Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2013 21:50:27 GMT -5
"Alright. Let’s get two things straight: I don’t play nice…and I sure as hell am not Chinese"
"Start spreadin' the news, I'm leavin' today
I want to be a part of it..."
I want to be a part of it..."
Name:Nguyen Thi Kim-Ly
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Aliases: Madame Shanghai (Stage Name)
Occupation: Nightclub Singer/ Police Informant and Vigilante
Appearance: Kim-Ly is not pretty. Striking, maybe even attractive, but not pretty. After all, in an age so bent on visual appeal, she’d never be able to succeed in her career looking like something that crawled out of a swamp. There’s a sort of harshness about her face that makes it impossible to label her something as simple as “pretty”. Her eyes are a deep golden-honey color that seems to give away her emotions no matter how hard she tries to conceal them. They’re set under rather prominent brows…not so much because of their thickness, but rather they have such an angle that it gives her almost an eternal look of deep concentration. Overall, it gives her a very intense and penetrating stare…or glare depending on her mood.
Although at night you'll find her in a colorful assortment of oriental themed evening dresses, in truth, she mostly wears Ao Dais or Ao Babas. Mostly in green...but Kim-Ly has always had a weakness for bright colors. It's her one vanity (other than her hair) and she's not going to be caught dead wearing black, white or brown. On the topic of hair though...she's not cutting it. Well, there are several reasons (several very GOOD reasons, mind you), and though she might tell others that it's there purely for costume purposes...she's actually like proud of it. It hangs around her hips, and no matter how heavy it gets when she pins it up, Kim-Ly's not following the footsteps of the flappers.
Interestingly, under heavy layers of makeup, you can find a large number of scars snaking around her arms and back. Kim-Ly’s not a fan of make-up –but she hates stupid questions even more.
"What’s a god to a non-believer?
Who don’t believe in anything?"
Who don’t believe in anything?"
Personality: Oh, Actress! Singers! Entertainers!So mecurial and proud, so anxious to please and…
Let’s stop while we’re ahead, shall we?
Kim-Ly’s a singer. She’s got a pretty good voice, low and husky, veeeery popular at this time and age. But let’s pretend for a second that Kim-Ly isn’t “Madame Shangahi” (It’s a prissy name, and annoying that it isn’t even ethnically correct). She’s impulsive, blunt, a little bit too much mischievous for her own good and would like nothing more than to just spend her days at the beach. At some points it seems as if she hasn’t grown up despite all her years. Despite the cold front she puts up for others, internally Kim-Ly is just as insecure as any adolescent: and introducing herself to new people ranks high as one of her biggest social phobias. But the singer, well, she hasn’t got the time for social impasses; in fact, she sees most conversations as a method to extract some sort of important information from the other person. Madame Shanghai is cool calm and collected –Kim-Ly is just a little bit over her head.
Despite her dual nature, as whole Kim-Ly really is in control. She likes being in control of situations, with chaos only coming in small healthy doses. In any sort of heated situation, you can be sure that Kim-Ly will be the one to keep her head, she has been alive too long and trained to hard not to –you want to stand up in front of a room full of drunk in a skimpy outfit? Go ahead and try it. It’s terrifying, but there’s something magical about standing in the middle of a buzzing room and knowing –no matter what happens- you’ll be the one who keeps your head. Kim-Ly cherishes that feeling; she covets her abilities of shielding her emotions from the world, because in some small and primitive way she feels that it gives her an edge that others don’t have. In the midst of a fight, Kim-Ly is in a constant state of analyzing. She sees an opponent raise an arm and she tries to decide where they’re aiming. It’s just a natural part of her thought process –she can’t turn it off. Even in normal situations, you’d be hard-pressed to do something that Kim-Ly didn’t notice.
That being said, Kim-Ly is a lot smarter than others give her credit for. Overshadowed by larger, more boisterous companions,, she exhibits more of a quiet, constantly whirring cognitive process. She reads a lot of classics –and just historical documents for that matter. You could ask her to recite the Preamble of the United States Bill of Rights and she’d be able to comply easily. She has a natural skillfulness and curiosity. Kim-Ly is talented at thinking outside the box. In another life, she very well may have been one of those eccentric (read: insane) scientists that stayed in their labs creating time machines and watching Star Wars. She adores machines, and the best gift you could get her is a broken clock…there are just so many things she could do with a broken clock. It’s like giving her a ticket to Disney Land.
Charming as all of this is –and Kim-Ly can be charming –she’s good at what she does, there runs a much darker side to the struggling artist. She’s manipulative enough to get information and she’s cruel enough to follow through with that. The world is colored in shades of gray…and murder is only one of those shadows, as long as it’s for the “greater good”, of course.
You’ve just gotta hope your version of “greater good” is the same as hers.
Family?:
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History: (Two paragraphs minimum.)
Sample Post: Blue clouds of tobacco smoke hung heavy over the crowd and underneath the sweet cloying scents of perfume and cologne, the air was moist with sweat and alcohol. It was late December and people were already gearing to start celebrating the New Year. A good time –a rich time- for Kim-Ly. Shit, it was freezing, but at least she’d be able to buy a new coat. A good one…one of the fur-lined ones that the white singers often were given by admirers.
Those weren’t the types of she got. But then, those weren’t the types of venues she got. Or wanted for that matter.
No; standing off in the corner, ragged coat still wrapped around her exposed shoulders the Vietnamese woman surveyed the roiling crowd before her. It was a big Speakeasie. One of the biggest she’d sung at. Kim-Ly was lucky tonight.
April 1914 and the golden dress is practically slipping off her shoulders (much to the delight of the audience). It’s too big for her, she’s thin –and the cigarettes don’t help. She’s clumsy with it; ashes keep getting on the ground around her feet. Once she almost slips in the middle of the song and the clarinetist (in the middle of 30 counts of rests) has to reach out to catch her. His brows furrow for a second and almost he looks as if he were about to say something before he shakes his head and turns back to counting.
Well. What could she expect? None of the musicians had ever acknowledged her before, let alone talk. She is inexperienced. But worse, she is an immigrant.
Back in December, she’s going up to the stage, dropping off her coat next to the stairs. The clarinetist raises his brows, the slightest of smiles curving at his mouth.
“Hell, Bruce, you know I don’t choose what I wear,” she mutters form the corner of her mouth as she walks past.
He shrugs from behind the mouthpiece making it very clear that he doesn’t mind her wardrobe at all. Kim-Ly suspected that he’s glad the days of oversized dresses are gone, gone are the days of constantly trying keep on the second hand dresses with their taped and pinned straps. She’d been starting to teach the man Vietnamese –but Bruce had a hard time remembering that the majority of Chinatown was in fact Chinese. He had gotten into the habit of greeting every Asian he saw with an overzealous “Chao”.
But despite his lack of professionalism elsewhere, Bruce was a good at what he did and for a while, Kim-Ly stood on the low stage, listening the triads, the broken and suspended chords. God, this is a good band.
1916, autumn, the man in the alleyway is eyeing Kim-Ly suspiciously under his fedora. She can see the metallic glint of a gun grasped in between his fingers.
There is blood splattered across his vest.
There is a knife grasped between Kim-Ly’s fingers. A gun shoved in her garters.
“A bit late for you to be out, don’t you think?” Her face is relaxed, nonchalant, “Isn’t that was you told Annie Green before you raped her?”
December; She’s singing, weaving in and out between Saxophone and Clarinet. A cigarette is balanced between her fingers, the tiny trail of smoke joining with the cloud above their head. Strut around the stage –can’t stand still, shaker hips ever so slightly –heavens know they’re unnoticeable as it is. There’s a man leaning over towards her in the audience. His hands are grasping, greedy.
1916, the man is pulling his gun, lips taut in confidence and fear. She’s draw her own, knife released in a slow arc towards the man’s face. Point blank range. There’s a resounding bang. “She was 16, you ass”
1914, Kim-Ly slips. Bruce is reaching out to catch her.
There was a sizzle of skin. A scream. Kim-Ly draws her cigarette away from the man’s arm. Her tight new dresses sparkled in the dim lights. The man drew his hand away.
Yes, it was a lucky night.