[OOC] Application
Name: [OC] Oliver Gareth Long
Series: [N/A]
Canon: [N/A]
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Profession: Prostitute.
History: ***World Note: Oliver is from a world basically identical to our own, excepting that everyone there is kemonomimi, with a predominance of nekomimis like Oliver. (Of course, that is a term I use to describe it, not one that Oliver would know or use himself.) Also, in his home world, there is no magic or anything similar, but is connected to worlds where such things are possible.
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Born to wealthy parents, the third of four children. He has two older sisters, and had a younger, twin brother. He was, without a doubt, a pampered child, and being an undisputed musical prodigy. He even went to university for music (his brother, of course, going to the same uni). For a short time. See, not long after they started school, war broke out, and they two were captured because of Oliver and his asthma. They were taken in not as prisoners of war, however, but as slaves, and they didn’t remain in their world for very long.
Lost and alone, they clung to one another for a desperate hint of stability. Given the circumstances, no one could really blame them for turning from brotherly closeness to something more intimate. In the quiet, shadowed corners of the pens and the tiny rooms occasionally available to them, they became lovers.
Slaves, however, do not have their own lives and for the twins, this was a very bad thing. Events nearly tore them apart, and they came out of their time in the pens missing most of their once long and luxurious hair; and their left ears, too. By this time, they were not the kids they used to be, but hardened, reserved young men. Life had been cruel; it was to get worse.
They were purchased by a woman who was quite interested in them. She was a trainer, and took it upon herself to smooth over the rough edges the twins had. For his brother, it worked fine, and the younger twin became her loyal and devoted pet. For Oliver, it went horribly wrong, and when she broke him he shattered. It took time, but he came back. Mostly. Not the same as before, of course, but well enough that he could function.
They became a family. A twisted, messed up, broken little family, but a family anyway.
And then she was killed before their eyes. And his brother, defending Oliver from the murderer, died too. Covered in their blood, Oliver came out alive when only one person walked away from that confrontation. Now, he was alone.
He was sent back to the pens. Of course, he was experienced and worth quite a bit, given his training, and it didn’t take long for him to become a house slave, a coveted post among those in the pens, because it assured a warm place to sleep, decent food, and protection.
In his four years of service, he became one of the most prized slaves of the house. Gay or not, he could do what needed to be done with everyone who was sent to him, and his manners are impeccable. He has learned etiquette and manners from a large number of cultures and worlds, and has worked them into a persona he uses in public that isn’t exactly European, Asian, African, or anything else like that. After most of four years of this, he was named senior slave, a privilege that actually placed him above a large number of the unowned staff members, but moments after receiving the news, he stated to feel a little dizzy and...
Personality: Oliver is quiet, but not shy, polite and deferential, but not submissive, and undeniably sensual in his actions throughout. He acts reserved, but this is because a certain level of reservation is important in shows of respect. He has no shame, and the reservation is dropped with familiarity or when he is working as easily as a coat. It is hard, though not impossible, to unnerve him, and though he fears many things, making this fear visible is also quite difficult. He feels pain, but his pain threshold is so much higher than normal because of experience that it is not uncommon for him to be surprised at finding blood on himself. He may come off seeing reckless, doing things like grabbing pots he’s been cooking with without a pot holder, taking hot plastic bowls out of the microwave by hand, not cooling down his dishwater, usually things that won’t injure him, but not always.
As far as work goes, he play the bottom with ease, but it is an act. He simply can’t manage the ‘blushing bride’ style, and it’s not uncommon for him to step in and take charge, even when taking it, if he thinks it’s necessary (and allowed). When he is given the chance, he is very controlling, dominate, and, well, he is also one kinky bastard. He’ll never discuss his ‘clients’ with anyone without express permission. The only possible exception might be his direct boss and her boss, but that would have to be a dire situation, almost certainly involving danger to the other prostitutes, whom he will feel a need to protect, even if he never shows it. He’s even willing to take a great deal of punishment (“if they can actually call it that”) for this, though he hopes he will not have to. The ability to discriminate in this way, he believes, is very important for someone in his position-if he can be trusted, he’ll get repeat business far more readily, and that is always best.
Oliver was a musical prodigy, and there are part of this skill that have come through with him over the last six years, but the parts are scattered. He can play the violin, the only instrument he has touched in years, but most other instruments are beyond him, at this point. With practice and study, he can relearn them, of course, but that takes time and money that are not readily available to i-jin prostitutes. This is one of the few things he is likely to truly bemoan over in regards to his new life.
Oliver is not a fighter; while he was taught how to hold a knife or dagger, even use it if it comes down to a life-or-death situation, this doesn’t mean he could stand up to an Igura Player and be expected to come out a winner. However, if it does come down to life-or-death, Oliver is more than willing to take a life-he already has blood on his hands, if through luck and attrition (since the guy had been fighting two more capable opponents already) more than skill. When pressed to fight, he will not hesitate to use full force: he knows his life will depend on ending any such confrontation quickly. Oliver’s use of full force, however willing, is still quite lacking in skill a trained fighter would show, however, and while he can be a threat, it is only through inattention or a disregard of his willingness to follow through on his threats that really make him one.
Third-Person Sample: Oliver stepped into his apartment, closed the door, locked it, and leaned his forehead against the wood. For exactly one minute, he let himself feel the weight of his life pressing in on him, his ear sticking out to the side and tail limp behind him. When the minute was over, his hand balled into a fist, and he hit the door, once, softly, and then he turned and smoothed the front of his shirt. Self pity was a relief, at times, but never very useful. He ducked into the bathroom, splashed water on his face and stripped down.
The lights in his apartment were all off, except for a small little light he kept on the nightstand that cast a very pale, red glow in his bedroom. There was also some light from outside, but not a great deal of it, and it was just how he liked it, after work. Quiet. Alone. He kicked the clothes towards the hamper, but didn’t bother to actually put them away like he was supposed to, not yet. He left the bathroom, and settled in on the mat on the floor of his living room, one of the first things he’d purchased. After more than six years as a slave and a pet, it was disturbing to sit easily on proper furniture, and when alone, he simply didn’t do it.
A long, feline stretch, his hands clasped over his head as his back arched and he let out air in an involuntary groan. He arranged his tail in his lap afterwards, not from modesty but for warmth. He had the temperature turned up fairly high, considering, but even with that, work always left him a bit chilled. Fingers ran through the fur as he played with the tail absently.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day, because he already felt ready for bed, and that meant he was getting stretched thin again, but it would pass. It always did. If it got too bad, he would speak with Tsubaki, though that would only be a last ditch effort. He was strong, he was capable of facing a bit of tired work. All in all, it didn’t really matter, because he was well separated from that point, and he was only heartsick, a painfully common occurrence in his life. So he ignored it, not so adeptly as his brother could have, be he was getting better. Detaching himself was easier, now.
Some time later, he couldn’t be sure how long and didn’t bother checking, because it was his time and so it didn’t matter. He stood, slowly, running a hand up his leg as he did so, and turned slowly, watching the room. He made his way back to the bathroom, and after a few moments, had the Jacuzzi tub full with water just that had the room full of steam. He sank into it to his chin, folded and curled up to fit completely under the water, and let himself fall half-way asleep, clearing his mind of everything but musical scores from childhood he worked through remembering. There were gaps he found frustrating, but they were relatively few, for this was common practice for him during the long nights he was not allowed to sleep at all.
After a long soak (and two more tubfulls of hot water), he was read for bed, and had everything he needed the next day waiting set up and ready to go for the next day. He had everything he needed for a good rest, too, and he couldn’t have asked for anything else ,really, save, perhaps, someone to warm the bed with him.
Maybe he would ask one of the others to stay over tomorrow. That way, they could argue it was nothing but training and the sharing of trade secrets...with luck, they wouldn’t even have to lie about that, too. He smiled, very faintly. That was a good plan, he thought.
First-Person Sample Journal Post: Interesting twist of luck, isn’t this? Moments after I am given rather consequential news, I find myself here, starting all over again. Still, I’m already doing better than I was before, and even if I’m stuck eating SOLID for the time being, I am not going to complain. I have a computer, time for myself, a decent job, a very nice apartment with three sections, even (imagine a bathroom that’s closed off!), and I can’t see much wrong with this place, so far as it goes. I’m happy being this ‘i-jin’ for getting all of this. I was fortunate to have a single little cell of a room to myself three days ago.
Of course, I can understand why some of you out there probably en’t so happy over all of this, because I remember how I felt when I was nineteen and in your place. Take my word for it, kiddos, you can fight it for years and make no headway but achieving a miserable life, or you can accept the choice you’ve made to be reading this and remember it was that or have your life end in a little pool over in the mansion and that’s that. After all, whatever path you chose, there’s a future you can work for, now. Can’t make things better for yourself if you’re leaking grey matter all over the floor.
So you made your choice, now that you’re reading this, and bloody good for you: choosing to live is the first step to getting out of the place you hate to be at the moment and getting into something better. Got it?