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Kale Tamblyn

Thief. Con artist. Smooth operator.

0 · 229 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Jag

So begins...

Kale Tamblyn's Story

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn enters the bar slowly, a steady and even cadence to his steps. Despite the man's careful steps, it appears that he is attempting to hide a slightl limp in his right leg.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn barely had time to adjust to the warmth of the room when an open door carried both a blast of cold air and the person of Estobany De'Laruz Rose into the room. The priest thought the man a touch odd by the way he walked as if weary of the floor beneath him. "Troubles, my friend?" Kale spoke aloud to the complete stranger.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn took a moment to examine the man before responding again. His years had taught him that a man’s first words told everything he needed to know about that person – even if they were nothing but craftily-spun lies and deceits. Kale Tamblyn looked as though he could have been a man of war in another life with a fair back and shoulders under fair garments, but his war lay on the other side of the visible world.

“We’re all lost, my friend,” he spoke again. His voice, though someway haggard and smoky, carried with it a soothing sense of confidence and hidden knowledge. “Some just more literally than others. Regardless, you are in no danger here.”

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn made no motion toward the man. Anyone could sense that he was uneasy at the moment as eyes shifted with a sense of alert fear that only came to those who knew death or at least had a passing familiarity with the darkness that eventually consumed all before the warm embrace of the Light.

“The name of this establishment is Gambit’s. Far from the peak of civilization, but it is warm and, for the evening, relatively safe. Most travelers making passage through Wing City choose a room here for the night – as it seems befitting to your…situation.” He hesitated to add the last, but he’d seen too many strange things of late to fail now. “This land, all you see under the Heavens, is known here as Terra.”

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn If the man was trying Tamblyn’s patience, the priest was doing an excellent job of hiding the fact. Kale was dressed simply as was befitting the members of the High Order outside of their ceremonial duties. A simply pair of black pants and a grey shirt lacking any collar or other indication. The tattoos running along his forearm, however, display the markings that he’d once undergone during his indoctrination to the Order of the Faith.

“You are here now. Little else matters,” the priest said with a scratch in his voice as he walked away and spoke quietly with the tender behind the counter, his efforts eventually yielding him two warm drinks.

“Drink this. I find it a worth companion on long nights.” Asking no permission otherwise, the man took a seat across from the newcomer.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn ‘s lips broke into a smile as he watched the strange react with a less-than-pleasurable check to the drink provided to him. “It is quite strong,” he said with an almost apologetic tone, “but you’ll find that little else warms the body quite so well. The ingredients are distilled by Brothers of my Order.”

“Forgive my rudeness. My name is Kale Tamblyn.”

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn found the man before him to be something of an enigma. The fearful and almost paranoid nature with which he conducted himself contrasted on every natural level with the sense of charisma witch which the man spoke. It was almost a dual nature that clashed within Kale’s mind as he sensed the man before him.

“Slowly, slowly,” he encouraged while taking a slow drink from his own. “You’ll have to forgive my rather forward nature of approaching such a complete stranger. Unlike those of the Order who choose the solitude and silence of true monastic life, I find myself in poor sorts without the company of others.”

“Alas,” he spoke as he stood with an less-carefully hidden wince in his leg, “I must return. Our Order has an agreement with the proprietors by which we maintain a room here. You are welcome to its accommodations for the night.”

“If your travels keep you here, pay a visit to the Monastery. Otherwise,” he said with a close of his eyes for a fleeting moment, “may the Light guide you.”

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn was dressed to the nines. They say that stolen honey always tastes a little sweeter and Kale Tamblyn was a walking testament to the truth of the work. From simple lift jobs to the most elaborate cons requiring months of planning – the man was a self-proclaimed master. And now he’d set his sights on Wing City.

The suit was black. All of it. The only tie sticking out from the sea of darkness was a crimson tie streaming down chest. Kale was in a good mood. After all, it was a target rich environment.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn dug into his pocket and retrieved a coin. The coin was a foreign currency and wouldn’t buy him a single drop of the cheapest liquor in the house, both sides faded from too much contact and not enough care. The coin had a story that stretched far beyond Kale’s touch, but for the moment the silver piece found itself twirled with impressive speed and flash between the man’s fingers as she settled down at the end of the bar.

“Hmm…something smooth I think,” he reveled with an easy voice to no one in particular, apparently amused with the coin for the time being.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn watched the coin trickle down his fingers one last time before clutching it into a tight fist long enough for knuckles to go white. Then, with another flick of the wrist, it was gone. Some people called it cheap magic. Kale called it a career. Sweeping back hair grown out over his ears and down his neck slightly, he tapped in an order for some random mixed drink and began target hunting…err…people watching.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn hid the scowl he felt beneath the carefully crafted smile playing upon his lips as a gin and tonic was laid carefully before him. Not a damn interesting soul here. Not even one worth working, he thought to himself upon bringing the glass to his lips with a pensive hesitation before drinking. The drink wasn’t anything spectacular, but compared to the pisswater they’d served on the flight in, Kale was glad for anything. Kale was grateful. Now there was a good joke.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn slipped in again. Shedding the dark overcoat and hanging it by the door, Kale smoothed the lines on the black suit. Kale liked black. It was smooth, it was sleek and it w as stealthy -- all good thing in the man’s line of work. The hand-tailored suit of solid black was accidently by a straight tie of a deep crimson red.

“This oughtta be fun,” he said under a devious smirk as he made his way up to the bar.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn carried himself with an air. It wasn’t really arrogance so much as supreme confidence, but the two were seldom able to be pulled apart and often mistaken for one another. And Kale probably was a little arrogant. Or a lot.

“I know,” he fired back at Charlotte with a flick of the wrist to reveal once again the coin that seldom stayed out of his hand for long. Flipping it between his knuckles with alarming speed, he closed the distance.

“Most inviting group I’ve seen around here in a while. No stiffs in uniforms.”

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn was always up for a good time. Work hard and play harder – that was the motto that had gotten the man to the ripe age of…well, that was another closely guarded secret that tended to change based on the situation. He’d make up mind later.

“A drink sounds great. And don’t let the suit fool you. Clothes may make a man but they’re a poor choice for hiding the devil buried inside,” he quipped back before tapping in his own order, a beer and some random mixed shot. For that matter, he punched in a second dose of the same shot.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn found the girl’s greeting to be as fleeting as her attention, turning quickly to another and striking up a conversation with a seeming old friend. The man shrugged off the gesture for a moment and waited for the beer to be served, a darker brew than the house blend and a touch of the taste of home. As for the location of home? Another story that always ended up with a different conclusion.

“My kind of party,” the man said with a sarcastic drip to his voice. Unbuttoning the jacket and stretching with his back pressed against the bar behind him, Kale took a long drink followed by a satisfied sigh.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn leaves abruptly.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn reached down to check the new pocket watch tucked safely inside the smooth folds of the dark blue paints covering his lower half. Of course, the watch wasn’t new, but it was certainly knew to Kale who’d stolen it the night before. His dress now was far more casually and the red and black affair from the night before, this time opting for a dark blue with a white shirt and no tie. Casual enough.

“Let’s see if there’s life after the party, shall we?” He spoke with the same devious smirk as the night before.

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Kale Tamblyn was still nursing something of a headache from joyous excess indulged the night before, a few doses of same poison from the night before had largely eased his aches by this point in the day. The hair of the dog and all. Tucking the watch back into his pocket and making an easy saunter to the bar, the man slid into a relaxed posture and began to tap and the automatic ordering screen idly. It wasn’t so much that the man needed a drink or any other vice – okay, that much was a lie – but it just didn’t feel right to spend long in this place without a drink in hand.

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Kale Tamblyn breathed a little easier as a drink finally found its way into crafty hands and a thick glass was pretty lightly to lips donning that devil’s smile. It wasn’t alcohol but instead some light carbonated soda. Not the most sophisticated of choices, but the bubbles felt good on a throat that had been burned by knocking back too many shots of the hard stuff the night before on his way to a black night spotted by a few still frames of what appeared to have been one hell of a time.

Reaching into his pocket, the man withdrew not the watch but instead the same strange foreign coin from which his fingers seldom abstained for long, returning to its usual role spinning in and out of agile fingers as the man took another idle sip.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn caught glimpses of conversations in the same fashion the spinning coin caught glints of light shining through the bar, just horizontal slices of the lives around him in their various stages of joy and misery. Drama seemed to be in no short supply, but it was that drama that often made for the blind passion on which he thrived at times. Make a person believe something and you can fool them for a while. Make them love and hate and they’ll eat out of your hand while you rob them blind.

“Smells good in here. Must have been a while since the last stiff in a uniform bothered to crawl by,” he said out loud to no one in particular before taking another drink.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn allowed the coin to roll along his knuckles effortlessly until it pass the precipice of his index finger and was reward with a light flick from his thumb, sending it spinning into the air before returning to the palm of his hand. Tails. Then again, no one else would be able to tell the difference on the strange coin, so who was he argue with the philosophy that luck was only what Kale decided it should be on that day?

“My gratitude, then,” he responded slyly before setting the now-empty glace on the counter and smooth down the side of the dark blue jacket as he watched the woman walk away before closing his eyes and gritting his teeth for a moment in annoyance at the belligerent man violently demanding his drinks. The expression lasted only an instant before Kale replaced the coin and slowly ordered a refill.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn leaned back in his reverse seat at the bar, the wooden counter providing a strength against which the man arched his back with a mixture of relaxation and pain. Kale couldn’t help but to laugh under his breath slightly with a return of that devil smile at the entrance of Charlotte. She looked how he’d felt a few hours ago. Lightweight, he thought to himself as he reached over and grabbed the refill of the soda.

“Judging from that look, your night either got really good or really bad after I tabbed out,” he responded with a voice hinged on the corner of that smirk.

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#, as written by Jag
Kale Tamblyn honestly couldn’t tell Charlotte much more about his own night. Except for the part about waking up in a bed that was definitely not his own, but that was only further evidence of what had probably been a good night in the absence of injury or angry husband – neither of which would be too big of a surprise.

“Here’s to forgetting the good nights and not being able to shake the rotten ones. Some life,” he muttered with a slight raise of his own glass before another sip.

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Kale Tamblyn needed a break. He’d been in Wing City for a while now and still didn’t even have an inclination for a big job yet. Not that he needed one. He didn’t need the money or anything else he could possibly steal, but it was more a since of boredom than anything else.

“I remember a girl that can surprisingly hold her liquor and drink some poor saps damn near under the table,” he fired back with another drink. “And going home with a fairly good-looking brunette, but I think I was looking through shotglasses at that point and didn’t bother to do the Coyote Ugly check this morning. Ignorance is bliss.”

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Kale Tamblyn fought the urge to withdraw the coin again. His hands needed the distraction. Hands that were fast and stealthy and some would said magical, but the curse of their ability was an often-bored disposure. Idle hands were the devil’s playthings and play was what Kale Tamblyn often did best.

“Tell me something,” he said, leaning in closely to Charlotte for a moment. “If I were to rob somebody blind in here, who would you pick for a target. I’m not talking about the biggest score or the easiest life – just someone.”