Keith Hunter Alias: "Kinky the Klown"Age:
New JerseyDesired Role:
Clown/Knife Thrower/Production Designer!!! (Select Acts)Place of Hierarchy:
Elizabeth's talent.Hair Color:
Naturally brown, but he dyes it more often than he showers.Eye Color:
193 lbs.Physical Description:
Tall, lean and tattooed all over. That is Kinky the Klown! He is almost never seen out of makeup
, though he's notorious for not caring if the design becomes smudged. He's always in search of the next tattoo or scar to remind him of where he's been and how far he's come. His "Tribal" view of body modification has left various scars, holes and artwork across his flesh.Personality:
Outgoing and playful when in front of an audience, and always flirtatious. Behind the paint and good natured jokes, Kinky has a very dark side that others learn to fear and or avoid. When he's drunk, it's common knowledge that he blacks out and becomes something of an animal, steer clear. He takes almost nothing seriously, often referring to death as the ultimate punch line. The only thing that he does take seriously is of course the circus. It's his task to ensure that things run smoothly, transitions, ad libs, focus pulls, he's a master of distraction. When something that the audience isn't meant to see takes place, it's Kinky's job to make certain that all eyes are on him and his contemporaries. Pain and violence are also jokes to him, as he's never been ashamed to be the only one laughing.Brief History:
Keith Hunter was still very young when his parents were killed in a car accident. Too young to have retained any lasting memories of either of them, in truth, he could scarcely remember their faces outside of picture frames. His earliest memory was of their funeral, as they were both being lowered into the ground. Everyone all around him, friends and relatives, all of them were crying. Keith wasn't crying though, he was laughing.
Even as a young boy, Keith knew it was wrong, his parents were dead, he should be miserable, not falling from his seat with laughter. Everyone was looking at him with evil eyes, but that only made him laugh that much harder. Did they really think that their grief was more real than his, just because he expressed it differently? When would it end? There was nothing he could do to quell the laughter, not with that goofy bearded blowhard bagpipe player tooting away. "Oh Danny boy! The pipes, the pipes are calling." He was still rolling around the grass after the hole was filled in and everyone had left. Everyone except one, "Carolyn Brooks, Social Services".
His first time in therapy had felt like more of a joke than the funeral had, the old tweed coated douche, with his salt and pepper beard and suede elbow pads. "Tell me about your parents." "They're dead." That was all Keith told him before he lost himself to the laughter, that should have been enough, what else did he want to know? It wasn't like rehashing the cruel fate of nature would ever bring them back, nothing would. That much, Keith understood with a crystal clarity.
The shrink, however, didn't get it. Keith was incarcerated for the first time then, in a mental health facility for most of his adolescence. As he grew, he grew impatient with the tedious rules and regulations and even the drugs grew tiresome. For the first time he wanted something more than what he had. He wanted freedom.
It was just a lucky coincidence that the circus happened to be in town when he made his escape. He remains at large, but clown paint does wonders to keep one's identity hidden. Introduction Post:
The heavy boots made a loud clicking sound as Kinky flipped the plastic tabs closed. He was already in full costume and makeup, in spite of the fact that the main tent was still being set up. All around, the sounds of hammers and bawdy voices rang out as the clown pushed off of the chair and struggled for a moment to balance on the arc stilts
. He was wearing bright purple suspenders that seemed to be made of colorful sequins in such mass that whatever fabric they were made of was completely hidden, but no shirt under them. His pants were lime green and baggy in a style made famous by M.C. Hammer, made of a reflective, shimmery material that held the light.
After the first few hesitant steps, Kink took his first practice bounce, flailing his arms at his sides while he soared up, several feet off the ground after just a tentative hop. When he landed, the stilts bent like a bow and launched him back up, more sure of his balance, high enough for a full grown man to run under before he was falling again.
"Woo! Now we're cooking." Kinky wailed over the growing sound of ambient clatter. "Let me get the setups for the intro sequence. I want to make sure I can perch from a backflip."
Some of the stage hands who were close by groaned, Kinky was infamous for his temper and no one was in the mood to deal with his demanding fastidiousness that he applied to his staging. The task was quickly delegated to the newest techs who begrudgingly set up three small platforms, taking care to stake them deep into the dirt floor around the wide bases.
Each of the three columns was painted green with leaf stencils painted around each. At the top there was a round platform, each painted like a different colored flower. Kinky was laughing as he bounded over in long, bouncing strides.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! They look great, now back up a bit, let me try to land on one." Kinky shouted at the techs, already planting both stilts and beginning a front flip that ended in an awkward landing on the tallest platform. Kink took a long moment, flailing his arms and moving his sculpted core to rise up to standing. "That was close... Rig! Let me get a green wash down here."
Once Kink had his balance again, he stared down at the small platform stroking his chin. He'd hardly stuck the landing and it was only going to be more difficult when each of these platforms was occupied by a person in floral costume. He gave a few test leaps on the three foot platform while he was waiting for his light, but from somewhere up above, one of the techs called down to him.
"Look, clown! We're still wiring the grid up here. Besides that, you know how Elizabeth feels about colored lights." Some tech who was perched precariously along a catwalk barked. "I'll bring up the fronts and dim out the backs once we get-"
The technician was interrupted by a sharp electrical pop and a shower of sparks somewhere in the rafters, followed by the hum of generators and a wash of bright light. Kink took a moment to bask in their glow, their warmth, their delicious embrace. He waited for the tech to do as he'd promised, bringing up the spots to frame the painted columns at center stage. Once that was done he took a few warm up hops before bounding backward off the tiny platform into a high, sweeping backflip with his arms outstretched at his side, imagining the fluttering of the silken wings of his butterfly costume.
His stilts hit the ground and he bounded upward, spreading his legs in a wide split, made wider by the stilts before planting and bounding up to the next platform. He landed much easier this time. The lights helped.
"Yeah, that's better. Can we set those like that and maybe throw some woodland gobos on the outer half?" Kink called up to the rigging. "Let's get some shadows on this."
"There's plenty of time for all this later!" The same tech from before called back. "Let us finish, then we'll set your lights."
"Don't you make me come up there!" Kink wailed in reply, it wouldn't be the first time he'd scaled the rafters in pursuit of an uncooperative tech. The last instance had ended badly for everyone, the tech who was thrown from the rigging and Kink as well who had to endure Elizabeth's wrath for the deed. It was a bluff, this time. But the tech had no desire to find out the hard way. Slender, metal cutouts were slid into the appropriate lights, casting long shadows and blending leaf shaped beams with the other lights, creating the illusion of some unseen overhead canopy. "Was that so hard?" Kink asked at last, bounding off the platform in a front flip this time and landing without so much as a momentary loss of balance.
Confident that the lights were in place, Kink bounced in place a few times, pondering the vignette that would follow this one in sequence.
"The cue to bring back the floor lights will be when the bee stings the butterfly. Short blackout, fade up on all." Kink continued, giving more unwanted guidance to the capable techs. "Now, to check on the costumes."
Kink bounded toward the back of the tent, heading for wardrobe. He'd become so comfortable in the stilts that he forgot he was wearing them.Likes:
Scotch, Cuban cigars, laughter, applause, blood, scars, piercings, tattoos, standing ovations, cash, good times, freedom, anonymity.Dislikes:
Rules, cages, fire, serious faces, police, judges, therapists.