for his skill in an operating theater. He's genial if crude. A lot of doctors smoke, and a lot of doctors drink, and he does both more out of laziness than psychological damage or addiction. He could stop any time he liked. Honest. Tully's scars start conversations with girls, which is good – he needs a new one every time he gets horny, 'cause he hasn't carried a relationship in years, mostly for lack of trying. He likes people more than he likes commitment, but he's loyal. His outward presentation is all the unselfconscious, reckless fallout from his emotional damage – he's not especially brave or good under pressure, he just doesn't care much; but action is character, and however busted up he is he does a good job of taking mostly the right stands. [/style] |
| [atrb=vAlign,top][style=margin-top:5px; width: 90px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; font-weight: bold; background-color: #2a2a2a; color: #ebebeb; text-transform: uppercase; padding: 3px;]HISTORY[/style] | [atrb=vAlign,top][style=width: 305px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 10px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 1px dotted #ebebeb;]Tully grew up in Belfast, Ireland – his mother was a nurse and his father an Irish Traveler settled down as a barkeeper. He had a twin name of John, and from the day one could pick a fight the other was there to back them up, but they never had the single-unit mentality that some twins have. When they were sixteen, they were on a boat with friends – too drunk on too much vodka and the skipper high; it hit something in the water and began to sink. All Brendan remembered was trying to find John in the water, then cold, then hard lips on his and a desperate pain in his chest like his ribs had been run over. He'd been fished out of the water by his brother and a young man he didn't recognize, who was straddling his chest and had been giving him some amateur, improvised CPR. Jimmy Sullivan saved three lives that night, diving into the freezing water to fish out several of the drunk party-goers. The twins owed him their lives and they became close friends. Eventually, after they'd shared rounds at the bar and one busty redhead and a joint on the roof of an abandoned warehouse, Jimmy told them about his ties to the IRA. John was swept up in the adventure and romance of a cause and Brendan followed with a cat's curiosity and a deep gratitude to Jimmy. While he stayed at a distance, John was swept up into the cause. They fought. John started wearing glasses and letting his hair grow choppy like Brendan's so he could use his twin as an alibi. There were times Brendan was close enough to the cause to get the ink or practice with his semi-automatic, but as he got to the final years of highschool he split away for good. It wasn't popular, but they let him go. In the eighties he moved to London to study medicine. He lived in a loft with a gay art history major and did more drugs than he'll admit and maybe got a girl pregnant – but he was smart, and after his internship he returned to Ireland with letters before his name. He wasn't back but a week before his door was getting busted down by some kid who'd heard he was a Doctor – Please Doc, it's my brother, you gotta help him – and getting led to a run down Belfast church. There was no hurt kid: just a ring of Real IRA operatives. Standing there with his medical kit over his shoulder and his glasses cracked and his knuckles split from putting up a fight, he listened while they put it down. John didn't extricate himself from the life like you did. He wasn't that smart. He wasn't smart at all, and he fucked up, and somebody has to clean up after him. An arms deal with the Russians had gone south after John's mistake, and the RIRA put it on Brendan to clean up, or John got a one way ticket north. With his glasses off and an automatic weapon in hand, not even his parents would have been able to tell it wasn't John who went to talk to the Russians. John's comrades had been aware that Brendan was smarter than his twin, but they hadn't figured how much, and how he could be just as cold as his brother the career criminal/activist. He tied the Russians and the arms-dealers holding his brother up in knots, not pulling it tight into a bow for the authorities until he thought his brother and he were both clear. He wasn't as smart as he thought. Just the way John had been caught up in the world, he was pushed out of it – into freezing water, this time with rocks in his pockets and no Jimmy on the shore. The gun-runners had a harder time tracking Brendan down, but they found him. The Glasgow smile he wears is courtesy his twin's friends - a scotsman, specifically; he moved to America because Ireland wouldn't have him anymore. The Russians here are well aware of his history, but he's a good doctor, and so long as he remembers his place they don't put any pressure on him. [/style] |
| [atrb=vAlign,top][style=margin-top:5px; width: 90px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 10px; text-align: center; font-weight: bold; background-color: #2a2a2a; color: #ebebeb; text-transform: uppercase; padding: 3px;]OOC[/style] | [atrb=vAlign,top][style=width: 305px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 10px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 1px dotted #ebebeb;]UPYRdean remingtonAFFINITIES no preferenceFACE CLAIM SAIYUKI RELOAD . SANZO, UKOKU[/style] |
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