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lostheartsVALENTINE
name Christopher Valentine Lowry age 28 sexuality bi occupation freelancer played by Aaron Bruckner
history
"There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang, but it didn't hurt. And I felt not so much scared as - well, excited."
Christopher Valentine is the younger son of the Lowry family. Yes, those Lowrys. The ones whose name seems attached to all sorts of important things for no reason at all. American royalty. They're always doing something quietly in the background, very influential, but in exactly what, no one can really say. Joseph Lowry is the current patriarch of the Lowry clan, a high-ranking Major General in the Army. He and his wife Joan raised Christopher, along with his siblings, in the family home just outside of Boston in the late 80s to mid-90s. The eldest son, Justin Alexander, was set to follow in their father's footsteps: six years older than Chris, he was the perfect older brother. Well-behaved, thoughtful, intelligent, serious. Ace student, disciplined, a little sanctimonious but considerate. His older sister Annamaria, a year younger than Justin, was another shining example of good breeding--a little shallow but very sweet, with decent grades and a marriage already arranged by age 13. After those two, the bar was set fairly high for young Christopher. He never quite met his father's expectations, no matter how much he tried. Not that he had to, Justin already being the perfect heir. And the teachers all the way through private school only saw a lesser shadow of the Other Lowry Boy they'd taught a few years earlier.
Sure he was jealous of Justin. Always had been. Everything was so easy for him. But he also looked up to his brother, trying hard to be like him, to find some way to make him proud. And by the time he graduated high school (in the top ten students, but nowhere near valedictorian) and went off to college, he'd found out he was very, very good at hurting people. It didn't exactly make his brother proud, but it made him happy, finally being good at something. A black belt in taekwondo was almost easy, reaching 2nd-dan before his first semester was over, and joining the rugby team meant meeting a whole new set of friends. Friends who appreciated his skills. Friends who, like him, were bored younger sons of affluent families, looking for a way to exercise their skills for fun and profit. It didn't matter that he'd never be as good as Justin for their father. He'd make his own name.
College helped him discover other things he was good at. Girls liked his body. They'd throw themselves at his feet if he flashed the right kind of smile. For that matter, so did certain boys, though he was never really as interested in those. People liked the charming blonde boy, so polite, so interested. They'd talk to him, tell him anything he wanted to know. And if he didn't want you to notice him...well. He got pretty good at being unobtrusive, too, at eavesdropping and snooping (leftover skills from childhood, apparently, never quite went away). By the time he'd finished college with a degree in International Relations, with a vague idea of working for an overseas firm, those skills were also well-honed. Years of practice had gotten him friends and connections; boredom and a desire for a little extra flash got him a few jobs acting as hired muscle. Nothing major, really. Just a little intimidation, a few broken kneecaps for folks who couldn't repay their debts. But a little muscle with the right look and enthusiasm apparently goes a long way, in the circles that matter. It meant that he was never out of a job, and that soon bigger fish were noticing him. Bigger fish like Vassily Antonov, head legbreaker of the Russian mob in Boston.
Vassily liked Chris, saw in the kid a lot of potential. With the brotherhood's help and his family's name, he could go far, and could get Vassily even further up the chain of command. And Chris liked Vassily, liked the older man's honesty and joy in his work. He was more of a father to Chris than he'd ever had before, and Vassily's daughter Irena was drop-dead gorgeous with a wicked sense of humor. Spending time with the father meant seeing more of the daughter, which was a definite plus. But some of Chris' family definitely wasn't so keen on the idea, some of them namely being Justin. When Justin found out just who Chris was spending his time with, he flipped, accusing him of wasting his life and dragging down the family name, telling him he was only being used and wasn't going to ever amount to anything good. It was the first and only time he'd ever hit his brother, and the feeling it gave him to see his own brother's blood on his fist was disturbing in its intensity. To his credit, Justin said nothing about the cause of the fight to their parents, but the damage was done.
He didn't spend much time at home at all, that summer. Or even into the fall, and starting into winter. More and more, he stayed with Vassily and Irena when he wasn't out on a job. And the jobs were more and more frequent, taking him into NYC or up to Montreal for a weekend, or even on a few occasions flying out to Vegas or Los Angeles with the boss. Chris' work was noticed, and he made Vassily proud as he advanced through the ranks. Of course, in the end, it was all about advancing, and Chris made the mistake of forgetting that you can only ever count on the loyalty of one person in life--yourself.
He didn't keep in touch with the family very well. Saw them on holidays, mostly. To be honest, the one person he really stayed in touch for was his Molly. His little sister, twelve years old and all smiles and joy. Somehow, she managed to be everything neither one of his siblings had ever really been. And despite the 10-year age gap, they were very close, their relationship as much teasing and bickering as it was affection and cuddling. He rarely spoke to Justin anymore, their words always ending up closer to combat than conversation. A 'talk' that quickly devolved into a fight on his 23rd birthday was the last straw, especially after their father got involved, made it clear that Christopher was no longer welcome in the house if he was going to keep starting fights with his older brother, now a well-placed junior lawyer in an upstanding firm with a promising future in politics. So he left, and Vassily took him in without a word, welcoming him with open arms and understanding eyes.
He got very drunk that night. So, so drunk. And Irena was so very, very understanding. She asked him questions. She held his hand. She kissed him. She listened. So he told her everything. Everything she wanted to know, everything he could say about his perfect brother and his demanding father and his pushover mother. All the things he'd never said before, because even working for the mob--he had no delusions about what he did--family was family. But now, family had hurt him, and he wanted to hurt them back, for never believing in him or encouraging him, for never really caring.
The attack came a month later. He was in New York on 'business' when he got the phone call. A break-in. A shooting. His mother in ICU. Molly, little Molly, a week shy of her 13th birthday...he couldn't say it, couldn't think it. But he knew who to blame. Irena was gone, when he got back, all his old contacts in the mob suddenly vague on where Vassily was, what had happened. He should have known. So he went home, when he knew no one else would be there, and dug through his father's office until he found what he needed. A name, and a number, and a chance to make this right. He couldn't get to them on his own, but with this particular organization's resources, he could kill her killers. it would never make up for his carelessness, never redeem him, but at least it might bring his sister peace.
The organization wasn't at all what he thought it'd be. He joined, and was promptly given nothing but paperwork, some small-time surveillance gigs, a few "make friends and collect blackmail material" kinds of things. No chance to do what he'd set out to do. And after almost nine months of that and one brutal sparring session gone wrong leaving him in the hospital for a week, after learning of the organization crumbling from the top and the body count beginning to pile up, he exited left with a small group of associates. Survival was his main focus, but after a couple months of that, the one-year anniversary of his sister's death made him restless, reminded him of what he'd set out to do. So he left the group in Denver, heading back to Boston for the first time since Molly's death to finish what he'd started.
Now, he does a little of this and a little of that. Fighting in underground mob-funded bouts under the name Valentine, doing piecework as a freelance bodyguard, spy, whatever he's hired to do...and all the time, asking around for those two names that he needs to get closure.
Christopher Valentine is the younger son of the Lowry family. Yes, those Lowrys. The ones whose name seems attached to all sorts of important things for no reason at all. American royalty. They're always doing something quietly in the background, very influential, but in exactly what, no one can really say. Joseph Lowry is the current patriarch of the Lowry clan, a high-ranking Major General in the Army. He and his wife Joan raised Christopher, along with his siblings, in the family home just outside of Boston in the late 80s to mid-90s. The eldest son, Justin Alexander, was set to follow in their father's footsteps: six years older than Chris, he was the perfect older brother. Well-behaved, thoughtful, intelligent, serious. Ace student, disciplined, a little sanctimonious but considerate. His older sister Annamaria, a year younger than Justin, was another shining example of good breeding--a little shallow but very sweet, with decent grades and a marriage already arranged by age 13. After those two, the bar was set fairly high for young Christopher. He never quite met his father's expectations, no matter how much he tried. Not that he had to, Justin already being the perfect heir. And the teachers all the way through private school only saw a lesser shadow of the Other Lowry Boy they'd taught a few years earlier.
Sure he was jealous of Justin. Always had been. Everything was so easy for him. But he also looked up to his brother, trying hard to be like him, to find some way to make him proud. And by the time he graduated high school (in the top ten students, but nowhere near valedictorian) and went off to college, he'd found out he was very, very good at hurting people. It didn't exactly make his brother proud, but it made him happy, finally being good at something. A black belt in taekwondo was almost easy, reaching 2nd-dan before his first semester was over, and joining the rugby team meant meeting a whole new set of friends. Friends who appreciated his skills. Friends who, like him, were bored younger sons of affluent families, looking for a way to exercise their skills for fun and profit. It didn't matter that he'd never be as good as Justin for their father. He'd make his own name.
College helped him discover other things he was good at. Girls liked his body. They'd throw themselves at his feet if he flashed the right kind of smile. For that matter, so did certain boys, though he was never really as interested in those. People liked the charming blonde boy, so polite, so interested. They'd talk to him, tell him anything he wanted to know. And if he didn't want you to notice him...well. He got pretty good at being unobtrusive, too, at eavesdropping and snooping (leftover skills from childhood, apparently, never quite went away). By the time he'd finished college with a degree in International Relations, with a vague idea of working for an overseas firm, those skills were also well-honed. Years of practice had gotten him friends and connections; boredom and a desire for a little extra flash got him a few jobs acting as hired muscle. Nothing major, really. Just a little intimidation, a few broken kneecaps for folks who couldn't repay their debts. But a little muscle with the right look and enthusiasm apparently goes a long way, in the circles that matter. It meant that he was never out of a job, and that soon bigger fish were noticing him. Bigger fish like Vassily Antonov, head legbreaker of the Russian mob in Boston.
Vassily liked Chris, saw in the kid a lot of potential. With the brotherhood's help and his family's name, he could go far, and could get Vassily even further up the chain of command. And Chris liked Vassily, liked the older man's honesty and joy in his work. He was more of a father to Chris than he'd ever had before, and Vassily's daughter Irena was drop-dead gorgeous with a wicked sense of humor. Spending time with the father meant seeing more of the daughter, which was a definite plus. But some of Chris' family definitely wasn't so keen on the idea, some of them namely being Justin. When Justin found out just who Chris was spending his time with, he flipped, accusing him of wasting his life and dragging down the family name, telling him he was only being used and wasn't going to ever amount to anything good. It was the first and only time he'd ever hit his brother, and the feeling it gave him to see his own brother's blood on his fist was disturbing in its intensity. To his credit, Justin said nothing about the cause of the fight to their parents, but the damage was done.
He didn't spend much time at home at all, that summer. Or even into the fall, and starting into winter. More and more, he stayed with Vassily and Irena when he wasn't out on a job. And the jobs were more and more frequent, taking him into NYC or up to Montreal for a weekend, or even on a few occasions flying out to Vegas or Los Angeles with the boss. Chris' work was noticed, and he made Vassily proud as he advanced through the ranks. Of course, in the end, it was all about advancing, and Chris made the mistake of forgetting that you can only ever count on the loyalty of one person in life--yourself.
He didn't keep in touch with the family very well. Saw them on holidays, mostly. To be honest, the one person he really stayed in touch for was his Molly. His little sister, twelve years old and all smiles and joy. Somehow, she managed to be everything neither one of his siblings had ever really been. And despite the 10-year age gap, they were very close, their relationship as much teasing and bickering as it was affection and cuddling. He rarely spoke to Justin anymore, their words always ending up closer to combat than conversation. A 'talk' that quickly devolved into a fight on his 23rd birthday was the last straw, especially after their father got involved, made it clear that Christopher was no longer welcome in the house if he was going to keep starting fights with his older brother, now a well-placed junior lawyer in an upstanding firm with a promising future in politics. So he left, and Vassily took him in without a word, welcoming him with open arms and understanding eyes.
He got very drunk that night. So, so drunk. And Irena was so very, very understanding. She asked him questions. She held his hand. She kissed him. She listened. So he told her everything. Everything she wanted to know, everything he could say about his perfect brother and his demanding father and his pushover mother. All the things he'd never said before, because even working for the mob--he had no delusions about what he did--family was family. But now, family had hurt him, and he wanted to hurt them back, for never believing in him or encouraging him, for never really caring.
The attack came a month later. He was in New York on 'business' when he got the phone call. A break-in. A shooting. His mother in ICU. Molly, little Molly, a week shy of her 13th birthday...he couldn't say it, couldn't think it. But he knew who to blame. Irena was gone, when he got back, all his old contacts in the mob suddenly vague on where Vassily was, what had happened. He should have known. So he went home, when he knew no one else would be there, and dug through his father's office until he found what he needed. A name, and a number, and a chance to make this right. He couldn't get to them on his own, but with this particular organization's resources, he could kill her killers. it would never make up for his carelessness, never redeem him, but at least it might bring his sister peace.
The organization wasn't at all what he thought it'd be. He joined, and was promptly given nothing but paperwork, some small-time surveillance gigs, a few "make friends and collect blackmail material" kinds of things. No chance to do what he'd set out to do. And after almost nine months of that and one brutal sparring session gone wrong leaving him in the hospital for a week, after learning of the organization crumbling from the top and the body count beginning to pile up, he exited left with a small group of associates. Survival was his main focus, but after a couple months of that, the one-year anniversary of his sister's death made him restless, reminded him of what he'd set out to do. So he left the group in Denver, heading back to Boston for the first time since Molly's death to finish what he'd started.
Now, he does a little of this and a little of that. Fighting in underground mob-funded bouts under the name Valentine, doing piecework as a freelance bodyguard, spy, whatever he's hired to do...and all the time, asking around for those two names that he needs to get closure.
personality
“We can be redeemed only to the extent to which we see ourselves.” ― Martin Buber
Chris is well-bred, charming, and eloquent. He's got manners, an easy way of carrying himself that commands respect and makes a person comfortable. His normal facial expression is much more thoughtful than anything else, but easily defaults to a smile when approached. This isn't necessarily because he's happy, though, more learned behavior. He doesn't have much to smile about, these days. But it makes people comfortable, and that's his job, really: to get in close, make people comfortable, learn their secrets and crush them. Occasionally, the crushing is a bit more literal--he is an accomplished martial artist, and he does what he's told. A military upbringing doesn't just go away, after all, and he's disciplined enough to follow orders immediately and without question.
Before everything went wrong, Chris was a fairly energetic kid. Quick to anger, quick to smile, quick to fight and to forgive. He had a knack for getting into trouble, but was usually charismatic and quick-thinking enough to get himself out of it. Athletic, fast, and strong, he was a natural at most sports, though a nasty violent streak meant that more often than not he was kicked off teams for poor conduct or harming other players. A twisted sense of humor meant he was more likely to laugh at the ironic than the potty jokes, getting him more than one weird look in the past from people who didn't understand just why he was laughing at that horribly gruesome, unfunny thing. Now, he's still most of those things, but a little more intense. A little slower to smile and quicker to fight, a lot more serious and intent on never ever making the same mistakes again. More than anything, he wants redemption, but not by being 'a good guy'--all he wants is to use the resources and training he has in order to kill his way back to the men who ordered the hit on his family and killed his little sister, and he will do whatever it takes in order to put things right.
Chris is well-bred, charming, and eloquent. He's got manners, an easy way of carrying himself that commands respect and makes a person comfortable. His normal facial expression is much more thoughtful than anything else, but easily defaults to a smile when approached. This isn't necessarily because he's happy, though, more learned behavior. He doesn't have much to smile about, these days. But it makes people comfortable, and that's his job, really: to get in close, make people comfortable, learn their secrets and crush them. Occasionally, the crushing is a bit more literal--he is an accomplished martial artist, and he does what he's told. A military upbringing doesn't just go away, after all, and he's disciplined enough to follow orders immediately and without question.
Before everything went wrong, Chris was a fairly energetic kid. Quick to anger, quick to smile, quick to fight and to forgive. He had a knack for getting into trouble, but was usually charismatic and quick-thinking enough to get himself out of it. Athletic, fast, and strong, he was a natural at most sports, though a nasty violent streak meant that more often than not he was kicked off teams for poor conduct or harming other players. A twisted sense of humor meant he was more likely to laugh at the ironic than the potty jokes, getting him more than one weird look in the past from people who didn't understand just why he was laughing at that horribly gruesome, unfunny thing. Now, he's still most of those things, but a little more intense. A little slower to smile and quicker to fight, a lot more serious and intent on never ever making the same mistakes again. More than anything, he wants redemption, but not by being 'a good guy'--all he wants is to use the resources and training he has in order to kill his way back to the men who ordered the hit on his family and killed his little sister, and he will do whatever it takes in order to put things right.
appearance & abilities
Appearance: Chris is 6'2" and around 190 pounds of gorgeous. Good genetics and years of care have resulted in a firm, muscular body with a golden tan and blue eyes that pop under golden-blond hair, usually kept a tad long and brushed back to the right away from his face with pomade. His posture is good, as one would expect from a military kid as well as a martial artist, and he carries himself with a confident awareness. Generally speaking, his style of dress is a touch on the preppy side, even his jeans being designer. There's more than a touch of narcissism in his mannerisms, though it's usually self-deprecating enough to not put people off. His knuckles are faintly scarred, and his hands bear the calluses of a fighter, plus the clear indications of a familiarity with firearms, to those who know what to look for. His smile is pretty much his best weapon, though, and he uses it often and mercilessly on both genders, to the full extent he possibly can.
Skills: 2nd degree blackbelt in taekwondo; competitive MMA fighter; familiarity with inner workings of Russian Bratva (Mafia); excellent liar, capable of moving in multiple social circles and situations easily; experience with sailing and boats in general; fluent in English and Russian, passingly decent in German; competent with a handgun, preferring the .45 Glock 38, but don't expect him to hit a moving target at more than fifty yards
Skills: 2nd degree blackbelt in taekwondo; competitive MMA fighter; familiarity with inner workings of Russian Bratva (Mafia); excellent liar, capable of moving in multiple social circles and situations easily; experience with sailing and boats in general; fluent in English and Russian, passingly decent in German; competent with a handgun, preferring the .45 Glock 38, but don't expect him to hit a moving target at more than fifty yards
player Ty ♪ timezone EST ♪ discord amurderofbees#8035 ♪ code by transilience
