Post by Endicott on Nov 1, 2014 22:22:25 GMT -5
Character Name: Charles Ricketts
Nickname(s): Known in Klamath as "Klamath Joe" and "The Barkeep"
Race: Human; Caucasian
Sex: Male
Age: 46
Birthplace: Vault City, California
Height: 6'0
Weight: 198lb
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black, with a few grew highlights in his hair and moustache
Hair Style: Short and Wavy
Facial Hair: Large Moustache, Lots of untrimmed stubble, Thin and Wiry Sideburns
Skin Color: Tanned
Build: Still muscled from his darker days, but a little leaner, boosting his agility and lowering his strength
Distinguishing Features: Aside from a big gunslinger moustache, a well-spoken vocabulary, a Californian accent and baby blue eyes, he's as nondescript as it gets.
Profession: Saloon Owner and Bartender
Skills:
Guns, extensive
Barter, extensive
Speech, extensive
Bartendery, masterful
Training: Vault City Elementary and Higher Education, Firearms Training and CQC Melee Combat Training, Self-Taught Trading Know-How and Bartenders Training
Other Abilities: Aside from being able to make you a toxic waste martini with a slice of mutfruit and a hint of iguana piss, not much.
Apparel: Red Bow-Tie, Brown vest with dress shirt, Arm Garters, White Apron, Belt Holster (unseen), Highly-Polished Black Dress Shoes, Tailored Black Dress Slacks, Large Black Hat (a la "Desperado Hat")
Weaponry: Keeps a .45 Tommy Gun beneath the bar, and carries a Borchardt C-93 pistol on his person.
Other Equipment: Aside from a small amount of ammo and a water flask when traveling, none.
Affiliation: The Oregon Republican Army (unofficially), The NCR (in terms of tax and trade negotiations), The Bishop Family (formerly)
Religious Belief: Agnostic
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Charles is, underneath, an easy going man with not a lot to loose and little to live for. Misdeeds from the past haunt him and make him feel cold and self-loathing, though this is all masked by a yellowed smile and a cheery-looking moustache. Through experience, he has become calm, collected and calculating, but also ruthless due to his knowledge of the trade and of darker ones. The NCR's harsh regime has made him quite cynical and depressed, and this reflects in conversation as undertones to the friendly serving attitude. To those who irritate him, he comes across as stubborn and abrasive, relating to his short temper and repressed past. Most noticeably, he is a closed book for most; you ask where he's from, he says he can't remember, you ask his name, he says he doesn't have one. Charles also comes across as intelligent and perceptive and he always has strongly opinionated political views on current events (often likening them to ones from the time before the war), from years of experience and from his general intellectual aptitude which was nurtured back in Vault City. Other than that, he's just The Barkeep; if you've the cash, he's got your poison.
Charles Ricketts was born in Vault City, and as a citizen he was quite privileged compared to those who were not. As a child, he received a standard education and did quite well in terms of political and historical fields. When the time came, he opted to take higher education too, and seemed like he was going to be a prominent politician or even a council member later on. Yet, he was plagued with clinical depression which made his life unbearable despite his gifts. As a young adult, he began acquiring jet illegally and taking it to escape from his painfully redundant life. It got worse, however, when they discovered his supply of jet and revoked his citizenship. A comfortably depressed life became uncomfortably depressing outside of the city.
His jet addiction could not be fed without any money to pay his dealer, so he had to go cold turkey as he begged on the streets for a few weeks. However, later on, he had remembered that his supplier mentioned New Reno when he asked what to do if he got kicked out of the city, and so New Reno seemed like the best, if the only, option. The trek to get there would be perilous, bandits stalked the wastes and creatures ruled the dusty landscape, and despite knowing this he began the journey unarmed, perhaps hoping the wastes would claim him, and they almost did. Scorpions poisoned him, and after he managed to lose them, the poison made him sick, and he was running low on water. Dehydrated, poisoned and delirious, Charles should've died. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, a caravan was passing by the area and saw him, taking pity. They took him with them to New Reno where they were going to sell their vast array of armaments, and paid a small fee for some water and antidote for him. Charles thanked them, but he wasn't sure if they'd saved his life or just made it all the more dangerous...
New Reno, the Biggest Little City in the World. Charles hated the name, but the town itself was worse; vice and sin was so abundant that it would be a worthless commodity. The man he went to see was offering work, and he needed the money to afford sustenance and a room. The work, however, entailed killing specific people, and Charles had limited knowledge of firearms or stealth, at first, so his first few hits were rather messy and rash, but he became more skilled as time went by. It was a cutthroat business, and a business that left one's psyche scarred and damaged beyond repair... but it paid for a room, food, a drink and a woman every now and then. Eventually, he changed employers due to the fact that his current one had been ironically whacked. The Bishop Family were his new employers for a few years, where his hits became more high profile, and where more money was involved, but most of Charles' money went towards drink, drugs and women, so it never collected to a large amount. Until one "specialist hit" later...
Charles had been tasked with killing a wealthy Brahmin Baron who was in town to buy a large shipment of arms and take his briefcase, and under no circumstances was he to open it. The hit wasn't easy, as he had to avoid the armed guard, and so waited until the baron was using the toilet to plant a knife in the back of his head and climb out the nearby window. The reward was 5,000 dollars, and though that was a steep price, Charles knew this briefcase was worth something. Although it was difficult, he removed the lock after a few tries and discovered just over around 60,000 dollars, from what he could count. No wonder it felt so heavy... But if he tried to run with the money, the Bishops would likely hunt him down. But to Charles, this was a lot of money. The next train heading north east would come through Golgotha soon...
Charles made a decision to take the money and run. Discretely leaving town, he took the next train and stayed on it for the next week, almost, heading as far away as possible. Eventually, he stopped in a boring little town known as Klamath. It was here that the thought occured to him... what would he even do with this amount of money? He could buy an arsenal of weaponry, a hundred whores, enough booze to destroy the livers of every waster in California... but he was trying to get away from these demons. Besides, he'd have to wait a few months before it was even safe to spend the money, so he had time to think... and after enough time had passed, he decided it might be better to invest it in a business. It was lack of long-term income that lead to his previous profession, after all. The one place up for sale in town was a bar called "The Brahmin's Udder", and although he didn't exactly want to be around alcohol himself, making it his living might make it less tempting, since it would be a drain on his resources.
A price was negotiated, and almost all, save for a few thousand, was all he had left after buying the place. The owner, of course, gave him some advice before leaving with his sum and oddly enough heading to New Reno. Charles' way with words helped in the early days of owning the joint, but later it was experience with a hint of natural-born skill that made him such a good salesman. Owning the place was a nice distraction from his past life and past misdeeds, and he had a new niche. As the bar aged well, so did he, at least until the NCR's rule grew a little stale. Traders like him and regular citizens were subject to harsh taxation and authoritarian inspections constantly. When Oregon started stirring up trouble for the NCR, he befriended members of the ORA, and assisted them in their various plots in the town, as well as keeping them knee deep in booze.
Currently, he serves alcohol to all who require it's effects and covertly helps the ORA in their grand scheme, despite the reminders he gets to his former self.
