(no subject)
Basics:
Name: Allan a Dale
Nicknames: Bizarrely, he hasn't accumulated any yet.
Age and DoB: He's telling people he's 28 this year, but in reality he's not entirely sure; 28 seems about right so he's sticking with that. He celebrates his birthday in June because he likes the long days and the warm weather.
Gender: Male
Relationship status and sexual preference: Single, ostensibly heterosexual. He's had the odd fleeting attraction to people of his own gender, but usually is chasing some woman or other and puts it out of his mind. He knows all the bible stuff about men not laying with men, and as a result thinks that pursuing a homosexual relationship is too much risk with too little reward. Saying that, his head is easily turned by a pretty face and the promise of more and he's not above one night stands by any means.
Occupation/Rank/Title: Ex-outlaw, now a free man (but not a freeman). Guy of Gisborne's right hand. He isn't exactly sure what this entails yet, being somewhat new to the position.
Contact Information: starbuckadale at googlemail dot com
Appearance:
Height: 5'9"
Eye Color: Deep blue
Hair: Dark blonde and threatening towards curly. Slightly less unruly now he's working for Gisborne.
Distinguishing features: Allan's got plenty of minor scars that he's picked up here and there, but nothing that could be considered distinguishing. He's intact and uninked; no body modification whatsoever. He does have rather a pointy nose, but other than that not really.
Played by: Joe Armstrong
Style: Cocksure to the point of arrogance. Clothes-wise, he doesn't have much of a wardrobe; Guy's acceptance of him didn't extend as far as providing him with much to wear. He daren't work in any of his outlaw gear at the castle so he tends to sport anything he can find in the uniform stores that seems to fit - provided it makes him look good. He's pretty vain when it comes down to it.
Personality:
Allan isn’t naturally one for guilt, morals or regrets. He’s practical: what is, is; agonising over right and wrong change nothing in real life, and in the end real life is what concerns him. He lives in very firmly in the here and now, but keeps a watchful eye over where the next coin or meal is coming from. He likes good food, good wine (well, wine, anyway) and good company, enjoys gambling and risktaking in general but doesn't like to put his life on the line for just any old reason. He's not a particularly emotional person, and isn't really one to share feelings. Emotive outbursts make him unconfortable. He also doesn't like being preached at. Orders he'll take, but try and change his mind and he'll dig his heels in, hard.
Stealing, lying, cheating; if it's vaguely dishonest he's probably good at it. He's got an impressive array of fake accents, many of which are hilarious and very popular at parties. He's moderately skilled with bow and sword, although without any formal training. He's rather too quick to defend himself and his moral compass has a tendency to deviate from the norm. He's aquisitive to the point of greed, generally untrustworthy unless what you want him to do benefits him anyway and he's pretty damn lazy to boot. If he can spot an easy way out of something he'll probably take it. He's not bad through and through though; he does have some capacity for sympathy and doesn't like to make the lives of those on society's lowest rung any worse than it already is.
He’s had a hard life and is used to relying on himself. He’s been an outlaw since his teens so first and foremost he’s always looked out for number one. Altruism doesn’t really come naturally to him unless he actually cares about the person in question; his time with the outlaws in Sherwood was something of a departure from his normal behaviour, although that's not to say he wasn't proud of himself for 'doing the right thing' for a change. With a sharp eye for a drunk man’s purse and an even keener one for a pert bosom, he’s used to weaselling his way out of a tight spot because unfortunately he tends to be blind to consequences until they happen. As a result he’s left town in a hurry more than once, and left a few broken hearts in his wake as well. He rarely means any harm, but rarely goes out of his way to prevent it.
He's particularly good at rationalising and excusing his actions, especially to himself. If something's bothering him, he'd sooner not think about it. In fact, his social interactions are little different; if he's feeling unsure of himself, he'll brazen it out; twice as cocky as usual and just hope for the best. He's loath to reveal any vulnerability at all, generally affecting an air of good humoured, if laconic, sarcasm at most times. To his credit, it's genuine more often than it's feigned; he's fairly easy-going.
Background:
Hometown: Battersea
Family: One adoptive brother, Tom (deceased). Parents unknown.
History: Allan was a foundling, left on the doorstep of the Battersea tanner’s guild. Abandoned children were often taken in and brought up as apprentices, although it was a fairly mean existence. By the time he was old enough to begin lessons he'd taken to singing lewd ballads at drunken workmen at the local inn for pennies in his spare time; he was a cheeky but adorable youngster and most of the tradesmen had a degree of sympathy for him. Before long, he’d graduated to slipping men’s change from their purses whilst they slept in puddles of sour-smelling beer, or winning their newly-earned wages in dice games. When an older lad from the next village over showed him how to trap rabbits for extra food, Allan decided that he had little reason to depend on the guildhouse, with its harsh rules and boring lectures, except for the shelter it provided each night. Of course, when he refused to work for the craftsmen or learn what they attempted to teach, they soon lost patience with his attitude and the shelter of the guild was swiftly revoked. At fourteen, or thereabouts, Allan found himself homeless and fending for himself. He slept where he could, mostly in barns and stables, earning a few coins here and there for simple manual labour but his indolence would always win out; usually he’d abandon work in favour of thieving after a while. Before long, most of townspeople had lost sympathy for him and he decided to move on to greener pastures. He made his passage out of town on a passing haywain whose driver he slipped the last of his coins to, in the company of another young runaway by the name of Tom. The pair were largely nomadic for the next several years, scamming and filching their way across England. In fact, his time in Nottingham is possibly the longest he's spent in any one place.
His arrival in the shire was inauspicious; he was on his own, having parted company with Tom some months before. Robin saved first his finger, then his neck and after that it seemed like he'd met as good a person as any to throw in his lot with. For the best part of a year Allan enjoyed himself immensely with grand plans and daring missions to entertain him, but after a while the shine of their heroic mission faded a little; he became more and more preoccupied with the fact that he'd seen hundreds of pounds pass through his fingers and he was no better off for his labours. When he was captured by Guy of Gisborne, it wasn't hard for the sheriff's man entice him into a little espionage with the promise of generous payment and Allan didn't lose a whole lot of sleep over it either, until Robin began to suspect something was up. Scared of getting caught and belatedly filled with awkward guilt at the mistrust and suspicion that had flared up between his friends, he intended to collect his final payment and call it quits - a lucky escape. Unfortunately for Allan, Robin was waiting for him. Caught on the defensive and refused a second chance, Allan decided in a fit of pique that if the outlaws didn't want him, he'd try his luck with Gisborne.
Writing Sample:
“Gotcha.”
The voice was familiar but Allan didn’t place it straight away. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Gisborne. Surely, one of the soldiers in the tavern had recognised him. There was no way that Guy would be seen dead in the Trip Inn without damn good reason.
He knew running was pointless, but he tried anyway. No use going meekly like a lamb; unlikely that it would make any difference in the long run. He bolted from the table but Gisborne wasn’t alone; a cadre of mailed bodies blocked the room’s only exit. One seized each arm whilst a third clapped irons around his wrists. They were well organised; obviously not taking any chances. He opened his mouth to swear at them but Gisborne backhanded him hard across the mouth before he’d framed the words.
“Take him to the dungeons.”
He relented then, allowing himself to be force-marched through the muddy streets. He knew when he was beaten. If he was lucky, one of the other outlaws would see him.
He wasn’t lucky. Half an hour later, chained to a post and freezing cold, Allan coughed miserably. He couldn’t tell if his split lip had stopped bleeding, but it was still throbbing like a bastard. The blow had been a sly one; the manacles had already been on his wrists before Guy struck.
He shook his head and cursed his miserable fortune. All he’d wanted was a quiet afternoon in the Trip, tricking a few coppers from the guards. Nottingham’s dungeons had decidedly not been part of the plan. He winced as he inadvertenly recalled the self-satisfied smirk on Gisborne’s face as he’d been led away. It was hours now since he’d left Robin and Much in the marketplace, but he knew in his heart of hearts that they weren’t coming for him. After the short words he’d exchanged with them, they were bound to assume he wanted time to himself to cool his head. Likely they’d think he was passed out drunk by now, and it was doubtful they’d even suspect anything was wrong until he failed to turn up tomorrow morning. Pound to a penny, he’d already be swinging at dawn. It was down to him to save his own neck this time. Allan knew he’d have to bide his time and save his strength if he wanted to get out of here in one piece.