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handler: jade
age: 24
occupation: writer
affiliation: n/a
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gif link: https://i.imgbox.com/eSgxI5Va.gif
lyrics: Boy, you better put that pen to paper, charm your way out. If you talk, you better walk, you better back your shit up With more than good hooks while you're all under the gun.
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Last Seen: Aug 4 2017, 05:53 PM
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wesley devereux

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Jun 8 2017, 11:40 PM
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<td><div class="tablebackgroundbresley"><table width="350"><tr><td><div class="toplyrics">
you called and changed it all ,
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Velvet lips and the eyes to pull me in
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A lot of Wes’ life seemed to pass in a hotel room nowadays. He didn’t think he should complain, considering the sheer amount of space afforded to him for absolutely nothing, but it was, well, boring. The television only had a few select channels, and he had gotten bored of them. He could ask for things and have them delivered to his room, but he wasn’t in the mood to read, doodle, surf the internet or clean his room anymore than it needed to be. Even his go-to hobby didn’t hold much of a lustre for him that afternoon and he had taken to counting down the minutes, staring at the clock, for when he could conceivably change into his suit and attend an evening party (what was it for? He didn’t know. He’d check the invitation later). Naturally, the clock seemed to be going super slow.
<p>
The sound of his door clicking open didn’t quite register at first but then he realised there was no need for someone to come in. Housekeeping had been by earlier, replacing his towels and making his bed. The all-purpose man who did things like arrange his cars and make tailoring appointments always knocked twice and waited. “Giles?” he started, swinging off his four-poster bed and heading into the living area of his suite, curious to know what had happened; perhaps housekeeping needed to drop off more shampoo or someone had been given the wrong key. Instead, at the sight of a young woman, he mentally stuttered, having not planned for this. “Excuse me-“ he started, trying to sound polite and self-effacing, even vaguely charming; he was Wesley Devereux and he should be able to make people talk to him with nothing more than a genial smile which, of course, slipped the moment he recognised the woman, turning what should a friendly question into something more sarcastic, “What, did you come to finish the job?”


<br><div class="bottomborderbresley"></div>
<div class="extrainfo">bree / clothes </div>
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May 6 2017, 11:48 PM
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Yeah, we're splashing around ,
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Take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain
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<img src="https://s26.postimg.org/pus92cvjt/wesley-eleonore.gif"
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Frankly speaking, Wes didn’t actually know whose birthday it was. He had been on the way there, but the moment he had wished the birthday boy happy birthday and had a quick photo with them, handing over a present that he hadn’t even picked out, it had become obvious that the real reason he had arrived was the alcohol, the chance to drink said alcohol, and the people he got to meet. He had met someone who claimed to be a distant cousin- Wes, laughing lightly: oh, I’ll take your word for it!- and gamely ignored someone he had hooked up with last week and regaled a new person with an outlandish tale of how he’d ended up in London, all inbetween drinks that were pressed into his hand. It didn’t matter that he could already feel his fifteen minutes of fame waning, feel himself becoming just another person in this social circle; that could only be a good thing, to be seen as incredibly normal.
<p>
He had been in the midst of handing over an empty glass to the bartender and getting a full one in return when someone else arrived, chattering loudly; unfortunately, between the music and his own tipsiness, he had no idea what they were saying, but they had bought a girl along with them and were looking incredibly friendly about it all. Before he could ask for clarification, they’d disappeared again and he blinked at the woman who’d appeared, wondering if he was supposed to know her. She looked vaguely familiar, but then, everyone tended to blur together after a while. “Sorry,” he said over the sound of the music himself, deciding he would absolutely be forgiven for a social faux pas; he already had been multiple times. “What was she trying to say? I’m Wesley,” he tried, in case his name was supposed to remind them of something.

<br><div class="bottomborderwellie"></div>
<div class="extrainfo">ellie / clothes </div>
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May 4 2017, 09:25 PM
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<p>
<center><b>caroline devereux ■ sister ■ 23 (or!!) 25-27 </b></center>

<div class='artie-ride' style="height: 300px; overflow: auto;">

■ before i start this, i should say that the best thing to do is read wes' app to figure out who he is :| i will endeavour to explain this properly anyway - but mostly i'm looking for a "sister" <p>
■ the fc i've used here is alexandra park - i'm kind of set on her because 1. she looks nothing like him which is relevant and 2. she has gifs with wes' fc! the age is open (as shown); wes is 24, so anything that's not implausible is okay. her last name should be devereux, she should be a civilian (u can turn her later on into something else, that's chill). i need her specifically for this plot - so if you have other plans, ways you want her to go, etc, that's fine, as long as she can still fulfill this role :')<p>
caroline (u can change the name, obviously) is the daughter of a viscount, grew up in kent, and is, really, pretty darn normal. her brother, however, is not; he is severely agoraphobic and it is nothing short of a miracle if he leaves his room. for her part, caroline cares very much about him but also recognises that she can't do much to help him and lets him alone when he asks her to. <p>
■ caroline likes to spends her summers in london because that's where all the parties are! weirdly, it turns out her brother is in town - that brother is wes, stealing her brother's identity because he has the exact same name as her bro. obviously, they'll meet and she'll know the truth because she's really the only person who's seen her brother ever. <p>
■ tbh i fully imagine that although she's a bit alarmed at first, she kind of... finds it hilarious- she's probably grown up with very few consequences, and here's someone who'll go drinking with her/attends parties/is getting her invites to cool places. so she goes along for the ride, smooths over cracks, etc., and gets a laugh out of it - which is really what i need her for, to make sure wes isn't caught out straight away 8) <p>
■ her history is largely open - she has to be from kent, obvs, and have a very reclusive brother- and her personality away from this ad is all yours, as is her future plots (as i doubt she's going to largely affected by anything wes does :') ). if you have further questions tho, pls feel free to pm/aim/ask me for skype!

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<div style='font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-family: consolas; margin-bottom: 30px; padding: 5px;'> <a href='http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1672'> ARTIE ABRAMS. </a> </div>
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May 4 2017, 09:03 PM
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<img src="http://68.media.tumblr.com/92d5df636805892543dc02932860f29a/tumblr_nzj76yfBNA1txaqq4o8_250.gif" />

<div class="ship15t">

wes devereux

</div><div class="ship15s">

25<br>
civilian<br>
british peerage<br>
writer<br>
york / kent, england<br>
f: bree daniels

</div><div class="ship15w">

about Let us rejoice! The incredibly elusive and shy Wesley Devereux has finally shown his face in public. The son of a viscount (Viscount Devereux in Kent, if we're specific), the rumours have circulated since his birth as to why he won't go out, each of them more ridiculous than the last - but hey, Wesley seems normal and well-adjusted and ready to mingle with all of London's elite. Sure, he's a little unrefined, but cut him some slack, he's never been to the big city before; really, he needs some fellow rich people to show him the ropes, etc., but he's trusted to know what caviar is and can apparently hold his own when it comes to conversation. You know, if that conversation is lead by the other person. <p>
Not that there's a catch or anything but maybe there is, and maybe that catch is that Wesley is... not really the son of anyone famous. In fact, he came to London to seek his fortune about a book he was writing, but due to a clerical error- sharing the same name as someone famous will do that- he's just been dragged into the world of the rich and famous. Really, he's not complaining. Someone just gave him a fancy hotel room and free champagne, so like, why would he say no? Sure, he's the real Wesley, whatever, it's all good. <p>
Really, as you can imagine, he's an opportunist, but mostly, he's easily led astray. He's always led a nice, small town life, and he's really appreciating the chance to be a hedonist and do whatever he wants; feel free to be a corrupting influence, get him to meet ur rich friends (who doesn't want the mysterious Wesley Devereux in their ranks? And tell us more about where you've been hiding), and generally just give him the chance to be a lil shit. :| As a rule, he's generally fairly friendly, open to new experiences, and doesn't really no to a good time; he's got a healthy dose of charisma and is mostly relyng on an easy-going nature to get him through most interactions.
<p>
friends Rich people friends \o/ They can either be the sort who want to gently lead him to meet the right people/use his false influence to help with new causes, or the sort of person who just wants to get drunk and put it all on his hotel tab. He'll go with either, but probably lean more towards mild (!!) rule-breaking because he's never done that before and it sounds fun. <p>
enemies If you want 2 make enemies, that is chill. He has no idea what a rich person emnity is like, but he assumes it involves stamping your foot or anything - he probably won't take it seriously. <p>
lovers He's open to them ;D Tragically, the real Wesley Devereux has recently gotten engaged (how dare) and that was in the paper, probably, so if he is sleeping around, it'll obviously be all on the down low and presumably this just makes it more exciting. Eventually, he will actually settle down but yolo don't tell him.


</div></div><div style="width: 450px; font-family: arial; text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 7px;"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=145">&copy; lauz</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
May 4 2017, 07:19 PM
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wesley f. devereux

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24

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civilian

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n/a

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william moseley

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<div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px;">wouldn't be a bad idea as far as bad ideas go - </div>
<p>
The hotel room was, frankly speaking, disgustingly opulent. It seemed that somewhere, a designer had decided that the only thing that could ever denote wealth was the colour gold and then promptly had a minor breakdown and ended up rendering the room in varying shades of it. If one was lucky, they might catch a glimpse of blue or red but this was usually provided by something like their own clothes or the tea set (always placed in the corner, out of the way).
<p>
Tonight’s occupant was pacing the length of his garishly gold suite. He always edged around the low, dark gold coffee table and the small side-table which featured a small statue of what appeared to feature a couple dancing the tango. He walked from the sofa, around the back of it, towards his bed, and back again in an unending loop that would, if the carpet wasn’t thick enough to muffle his footsteps, having his downstairs neighbours complaining.
<p>
He practised.
<p>
“Everyone,” he started, trying to make it sound sure and serious- everyone, even you, lowly catering staff, should stop and listen to me. “I have terrible news – oh no,” he cut himself off, already put off by the phrasing.
<p>
Terrible news- as though he were about to announce that he was having spleen surgery tomorrow, or perhaps that the party had been cancelled.
<p>
Sure, it was terrible news, but only for him. They would all find it such scandalous gossip that they wouldn’t care once he had been escorted off the premises.
<p>
He started again.
<p>
“I know you’ve all come to know me as Wesley, because I am, but I’m not –“
<p>
He stopped again.
<p>
He was already confusing himself. Yes, he was Wesley; no, he wasn’t Wesley. He needed to pick an identity and stick to it, not bounce between the two. Frankly speaking, it was pretty hard to bounce between the two as well, which made it even more farcical.
<p>
Maybe he should start with a joke, or a riddle.
<p>
How could one man be in two places at once?
<p>
“Haha – funny story, guys, actually, you’ve gonna love this one. So it turns out I’m not actually who I say I am – “
<p>
Good God, no.
<p>
Maybe the best thing to do was just to roll with it. He imagined the scenario: someone asking him how his father was, for example, with a gentle, but rather uncaring smile. They didn’t really want to know; they were just making polite conversation with him and considering his lack of knowledge of this world, they couldn’t ask him about politics just yet.
<p>
So, he imagined: how is your father, by the way?
<p>
“Haha, dad? Oh, he’s fine. Speaking of, did you know he’s not actually a viscount?”
<p>
Was he trying to come clean or cause more scandal for the Devereux name over here? And since when was he thinking of the Devereux name as an entity? He didn’t really care what happened to them, he told himself firmly, even though another treacherous voice whispered that he was representing the family and that was an important thing. What family? This wasn’t his family.
<p>
“By which I mean,” he continued valiantly down this imagined path, where someone had enquired as to the health of someone he had never met, “my dad’s not a viscount. I’m sure the real Wesley’s dad is doing fine though although he doesn’t really notice much about his family, does he-“
<p>
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t badmouth his fake dad, seeing as he was the one paying for incredibly garish hotel room. He was probably busy with something or sick. Alright, so he wouldn’t mention that Fitzroy Devereux didn’t know what was happening, nor that he given his son the same name as someone who, for all intents and purposes, had nothing to do with him.
<p>
(Fitzroy Miller, Wes’ maternal grandfather and his own middle namesake, would have laughed his head off at what his name had done; he had been a remarkably outspoken man with a penchant for disliking anyone richer than him. He’d think everyone had it coming.)
<p>
“I just mean,” he carried on, talking to the statue of the dancing tango couple that, on closer inspection, he thought might be dancing the waltz; he wondered when he’d started recognising the difference between dancing styles, “that I’m not his son.”
<p>
He gave up on that line of thought. He had somehow managed to make himself sound adopted and while this would be fine, it wasn’t the truth either.
<p>
All he was trying to say was that somewhere in the world, there was a Wesley Devereux who had been born around the same time as him, and that man had never left his home, for whatever reason (the reasons, Wesley had learnt, were a lot less suspect than people thought). The rumours circulated freely (terribly disfigured! Sickly! Allergic to sunlight! A terrible and mysterious Gothic curse!) until-
<p>
Well, until a young man with the exact same name had stepped into London and read the sign bearing his name. He had questioned the incongruity of the entire picture- he, bearing one small suitcase and little more- faced with what appeared to be bodyguards, a car worth more than Wesley’s home. But apparently, this was indeed for him and he hadn’t figured out the truth until the next morning, by which time, it had been too late.
<p>
“Actually,” he told the dancing couple, both of whom only had eyes for each other, “I’m just an ordinary writer. There’s a manuscript under my bed I wanted to sell but I get the feeling no one wants that from me anymore.”
<p>
The woman’s leg snapped off. He held the tiny, dainty limb for a long moment, marvelling at his bad luck, before he carefully placed it all down, arranging the leg so that it leaned appropriately against the lady. He got the feeling she wasn’t happy with him and backed away from the low table.
<p>
“Anyway, I’m terribly sorry to have deceived you all,” he tried, even though he wasn’t sure he had said the right thing at all. He had sort of meandered away from the original topic but, in his defence, he wasn’t sure how to propose this either. Maybe he needed to write a speech. Apparently, the real Wesley could write very well; he had read some of his open letters and wondered if maybe Wesley was hiding away because he was secretly Stephen King, playing a long con.
<p>
“I’ve had great fun pretending to be rich,” he told the room, which gave him no response. “You’re all very alarming people and I don’t get why you’re obsessed with caviar- “
<p>
Should he be dissing their food preferences? Maybe he just hadn’t had the right caviar yet.
<p>
That was what he’d been told when he’d said he didn’t like whiskey: he just hadn’t had the right one yet, and then they’d plied with a variety of drinks in the hopes he might sip at one and proclaim, ‘ah, exquisite.’ That hadn’t happened. They’d laughed and told him it was okay to stick to scotch.
<p>
There was a knock at the door and an aged voice, asking politely, “Mr. Devereux?”
<p>
Briefly panicking, he glanced around the suite in case he had left something out that he shouldn’t have- but that made no sense to do, as everything had been provided by someone else. He answered the door, already knowing that the person on the other side would be a personal assistant- one of them and, frankly, by far the oldest, so old that Wesley had wondered to himself how they still had a job.
<p>
“Are you okay, sir?” the man asked, eyeing the neat suit Wesley had been put into – it had been left out this morning for him with an invite next to it, as was the custom for his mornings. “I heard voices.”
<p>
“Oh!” Wesley started, wondering if he should start here. I’m fine, he’d say, just that you’re about to get fired for not asking for a picture before I arrived to the city. “I was just practising,” he answered, “you know, for tonight’s banquet. I still get nervous making conversation,” he laughed, even though it sounded charmingly fake to him.
<p>
“Of course, sir. But if you are ready to go, the car is waiting downstairs.”
<p>
For a moment, he paused. This would be a good time to announce that he wouldn’t be going, maybe, so that the Devereuxs could avoid the scandal before it started. Would it be so bad for a hermit to go back into hiding? But- hell, a car was waiting for him. Someone was probably waiting on the other side to ply him with a variety of wines. He didn’t see what one more evening as this person would cost him; it wasn’t like anyone had called him out yet- no one ever could.
<p>
He brushed a few stray strands of hair back from his face, smiled as best he could. “Excellent. Let’s go then.”


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<div class="alias-box"> jade - gmt - 23 </div>

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