Name: Wyatt Earp
Fandom: Wyatt Earp’s Revenge
Canon point/AU: 1878, Post reinstatement as a U.S. Marshal after the capture of Spike Kenedy.
Journal:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_marshal
Icon:
Headshot:
History:
**The Real Wyatt Earp’s Wiki Entry and the hilariously short entry for Wyatt Earp’s Revenge. The Wyatt Earp presented in WER is pretty much an AU version of the historical figure so I’ll be cobbling the two together to hopefully (fingers crossed) present a full character.**
Wyatt Earp was born March 19th, 1851 to one Nicholas Porter Earp and his wife Virginia Cooksey, rounding a trio of boys into a quartet.
Nicholas was a restless man and by the time Wyatt was 12 the family had moved three times. From Illinois, to Iowa, and back again. This “Itchy Feet” syndrome would leave its mark on Wyatt, as would being a middle son. When the civil war broke out, his elder brothers James, Virgil, and Newton headed off to the fight and Wyatt, resenting be left behind, tried several times - always unsuccessful - to run away and join the army. His father, eventually tiring of trying to keep his son at home, rounded up the family again and headed west for California. At the age of 14, Wyatt rather easily assumed a man’s role on the journey, serving as a hunter and helping to fend off raids on the wagon train.
Settling into a farmer’s life after the trip, however, would prove more troublesome and before long Wyatt was leaving home to join his brother Virgil working on freight wagons that traveled between southern California and Salt Lake City. He did this menial sort of work for some time, then moved on to buffalo hunting for a period,... he gave farming another shot when his father moved again to Missouri, but he eventually gave it up again when the 22-year-old managed to find a job much more to his liking. That year, for the first time, Wyatt Earp would pin on a badge and history would be made.
As a lawman, Wyatt was considered a tough officer; tough to the point of brutality, but he was known for diligently avoiding killing. He preferred fists and pistol-whipping and had no compunction against beating up troublemakers. But he always tried to avoid killing, and only did so when he saw no other choice.
~.~
1878 would find 27-year-old Wyatt in Dodge City, Kansas and contemplating yet another change in lifestyle. A young woman by the name of Dora Hand had caught the Marshal’s eye and for her he began to consider settling down - even giving up his badge to make her happy - but before they could make their relationship official (or public) Dora was tragically killed. A young man by the name of Spike Kenedy had a beef with Dodge’s Mayor and he decided to settle it with bullets. He riddled the Mayor’s house, shooting wild and blind... but the Mayor was out of town and staying at his house instead was Dora (to keep their relationship quiet, and to keep tongues from wagging, she did not stay with Wyatt) and she was killed by a fateful ricochet.
There was no secret as to who had brought about Dora’s death, several witnesses recalled seeing Kenedy in the area and knew he had troubles with the Mayor, but the town judge refused to issue a warrant, fearing that Kenedy’s father, a powerful landowner and a Civil War hero, would seek retribution.
For Wyatt, there was no question. Kenedy could not be allowed to escape justice. Going against the judge’s orders, he turned in his badge, pieced together an unauthorized posse and set off after Kenedy.
Over three days, Wyatt and his posse tracked Kenedy from Dodge City to the Mexican border, following the trail of bodies Kenedy left in his wake. When the parties inevitably clashed, it came down to a fight, man-to-man, between Wyatt and Kenedy and despite his intentions on bringing him in one piece, Wyatt’s anger, and his desperation got the best of him. Grabbing a large rock, Wyatt sealed Kenedy’s fate. Before Kenedy died, however, Wyatt did manage to get him back to Dodge City, which cleared his own name and allowed for him to be reinstated as a Marshal.
Presentation:
Wyatt’s not as tall as one might expect, only reaching 5’10,” but good genes and an active lifestyle have left him broad shouldered and fit. He keeps his coffee-colored hair short and the mustache above his rather firmly set mouth trimmed. Years of working with his hands (whether that be using them to mend a broken step outside the constable’s or cold-cocking some hooligan into submission) have made them hard and calloused and with the unnerving habit of hooking into his belt - just there were his revolver would be - when at rest. He’s got his fair share of scars and when he walks, his stroll’s a little funny... all those long days and nights in the saddle will leave their mark.
Personality wise, Wyatt tends to be the sort of man that breeds extremes. His friends are fiercely loyal, his enemies determined in their hatred, and there are very few in-between. He’s a man of few words and that sort of thing can come across as distant and cold, even haughty, when really, he means nothing by it. He just has no real use for a lot of fancy words. Why waste his breath when a look will work just as well? Get on his good side and those dark-blue eyes will soften, maybe you’ll even earn a few happy crinkles around the edges; cross him and he’ll drill a hole through ya at 100 paces.
Motivations:
Wyatt’s a good man. Beneath that gruff and silent exterior, he truly believes in what he does: doing the right thing... and bringing those that don’t to justice. He’s no angel, he knows and admits to that. He’s gotten into his fair share of comprising predicaments... but he knows the difference where it really matters and he can not, will not, stand idly by.
His family, his friends, they are his bond and he will do anything, go anywhere, even to the detriment of himself, for those he considers his. (As seen in his readiness to give up his job, to make himself into an outlaw, to ensure that the killer of his beloved Dora was brought to justice.)
Pride. He’s not likely to admit this, he doesn’t particularly like to be bested. Especially when he knows he can do/be better.
SAMPLES
Thread:
[The feed comes on and a man springs into view. He appears... thirty-ish? A little younger, a little older... it’s hard to say for certain. His head is full of dark hair. His height is hard to determine - as he’s currently seated - but he appears fit and healthy. He might be considered handsome, but at the moment his face is too hard, too cold, to be considered traditionally attractive. His mouth is tight, and so thin it looks as if it’s trying to disappear. His eyes are dark and flat and staring straight into the camera.
The moments tick by, but he says nothing, does nothing. The only real sign that he’s alive is the muscle ticking like a heartbeat in his square jaw. The silence is awkward, almost painful.
Then, suddenly (finally), a voice cuts in from off camera.]
“Go on, say something.”
[His eyes flick away, seeking the speaker. Something passes between them and he looks back, his mouth opening on a slow, careful breath.]
“To whichever one’a you took my hat, I’d like it back.”
[There’s a soft sound, like someone clearing their throat, and his eyes close - almost as if he was tired.]
“Please.”
Prose:
He didn’t know where he was. How he’d gotten there. His questions fell on deaf ears. His shouts earned him a manhandling.
They’d taken his clothes, his belongings - even his name.
Tribute, they called him now. Some word that made no sense to him.
It was all gibberish, everything. It buzzed in his ears like a swarm of bees. You’re a tribute now and it’s your turn. Impress the Gamemakers - they’ll help you survive the arena.
He knew what he was supposed to do - beg for treats like some mangy mutt - but he couldn’t. For several long moments all he could do was stare. He’d come across everything from corrupt politicians to murderers and not a one of them made him feel like these people did. These Gamemakers - the men and women responsible for all that he'd been through in the past few hours. The men and women that would soon make him fight and kill for their entertainment.
Even the fire that had driven him to chase Kenedy to hell and back seemed cool in comparison.
When he got out of this, and by God he would, they would regret it.
Taking one last look at their faces, he turned away. He fingers itched for his revolver, but the racks and tables were empty.
Instead his eyes landed on the gleaming row of knives and, before he could stop to think about it, he snatched one up. It wasn’t what he’d preferred, but he’d give them something to think about.
The first target took the blade under the ribcage, the strike up and in. The second took it in the chest, the blade buried to the hilt. The last, he took down with his hands. His fists connecting over and over until his knuckles split and the target ran red.
What is your character scored: 6
Strengths:
He’s a physically fit 27-year-old used to hard labor. He’s a great shot with a revolver, but equally as comfortable using his bare hands. He can use a knife, but is probably better served using it to skin and clean game than fighting with it. He has some tracking skills - he’s not the best, but he can get by. He’s no stranger to traveling with nothing but what he and his horse can carry, sleeping on the ground, starting his own fires, and living off rationed supplies and whatever he can catch. Also, to be completely fair, he’s not an unattractive man. Surely some out there would like to see him live longer simply so they have more time to look at him.
Weaknesses:
He has no real experience with most of the weapons he’s likely to come across in the area. Swords, bows and arrows... they were relic’s even to him. Worst case scenario, he might be going up against trained advisories with nothing more than a rock or his own two hands. He’s spent his career as lawman protecting innocents - women and children. Telling him now to kill them is not going to go over well. Even if it means his life for theirs. Furthermore, for him, even when violence has been necessary, such as in the cases of thieves and murderers who might deserve death, Wyatt has always strived to bring them in alive. He’s always tried to wound or otherwise incapacitate rather than outright kill. It was his job to bring them to justice, someone else’s to serve it. Of course, not to be forgotten, his lack of a way with words could also hurt him. Hard to gain a lot of sponsors if you can barely pretend to do more than stare hatefully.
Fandom: Wyatt Earp’s Revenge
Canon point/AU: 1878, Post reinstatement as a U.S. Marshal after the capture of Spike Kenedy.
Journal:
the_marshalIcon:
Headshot:
History:
**The Real Wyatt Earp’s Wiki Entry and the hilariously short entry for Wyatt Earp’s Revenge. The Wyatt Earp presented in WER is pretty much an AU version of the historical figure so I’ll be cobbling the two together to hopefully (fingers crossed) present a full character.**
Wyatt Earp was born March 19th, 1851 to one Nicholas Porter Earp and his wife Virginia Cooksey, rounding a trio of boys into a quartet.
Nicholas was a restless man and by the time Wyatt was 12 the family had moved three times. From Illinois, to Iowa, and back again. This “Itchy Feet” syndrome would leave its mark on Wyatt, as would being a middle son. When the civil war broke out, his elder brothers James, Virgil, and Newton headed off to the fight and Wyatt, resenting be left behind, tried several times - always unsuccessful - to run away and join the army. His father, eventually tiring of trying to keep his son at home, rounded up the family again and headed west for California. At the age of 14, Wyatt rather easily assumed a man’s role on the journey, serving as a hunter and helping to fend off raids on the wagon train.
Settling into a farmer’s life after the trip, however, would prove more troublesome and before long Wyatt was leaving home to join his brother Virgil working on freight wagons that traveled between southern California and Salt Lake City. He did this menial sort of work for some time, then moved on to buffalo hunting for a period,... he gave farming another shot when his father moved again to Missouri, but he eventually gave it up again when the 22-year-old managed to find a job much more to his liking. That year, for the first time, Wyatt Earp would pin on a badge and history would be made.
As a lawman, Wyatt was considered a tough officer; tough to the point of brutality, but he was known for diligently avoiding killing. He preferred fists and pistol-whipping and had no compunction against beating up troublemakers. But he always tried to avoid killing, and only did so when he saw no other choice.
~.~
1878 would find 27-year-old Wyatt in Dodge City, Kansas and contemplating yet another change in lifestyle. A young woman by the name of Dora Hand had caught the Marshal’s eye and for her he began to consider settling down - even giving up his badge to make her happy - but before they could make their relationship official (or public) Dora was tragically killed. A young man by the name of Spike Kenedy had a beef with Dodge’s Mayor and he decided to settle it with bullets. He riddled the Mayor’s house, shooting wild and blind... but the Mayor was out of town and staying at his house instead was Dora (to keep their relationship quiet, and to keep tongues from wagging, she did not stay with Wyatt) and she was killed by a fateful ricochet.
There was no secret as to who had brought about Dora’s death, several witnesses recalled seeing Kenedy in the area and knew he had troubles with the Mayor, but the town judge refused to issue a warrant, fearing that Kenedy’s father, a powerful landowner and a Civil War hero, would seek retribution.
For Wyatt, there was no question. Kenedy could not be allowed to escape justice. Going against the judge’s orders, he turned in his badge, pieced together an unauthorized posse and set off after Kenedy.
Over three days, Wyatt and his posse tracked Kenedy from Dodge City to the Mexican border, following the trail of bodies Kenedy left in his wake. When the parties inevitably clashed, it came down to a fight, man-to-man, between Wyatt and Kenedy and despite his intentions on bringing him in one piece, Wyatt’s anger, and his desperation got the best of him. Grabbing a large rock, Wyatt sealed Kenedy’s fate. Before Kenedy died, however, Wyatt did manage to get him back to Dodge City, which cleared his own name and allowed for him to be reinstated as a Marshal.
Presentation:
Wyatt’s not as tall as one might expect, only reaching 5’10,” but good genes and an active lifestyle have left him broad shouldered and fit. He keeps his coffee-colored hair short and the mustache above his rather firmly set mouth trimmed. Years of working with his hands (whether that be using them to mend a broken step outside the constable’s or cold-cocking some hooligan into submission) have made them hard and calloused and with the unnerving habit of hooking into his belt - just there were his revolver would be - when at rest. He’s got his fair share of scars and when he walks, his stroll’s a little funny... all those long days and nights in the saddle will leave their mark.
Personality wise, Wyatt tends to be the sort of man that breeds extremes. His friends are fiercely loyal, his enemies determined in their hatred, and there are very few in-between. He’s a man of few words and that sort of thing can come across as distant and cold, even haughty, when really, he means nothing by it. He just has no real use for a lot of fancy words. Why waste his breath when a look will work just as well? Get on his good side and those dark-blue eyes will soften, maybe you’ll even earn a few happy crinkles around the edges; cross him and he’ll drill a hole through ya at 100 paces.
Motivations:
Wyatt’s a good man. Beneath that gruff and silent exterior, he truly believes in what he does: doing the right thing... and bringing those that don’t to justice. He’s no angel, he knows and admits to that. He’s gotten into his fair share of comprising predicaments... but he knows the difference where it really matters and he can not, will not, stand idly by.
His family, his friends, they are his bond and he will do anything, go anywhere, even to the detriment of himself, for those he considers his. (As seen in his readiness to give up his job, to make himself into an outlaw, to ensure that the killer of his beloved Dora was brought to justice.)
Pride. He’s not likely to admit this, he doesn’t particularly like to be bested. Especially when he knows he can do/be better.
SAMPLES
Thread:
[The feed comes on and a man springs into view. He appears... thirty-ish? A little younger, a little older... it’s hard to say for certain. His head is full of dark hair. His height is hard to determine - as he’s currently seated - but he appears fit and healthy. He might be considered handsome, but at the moment his face is too hard, too cold, to be considered traditionally attractive. His mouth is tight, and so thin it looks as if it’s trying to disappear. His eyes are dark and flat and staring straight into the camera.
The moments tick by, but he says nothing, does nothing. The only real sign that he’s alive is the muscle ticking like a heartbeat in his square jaw. The silence is awkward, almost painful.
Then, suddenly (finally), a voice cuts in from off camera.]
“Go on, say something.”
[His eyes flick away, seeking the speaker. Something passes between them and he looks back, his mouth opening on a slow, careful breath.]
“To whichever one’a you took my hat, I’d like it back.”
[There’s a soft sound, like someone clearing their throat, and his eyes close - almost as if he was tired.]
“Please.”
Prose:
He didn’t know where he was. How he’d gotten there. His questions fell on deaf ears. His shouts earned him a manhandling.
They’d taken his clothes, his belongings - even his name.
Tribute, they called him now. Some word that made no sense to him.
It was all gibberish, everything. It buzzed in his ears like a swarm of bees. You’re a tribute now and it’s your turn. Impress the Gamemakers - they’ll help you survive the arena.
He knew what he was supposed to do - beg for treats like some mangy mutt - but he couldn’t. For several long moments all he could do was stare. He’d come across everything from corrupt politicians to murderers and not a one of them made him feel like these people did. These Gamemakers - the men and women responsible for all that he'd been through in the past few hours. The men and women that would soon make him fight and kill for their entertainment.
Even the fire that had driven him to chase Kenedy to hell and back seemed cool in comparison.
When he got out of this, and by God he would, they would regret it.
Taking one last look at their faces, he turned away. He fingers itched for his revolver, but the racks and tables were empty.
Instead his eyes landed on the gleaming row of knives and, before he could stop to think about it, he snatched one up. It wasn’t what he’d preferred, but he’d give them something to think about.
The first target took the blade under the ribcage, the strike up and in. The second took it in the chest, the blade buried to the hilt. The last, he took down with his hands. His fists connecting over and over until his knuckles split and the target ran red.
What is your character scored: 6
Strengths:
He’s a physically fit 27-year-old used to hard labor. He’s a great shot with a revolver, but equally as comfortable using his bare hands. He can use a knife, but is probably better served using it to skin and clean game than fighting with it. He has some tracking skills - he’s not the best, but he can get by. He’s no stranger to traveling with nothing but what he and his horse can carry, sleeping on the ground, starting his own fires, and living off rationed supplies and whatever he can catch. Also, to be completely fair, he’s not an unattractive man. Surely some out there would like to see him live longer simply so they have more time to look at him.
Weaknesses:
He has no real experience with most of the weapons he’s likely to come across in the area. Swords, bows and arrows... they were relic’s even to him. Worst case scenario, he might be going up against trained advisories with nothing more than a rock or his own two hands. He’s spent his career as lawman protecting innocents - women and children. Telling him now to kill them is not going to go over well. Even if it means his life for theirs. Furthermore, for him, even when violence has been necessary, such as in the cases of thieves and murderers who might deserve death, Wyatt has always strived to bring them in alive. He’s always tried to wound or otherwise incapacitate rather than outright kill. It was his job to bring them to justice, someone else’s to serve it. Of course, not to be forgotten, his lack of a way with words could also hurt him. Hard to gain a lot of sponsors if you can barely pretend to do more than stare hatefully.
