Name: Wayland Peck Age:
24 Home State:
Texas Desired Role:
Circus Hand - Musician (Fiddler) / Security part time. Place of Hierarchy:
New TalentHair Color:
Brown Eye Color:
198 PoundsPhysical Description:
Wayland is a very tall, somewhat muscled fellow. With his Scott background, his skin has a difficult time tanning though will if left out in the sun for long enough. With a build of an athlete, the young man is decently fit, able to hold his own in a bar fight if given the opportunity. It's quite easy to put a smile on his face, and often has one when greeting another of the circus. Personality:
Wayland is a very easy going guy, (almost) never allowing himself to drop off the edge of depression or rage. With a positive outlook on life, it's very rare to see him in another mood than happy. It's very difficult to irritate the young man, though as many in his family do, he does have a fuse which will eventually end... And once it does, well, I hope you have fun. Brief History:
Wayland grew up in the middle of nowhere Texas, living on a farm and going to a school with less than a hundred people. Living in such a place gave him the perfect chance to learn how to play the fiddle. With nothing but country bars in the small town about five miles from his house, there was always someone willing to listen. In such a small town, word of him spread rather quickly and would bring most of the town in to the bar on Friday and Saturday nights.
From teaching himself how to play, he developed an ability to listen to a song once and play it back almost perfectly. Along with this he can also jump into a song which may not even have the same instrument in it, but make it sound as if it should have been. With these talents under his belt, he was able to make some cash from the bar, putting it away in the box which held the tools of his trade.
Dreams of leaving the small town rose up after a couple of years, the longing to leave what he considered a trapper of dreams driving him to save every cent he made. During one of his regular nights at the bar, he was approached by a man from Dallas, claiming he could get him a number of gigs at local bars and clubs around the metro-plex. Without another thought, Wayland packed up his things, said goodbye to his family, and moved to Dallas. The man didn't lie when he said he could get him the gigs, though they weren't for what he thought. The man had him running around from place to place setting up for different bands, making sure instruments were in tune and such.
Wayland went through this job for over two years, always getting taken by the promise that the man was still looking for the 'right place' for him to start. It didn't take much longer before he started getting tired of hearing the same old shit from the man. Introduction Post:
"No, fuck you Jimmy!" Wayland's voice rose over the hum of his trucks motor, making people in traffic look over at him with a confused look. "Take your fucking gigs and shove them up your ass, you fucking prick!" The curse words flew from his mouth like bats out of a cave, having no end it seemed. It seemed to take forever until the man on the other side of the line decided his pleas were useless, hanging up the phone without saying another word. "Son of a bitch just hung up on me..." An almost crazed look glared at his phone, throwing it over his shoulder into the bench seat of his truck.
Wayland found himself driving on interstate 35 for what seemed forever though it was only a couple of hours, a billboard advertising the Circus popping up as he came out of his mental coma. He still to this day doesn't know why he decided to take the exit off the highway toward the circus, but it doesn't matter much to him now, knowing it was the right decision. After sitting through all of the acts, Wayland found himself almost set in a trance, never having watched something so amazing.
As he exited the tent, he caught sight of the woman which owned the Cirque, staring at her for a moment as he walked back to his truck, a thought burst into his mind and grew like a wildfire. Before he could get halfway to his truck, he found his feet taking him back to Elizabeth, the conversation starting out with, "I don't know if you'd have much use for a fiddle player, ma'am..."
Elizabeth had been none to pleased with the arrival of what she simply assumed to be a gawking fan. Her time spent with Chloe after the show was always one of her favorite. The two were always so intoxicated with the spirit that they simply rolled with one another, no matter what it was they were doing. This time they were simply packing Elizabeths fire supplies. It was a job only entrusted to Chloe and Elizabeth, and now Lawrence. Though Elizabeth assumed he’d stalked away with that African bitch, so it was just the two girls. With the mans arrival, she gave him incredibly unwelcoming eyes and interrupted him mid sentence. Her hands waved his words off as she spoke. “No no no, I’ve no more need for a fiddle player than I do a rabid dog.” French accents were often looked at as beautiful, or sometimes sexy. But with her tone, it just came out sounding as sharp as a scalpel.
But Chloe had to put her two cents in. Her voice was as collected as ever. “I think it would be nice to have live music rather than just the phonograph.” Elizabeth stepped back to one of the tables and began to place the gun powder into it’s appropriate container. “Then Chloe my dear, learn how to play an instrument. He’d just be another mouth to feed. We don’t need music badly enough to make up for that.” In her mind the conversation was dead. She never bothered to look back to the door of the tent to see if the man had been humble enough just to walk away.
Never underestimate Chloes stuborness.
Before she knew it the girl was going on again. Elizabeth didn’t look at her at first. “Elizabeth, we both know I have little time to master an instrument. Besides the sound of me trying would likely disturb your rest in the morning. Plus, I hear that live music is beneficial to those who listen. I would hope the overall happiness and health of the circus outweighs matters of money.” Elizabeth just looked up to her friend at that moment. The argument she made was an absolute moot point. One little secret of Elizabeths was that what Chloe wanted, Chloe received. Even if it was as ridiculous as a Fiddler.
Elizabeth turned sharply from her table and walked to the man. She stopped a couple of feet in front of him. Despite the drastic size difference, Elizabeth still always had a way of seeming intimidating. Perhaps it was because she played with death every single evening and walked off stage in a state of high. “I suppose that we can find a way to keep you.” Those words were spoken loud enough for Chloe to hear. What followed was spoken under her breath, just loud enough for Wayland to hear. “But you’re going to be doing more to earn your keeping than playing a bloody fiddle. I’ll figure out what in the morning, but for now I advice you go and find one of the stage hands and tell them that I said you could come along with us. Keep your head low until I get a chance to figure out your place, I won’t have my Family believing I’m taking away from their mouths to keep a musician.” Elizabeth turned around and turned a blind ear to anything else he said. Elizabeth was quite frustrated with having her choice taken from her by Chloe, and she had decided to take it out upon the innocent fiddler.
“Be sure to tell them Elizabeth sent you. Otherwise you’ll be thrown out.”
Wayland nodded to her, a slight grin coming to his face before he could realize what was going on, "Thank you Ma'am. If you'd like I could even teach you a thing or two." With a wave of his hand, his feet took him in search of the first stage hand he could find. After explaining how he came to be, the confused look on the guys face wasn't all too surprising to Wayland, having a feeling that he just might be a little bit of an oddity around here by the sounds of things... Surely finding out from working that night that this was far from the case. If his parents could see him now... Well, that wouldn't be a good idea... His Dad would probably shoot him. Before the end of the night, all of his most prized possessions were out of his truck, and the keys sitting in the hands of quite possibly the happiest sixteen year old in the world... Though his parents looked as though they just got a stolen truck for all of three hundred and fifty-six dollars and seventy nine cents.Likes:
Rain, Thunder, Lightning, Humor, Sarcasm, Animals, Playing the Fiddle, Showing off (sometimes), Good Whiskey, Beer, Company, and Women. Dislikes:
Arrogance, Distrust, Drunks, Hippocrates, Addicts, Lazy Bastards, Sons'a Bitches, and Ignorance.