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So, what do people call you? Why?
Cynic, pretty self-explanatory, isn't it?
And your real name? Edward Ian MacKail. What? You going to look up my family or something? I wouldn't, if I were you, they're dead. Do you know your birthday? What about age? I was born September 3rd, 1884, which would make me 16 years old. All right, how about a physical description. It's for the records. Umm... okay. This is bizarre. I'm medium height and build; I have blue eyes and brown hair, which is usually just getting in my way... I guess it's reasonably long; near my chin and probably should have been cut a while ago, but who's got the time? How would you describe your personality? *laughs sharply* Well, we don't want everyone hating me right from the start, so lets just say I'm pretty charming when I want to be. The rest of the time I wouldn't want to be you. Do you know the definition of the word misanthrope? No? Figures. Look it up. Have any hobbies? You must enjoy some things in this city. As absolutely clich�d it is for a newsie to want to be a journalist, that's my hobby. I read each and every paper that we sell and oftentimes write in letters to that lousy editor, in order to let him know what an absolute fool he is making of himself. Or bad habits? We all have them. I don't know, you tell me. Criticizing, I guess. I don't think its that bad of a habit, but others usually do. I think one day its going to make me a lot of money. I know this usually isn't the most pleasant of topics, but where did you come from? What can you remember about your past? Ooo... a fun question. Right. My family was once wealthy. Emphasis on the past tense. For the first few years of my life I lived in a very nice manor, in a bustling town just outside of Edinburgh. Scotland, for all those nitwits who don't know their geography. Shortly after my ninth birthday, we lost all our money. My father shot himself and my mother selfishly shipped me off to a family member in New York, which left her alone to wallow in her new-found widow-hood and poverty. I didn't want to live with my crusty old aunt, and in a stupid fit of childhood idolatry, I decided that it would be much more fun to starve on the streets. Now, I don't know where my aunt has scampered off to. Last I heard, she remarried and left the state. Why did you choose this establishment? I always liked this question. It was available. Have you seen how many children live on the streets these days? Know anyone here? Or in the city for that matter? I mean friends of course. Unfortunately, there aren't many people that I find suitable for my company, so I don't have many friends. Or acquaintances, really. That could of course change with this lovely establishment, but I'm doubtful. What about enemies? Make any along the way yet? Don't know anyone close enough to have made them my enemy. Again, this will probably change soon. Any significant other, or possibility of such? Again, it's for the records. "For the records?" This place is completely extraordinary. The answer is no. Where might you spend some time when not selling your papes? Here, I guess. Or whichever place will serve me the best whiskey. I am a Scottish lad through and through, after all. Or at least when it best suits me. Is there anything else you would like to add? I'm pretty sure you know more about me now than any other living person. Best to you. Talk to Cynic on AIM magpie1899 |