Character Name: Nick Verghese Occupation: (Former) private investigator About: A surly, disgraced private eye from America. Several years ago, he was involved in a high-profile case that resulted in the wrongful arrest of an innocent man. Once the police seemingly arrested the 'right' culprit, Nick was mocked and shamed by the media. This caused him to quit his job and leave for Europe. He's been trying to find a job ever since. He's still reeling from a recent job rejection. Looking For: Rivals, enemies, or friends. Most people would also probably recognize his name from the newspapers. i. train time [Nick had only been able to get onto this train by a friend-of-a-friend connection. He sure as hell didn't have the money to afford this kind of transportation--but he had to admit that it wasn't half bad. He'd arrived in his second-class cabin, put away his meager luggage, then straightened out his shabby trench coat and walked towards the bar.
His shabby dress certainly makes him look a little bit out of place among the other, more refined passengers. The haphazard tie and dress shirt are passable enough to be formal wear, at least. He scratches at the stubble on his chin, frowning lightly at the neat, calligraphy menu, then slides on up to a bar stool. He leans against the counter, his elbow propped up against the surface and rests his chin on his hand.]
Just a gin and tonic, please.
[The bartender nods, turning towards the shelves and fetching the appropriate bottles. Nick rubs his face, then turns idly towards the person next to him.]
So, where are you going after we get to Paris?
ii. truth or drink (cw: alcohol) [Looks like someone's getting way into truth or drink, because accusations are flying back and forth about the veracity of some people's stories.]
I'm sorry, run that story by me again one more time? [He shoves his arm forward in an accusatory manner, some of his drink spilling onto the carpet.] There's no goddamn way that's the truth!
iii. murder most foul [Dead. Dead. As if this trip couldn't get any worse. He runs his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the scene of the crime--a cabin, just a few short steps away from his.]
Shit.
[He mutters under his breath, smoothing out his coat and fidgeting with his hands. His breath is quick and shallow as he tries to calm himself.]
No. No. I am not fucking qualified to deal with this bullshit, Jesus Christ. I'm leaving that shit behind, you hear me?
[He doesn't seem to notice anyone in front of him, and might...just...inadvertently bump into you.]
iv. wildcard [Got another idea? Plot with me @ wolfnoir!]
nick verghese | oc
Occupation: (Former) private investigator
About: A surly, disgraced private eye from America. Several years ago, he was involved in a high-profile case that resulted in the wrongful arrest of an innocent man. Once the police seemingly arrested the 'right' culprit, Nick was mocked and shamed by the media. This caused him to quit his job and leave for Europe. He's been trying to find a job ever since. He's still reeling from a recent job rejection.
Looking For: Rivals, enemies, or friends. Most people would also probably recognize his name from the newspapers.
i. train time
[Nick had only been able to get onto this train by a friend-of-a-friend connection. He sure as hell didn't have the money to afford this kind of transportation--but he had to admit that it wasn't half bad. He'd arrived in his second-class cabin, put away his meager luggage, then straightened out his shabby trench coat and walked towards the bar.
His shabby dress certainly makes him look a little bit out of place among the other, more refined passengers. The haphazard tie and dress shirt are passable enough to be formal wear, at least. He scratches at the stubble on his chin, frowning lightly at the neat, calligraphy menu, then slides on up to a bar stool. He leans against the counter, his elbow propped up against the surface and rests his chin on his hand.]
Just a gin and tonic, please.
[The bartender nods, turning towards the shelves and fetching the appropriate bottles. Nick rubs his face, then turns idly towards the person next to him.]
So, where are you going after we get to Paris?
ii. truth or drink (cw: alcohol)
[Looks like someone's getting way into truth or drink, because accusations are flying back and forth about the veracity of some people's stories.]
I'm sorry, run that story by me again one more time? [He shoves his arm forward in an accusatory manner, some of his drink spilling onto the carpet.] There's no goddamn way that's the truth!
iii. murder most foul
[Dead. Dead. As if this trip couldn't get any worse. He runs his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the scene of the crime--a cabin, just a few short steps away from his.]
Shit.
[He mutters under his breath, smoothing out his coat and fidgeting with his hands. His breath is quick and shallow as he tries to calm himself.]
No. No. I am not fucking qualified to deal with this bullshit, Jesus Christ. I'm leaving that shit behind, you hear me?
[He doesn't seem to notice anyone in front of him, and might...just...inadvertently bump into you.]
iv. wildcard
[Got another idea? Plot with me @