Margin_oferror's Musebox (original) (raw)

Name: Sara
Age (be advised that this game is 18+ only): 29
Time Zone: Eastern
**Email:**copsnlawyers85@gmail.com
**Messenger (indicate aim, yim, gtalk, etc):**AIM: copsnlawyers85
How familiar are you with RP? Been doing it for years via Livejournal and AIM
How familiar are you with LJ tagging? Very
Are you comfortable writing in the third person? Yes.
Under normal circumstances, how often do you plan to tag and/or post? At least a few times a day
Are you acquainted with any member, past or present? Not personally no.
Have you collaborated with any member? Not yet
How did you find us? This thread

(CHARACTER INFORMATION)

**All Characters**

Name: Clayton Webb
Date of Birth: November 22, 1962
LJ Character Journal: fakes_death
Primary Residence: A condo in Alexandria, Virginia.
Hometown: Great Falls, Virginia
Personality: Webb is a pragmatic individual and is usually very cynical and sarcastic. He is also bound by duty to his country and the CIA and usually makes decisions without emotions. Webb also often wages an internal battles between doing what is right for the mission and helping his friends. For more detail about his personality click here.
Abilities and Skills:

**Non-CM Characters ONLY **

Fandom: JAG
Played by: Steven Culp
Title: Deputy Director of Counterintelligence, Central Intelligence Agency
History: Clay's work and education history is here.
Work History: Webb's a CIA Deputy Director, so I figure he and The BAU can cross paths periodically.
Physical description:

Height: 5’11”
Eye Color: Hazel
Hair Color: Brown

Webb is always impeccably dressed. His usual work uniform is a Three Piece grey, black, or blue suit and Italian dress shoes. During hot weather he wears a cream colored suit. All of which are probably worth more than what he makes in a year. He uses suspenders as opposed to a belt.

He always wears his Harvard Class Ring when he isn’t on an undercover operation that requires him to remove it. He’s also usually found wearing a brown leather strap, square faced watch on his right wrist. Webb’s briefcase is black leather.

When not working, Webb is known to wear casual clothing, usually a polo shirt or colored/pattered men’s dress shirt. He doesn’t wear jeans, electing to wear khaki pants and deck shoes instead.

Webb has assorted scars some easier to see than others. He’s been shot once in the left leg. His nose was broken, and has numerous scars over his body from torture in Paraguay.

Sexual Orientation: Straight

(WRITING SAMPLES)

Writing Sample 1 – First Person:

On the Job circa 2001:
We’d been at it for eight hours, in a dark windowless room in the center of a detention camp in Afghanistan, doing our best to get information from a source. General Abdullah and I developed a rapport, typical good cop/bad cop, not that it helped us get anything I needed at all. He gave the orders and I stood in the shadows. I tried to be intimidating.

We’d finally resorted to trying to drown the subject. It was our last, best hope and proved to be no better than any of the other techniques we’d tried. It was possible the subject had no information, possible but not probable. Something about him, told me that he was lying.

“That’s enough,” I said after the first half hour went by with no result. I’d wasted enough time, and decided to try my questions one last time. If I still walked away empty handed I’d find someone else.

“Where’s Kabir? We know he’s planning something. He’s already killed thousands of innocent people.” I tried to keep my voice from wavering. It was difficult as I was exhausted. The look of defiance was unmistakable.

The next thing I said made me feel like I was in a poorly written spy movie. “You don’t tell us what you know, I assure you, you’ll join them.”

The subject still didn’t answer me. I was done. “He’s useless. Finish him.” I did my best to sound like I didn’t care, to distance myself from the order I’d just given. One of Abdullah gave the order and one of his men cocked his gun as I turned my back on the scene. I expected to hear one single gunshot. Instead I heard, “Wait!” tinged with desperation. All of the subject’s defiance was gone. We’d finally gotten him to crack. I couldn’t explain the relief I felt that my order didn’t have to be acted upon.

The rest of the exchange was short and sweet:
“Kabir has gone to Russia.”
“Why?”
“He was going to meet a Russian, someone who fights for them. He planned an action against the US Military.”
Where in Russia did he go?”
“Marmansk, on the sea.”

It looked like I was going to be racking up a few more frequent flyer miles before going back to Langley.

Writing Sample 2 – First Person:
Clay describes the people that made him who he is today: Click here

Writing Sample 3 – Third Person:

Clay stood on the back deck of his beach house on Virgina’s Eastern Shore watching the waves and Harm and Mac’s discussion on his beach. He didn’t know what they were talking about, and he didn’t particularly care. She always went to Harm when she had a problem. Webb realized she should have been coming to him and never had. All she did was fight with him. No matter how much he loved her, she didn’t want to be with him, she wanted to be with Harm. It was over with no going back.

All that was left was his job at the Agency, and Kershaw just offered him the opportunity to come in from the cold, to be welcomed back into Langley, back behind his desk. The question remained, was he ready for the end of his career to amount to nothing more than movement within the Agency Hierarchy?

Usually in situations like this, he needed a sounding board. Sometimes it was another Agency employee, but thankfully, his mother was sitting in the kitchen. Clay waited until Kershaw walked out of the front door before he entered the living room through the French doors that led out onto the deck. Agency personnel were going to be on their way to dispose of Tanveer’s body and clean his carpet. Clay ran his hand over the bullet hole left in his sofa, he was going to have to replace that on his own.

Porter knew he was in the kitchen almost immediately after he crossed the doorway from the living room, “I poured you another cup of tea, Clayton.”

“Thank you, Mother.” And like she had for as long as he could remember, Porter sat across from her son and waited for him to start the conversation. Clay sipped his tea and put his thoughts about everything in order before speaking.

“Sarah and I are over,” may as well get the painful part out of the way before he got to the difficult part.

“I thought as much since she is still on your beach speaking to Commander Rabb.”

Clay went back to his tea.

Porter waited a beat before bringing up why she figured her son was really sitting across from her, “Director Kershaw told me about his offer.”

“Of course he did,” Clay said only somewhat pouty. Kershaw was almost sure he couldn’t make an appropriate decision on his own.

Porter fixed her son with a look reserved only to keep him from getting too pouty, “Clayton, he could have asked you to retire.”

She was right, “I don’t know which of the two options I should take.”

“You were happy behind a desk before. You can be again.”

Porter was right, the pressures of dealing with a post 9/11 world in the field was what got to him. All of the interrogations, the murder, and everything else had finally gotten to him. He couldn’t be the Agency’s go to man any more, not like he had been. He realized he no longer needed the field, but he’d be there when the field needed him.

Clay nodded, “Thank you, Mother.”