Announcements: Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newbies » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Presuppositionalism » Aphantasia » Skill Trees - Good, Bad & Ugly » In-Game Gods & Gameplay Impact » Cunningham's Law » The Tribalism of Religion » Lost Library » Game Theory » The Hidden Void » Removing CS From an Indy Universe : Solution » On the Matter of New Players and Orphaned Plays » STOP BLAMING US FOR RPG BEING SLOW! » Polytheism » The Game of Life » Just War » Science and Philosophy » The Bible as Literature » Humans in the MV. Questions and thoughts. » Surviving the post-holiday apocalypse. » SL: 1097 Bestiary of Monsters »

Players Wanted: Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life Ù©( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted » MV Recruiting Drive: sci-fi players wanted! » Veilbrand: The Revolution » Gonna do this anyway. » Looking for Kamen Rider Players » Elysium » Looking for roleplayers for a dystopian past! » Revamping Fantasy Adventure RPG, need new players » Here, At the End of the World (supernatural mystery drama) » Seeking Role Players for a TOG Based RP » so I made a Stranger Things RP idk why not come join » LFP - New Roleplay » Gifted/Mutant individuals escaping the gov » Spaceship Zero! A retro horror sci fi RP with rayguns :D »

0
followers
follow

Madigan Kennedy

"A little lipstick and you'll be fine."

0 · 199 views · located in The Bronx, New York

a character in “Untamed Things”, as played by xxtensionxx

Description

Image
Image





Image










Image

Image









Image

Full Name
Madigan Grace Kennedy

Age
20, nearly 21

Sexuality
Bi-Sexual

Height
5'9"

Weight
120 lbs

Occupation
Model/Bartender





Image

Personality
When she was younger, she was rather quite, the child who seemed good on the outside, but at night would sneak out and get drunk with a bunch of seniors. But after her start of her modeling career, she was whipped into shape. She had a strict diet and workout routine, she was retaught different ways on how to speak and how to answer questions, and she was forced to open up about things she didn't even know about herself. Casual walking became just as fierce as her model strut, and every appearance she made in front of anyone became as important as a photo shoot. Her quietness was replaced with a one of a kind bubbly personality, but whether or not that is good is questionable.

Her reaction to situations is not what you would think. She never looses her head, and it has become some what of a game her photographers have started playing, seeing if they can piss her off, but up until now, none have. Madigan takes a few breathes, one long blink, then puts a smile on her face, and she's fine, whether you've just woken her up with ice water or tripped her down stairs.

It seems the only thing she takes seriously is modeling, but even then, she's made it into a bit of a joke, and hopes to be known in the modeling world as one of the few models with personality. But here, when she's not modeling, well, let's hope she can get through it.





Image
ImageImage
ImageImage


Past
Ever since she was little, Madigan has had these huge blue eyes and long, wavy blonde hair. It used to not make a huge difference, though she would often get complimented, it hadn't impacted her. She was raised by a loving stay at home mother and her father was a cop, but at age 14, he was killed in a gun fight. Her mother, who had never worked a day in her life, was lucky her husband had come from a wealthy family. They had more than enough money to survive, but seeing her mother crumple after her fathers death, and since she had no job, simply laze around constantly lead to her feeling a need to do some type of work. Luckily for her, work soon came.

While walking home from school one day she was stopped on the street by a pair of women, They were both gorgeous, but she didn't realize she recognized them from the television until they told her what they were doing. They were scouts from a show that found models off the street, and brought them into the industry. At first, Madigan thought it might be a joke. Her getting asked to be a model?

But as the women went on, she realized this was going to be harder then just strutting in and getting the job. She was young, so what they wanted to do was start training her, for the next few years, and build her up to be the perfect model. The skinny, funny, friendly, loud, easy to work with model. And she took the job. Because if it meant she would be able to support herself and take care of herself, she was in.

After graduating highschool with a surprisingly good GPA for the amount of time she spent modeling, she left her small city in Florida to move to where he model agency was, in California. She had one final thing to do before she'd be able to really start up the business, and that was get her name out there. At age 20, she isn't the youngest out there, but she just got her pictures out there, and so far, she's already got a bunch of photoshoots. Hopefully she'll sail, not sink.

So begins...

Madigan Kennedy's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Madigan Kennedy Character Portrait: Hunter Ahrens
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

Image
Maybe if it hadn't rung so many time Madigan would still be sleeping, but after the phone rang unanswered for what must've been five minutes, the awaken girl couldn't help but answer. Untangling herself from a mass of sheets, comforters, and pillows, she stood, blinking a few times to clear her vision as her eyes adjusted to the bring light. Her lanky figure took rough, uneven steps to the phone, her arm outstretched and ready to grab whatever it came in contact with, which at first was an apple, and then the phone. Without looking, she pressed talk, plopping into a stool and pushing it up to her ear, shoving her maine of hair back, and out of her face.

"Hello?" She questioned, even the sound of her own voice seeming loud for whatever early morning hour it was. The shrill, perky voice was recognizable the second she heard the reply of, 'Eat, drink, shower, get ready, dress, and go. Not only are you working, but there will be people there. Big people. And I'll be there. You have four hours. Go."

Though the average person would likely be confused and shocked by the rude awakening and bombardment of commands, Madigan was used to it. It was her boss, and had been for the past 3 years, and she'd learnt to do as she was told without question. Checking her phone for the time, she thought about how four hours till the event meant about three hours till she was meant to be there and bartend.

Cursing lightly below her breath, Madigan trotted to the bathroom, turning on her shower all the way to hot, before running back and looking in the fridge. It was rather empty, the only items inside a small milk carton, a few lemons, two raw chicken breasts, arugula salad and a premade salad she had made the night before. Grabbing that, she sat down on her couch, in front of the tv, her salad in her lap. A bottle of water was on the table already, and as she flipped on the tv, she began eating. After each bite, she would count fifteen chews, swallow, then drink two sips of water. From the outside, she may seem like an extremely OCD girl, but it was actually a part of her diet. What little calories the chewing did burn actually made a difference, as did the water. She'd finished in about six minutes, having watched the gossip channel, finding it ridiculous, then put her dishes in the sink and went to the shower.

She stuck her finger into the water, finding it was almost hot, and closed the door behind her, stripping off her clothing and dropping on the ground. She entered the water, loving the heat and pressure her new shower head provided. Working fast, she shampooed her hair, putting in conditioner, and letting it sit while she washed her body and face. Finishing up, she reluctantly turned off the shower, getting out as fast as she could, and grabbing a towel.

Getting ready was pretty easy. Put some product in her hair, some lotion on her face, some simple makeup, blowdry her hair, and get dressed. Well, easy would be a bit of a stretch, but it was a routine Madigan was accustomed to, and she was used to it. Looking in the mirror, she let out a sigh. She didn't look bad, but she could tell something was off. She released another huff, grabbing a random thing from her makeup drawer. It was... a red lipstick. A smirk hit her face as she applied it, and she dropped it back in the drawer, shut it, and exited the bathroom. She grabbed her bag, phone, and knee length coat. On the way down the stairs, she pulled on the coat, buttoning it all the way down. It was logical to cover yourself up when wearing something as she was, a tight, flattering top and a loose, but short skirt, especially with heels.

Madigan pulled out her phone, keeping it close to her body as she texted her manager a quick, I'm on my way, before going underground, and hopping on the subway.

She arrived at the bar shortly after, a time check revealing to her that it was 7:15. Knowing the band would go on in just over an hour, she hustled, entering, conversing quickly with Hunter, another staff there, and heading over to the bar. Spotting Juliet, another worker there, she made her way over.

Madigan didn't go to interact with Juliet until the band had started up, but when they did, he went to her. "Hey," she said, getting a quick bearings before starting to take orders.





Image
Hunter stood at the bar's door, his hands in his pockets, as he leaned against the wall behind him. He'd been there for about an hour, and though the bar had not opened yet, he currently had nothing better to do. Besides, the bouncers he worked with were quite oafs, and they had no idea what to do without him. So, for the past hour or so, he'd been humoring the big guys. Currently, two of the four who worked were there. They laughed at anything Hunter convinced them was funny, and that was very easy to do. Checking his watch for the third time in the past four minutes, when he saw Rick, the second in command walk past, he waved him over.

"What, Ahrens?" He barked, giving him a look. "Can I grab some coffee? I'll be back soon." He asked, a pleading, hopeful look in his eyes. The man looked him up and down, about to say no by the look in his eyes, but he must've had a change of heart and shrugged, rolling his eyes. "You have half an hour." The man said, waving him off.

With a happy look, he gave the bafoons a salute, before leaving, a gigantic smile plastered on his face. It wasn't every day that he got to leave work early, so he was surprised his boss let him go on a night as big as it was. But it's not like there would be an issue. Everyone at the joint worked together well, and it was a pretty well functioning place.

Hunter made his way to the coffee shop a few blocks away, ordering a large hot black coffee, and sitting down to read the paper while he could. When he finished his coffee, he tossed the cup, and headed back. By then, it wasn't that long till opening, and as he took his place at the door, Madigan showed up. "Hello handsome," she said, grinning cheekily at him as usual. He grinned back, replying with a, "You don't look too bad yourself. Though you're a bit late." Madigan had laughed, undoing her jacket and handing it to him to keep in her usual place, before entering, walking past the boys as fast as possible.

Smirking more, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and basically napping while standing up, until people arrived. And when they did, he started checking I.Ds, signalling the bouncers to throw out anyone who was too young. Tonight was going to be a long night.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jaylene Sullivan Character Portrait: Juliet James Character Portrait: Alexandra Mikaelsson Character Portrait: Hazel Angel Character Portrait: Kaleb Dean Sivaj Character Portrait: Scully 'Spitz' Rollins Character Portrait: Madigan Kennedy
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

An illustrious rivulet of fluorescent teal light cascaded over Jaylene, her legs crossed as she stood and her posture tilting towards Spitz. Smiling at him over the brim of her glass, she nipped at the champagne in slow swallows before finally uttering the words, "Thanks for coming." No sooner than the glass had reached its last bubbles, a diligent waiter with striking azure eyes politely took the empty ware from Jaylene's hand and scurried off towards the bar. Raising her brows, she puckered her supple lips, "Damn, they're good, huh?" She nudged Spitz with a playful jab, her hand even caressing the back of his head in a genteel way as the petite digits traced his braids.

Subdued lights turned the stage obscure. Even Jaylene was on the edge of her seat, so to speak. She'd never physically met the band or truthfully looked into them. Admittedly she was going into the entire thing blind with sky-reaching aspirations. A Du Jour collaborator almost passed Jaylene, shortly thereafter pausing and backtracking a bit to greet her with his ornate grin that stretched from ear to ear while he pocketed his wallet.

"Miss Sullivan, a divine pleasure," he exclaimed as he took his hand in hers.
"Thank you," she replied gracefully, "So good to finally meet another editor."
"I hear great things, honey - I just wanted to tell you that if you keep this kind of shit up," he gasped for a minute and clasped a hand over his mouth, "Excuse mwah French. Nothing will stop you from taking over corporate headquarters."
"I wish," she oscillated her head for a moment, "Thanks so much."
"Keep these little twinks prancing around in those waitstaff costumes and I'll be lubricated and ready within the next hour," he giggled, waved a wiggly-fingered hand at Jaylene and cavorted off, "By the way, there's an abundance of models in here dying to get on your line. Take a look, half of em' ain't bad lookin'! Ta-ta!"

ImageAn awkward expression traversed over Jaylene's face as she looked back at Spitz for some reassurance that the conversation actually did in fact occur. Pleadingly, he put both of his hands up as if to say 'beats me'. She laughed quietly, her olive eyes now trained on the stage where band mates were calling their bassist to the front. She would have trailed the spotlight with her sights if Spitz didn't nudge her, causing her to straighten and lean away from him upon the new arrival that was inevitably a customer of his. Her attention span shortened.


"…Everyone let's call Kale the male to the stage."

Kale? Her mind spun wildly out of control for a minute. A bottomless agony in her stomach writhed, the phantom of intimacy and secrecy existing within its amniotic sac. She could feel it coming to life again, coinciding with that ache for her vices. When she reminded herself that just because she didn't often hear the name, didn't mean Kaleb Sivaj was the only one with it, she was calm enough to divert her attention from the band and back to Spitz and his fittingly dressed, attractive new brunette friend. The time spent waiting to introduce herself was hacked open so that recollections could bleed in. She snatched another glass of champagne shamelessly from the drinks Spitz ordered.

She'd left them without a word. Her friends. What was worse was the night Kaleb and herself shared, unbeknownst to their friends or anyone except the housekeeper, for that matter. Funny, it was the night that she cracked the bridge of Spitz' nose with her head that everything got so wild and out of hand with Kaleb. His darkest secret followed them both all the way home, snubbed out by the fire they sparked while rediscovering each other in Jaylene's bed. She could clearly recall the splintering light coming through the window and the scorching inward pain that belonged to her, just evaporating into nothing. And she took his torture, made it her own. The frailty of the image in her mind would have made her quake if she didn't so soon take a big swig of champagne, the only memo of reality being the tinkering of her Tiffany and Co. charm bracelet against the glass.

At full speed she swung back into physical existence. In a robotic sort of way, her hand had come out to meet the brunette's without Jaylene being fully aware of it. A clandestine mood swallowed the pub, its front platform glowing a feeble orange before the band concluded their set. In its shadow only radiated the soft hues from center pieces, giving the bar a sort of enigmatic, underwater look. In the brief moment of darkness Jaylene established the composure she needed, introducing herself deferentially as a fashion editor of Du Jour, then thanking the femme for coming to the show. Whether it was drugs or cars, the Sullivan woman didn't really want to know. But she slipped away, respecting business.

Pinching and flattening herself through the audience, Jaylene clutched a petite briefcase under one arm, careful not to lose it in all the commotion. Before she dared have any more to drink, commerce and negotiations had to be handled. After she met a few models and paid the band, she was free to cut loose. And honestly she could hardly wait. The past few weeks had been long. Seemed like she never got a day off since relocating to The Bronx for Du Jour. For once in her life she felt herself working more than playing. Dismissing the notion or any potential regrets, she pushed her way through until her hips were bumping right against the platform where the musicians were almost done clearing away their equipment. She slunk off to the far side, a shadowy lower section of the stage where she cracked open the briefcase to retrieve an envelope full of cash haphazardly labeled 'Music'.

But what her jade eyes met next couldn't have been told in advance. Even with the pithy unsettling moment when she heard his name. For all that, now it was confirmed. He wasn't an apparition in preceding times. Burnt sienna eyes substantiated a homesickness and candor she wasn't ready to confront. Mick's self-made twilight surged between Kaleb and Jaylene, their words mutually retained by what she speculated as pain, bitterness, and bizarre recollection. A chain of desperate 'I'm sorry's arose in her throat but never made it all the way out. Instead she was speechless, her business-trained android mannerisms taking over again as she imposed the white envelope full of cash, thrusting it toward him wordlessly. Her perception ingested every detail of his handsome veneer, glossing what memories held of him and taking his appeal to a whole new level. But still she couldn't quite digest it. And she couldn't speak. Here she was face to face with Kale, her best friend, her unlooked-for lover whose very lasting impression even still brought chills to her skin to this day. She booked his band, and she didn't even know it. All at once she felt empty but unabridged. Stupid. Senseless.



Image

Nothing surprised him or excited him much anymore. Well, except the skimpy outfits that looked like they were painted on half the girls that showed up and their willingness to be social and outgoing. That at least, made any event compelling. What kept him enlivened was the Ciroc and the incubating anticipated race that would come after-hours. Hazel wasn't anywhere to be seen just yet, and he wouldn't, for any chance in hell, use the Charger in a race should she decide not to show. But he wasn't surprised by Hazel's lateness, she had a habit of pregaming. He wasn't surprised either, to see Jaylene's lustrous silhouette tearing a path under the blinking lights, her likely issued clothes from Du Jour itself and her hands multitasking between placing business cards on tables and pointing in various directions. In between a drink, he texted Hazel asking where the fuck she was at.

He ashed out the cigar, its lasting smack of vanilla soaking into his tongue. Sepia eyes glanced back and forth, his complacent mien never changing even slightly. When he locked eyes with Jaylene, he sensed a familiar impression. He wasn't new to this; she desperately needed a fix. From the looks of her though, she was as clean as a whistle.

She took the stage, drifting towards the microphone with a certain uneasiness in her eyes that most wouldn't distinguish. But Spitz knew. He raised a glass as she spoke, a few following his cue. She had the throng of them cupped in her hands and she hardly knew it but, that was the splendor that came with her. Always did. Not shit changed, he thought to himself. Sometimes even he was dumbfounded by how much time could ameliorate and keep the same person all at once. A resounding ovation took the bar by force as Jaylene left her post, propping the microphone on its stand and letting the light fall dim in her aftermath. In a way, seeing her like that up on stage as a picture of health and glow before a crowd, he hoped she'd never go back to the drugs. She looked good. Made. Professional.

Spitz' vision trailed towards the bar where a unique blond was shuffling through alcohol. He recognized her - he wasn't a stranger to Mick's. She stood out among the rest of them, taut ivory lace wrapping her torso and a bold, small skirt. His best, wordless impression was that she was spewing confidence and frankly didn't give a fuck about much. He made a cognitive note to keep an eye on her and get a word and drink or two in with her before the end of the night. Maybe even invite her to the race, but it was all up in the air. He was known to leave with a few girls on many occasions. To the left of the bar came another doll-looking girl, eyes as wide as the moon. Just from the looks of her he could tell she was here to potentially get a place on a line. Du Jour's line. Maybe make a few connections. But shit, wasn't that what everyone was here for in some way or another?

His eyes were cast away from her when a gruff voice broke over the microphone and a bright beam dripped around the contour of none other but Kaleb Sivaj.

History sure had a tendency of making itself known and very present in Scully's life, but as far as Kaleb went, that shit was old news. They'd both been in New York long enough and Spitz was alert to Kaleb's existence and didn't bother to provoke or push at it. Man to man, neither of them cared for the other. The ebbing memory of the kid's conspicuous anger, jealousy and drug problem was enough to keep Spitz safely distanced from him. He didn't have time for that childish mess anymore - life was business, money, and the pleasure that came with all of the above. But the dude packed a solid group of females, so it was bizarre to see his band taking the bar by force without a gathering of groupies close in tow. And when Jaylene floated over to Spitz' booth, swathing the back of his head with her small-boned fingers and drinking her champagne, his inner deviant grinned with muted competition that so far, he'd won. Besides, out of all the times he'd seen Jaylene in the past few months, she didn't speak a word about Kaleb. Not even that crazy ass girl Summer.

Adios homie, he thought to himself spitefully.

He wrapped an arm around Jaylene's narrow waist, letting it stay loosely disassociated while he ordered a round of drinks. Nodding to her gratitude, he shrugged a little and said over the music, "Gotta' support my kins, right?"

What followed then was a confusing situation for Spitz who found the upcoming conversation nothing but hilarious and strange. His jaw jerked a few times as he gritted his teeth, attempting not to bust the fuck up at the blatant gay designer gushing at Jaylene and about the 'twinks' in the bar. When the man in the mint blazer straightened his collar and sauntered off, grabbing a drink from a tray, Jaylene looked at Spitz with utter comical disbelief in her eyes. In response, he put his hands up, surrendering himself to the hilarity. They were being as polite as what appeared to be business partners or comrades, and that suited Spitz just fine. She could dangle off of his arm like a charm all night if she wanted to. But she wasn't the type of merchandise he'd take home and fuck. He could find that mostly anywhere else.

On the thought of divine looking females, coincidentally the sultry tone of one before him spoke his name. His left hand was just about to raise another cigar to his lips when she arrived, simply dressed but drop dead to the last of inch of her. What embellished the young woman more than anything was her obscure hazel eyes and the dog tags hanging from her neck. A few years ago just the sight of dog tags would make Spitz cringe or squirm, but like most things in this world he came to find it wasn't always what it appeared. As the musicians on stage performed what was slowly becoming a crowd thriller, the noise roaring all about and shaking the very foundation of the bar, Spitz straightened his comportment and stuck the cigar between his teeth and flashed the chestnut-haired woman an angled, mischievous white grin, "Just Spitz is good with me."

He nodded to Jaylene whose blond tresses swayed from her waist as she stood in a more de rigueur fashion, extending a hand to the newcomer. In a gentlemanly manner Spitz motioned to the booth for the woman to take a seat. There was business to be talked or inaugurated. Having taken the hint, Jaylene set down her empty champagne glass and excused herself from the conversation. Spitz positioned himself in his seat so that he sat directly across from Alex, a playful inquisitive look riddling his face, like he had droves of questions about Alex herself. And what would have been expected to escape his mouth, didn't. Alternately, he breathed in the succinct silence of the band's finale, "So what can I do for you?"