jamesoftaversal - Profile (original) (raw)

Basics:
Name: Sir James de Molyneux
Nicknames: None, really. At least at this point. Unless you count "James" at the expense of "Sir James" as a nickname.
Age and DoB: Mid-forties to about 50. Which I guess would make his date of birth about 1145. And let's say he was born in December.
Gender: Male.
Relationship: Straight, aka heterosexual. Single. Has spent much of his life celibate by choice and may be a little discombobulated by women, but still open to the possibilities.
Occupation/Rank/Title: A knight. Younger son of a middling-to-lower nobleman, which means he's had to make his own way, but is still familiar with the aristocracy.
Contact Information: I'll check the Yahoo address I set up for this--dc.wash1@yahoo.com--at least once a day. Otherwise, I'm happy with pm's.

Appearance:
Height: Six foot-ish. In other words, not particularly tall in relation to most of the canon characters in this show.
Eye Color: Blue. Not quite Allan a Dale blue, but there's no mistaking the color, either.
Hair: Blond, of a non-descript cut. Despite being a member of the Hospitillars, he doesn't sport a tonsure. In some lights, the hair color drifts towards the red; in others, it may drift towards the brown. No facial hair, unless he sleeps in and doesn't shave.
Distinguishing features: Nothing remarkable.
Played by: Philip Glenister. But not in his brutish, charismatic Gene Hunt mode. More like the cop he played in "State of Play," who was serious and conscientious and empathetic, but with a sense of humor and who had a sexual spark with the female reporter character, even though that wasn't explicitly written in the script.
Style: He's been in a uniform/habit for a long time now, so he's not completely sure how to dress himself in civilian clothes. Normally what he wears is non-descript, but sometimes it's a bit mis-matched and sometimes it includes Hospitillar elements.

Personality:
Jsmes was a bit of a hellion in his youth, and his "youth" lasted longer than that of many people. The senseless death of a friend snapped him out of it, and, as an act of penance (and not knowing what else to do with himself) he joined the Hospitillars as a secular knight. That was many years ago and his experiences in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, as well as simple maturation, have made him a person who thinks before he speaks and looks before he leaps.

Which isn't to say he's calculating or cynical; more that he's thoughtful and knows that people and their actions are complicated. He has a strong sense of right and wrong and compassion and a lot of moral courage but also knows "right" and "wrong" are often difficult to discern and that the obvious tack is not always the right one to take. He's a skilled fighter but not easily provoked. He's been looking forward to a peaceful retirement in his own house, by his own fire, and, whether it should be or not, that's his top priority. He's far from a snob, but he does rather prefer to be thought of as "Sir James" instead of just plain "James," and can be peeved by people "acting badly," no matter what their class, though his standards of behavior are at least as stringent for the upper classes as for the lower ones, and he counts cruelty, meanness, greediness, etc. as the worst examples of "acting badly."

Background:
Hometown: I'm still working on that. His older brother inherited the large family estates in Lancashire, but I'm not sure if that's where he grew up, or if he grew up further south. When we meet him, he's heading to his new home in Teversall, Nottinghamshire, near the current border with Derbyshire.
Family: Most, if not all, of his family are dead. This includes his older brother Robert, who, despite the odds, he was actually quite close to, especially in adulthood. No spouse or children, which makes him kind of wistful. He's both resigned to a life without a nuclear family and open to the possibility that it's not too late.
History: Sir James knew from the beginning that, as the younger son of an aristocrat, he wasn't destined to greatness and power. If anybody in his family was to have that, it was his older brother, Robert. And James was okay with that, because it meant that he was also absolved from the heavy responsibility a nobleman bore, and that he had a lot more freedom to carve his own path than his brother did. He was trained to be a knight, and his family set him up with the necessary equipage, and then waved goodbye as he set out to seek his fortune as a respectable mercenary.

James enjoyed the action and camaraderie knighthood bestowed, and took full advantage of the freedom, carousing and even moderately exploiting people at will. As he reached his 30s, he began to find that life less satisfying, but it took the careless death of a friend to shock him into a more purposeful existence. Though James wasn't directly to blame for his friend's death, James felt the need to perform penance, as well as a need to leave the dissolute life he had been leading behind, and joined the Hospitillars on a limited-time basis. He went to Jerusalem and cared for the sick at the Hospitiallar infirmary for a time, until his superiors realized how skilled a fighter he was and assigned him to escort duty for pilgrims passing through Muslim territory to Jerusalem. He fluctuated between that work and caring for the ill and injured at Hospitillar hospices both in the Holy Land and in England for some years. He was going through the process of discernment to take full holy orders with the Hospitillars--a process he had his doubts about but didn't see any alternative to--when his brother died. Robert left most of his lands to his son, as everyone expected, but did leave a small property to James in the northwest corner of Nottinghamshire. It's not large, but, between the family of serfs working the farmland and the good garden plot he can work himself, enough for a single man to live on in some comfort and contentment. Inheriting the property pushed James over the edge--he decided NOT to become a full-fledged member of the brotherhood, but to retire to England. That's where he's headed when Robin's gang meets him. The question is, will James, who's tired of fighting and not up to speed on recent events in England, prove to be friend, foe, or something more neutral?

Writing Sample:
They were topping a ridge over a pretty little valley. Looking down, they could see the road they were on—-heading in the direction of Locksley—-crossing the road that ran between Bonchurch and Nottingham. That meant Bonchurch was behind the slight hill to the left of the crossroads, and the ford in the river was behind the line of trees in the distance on the right. A stream curved through the valley, roughly following the road to the river and passing through a culvert on their own road below. Robin, ever the lord of the manor and thus ever appraising these things, noted with satisfaction (and some surprise) that, because of the culvert, the crossroads below was comfortably dry, even though the stream was swollen by all the rain they’d had this winter.

Allan was also a surveying the scene for his own purposes, though in his mind he was using the term “casing the joint.” He was a smart man. He figured Robin had a purpose in bringing him to this particular spot. And he had the feeling Robin had decided—-or at least was further along in the process of deciding—-on a settlement for him. He kept an eye peeled on for clues as to what that might be.

He thought he spotted one quite literally in the crossroads. So he wants me to be his toll collector, Allan thought. Well, that’s a little disappointing. Allan’s sense of fairness went both ways and he had no expectations of Robin settling as much on him as he had on the others, given all their respective histories. But, still…toll collector? That’s a bit of nothing, innit? As if people didn’t hate me enough already.

But no. Robin dismounted as they approached the nearest gate. “Give me a hand with this, will you?” he asked. He lifted up the tree limb that served as a bar and Allan, still on his horse, raised it the rest of the way so Robin could lead his own horse under it. “I see what John’s been fussing about now. Vasey got permission to put these in to pay for the culvert, but of course that was just his excuse to leech more money out of people. They’ve got to go. Can you imagine a worse symbol of tyranny than not being able to travel down a public road without paying a grubby toll collector for the privilege?” Robin said.

Alrighty, then, Allan thought. So I guess I won’t be taking tolls.

From "The Prodigal"

Anything else?
I'm still working on this guy. One thing I'm thinking about is making his English--as opposed to his Norman French--just a little iffy. Especially since I misspelled "Teversal" in creating his LJ journal.