The Artist's auth application

Steam Name: Marlon.
Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:42067608.
How long you've been playing HL2RP: 'bout 2 years now.

How long you've been playing on our server (if unsure, use /playtime in game): I joined today after we switched to the Outlands.

What you're applying for: Certain character traits and a weapon paired with moderate martial skill. I'm keeping the character and his past regardless.

Which of your characters will receive or be affected by what you're applying for: Jacklyn L'Artiste, nicknamed 'The Artist'. Bio needs a bit of polishing. Will do that soon.

How what you are applying for will benefit our server in terms of RP quality: On Wiretap people generally enjoyed the atmosphere my character had about him; witty, charming but also unpredictable and dangerous. I think the fact that he keeps people on edge both OOCLY and ICLY is a rather pleasant experience for both parties. Now, the weapon wouldn't necessarily to my character, but it has some sentimental value for Jack.

Please type out a well-detailed back story on how your character gained these skills or items that you are applying for. Use the post mentioned above to determine the length of your back story:

Schizophrenia - self explanatory

Eidetic memory - Eidetic memory (/aɪˈdɛtɪk/) is an ability to recall images, sounds or objects in memory with high precision for a few minutes[1][2] without using mnemonics. It occurs in a small number of children and is virtually non-existent in adults.[3] The word eidetic comes from the Greek word εἶδος (pronounced [êːdos], eidos, "seen").[4]

A 'Raging Bull' or a similar sidearm :

The Artist stood in the midst of the dark cavern, frowning. He had arrived here a few minutes ago after getting the message from Cardinal to hide from the wrath of the Wraiths. Chun, one of his other companions, lay on one of the nearby beds close to the makeshift fireplace that was the only source of light. He decided to be patient and wait for the others to arrive before inquiring on their plan.

After pacing the room for what seemed like an eternity, a figure emerged from the entrance. His features were too dark to make out. He was a man, nearly as tall as the Artist himself. He was thickly-clad in heavily reinforced military gear - kevlar included. He strode around the room, oblivious of the Artists' presence who pushed himself to a chunky rock wall, darkness engulfing him.

Eventually he stepped forward, sighing. This man obviously had no quarrel with his group and might be this Dayvon Cardinal mentioned. The Artist ignored the voice of God screaming to him to kill the intruder and grinned spitefully. The voice was getting easier to drown out. Perhaps it was Cardinal's companionship that did so as years before Annabel's presence had done the same.

The stranger turned to him, fists tightening. He remained still but for that sign of surprise, however, and the two met each-others eyes.

"Good evening, my Lord," the Artist spoke, smiling.
"Uh, yeah. Hi," the stranger said, confusion dripping from his voice.
"Are you lord Dayvon?"
"Who? Nah, nah. I'm Sylvester. I know of you guys, though. You The Artist, yeah?"
The Artist nodded, eying the man's weaponry nervously. "Quite so. Are you a different guardian, then? Send to protect us from the Wraiths?"
Sylvester shrugged. "I'm assuming you mean the LSU. And no, it wasn't my intention when I walked in here. Now that you mention it, however, I could tell you their weaknesses."
The Artist perked up at the offer. "Please do," he merely replied.
Sylvester started counting down on his fingers. "Kneecaps. Collar. Fire. Gas. Those are all the things dangerous to the uh.. "Wraiths."
The Artist made a mental note of the short list, nodding. "I thank you, Lord Sylvester, but I'm afraid it'll be quite useless. You see, my entire group is unarmed and we don't have any particular skills in alchemy."
Sylvester looked at him for a moment. "Ah." He paused, reaching for his firearm hesitantly. He pulled out a beautiful work of art, black around the barrel, grey around the trigger. He offered it to the Artist, expression unreadable. "Here. Fuck it, I have too many guns, anyway. Know how to shoot it?"
The Artist took the weapon slowly, basking in it's reverence. He nodded, thinking back of his days when he was conscripted in a brief militia dedicated to repel the Combine invaders from Paris and neighborhood. "I believe I do."

A chuckle echoed in the room. The Artist turned to Sylvester with a confused look on his face. The man returned the same look before muttering a curse. "Fuck. Grab ya girl and let's fuck off. Place's been compromised."

The Artist ran to wake Chun before following Sylvester, leaving the cave abandoned.

Moderate martial skill:

A few months later...

Jack looked around the underground bunker with reverence. It had took a month for him and the Thespian to travel here and it was a hard journey. However, after witnessing first-hand the truths The Thespian spoke to him about, Jack couldn't say it wasn't worth it.

A group of people were sitting on the edges of the dome-shaped room monitoring security stations. Jack frowned and searched his near-perfect memory. He had not seen any sorts of security devices on the building when they entered. He must've dozed off when they entered. Either that, or they were hidden very well.

The Thespian lead him down to one of the staircases that bordered the far end of the room. They strode through near-similar corridors and hallways. A normal man would've easily forgotten what way the stairs were. Not Jack, though. From as early as he could remember he had the ability to recall experience from even years ago with frightening precision. He made mental notes of the routes they took, smiling to himself. The dark glooming figure from his past obviously didn't have Jack figured out as much as he thought he did.

Eventually they reached an office-like room. They stepped inside. A middle-aged woman was sitting behind a desk. She was filling in some forms before she looked up and frowned at the sight of the Thespian. When she turned to Jack, however, she smiled.

"Parlez-vous Francais, monsieur L'Artiste?"
"Oui, bien sur." he replied, silently relishing the chance to speak his native tongue again.
"Excellent. C'est bon de vous voir, monsieur L'Artiste."
Jack merely nodded. The Thespian just stood there, silent.

"Now then. Liam. What took you so long to give Mr. L'Artiste our invitation?"
The Thespian - Liam, apparently - inclined his head towards her, expression blank.
"Certain circumstances," he replied coldly.
The woman nodded, a frown appearing on her handsome yet aging forehead.
"So I've noticed. Now, Mr. L'Artiste, has Liam here explained to you what our offer is?"

Jack nodded, remembering it well. It was all he and "Liam" had talked about during their journey.
"Yes, mistress. And I accept." he lied, containing a smile.
She smiled and leaned back in her office chair.
"Very well, then. Welcome to Ascension, Jack. I'm sure you'll fit right in. Now, first thing in the morning we will have you go through the protocol training session. Basic knowledge, really. You'll learn how to defend yourself, how to profile and loads of other minor tid-bits we require our agents to know. Now, I'm sure you must be exhausted from the trip here. A steward is waiting outside, ready to show you to your quarters. I suggest going to sleep immediately. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you."

Jack sighed and trailed a hand over his eyes. He really /was/ tired. The woman was right. He gave "Liam" a glance before turning and exiting the room. They let him go, surprisingly. One would think he'd be restrained for the things of his past.

A trench-coat with multiple straps able to hold cans of food and other containers. The model I'm looking for has a faint hint of body-armor underneath, but ICLY it wouldn't be there (the coat would be /completely/ buttoned up):

One months later...

"I..I-I knew it.." Liam spoke, blood dripping from his mouth. He was laying on his back in the dirt. His coat was stained with blood and mud. The reflective shades he normally wore were tossed a few meters away.

"You killed him. Finally, your revenge is complete. You impressed me, Jack." the voice inside his head whispered menacingly. The last time Jack obliged the voice was a lifetime ago. That night in the tavern. Six refugees that were celebrating their escape to the Outlands. The sight had driven him insane. Why did they had the right to be happy, unafflicted, while /he/ was suffering as much as he did?

He walked over to his nemesis, looking down at him. He didn't expect it to be so easy. Liam had apparently trusted him not to try anything on their journey back east. He was mistaken, however, and now he paid the ultimate price for his foolishness.
Jack retrieved the pointy metal object sticking out from the man's chest. The dying figure grunted in pain, but didn't break their eyecontact.

"You killed her, Jack. /You're/ the murderer. Not me." The Thespian spoke, breathing heavily.

"I know." he whispered back to the man that had shown him all the kindness in the world. Then he slit the object across the downed man's throat.

He gurgled for a brief moment, then he fell still.

Jack rose and averted his gaze to the stars. It was a beautiful night. The moon was illuminating the forest with a bright, white flare. It was completely silent but for the occasional rustle of leaves and the chirping of the birds.
A beautiful night for a beautiful act. he thought to himself, smiling. He had waited for this moment for years. Ever since...ever since that awful moment back in the cities. He felt no regret despite knowing "Liam" hadn't murdered his wife. The man was a snake and worked for an organization dedicated to establishing a new dictatorial regime after driving out the Iron Empire.

The murderer looked back at the corpse of the thickly-clad male. His trench-coat had come of when he was moving in pain. It lay next to him. Jack frowned, an idea forming in his head. He reached for the thick coat, holding it up. Crimson fluid was dripping from the ends. He oughta clean it out soon lest people get the wrong idea about him.

He sighed as he slid his arms into the openings of the attire. It was warm, atleast. Winter was approaching so it could prove useful.

He gave the dead man one last glance before turning on his feet. Despite the things Liam had did to him he felt the need to exact the order they were given from Ascension. Alland Eastlake. An incompetent loose end that had to be dealt with. Jack met him briefly after being taken by Liam. He didn't look like a bad man, per se, but he /did/ work for Ascension. And that was enough for Jack.

He ventured into the darkness, heading east.


Pros of your skills/items:

Defending oneself would be easier.
Photographic memory has advantages I need not mention.


Cons of your skills/items:

Mental instability
Threatening presence
Unpredictability

Added one final thing. It's neccesary for the model change I want I think.

The app looks okay, however, I'll need other people's opinions on it in order to see any advancement here. I haven't just been ignoring this intentionally, I promise.

+1.