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Braxton Lee

New Orleans Police Department Deputy at the end of his rope.

0 · 628 views · located in New Orleans, Louisiana

a character in “The Witching Hr”, as played by leisurelyatwar

Description

Image

Name || Braxton Lee

Age || 32

Occupation || Officer in NOPD

___________________________________


ImageQuirks:
• Over drinking.
• Can not stand wearing shorts.
• Lack of subtlety 
Skills:
• His marksmanship when sober is competitive.
• Having been the eldest boy of a rougher family, Braxton alway knew how to fight, and fight well.
• Often his biggest breaks were based on gut feelings alone. He has an incredible natural instinct.

___________________________________

ImagePersonality

Many who knew Braxton as a younger man speak of him with a sense of sympathy.


"Meh," they'd say "he was always an old soul."

And that he was. 
Having dedicated years to his family no other reason than for their self interest. He never asked for much, never demanded gratitude or compensation, he just did stuff because he felt like someone had to. This could extend to most things he accomplished in life, never feeling a real drive rather than a sense of obligation. When he realized he didn't have anyone depending on him anymore, no one who could suffer consequences from his own actions, Braxton finally dropped the macho man act and let himself breathe.

Granted his actions were forgivable coming from maybe a college kid, Braxton started his paved path to hell at the ripe age of 29. Give Braxton a few beers and watch the serious demeanor melt, along with all his usually caustic and bitter comments. His mouth could run for hours, telling stories and making all the woman in the room feel beautiful.

Oh, women. 
To say he had a soft spot for the fairer sex would be a lie. Braxton loved women, he had so many younger sisters he knew the right things to say to a woman. All women, all sizes, shapes and shades - they're all beautiful. Even in the few times when he encounters a woman most would deem otherwise a cancer he finds a silver lining. While he's never come close to marriage, Braxton has always been a wonderful man to date. He remains honest and open to communication, perhaps from years of playing father figure to his siblings, and keeps things fun and light. Most women he dated would eventually figure out he never liked to make things exclusive and either run the other way, or stay and become upset when things never change and leave anyways. 
Women, they were beautiful, but they always left.

Perhaps he let himself harden in the last few years, only able to enjoy life the use of substance, although he'd never admit it. It probably happened sometime after his youngest brother left for UCLA a few years back. When he started to become obsolete in his family's life, after all of those years dedicating to them without any expectations in return, he had never realized that one day it would all end with them leaving.
They all left.

He has a cat at home he takes care of now, although he is an outdoor cat, and is staying in a flat off Frenchman street. He's taking things one day at a time, trying not to go crazy in the meantime.

ImageHistory
Braxton grew up in a traditional southern home in the swamplands of Louisiana. He was raised with five sisters and two brothers, being the eldest. While his parents were together for the better half of his childhood, Braxton often found himself taking a paternal role with his siblings. Their dad was good for teaching them to hunt and drink, sometimes simultaneously, but he wasn't much of a support system. Most would say he never grew up, and that he wanted to be more of a friend to his kids than a parent. 

Braxton came along while his parents were still young, still without a high school diploma let alone a base for a future. His parents dropped out of school and worked labor jobs, often quitting after a few months and finding another equally dreadful job to waste away at. As their family grew, his father became more and more distant, dedicating weekends to fishing or hunting. Braxton's mother had to run the house on her own, and expected Braxton to pick up most of his fathers slack. He walked his siblings to and from school, handled any bullies or school yard scraps. He policed their lives, pushing himself as the disciplinarian while his parents bought them booze behind his back. 

Naturally his siblings developed a sort of resentment for him usually reserved for only parents, but he also knew this came with a certain level of respect his parents could never attain. Much to many people's surprise, he went to college locally. He had an athletic scholarship offered to him from U of F he turned down, and then he never brought it up again.

His siblings were always his reason for sticking around, he always knew he'd be fine no matter what. He never regretted sticking around to push the others out the nest when the time came, heaven knows his parents never would. When they went on to become entrepreneurs and one a lawyer, his eldest sister now doing her internship for med school, he couldn't help but to be proud.

When his youngest brother left for college, Braxton applied to the NOLA police department. With his BA in criminal justice and a minor in forensics he seemed like a perfect fit. He adjusted well in the new city, getting drunk with his partner on bourbon street and hooking up with tourists. Many nights he took a beautiful woman to bed, and many nights he thought life finally decided he'd deserve the high life.

Then there came the point he realized he wasn't needed anymore. No one relied on him, his family rarely spoke to him they were so caught up in their own lives. He would waste his days boozing away and had no one to come home to. It would be lying if he claimed he got himself together after that. He just seemed to drink more and care less. He was working the same job, being someone's bitch for years. He moved through the ranks quickly at first, but then just sort of plateaued as his bitterness grew.

Now he just coasts through dazed consciousness, spending his money on debauchery and self destruction. After his most recent suspension involved him waking up naked in the back of his cop car, Braxton is on thin ice and shunned to patrol duty.



Image
FC || TOM HARDY

So begins...

Braxton Lee's Story

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Character Portrait: Braxton Lee
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Braxton Lee
His evening shift had started off slowly, he ate a po’boy sitting in his cruiser at Carondelet and Jackson, hoping to catch speeders as they raced home from the bars. It was a lot of businesses along the main road, but there were a lot of residential homes in the side streets, he’d normally be able to fill up his quota by catching drunk drivers on their way home. There hadn’t been much action that night, most of the action happened along bourbon street, which Braxton had lost the privilege of patrolling when he’d spend his times in the strip clubs with a drink in hand rather than on the streets.

Around an hour after dusk, the radio rang a disturbance rang in by the bible thumping freak of a woman next door to the Miss Robichaux’s Academy, who called in at least three or four times a week. The school fell in his district so he took the call, running solo as usual. After his last stint his sergeant gave him patrol in the least eventful neck of the woods to spend nights alone in the cruiser, since apparently sober Braxton had a hard time “getting along with others”. Jokes on sergeant, Braxton had a pocket flask he would sip on all night listening to his favorite jams and smoking spliffs.

Driving past the academy it seemed pretty calm, as usual. The woman often blew things out of proportion, claiming screaming like ‘blood curdling screams’ from the home at least three times a month, or have ‘satanic activity’. All nonsense really, they just were always required to at least drive by. It had grown into a huge joke within the station, when Braxton was able to comfortably hang around with the other officers. Biting the inside of his cheek, Braxton pulled his cruiser along the curb around the corner from the school, reclining his seat back. He couldn’t figure out how long we would be iced out, not that he really minded. Had he really fucked up that bad that he had to be forced out on the edge of the department?

Admittedly, Braxton had gotten his hands dirty a few times, maybe made friends with the wrong kind of people or turned a blind eye at the wrong times - but nothing at the proportions that others had accused him of. As he pondered this, he broke down a fresh green nugget of delicious thc, mixing it with tobacco. If he was going to be treated like the bad cop, maybe he should live up to the punishment. His phone played the music over the speakers of his Mustang Charger, he remembered when these cruisers came out - the city was so pissed at the ‘wasted tax dollars’, the notion made him laugh. New Orleans was always a city where the law got their hands dirty and the working class suffered, european influence at it’s best.

He sparked the spliff, laying back looking out his window as he smoked the spliff down. The academy always had it’s intrigue about it, it’s exclusivity notorious among locals. The sizes of classes had yo-yo’d over the course of several decades, only allowing women into recent times according to the grape vine. He would drive past the school often and see gorgeous women of all sorts and ages, he even once caught a glimpse of that movie star Madison something or other. It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t considered visiting the school under the guise of a call about a disturbance, just to get a glimpse inside.

Braxton straightened himself up, rolling down his windows and stepping outside of his cruiser to let it air out. If this was punishment, he should’ve taken the cruiser through bourbon street drunk a long time ago. A loud crack cut the silence of neighborhood, placing his hand on his gun, Braxton remained poised and alert. When nothing followed, he took a few paces down the block toward the school, squinting past the trees. He could see the faint outline of smoke against the indigo smoke, curling up and out. He raced back to his cruiser, grabbing his radio. “Diane, this is cruiser 248 please send the fire department to my location immediately. On a follow up to a call about a disturbance on the premises I heard a loud crack, then seeing smoke rising from behind the house. I could do with a couple more bodies too, while you’re at it.”

He threw the radio at the seat beside him, regretting the spliff he had just gunned down. Timing wasn’t ever in his favor, but he suppose the odds of him being inebriated in a time of crisis was more likely than otherwise. Cursing to himself, he pulled the cruiser around to the front of the building, standing at the gate and able to see the flames rise higher and higher. He knew he should run to the front door to try to alert someone or check it out himself, but he was unable to pass the gate into the premises. He couldn’t even force himself to lift his foot to walk in, it wasn’t fear but it was some strange thing within him that defied all reason and willed him to stand there, gun in hand and staring forward, waiting.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Fiona Goode Character Portrait: Silas Abernathy Character Portrait: Kyle Spencer Character Portrait: Pell Laveau Character Portrait: Hale Bjarki Character Portrait: Rowe McDermott
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Hale had taken Pell and Rowe by the shoulders firmly. He started to have a twinge of regret, or hesitation, as he brought them to Council in the greenhouse. This tiny sentiment exploded when Pell started caterwauling and howling for Kyle, fear corpulent in those charcoal eyes of hers. She thrashed so violently that Ms. Snow’s factotums seized her securely without words. They pulled her into the greenhouse, ahead of Hale and Rowe. With a flinty whisper, Hale said, “Be contrite, Rowe.” Hale’s long fingers relinquished as he stepped back and watched his students be formally requested… Or taken, by the very council that employed him.

The young scout folded his hands, eyes alert and forward. Myrtle, modish in her regalia with her epic red hair, drew her lips into a thin line. There was no sympathy or curiosity as to why Pell fought back. They did not care, had all gone too far now. It was especially strange to see the anomalous woman not the least bit intrigued. Worse than strange, it meant bad news. Deals with the gate keeper weren’t to be taken lightly, whether or not they were made. Contact with Legba could mean opening a can of worms that no one wanted to confront. Age old wars, voodoo on the horizon, that sort of thing. Pell was certainly in trouble, and Rowe, with his second strike on the same offense, was as well.

Straightening his thin crew neck, Hale stepped to the side and assumed for the most part, his role was no longer needed. Other than witness type responsibilities, that is. Myrtle and her entourage were resolute. Pell took this as some sort of horrible prelude to her death, and begun speaking hastily as components of the green house began to combust. Hale merely raised his eyebrows. The girl was a fighter. Rowe, too, but more of an adamant and silent type. Pell clutched onto him and began dragging him toward the nearest exit while the foundation of the green house simultaneously began to buckle.

The Council was already up to speed, their fingers simply moving to orchestrate the safe rehabilitation of the greenhouse as they proved to be the case from it. Hale filed himself into the madness, but tried to break away to find the two students before Council got their hands on them. He reached them only seconds before Myrtle’s voice rung out.

Inked hands, trepidation etched into their every grasping movement as Pell and Rowe’s shoulder were taken beneath their fingers, held onto the fabric of their clothes until the inevitable came. Hale felt his soul deflating, life leaving his blood as he looked into the pair of students. Rowe was so anemic and fearless looking in the glazed moonlight, but with pupils so flitting that it wasn’t hard to tell his brain was running amok with anxiety. Pell on the other hand, with cheeks flushed and remnants of a nosebleed, looked more calm, now. Both poles apart. Both so brave - but so incompatible. From the two, one could only expect disaster and ruin. And the little show they had just put on would not be handled with elementary laughter and a slap on the wrist.

This would end in flames.

There was a crowd gathering on the front lawn, and even if a seal was secured to keep non-magic folk unaware, they surely would see and hear all the people. Myrtle, in her ostentatious tone, hailed, “Enough!” Silence enveloped their world. The only sound following her stipulation was the cat’s paw pulling through the plot of garden and brick as the smell of smoke fell from the air. Ashes settled into Pell’s lavender locks from whence she came. Ivory cinder flecked Rowe’s eyelashes. They stood as a team, prepared for a fate they didn’t mean to embroider into Robichaux’ history books. "You must all be aware that we are facing more than just unruly students. Fairytale monsters are real, very much alive and present. A Haemomancer has been here tonight." There was confusion in wake of her statement. Fiona slowly sauntered along the perimeter of the bedlam, still with a Cabernet in hand. Somehow apathetic and somehow pleased. It baffled Hale until he peered back to the empty brick path where Pell and Rowe once stood.

"That experiment of yours," Myrtle hissed at Fiona, "Kyle. Get him to give you a statement on Pell and Rowe. Seems he would be the only honest source." Her red lips quirked, "Maybe, this new Silas, too." She glanced around for him on the porch.

A squad car rolled gradually to the front of the academy. Myrtle, unfazed by this blatantly fluctuating scoreboard between herself and Fiona, drew an Oriental fan from the waist of her cinched garb. Idly she fanned herself with it, breaking the seal and looking above to the second story of a school she used to attend, “No messes to clean up. Except for your ever so distasteful attitude, Fiona.” She and her entourage swayed elegantly to the same rhythm upon exit, nodding to the attending officer with a, “This one will bore you to death. Good night, officer.”