Your ‘Real’ Name (or preferred 'out of character' Handle): Mikey
How Often You Can Post: Most every day
Tell Us About Your Roleplay Past/Abilities: Been RPing on PbPs for about 3 years now, been doing it otherwise for about 9.
How Familiar Are You With The Firefly 'Verse?: VERY, I'm borderline obsessed.
How Did You Hear About The BDV Site?: 'Roundabouts
In your mind, you can picture your Original Character...now let us 'see' them.
If you could 'cast' the role of your OC, who would play the part: Eugene Hutz
NOTE: Please check the OC Casting List pinned in the RP Applications Forum, your casting choice may already have been taken.
What BDV ship/location do want to be assigned to: The Sherwood
Character Name: Gogol Petrulengo
Character Occupation: Gypsy Acrobat/Pilot
Age (the character, not the actor/actress): 35
Detailed Physical Description (2 paragraphs): Standing at an even six feet, with little meat on his bones to speak of, Gogol is a lanky kind of guy. His thin frame is easily deceptive, though. His life has been filled with hard work and constant training, and his muscles are evidence of this. He wears a long, bushy, upturned mustache on his upper lip and a constant grin, showing off his gold capped tooth, which he calls his "Shiny." His clothes are often ridiculously mismatched, but that bothers him not at all. He dresses like a gypsy, because that is what he is, and damned proud of it, too.
Detailed Personality(1-2 paragraphs): Those outside of the Family would see him as a cocky, loudmouthed, untrustworthy scoundrel. But nobody could deny he provides one helluva good time, whatever he's doing. A Petrulengo through and through, Gogol will lie, cheat, steal, hit, bite, claw, screw, and kill his way to the top and smile at you all the while from under that mustache of his. When among those he trusts, and that's a group of people he could count on both hands and have fingers left, he is caring and attentive, the prototypical big brother type. He is the eldest living male of the Petrulengo family, and therefore the unofficial Patriarch, though he knows he holds no sway when Mama Petrulengo speaks.
Detailed History(2 paragraphs): They say that it takes a village to raise a child, well in a gypsy camp, that saying goes a long way. Gogol, like all Romani children, was born and then raised communally with all of the children of a like age. His parents raised him, sure, but to this day his father's identity remains a mystery to him. And he could care less. All of the children of the camp within about eight years of him is considered a brother or sister or cousin. His childhood was happy and full of adventure, though it wasn't without it's fair share of hardship.
A traveling Gypsy circus is a hard life, and once a child is old enough, ten years or so, they are put to hard manual labor, as everyone has to do their part. He was taught from that age to handle all manner of work, be it cleaning or repair work (nothing too fancy), care of the animals and other members of the troupe, hustling the crowd and performing nightly, particularly in Knife throwing and humorous clowning and acrobatics. He absorbed it all, and loved every minute of it.
When the family decided to start traveling not only Paquin, but other worlds as well, Gogol was among the first to learn to pilot, and to this day is considered one of the best in the family behind the yoke. But, when you leave the area you know and love, you run into things that you are unfamiliar with. People who don't know you and what you do. Gypsies are often a reviled bunch, known as tricksters and thieves, and while this isn't necessarily a falsehood (the Romani fail to see why earning a living by any means necessary is considered a bad thing), many people fail to see past that rough exterior. So, when Gogol tried to hustle the wrong man into paying double for entrance into the freak show (a common enough practice) the young gypsy found himself in a new world of trouble.
The man was an associate of of the wrong sort of people to try and take advantage of, and when Gogol attempted to forcibly remove the man for causing trouble, the man swore that the circus' days were numbered. The next day, representatives of the Syndicate, claiming to be friends with the man from the night prior, muscled their way into the camp and claimed 20% of profits upfront. Speaking with his Uncle Petras, the unofficial Patriarch and money handler of the family, the men were not given a favorable response. Never one to be pushed around, both personally and genetically, the Petrulengos, on order from Petras, immediately went to kicking the men out, by force. The men in suits, unprepared for a group of Gypsies to attack with whatever weapons were at hand, were quickly routed, again, swearing to be back.
And back they came. In force.
Gypsies find their strength in their communal way of life. It's strength in numbers and family, one for all and all for one and that sort of thing. But when matched against fully automatic weapons and the full strength of the Syndicate, there's not much that can fight against that and tell the tale. They fought bravely, Gogol among them, but it was just too much.
The carnage had grown to strong for them, and on orders from Mama Petrulengo, Gogol took off in the one surviving ship, the Sacred Darling, with young and sick ones, and the few able bodied Romani that could make it. Looking down from the cockpit as the Darling hovered up above the battlefield, Gogol couldn't help a pang of guilt as she rocketed starward.
Life was hard in the next couple of weeks. They were without proper rations and fuel was running low and a decision had to be made. Mama Petrulengo ordered them down on Ariel to try their luck at finding work. A group of wandering Gypsies drew more than a fair amount of attention. All of the wrong kinds, in fact, and none of the good. Soon, a mob of angry people, claiming that a mustachioed vandal had robbed them was attacking the ship. A bruised and bloodied Gogol appeared from the crowd, barely escaping with his life. Whether or not their claims were true, it didn't matter. With a sigh of disgust Gogol's way, Mama ordered the family skyward, forbidding Gogol touch the controls, telling him that he had done enough damage.
But the force of the crowd was too much for what was left of the Petrulengo Clan. As the ship was lifting off, firearms were spotted in the crowd. Firing began on the ship and it didn't take long for the crowd to discern weak points. Particularly the cockpit windows. A gunshot turned to a crack turned to a shattered pane of flying debris, blinding Mama and sending the ship nose first into a nearby building. Having been banished from the cockpit, Gogol was in the rear of the ship, sulking in the cargo bay.
Because of this, he survived the crash.
Crawling from the wreckage, he was able to see what was left of the lynch mob dispersing as the sounds of the Alliance Federal Fire Department closed in. Gogol skulked away into the shadows, leaving his Clan forever behind him, but always within his guilt ridden heart.
For five years, Gogol wandered aimlessly, making enough money to keep a full bottle of Vodka near him. That was, until he ran into the sister he thought had been killed. Jaelle and he banded together for little other reason than they had no one else, and loyalty meant something to them. She helped him get clean and back into Performing shape, in order to do their family name proud.
Strengths (1 paragraph): A skilled hustler and cheater, those along with general worksmanship, shrewdness, charm and thievery are the skills that all Petrulengos are taught from a very young age. Knife throwing and theatrical acrobatics were taught to him in the circus, and piloting is something he prides himself on as being "de bist ov my Ghazhey [non-Romani] skeelz."
Weaknesses (1 paragraph): While the piloting of a ship comes quite naturally to Gogol, anything else to do with it leaves him baffled. Guns are seen as cheating to a Petrulengo, so Gogol uses them only when absolutely necessary, but much prefers his knives. So, he doesn't use them often, so is therefore, not very good with them. While he can be charming and quite the hustler, Gogol is ultimately a bit too brash and crude for his own good, not to mention his Romani roots can be seen as a negative thing, though he would fail to be able to tell you why.
Sample Post (3 paragraphs/Third Person Past Tense): "Who's crawlin' oop mah spine - elcohol. Eh've been vaiting long long time - elcohol. Now yew teach me 'ow to rhyme - elcohol."
The singing was soft, subdued, and slurred beyond most recognition under his vodka stained breath. The bottle had been left at his table and the waitress had only been given a look that said, "Bring more when it's empty."
Gogol Petrulengo was in a sour mood. Maybe he had believed that drinking himself to oblivion would change that mood, though it was more likely that he didn't care.
But oblivion would be nice.
He had failed in every sense of the word and a braver man would just end it all right there. Hang himself. Slit his wrists. Piss off a trigger happy yokel. Anything was better than feeling like a failure. So, the numbness that came with vodka was his only refuge. Refuge from not only his humiliation, but the hateful stare he felt from Mama Petrulengo, even from beyond the grave. She had charged him with making right what he had caused to go wrong. How she had expected him to do that, she hadn't had the breath to say. He downed another shot and quickly poured himself another, briefly wondering why he was even bothering with the glass. This caused a fit of giggles. Maybe the vodka was working, because Mama's stare, though he hadn't seen it in person for years, was starting to fade from the back of his mind.
It was working well enough for him to forget, for a time, the events of most of the last decade, in fact. Enough for him to forget that his favorite sister, Jaelle, was dead. As he stumbled over to a cortex kiosk and typed out a message for her, leaving it for her to find, it didn't occur to him that she would never receive it."T´aves vi tu! T´aves vi tu, Pena. Mah Ja-pena-pena."
His eyes half closed, it was clear he was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying. "Seester-seester Eh hev net seen yew en so long, Ja-pena-pena. Eh make thees message for yew, ghost ef meh Ja-pena-pena-pena..."
It came to him without really realizing it. Jaelle Petrulengo was dead, along with more than half of their tribe. "Yew are dead, yes? Eh em net so much as dead. Eh moost git beck de sheep. Mama...she es dead. End yew are dead. Dey owr awl dead. Dead dead dead dededed..."
His hand touched the screen, sadly. "Mooh-ley-pena...bye bye."
He ended the transmission and slouched to the floor, alcohol and grief making him even more useless than he already felt.