Information
Alcee Lejeune has a minion!
Deborah Hairy the Spring Kitty
Deborah Hairy the Spring Kitty
Alcee Lejeune
Legacy Name: Alcee Lejeune
The
Glade XotlOwner: TOASTERINTHETUB
Age: 56 years, 5 months, 1 week
Born: December 31st, 1969
Adopted: 56 years, 5 months, 1 week ago (Legacy)
Adopted: December 31st, 1969 (Legacy)
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
Alcee Lejeune is a squat little man(says he was in such a dang hurry he left his fuggin’ feet in his other shoes!), built like a chimp, bathed in sweat and aftershave, twitching, fretting, shaking in his seat like Hefestos the three-legged, asthmatic chihuahua squatting next door. Nature’s alarm clock; wakes him up every morning at the first spot of red in the sky with a yap yaaaCKHACKHACK, but he don’t care a damn he says. Kinda encouraging even, having someone watching over him like that! What’s it matter if Lucky’s got a pool mounting against him when Hefestos knows he can do it!
Juan is going to be a rich man if he falls off the rails in a week or less—“Sorry, Juan, not dis week! “
Big Mick was a smidge more generous—gives him a month. Three weeks, the price of friendship. Ah, at least he knows(now all he needs is a conversion table). Too bad Big Mick is never gonna see that benny again!
His name tag reads AC, he prefers hotdogs over hamburgers, and although he holds a bitter dislike for organized religion, Alcee admits he says a prayer over a photo of his sister every night before he passes out in front of the television. Nowadays he pops hydro like candy, but for what it’s worth, he hasn't touched a needle in two months(he’s a little more careful with that one—nothing like tempting fate to rouse the devil’s ire).
He quit for his family, he says, and speaks fondly of his mother. She was an artist who worked from home, a painter—that's a lie. She drove her blue sedan straight to the bottom of Lake Bruin when he was two years old. Town Talk spun it so it read like Gloomy Sunday to the tune of domestic abuse, like any gossip worth her weight in salt was wont to do, but Alcee likes his version better and he isn’t about to sell scandal with scandal(plenty of that scumming up the glass already).
He has another confession. The meetings have become an addiction in their own right, an emotional catharsis that acts on him as surely as a drug. He shows up when he can, between work and sleep, when the hydrocodone wears off and the black toad squatting on his mind bloats to the size of an elephant, approaching unbearable. In the weeks that followed his hasty retreat into the middle of nowhere Nevada, this stucco hovel has become his home away from home. The fluorescent lights burn too brightly, he complains, paint falls in flakes from the wall, and the commercial carpet smells vaguely of dogs and piss, but it beats a cot and a pair of orange coveralls and it sure as hell beats being alone.
Wait! Wait! He has one more confession. Debbie Harry will take sexy to the grave—the real Debbie, not the cat. Though she's pretty cute too.
Juan is going to be a rich man if he falls off the rails in a week or less—“Sorry, Juan, not dis week! “
Big Mick was a smidge more generous—gives him a month. Three weeks, the price of friendship. Ah, at least he knows(now all he needs is a conversion table). Too bad Big Mick is never gonna see that benny again!
His name tag reads AC, he prefers hotdogs over hamburgers, and although he holds a bitter dislike for organized religion, Alcee admits he says a prayer over a photo of his sister every night before he passes out in front of the television. Nowadays he pops hydro like candy, but for what it’s worth, he hasn't touched a needle in two months(he’s a little more careful with that one—nothing like tempting fate to rouse the devil’s ire).
He quit for his family, he says, and speaks fondly of his mother. She was an artist who worked from home, a painter—that's a lie. She drove her blue sedan straight to the bottom of Lake Bruin when he was two years old. Town Talk spun it so it read like Gloomy Sunday to the tune of domestic abuse, like any gossip worth her weight in salt was wont to do, but Alcee likes his version better and he isn’t about to sell scandal with scandal(plenty of that scumming up the glass already).
He has another confession. The meetings have become an addiction in their own right, an emotional catharsis that acts on him as surely as a drug. He shows up when he can, between work and sleep, when the hydrocodone wears off and the black toad squatting on his mind bloats to the size of an elephant, approaching unbearable. In the weeks that followed his hasty retreat into the middle of nowhere Nevada, this stucco hovel has become his home away from home. The fluorescent lights burn too brightly, he complains, paint falls in flakes from the wall, and the commercial carpet smells vaguely of dogs and piss, but it beats a cot and a pair of orange coveralls and it sure as hell beats being alone.
Wait! Wait! He has one more confession. Debbie Harry will take sexy to the grave—the real Debbie, not the cat. Though she's pretty cute too.
Name: Alcee Lejeune (AL-see luh-jern)
Gender: Male
Age: 36
Race: Predominantly French Creole
DOB: June 2nd
Occupation: Former pusher; recently scored a job stocking shelves at the local grocers after spending a few years in the pen.
General Appearance: Alcee Lejeune is a spastic little man with more pent up energy than a rodent on cocaine. Some call him a knuckle dragger, others a menace, but the sobering truth is he's just a drug sick junkie who wishes he could say he had a heart of gold and not a heart for heroin.
Height: 5' 6"
Weight: 137 lbs
Body type: Not quite rail thin, not quite healthy, Alcee likes to think he's aaaall muscle and don't you say otherwise or he'll knock you one in the teeth! Nah, just kidding. He knows he can't take a nutria on a good day, an all-you-can eat buffet though...
Piercings: At one point in time his lobes were stretched--he now wears them "naked", heh! He got a vertical labret done a few months back.
Tattoos: Alcee is covered in extensive tattooing heaviest on his arms and neck--most are birds, a couple women, and a star's in there somewhere, he'll swear by it!
Other: Aloha shirts and jeans, his clothing of choice. Dime a dozen and as pervasive as 90s talk radio. He tends to hide behind bright, baggy clothes in an attempt to draw the eye away from his other features, sure enough. Jewelry is a nice addendum too, particularly silver, and his glasses, while notoriously elusive, aren't as bad as he makes them out to be.
Likes: Magnum P.I., watching television, talking at length about nothing, lists, hard candy, small groups, listening
Dislikes: antagonizing people, the persistent itching associated with withdrawal, deviating from the routine, water
Fears: hallucinating, what he perceives as a loss of control, airplanes, eye contact
Personality: Alcee is a man made of contradictions--wordy, yet reserved, cowardly, yet vengeful. His habits have split him in two, turning him into a simultaneously kind and dangerous individual. Despite often living a poor and unpredictable life, Alcee is a very detail-oriented and habitual person. He fears change, despite craving it above all else, and genuinely wishes he could better himself.
Abilities: He seldom has a chance to show it, but Alcee is in fact an extraordinarily creative individual with a great love- and potential talent -for TV production.
Pet Treasure
Pink Hibiscus
Orange Oleander
Festive Palm Tree
Film Reel
Scratched-Up Glasses
Vintage Star Spiral Tattoo
Mother Tattoo
Garish Orange Beach Shirt
Outrageously Loud Pastel Party Shirt
Stained Tank Top
Blue Washed Jeans
Red Head Bandana
Neon Green Tacky Bead Bracelet
Handful Of Beads
Black Silly Beer Necklace
Dirty Martini
Tequila
Rhubarb and Tequila Cocktail
Strawberry Flavored Hard Candy
Beer Burp Mug Candle
Lavender Oil Diffuser
Goodgirl Kitty Collar
Super Feathery Teal Boa
Super Feathery Pink Boa
Blue Tweed Shorts