KENNEDY, JAMES FRANKLIN

[JAMES FRANKLIN KENNEDY]

JAMES FRANKLIN KENNEDY

FULL NAME: James Franklin Kennedy
NICK NAME: Jamie, JFK
AGE: 22
COMMUNITY SUPPORT: Hunter
ORIENTATION: Bisexual

FACE CLAIM: Gerard Way
EYE COLOR: Depending on who you ask, you could get half a dozen different answers as to his eye color, but the truth of the matter is that it is hazel, with green and brown tending to be the more dominant colors. Any mix of the two colors is absolutely possible in different clothing choices and surroundings, and he’s even heard people say that his eyes looked more of an amber color more recently, which is a new one on him.
HAIR COLOR: Really, his hair color changes based on his mood, mental state and ability to dye it, so it’s been anything from black to red to blonde, but he tends to stick with the black unless he’s really itching for a change.
HEIGHT AND WEIGHT: 5'9", about 170ish
DESCRIPTION: It’s actually kind of funny to think that he could be host to the ‘big bad wolf’, considering he’s not a very big dude. He’s not tiny, but mostly proportionate to his height. He’s actually in much better physical shape now than he’s ever been before, mostly because he was never the kind of kid to play sports or thrive in a gym class. The change in lifestyle that's come from living in Memory is building up a more lean, athletic build, hardening his body in a way that he’s not really used to and is only just starting to notice.
PERSONALITY: If you didn’t know anything about Jamie and just happened to meet him, it’s quite possible that you wouldn’t have much of a clue that he’d had any kind of problems in his life (not without a degree in psychology, anyway). It typically takes someone spending significant amounts of time with him, his mentioning something out of the ordinary, someone else telling, or a really sharp eye to pick out the effects of his various traumas and mistakes. The reason for this, pure and simple, is that Jamie is a big, fat FAKER. He absolutely hates the thought of being weak, of being the victim again, and so he puts on this front, almost like he invented some new person to be and slowly turned into him. Truthfully, he’s been trying to cover up the trainwreck that he is for so many years that it’s just second nature now, and the two years he's been without Liam have only made it worse because he was absolutely crashing and burning right there in front of everyone, if only they would have opened their eyes and seen through his vibrant attempts at making it look so damn good.

‘Vibrant’ is a good word for it, actually, and to those who didn’t know him? He really did make it look good. There is just something about this boy that allows him to pull off a sly smile, that means he can wake up naked in a stranger’s bed with no memory of how he got there and saunter right on out as though nothing had happened, and it just makes him more wanted. He puts off this impression like he’s unattainable, but not in the sense that he can’t be caught so much as that he can’t be kept. He comes and goes as he pleases, leaving those around him wanting and never giving them enough to ensure satisfaction. That’s part of the game, and the only way he can keep it all together. He has this deep insecurity about him, this feeling that nobody really wants him or needs him around, so if he can draw someone in, snatch up their interest and give them just a taste of what he can be, then leave? He’ll do it, and the truth of the matter is that he’s afraid to stay any longer than that, lest they get bored of him and send him on his way. He’s been hurt by people who should have protected him, shuttled around without a real family, and he’s not without the psychological scarring. He’s afraid to get close to people because deep down, he believes that they’ll hurt or abandon him, and that isn’t something he can stand.

This doesn’t just apply to sexual or romantic relationships, either. Even just friends, he’ll keep his distance to protect himself from attachments that are just going to tear him apart later, and if he can keep those ‘party friends’ or whatever they are just interested enough that they keep coming back when he wants them, he’s happy enough with it. He wishes he could have close relationships like he knows other people do, but he really doesn’t think he’s worth all that much to someone, so getting close to them just means that they’ll figure that out sooner and then he’ll be alone again. He can’t help feeling this way and it certainly isn’t a conscious, rational thing, but it’s so deeply engrained in him that he’s worthless and that the only reason he’s alive is because he’s too spiteful to let the world be without him that he can’t really make himself believe differently. Deep inside, he’s a complete and total mess, but on the surface, he puts on a bright smile, cracks a joke and steals the show, because the playful attention is necessary to hide the flaws lying just below the surface. Even now that he's in Memory and seems to have a purpose, he can't get past the feeling that he's going to screw it up, someone better will come along, or they'll realize that they never really needed him to begin with.

His best friend Liam and Liam's Gramma Jen were the exceptions to his attempts at keeping distance, Liam because they became friends before Jamie learned how to fake so well, and Gramma Jen because he actually got an idea what landing in the dirt tasted like. She helped him, and more importantly, she supported him afterwards and kept it just between the two of them. It’s quite possible that he confided in her more than anyone because she never seemed to judge him or think less of him for the things he told her, and she always gave good advice. He’s actually tried to tell her things that he knew she wouldn’t want to hear, things that should have made her recoil from him so that she wouldn’t get too close and then leave him alone later on, but she stuck it out and encouraged him to grow up and be a better person. Jamie loves her more than he ever loved his own parents, and she filled just enough of that void where his parents should be inside of him to keep him from feeling too hopeless in that regard. Right up until he made the mistake of coming to Memory, and then, of course, there’s Liam.

Seriously, if he doesn’t put himself into an early grave, this kid will be his ultimate downfall. Liam is the only person in his life that he would do absolutely anything for, and he’s the only one that would really tear Jamie apart to lose. This is the guy that Jamie learned to be strong for, the friend who was so in need of a person to be a steady, rock-solid part of his life that Jamie stepped up to the plate. Part of his refusal to be a victim, his protective streak and aggression, is directly a result of his friendship with Liam. He’ll take a lot of shit himself before he’ll really snap back, but he has a very, very short fuse when it comes to Liam being fucked with.

You’d almost expect him to be a jealous bastard about his friend, as well, but he actually isn’t. Surprising, right? This is where that self-worth problem of his comes into play, as he doesn’t actually feel like he has any right to be jealous, because he hasn’t laid claim to Liam or anyone else, really. If Liam was spending more time with someone else than with him, it would definitely bother him, but he has himself convinced that he’s not good enough to ever try to assert control over his friend in that way or get obviously upset about it. Liam deserves better, and the only thing that keeps him from trying to force Liam to realize this is the fact that he’s hopelessly attached already and he’s too much of a coward to risk losing his only friend. He’s lonely, and to be totally alone would kill him. As it is, he’s been trying to behave himself entirely since the discussion with Gramma Jen that lead to plans regarding Jamie moving out to New York (because no matter what, he made a promise to her and he intends to keep it), so he’s nearly starved for affection; he won’t whine for it because he doesn’t want to annoy the people around him or seem too needy (he has to maintain that untouchable façade, like he doesn’t actually need anyone, which is a total lie), so he doesn’t get it.

Naturally, this upsets him and his whole situation, which is bad if he's planning on attempting a social venture. It means he’s more outgoing with strangers, whether he means to be or not, and it absolutely means that people get away with more where he’s concerned. It’s up in the air, sometimes, whether he would actually stop someone from hurting him if they approached it the right way. His self-preservation instincts are a little jacked up, which is stupid on his part because he proved that he recognized what is okay and what isn’t whenever someone so much as looked at Liam wrong. He’s pretty chill and it takes a huge problem to really make him lose his temper, but fucking with Liam was like flipping a switch in his brain. He’ll go into attack and defense mode in an instant if he thinks it’s necessary, though he’s slick enough to consider the best approaches. He’s not afraid to get physical about it, but he knows that sometimes, you don’t have to lay a finger on someone to do damage. He learned from a pro, after all.

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, CA
FAMILY MEMBERS:
Father: James "Jim" Alan Kennedy (mechanic)
Mother: Chelsea Anne Kennedy (waitress)
HISTORY: If you wanted to be nice and tactful about it, you could say that James Franklin Kennedy came from a bad home, or a broken family, or any of a number of other poetic and tragic phrases, but the fact of the matter is that Jamie’s childhood was shit. His father was a drunk who only made it all worse by being half-way decent during the day. Jamie was fascinated by the cars his dad worked on and he soaked up information like a wide-eyed little sponge, always kind of quiet and extremely well-behaved when his dad took him out, and if he seemed a little skittish around other men or backed right the fuck off when his dad raised his voice, nobody paid it any mind. Most people looked at Jamie and said that his parents must be doing something right, because what a good kid they had.

In this case, ‘something right’ was beating the hell out of him, which his father did on a pretty regular basis. It started out slowly, his father and mother arguing as they drank at the end of the night, both tired from long days of hard work and taking it out on each other. Jamie tried to stay out of the way, but that was pretty hard to do when he inevitably had to build up the courage to ask one of his parents about dinner or try to fend for himself, which he eventually learned how to do, but earlier on, it was a risky venture and there were many nights that one of them snapped at him and didn’t end up finishing a meal. That, and his mother sometimes got so angry while she was throwing something together that she’d slam the entire pan into the sink; those times Jamie had to wait until some of the fireworks went down before he slipped in with a bowl to try to scrape some of the hamburger helper out of the pan, hopefully cooked all the way. He got crunchy noodles more than once, but he learned that if he kept his head down and didn’t make eye contact, they were more likely to ignore him for awhile.

That didn’t last too long, unfortunately. His mother started staying out after work, saying that she was working longer hours, so his father would just sit, drink and stew for hours while Jamie worked on homework, read or occupied himself in some way that didn’t require being in the living room with his dad. Since that was where his father drank alone and where the television was, it meant he was probably the only kid who wasn’t watching tv all the time in his class, but he was okay with that. The box wasn’t tempting enough to make him willing to have his dad’s attention earlier than he had to, because without his mom there, his father took his misery out on Jamie. Honestly, it would have been bad enough if the man would have just hit him, or just yelled at him, but it was the combination of the two and the fact that his father would actually be decent to him while he was sober that made Jamie’s nights so difficult. It would start with his dad trying to be friendly, sometimes even taking him into the shop during the day on weekends, being the kind of dad that Jamie loved, giving him hope that things would work out, that this day would be different. Then would come the drink, to the point that Jamie would open the fridge for an afterschool snack and stare at those red and white cans with more hatred than any child should have ever known.

A short time after he settled in with his homework, his father would be on the couch watching the news, and Jamie knew that when the man started yelling at the newscasters that it was all going downhill. The Simpsons were usually on afterwards, and sometimes that kept his father busy a little longer, but not always. In the end, he’d always notice the time and maybe start calling around for his wife, asking if she was still at work only to hear that she was ‘busy’; some nights, it might even have been true. He’d hang up and bitch to himself about her, rile himself all up, and then he’d start in on Jamie, probably just to have some target for his anger. The fact that Jamie didn’t fight back hard enough for it to matter, but just hard enough to be interesting didn’t help, since he was still young enough to think that the world revolved around fairness, so if his father was wrong and he told him the truth, it should make it better, right? Wrong. These nights got worse fast, his father getting quicker to strike out at his young son, telling him how worthless he was, how he’d wanted a SON and not a daughter, how he was a mistake, that he wasn’t even his son and his mother was a whore, pretty much anything to reduce the boy to tears, and then he would just pick on that. The tears were an instant cause for a back-hand to the face if his father hadn’t started that already, but the man was smart enough not to hit him in the face too hard or much so as not to leave marks. Jamie’s bruises were covered up by his clothes when he went into school.

Sometimes, his mother came home before his father wore himself out and left Jamie alone long enough for the boy to crawl into bed, and some nights, she came home really early and they’d surprise him by drinking and then disappearing into their room, seemingly in good spirits. Not all nights were bad, but enough were that he dreaded coming home from school. His teachers may have wondered at him being so quiet, but there were a lot of kids and he didn’t ever bring anything to their attention or have any obvious signs of a problem, so they didn’t ask. Actually, the only thing he did that should have been noticed was the fact that he took full advantage of the breakfast and lunch programs at his school, usually asking in a soft, polite tone if he could have just a little more. The lunch ladies took pity on him and started just giving him more to begin with, likely guessing that it was the only time he was eating, because by that point, it was. With his mother never home at night and his father drinking himself into a rage, Jamie didn’t eat at home unless he could scavenge something, and there wasn’t a whole lot of grocery shopping going on. His dad sometimes gave him leftover fries from his own take-out dinner or something, assuming he ate at school and really just not caring past that.

The night that really stood out, the one that brought the whole thing crashing down around his ears, he didn’t even know what he did wrong. His father was already really buzzed up when he came home, having stopped at the bar on his way home from work, and Jamie was enjoying the fact that he could sprawl out on the couch to read with nobody in the house. The man stormed in and the boy jumped up, which got his father’s attention, naturally. He snapped at him, accusing him of being guilty over something and determined to figure out what he’d done (really, he just felt like he shouldn’t be in the living room and on the couch, but he couldn’t say that to his father), and snatched the book away to scoff at it and continue his tirade. That was bad enough, but it was when the man tore it in half that Jamie stopped just taking the abuse and actually started freaking out, though the 10 year old cried and begged for it back, trying to appeal to his father that it was his teacher’s book, that Mr. Leone had lent it to him and it wasn’t his, but his father didn’t listen. He just flipped out harder, insulting Jamie’s teacher while he was at it and throwing the book across the kitchen where half of it landed in the sink and the other half on the floor. Jamie rushed to collect it up, but his father caught his shirt to yank him back and smack him off the wall before he grabbed him by the arm, ranting some nonsense. Jamie didn’t really follow his father’s train of thought because he was a little dazed from hitting the wall and his eyes were full of tears, but what he grasped of it was that his dad was sorry that he’d ever been born and that they should have just drowned him when he was a baby, or left him somewhere. Jamie didn’t realize that his father planned on ‘righting that wrong’, or he might have fought harder not to go into the bathroom, not that it would have mattered. As it was, his father dragged him in and threw him into the tub, starting up the cold water and plugging up the drain as Jamie asked what he was doing, why he was taking a bath with all his clothes on, wailing that it was too cold and his shoes were getting wet; he didn’t realize that he was just making his enraged father more keen on doing what had gotten into his mind, though his father yelling at him managed to shut him up for maybe a minute at a time before he would freak out again. He didn’t know what was happening, but as the water level rose and he shivered, he knew it wasn’t good.

The tub didn’t finish filling before his dad grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed his face under suddenly enough that he busted his nose on the bottom of the tub; not hard enough to break it, but enough that he tried to yell and just got a mouthful of blood and water that screwed up any chances he had at holding his breath. He struggled, of course, but a scrawny 10 year old is no match for a strong, pissed off grown man. He was quite literally dying, scared senseless, when his mother appeared in the doorway, screaming like a banshee and flinging herself at her husband. His dad let him go, seemingly being pulled out of his temporary insanity by his wife’s unusually aggressive approach to the situation. Though he kept screaming at her, he allowed her to shove him out of the way so she could yank her son out of the tub and display more maternal instinct than she had in years, clutching him to her and helping him expel the water, trying to soothe the terror and tears. She slept in his room with him that night, holding him close to her like he was a big teddy bear and making soft promises to him that it was all going to be okay and that they were going to have a new life.

The sad part was that he cried with her and believed her.

His mother kept him home from school the next day and even helped him tape up the book he’d borrowed from his teacher, basically treating him to a nice day together before everything got even worse. They went out for lunch for the first time in forever, after she put some foundation over the marks on his throat where his father had held him down, and they even got ice cream. It was like she thought that the smiles she elicited that day could assuage her guilt for the situation at large, but it was enough to make him think that things were turning up. That night, the whole cycle renewed itself, his parents drinking and raising hell, fighting with each other now with the events of the night before as added ammunition. Surprisingly, Jamie wasn’t brought into it as badly as usual, almost like the terror of the night before was offering him something of a reprieve, but his father did grab him up by the arm and he did start screaming and carrying on like he was being killed, which he’d earned the right to do. His mother snapped into action, flinging her boy away from his father and granting him a few new bruises when he hit a chair and toppled over it, but he went to hide in his bed for the rest of the night and didn’t have to do anything more than listen to them scream. The next day, he was back to school and had to go up to Mr. Leone with the ruined book, tears already threatening as he offered it to the young teacher, thinking of his father’s kind of rage and how mad his teacher would be to have something of his ruined like that. It surprised him when the man’s voice didn’t get louder, and though there weren’t any of the usual smiles, his teacher’s kind eyes were on him and he knew that there were questions coming. It was an even bigger shocker, then, when Mr. Leone asked him if he could stay after class, even if he’d be missing his gym class, so that they could talk about the book.

It was the most surreal experience that he’d ever had. The school counselor came in as the other kids were filing out, Leone having apparently called for her after Jamie had gone to sit down and before he started the lesson for the day, and Jamie sat through the gentlest questioning he’d ever been through or would again. It started with silly questions about the books he read, then slowly got to what it was like at home and what had happened to his neck, if he had any other spots that hurt, what had happened to the book. He was reluctant, but it all came out eventually, and…well, that was that, wasn’t it? He was scooped out of his home before he really knew what was going on, the bruises and his naïve explanation about the tub ordeal only sealing the deal. The worst part was that he had to change schools along with having to deal with a new home when they put him in foster care, even though Mr. Leone was good about stopping by here and there to make sure he was okay and to bring him a book, though that didn’t last after he was switched again. He didn’t know that being in ‘the System’ would keep him jumping from family to family until he was adopted or something, so the first home was somewhere that he tried to settle into. After being uprooted for the second time in his life, he stopped really trying, though it was nice that they seemed to try to keep him in the same area, since he didn’t end up switching schools again.

That was his own preference, even if he had to change homes more often than he’d ever want to, since he actually met a boy that he was becoming friends with as he finished out his fifth grade year in the new school. It was hard being the new kid, but Liam was nice to him and after just a little talking, they both kind of figured out that they came from similar places. What upset Jamie as the years went on and he realized more and more what was going on when Liam went home, was that even if he wasn’t happy in the foster system and not all of the families were great, he wasn’t being hit anymore. Liam was. He just didn’t know what to do about it, so he tried to give Liam ways out, like talking his foster parents into sleepovers, even going to Liam’s house as often as he could so that his step-dad wouldn’t get so bad. No witnesses, which was what Jamie was counting on, but he wasn’t expecting Liam’s stepfather to start to become immune enough to his presence because he spent too much time there that he started to scream and raise hell even when Jamie was around. That was when Jamie would take them both to Liam’s room and shut the door, and sometimes, it even worked. He got thrown out of Liam’s house by Mark a lot.

Big surprise, right?

Jamie tried like hell to offer up as much of a buffer between Liam and his stepfather as he possibly could, and despite his own shitty childhood, he was surprisingly much less of a victim when it was Liam being targeted, which also meant that nobody in school was allowed to fuck with his best friend. The fact that he had so few friends who were anything more than acquaintances that were fun to mess around with during the day didn’t hurt that devotion to Liam, especially since it weirded other kids (and their parents) out that he lived in foster homes. Liam was the only one who would go home with him ever, so his home situation continued to ruin any chances of a normal childhood he had as it ensured he’d remain an outcast. The whole thing just made him feel worse anytime Liam came in to school with that look about him that Jamie knew meant it had been a bad night, but he was bound by the foster care system, though there were multiple occasions where he contemplated more serious actions. His own experiences, besides having effects such as his inability to participate in the swimming portion of the gym class curriculum, made him a fucking wreck about Liam going home at night. He was afraid that Mark would snap the way his own father did, and what if Liam’s mom didn’t stop it? He knew how lucky he’d been.

He should have told, he knew that, but Liam didn’t want to anymore than he had when he was going through it, so he held off on his own instincts and kept quiet, afraid to make his only friend angry with him, but he was quickly becoming afraid enough of losing Liam in a much more permanent way that he was gearing up to blow the whole thing out of the water. He didn’t think it could wait until they turned 18 and could move out together and leave all this shit behind them, and he was right.

One day, Liam didn’t show up at school, and when Jamie went to his house afterwards, it was Liam’s mom who told him that his best friend had fallen off the roof and was in the hospital. Honestly, Jamie was ready to believe that Mark had done it, but until his friend woke up and told him what had happened, he didn’t know. Naturally, he flew off the handle anyway, and though he didn’t tell Liam later that he’d totally spilled the beans on the whole thing, he visited as often as the hospital and his foster family would let him to keep Liam company and was the one to bring the news that his friend was free of his parents. Liam was going to his grandmother’s house in New York, which was fantastic news because Jamie had spent time with the woman here and there and loved her, but it meant that Liam would be on the other side of the country. He put on a brave face, smiling and laughing with his only friend, telling him how great it was and promising that they’d keep in contact, but the day Liam left, his state of life went seriously downhill. He still had two years left in the foster care program, and he’d long ago given up on the idea that some family would want him more permanently. Like a puppy, he wasn’t young and cute enough anymore to stand a chance, so it was either making it work on his own or thinking that maybe his father should have just drowned him back then. Honestly, he contemplated a lot of depressing shit during the two years that Liam was gone, though he never considered suicide. He was too much of a fighter for that, no matter what he thought about sometimes, and he focused on the future, looking forward to calls from Liam and what he would do when he was free to leave LA.

Each phone call, he would put on a show, telling Liam about the cool things going on, and wanting to hear every detail about life in New York, but it was when he’d hang up that things went downhill. As much as he loved hearing from his friend, it was depressing as hell to get off the phone and know that he wouldn’t hear from him again for awhile. His grades suffered because he really just didn’t care, and though he didn’t do anything overtly illegal or worthy of police attention, he didn’t stay entirely out of trouble, either. He started smoking first, then drinking underage, then pot and eventually he tried out harder stuff, though surprisingly, he didn’t get too heavily involved in any of it. Part of it was the fact that he didn’t have that kind of money and as he got older, he felt this need to prove that he didn’t need charity from others, so he didn’t like mooching, but sometimes he was talked into it and he did the stupid teenager shit like sneaking out for parties and all. He lost his virginity while Liam was away, both to a guy and a girl, and he did a lot of things he wasn’t proud of after the buzz wore off and he just felt nasty. It sucked, because the parties made him feel good, feel wanted for a little while, but the aftermath was always so much worse, just like Liam’s phone calls, though nothing could compare to those, so the partying and the substances were just his frantic attempt to recreate the effects without being so needy that he called Liam constantly.

Honestly, he should have just called.

Eventually, he did, though he was a wreck the night that it happened, high on something and not sure where he was, and it wasn’t Liam who answered the phone. It was Gramma Jen, woken up by the ringing phone so late, who talked him through the terror, got off the phone long enough to call a cab for him and pay for it with her credit card over the phone, then called him back to talk to him until it arrived. He called her again the following day, sober, to apologize and promise to pay her back, and instead got an invitation to go to her house as soon as he turned 18, which was only a few more months at that point. He almost refused, to be totally frank, and tried to, but she wasn’t hearing anything of it. The rules were that he had to be totally clean because he wasn’t allowed to bring that in and put Liam at risk, and he promised wholeheartedly not to do that, so she promised him a home and someone to talk to whenever he needed it, which he absolutely did. He started the process to get himself more on track right then and there, and only a few days later, received a letter and a plane ticket inviting him to Memory, Maine, promising him a place where he would belong and be with others like himself. He actually assumed that Gramma Jen had gone and enrolled him in some kind of rehab, to be honest, and though he wasn't thrilled, Maine was a hell of a lot closer to her house than Los Angeles, and it was only a few months until his birthday. He figured that he could crash there, get clean and then go to Gramma Jen's from there, and so he went. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

He arrived in Memory, intending to call and inform Jen that he'd gotten the ticket, made the plane and arrived once he was settled, but that wasn't in the cards. There was something...off about the town, and though he realized this immediately, it was too late to leave as soon as he got there. Unable to contact Gramma Jen, who he hadn't even told he was going to Maine because he thought she knew, Jamie found himself trapped in the little town, and the worst part was that the dreams and blackouts that he'd thought were a result of too much drinking and drugs were getting worse with the absence of the substances. It took someone following him and snapping him out of it when he wandered off in the night for him to come to his senses and realize he was shifting on full moon nights, and since that evening, he's been aware of his time as a wolf. Even more, he's learned how to shift at will, and with no other real skills to offer the group living in the town, he was actually glad to be able to put the shifting to use for hunting down fresh meat to supplement their food stores. Jamie isn't actually happy living this difficult and rugged life, but having a place is nice, whether it's one that gets him any respect, or not.

DISNEY CHARACTER: One of the wolves from Beauty and the Beast
STATUS: Awakened
ABILITIES/ATTRIBUTES: He's basically a werewolf
DESCRIPTION: The wolf is very much awake and Jamie 'gets along with it' as best as you could expect; the wolf isn't a very talkative or visual spirit, manifesting instead in changing Jamie's physical shape and forces its needs, wants and instincts on him. The wolf is an animal, and the more Jamie uses its instincts and nature to get by, the more time he spends in its shape, the more influence it has over his body. There's no truly malicious intent here, but Jamie is very much at risk of losing his human qualities in favor of the animal that is helping himself and others in the town to survive.

YOUR NAME: Stark
YOUR AGE: 25
YOUR RP EXPERIENCE: Uh, like 14 years now?
YOUR SAMPLE:

This was going to be so fucking bad, everyone needed to realize that in advance. Even if Party got over it fairly quickly, which there was a chance of, Ghoul had knocked him out to accomplish this mess. There was no way in hell he wasn't going to be pissed, and he sure as hell wasn't going to just let it go. Ghoul and Viki would get theirs.

Party's painted eyelids fluttered open, then squeezed shut again at the light that had been left on in the car for Viki's 'work', for the moment oblivious as to what was going on and where he was. The last he remembered, he'd been at the bunker with Ghoul...he sat up, glancing at Ghoul's fucking retarded look of amusement, and started to bring a hand up to rub at his head. He stopped mid-movement, the red of the gloves catching his eye. He had a lot of gloves, considering his mutation, but he didn't own any red gloves. He also didn't own anything that could explain the mesh material covering his arm, which naturally caused him to jerk his head to look down at the rest of himself. He'd thought the mesh shirt (which left his entire upper body bare to the eye while still covering his skin entirely) was bad, but then he saw the little red skirt that looked like it would operate as a little red censor bar over the important bits, and then lace fucking stockings.

The way he was sitting, he didn't notice the shoes immediately, but he sure as hell knew who was to blame for this shit. Viki and Ghoul, and he didn't feel comfortable beating on Viki. It was why he looked back at Ghoul's smiling face and snapped. With a quick, sudden movement, he lunged for his brother, but he really hadn't noticed the shoes, which did not operate the same way as boots or sneakers, especially when trying to get off the floor and throw yourself at someone with extremely violent intentions. His foot went right out from under him essentially immediately, and it was only his speedy reflexes that kept him from landing on his face. He caught himself, but his attempt to kill Ghoul had been effectively halted.

This was not funny.

Without any clue about the pigtail or the make-up job that Viki had done, he glared death at Ghoul from where he'd landed. "Enjoy this while it lasts. I am going to fucking end you."

Rather than let anyone help him or try to attack either of the troublemakers again, Party scooted over toward the Hummer's wall, anger being tempered somewhat by awkwardness. How the fuck was he supposed to sit back here? The shoes were fucking obnoxious, and while he didn't know what he was wearing underneath the skirt (he didn't want to think about his brother changing him into this, nope!), it was way too short to be the boxer shorts he'd had under his sweats earlier. It was either commando or something totally terrible under the ridiculous stockings, and he really didn't want to flash the rest of the Killjoys, so he was stuck fidgeting around. He also didn't want to sit like a total girl, considering his current get-up. He suddenly understood why girls sat that way, though. It was learned behavior because their clothes sucked and their shoes were retarded.

Even if he didn't have to worry about flashing the group, he still felt essentially naked, like he was wearing a hand towel out of the bunker, and it so wasn't cool. He was going to make someone's life hell for this, and he actually considered just staying in the damn Hummer for the duration of the party. Like, really? They expected him to walk around like this? In front of people he knew, people who used to respect him? How the hell was that supposed to do anything for making the Killjoys look good?

Except there wasn't a chance in hell that they were going to let him ruin all their plans by staying in the Hummer. He had absolutely no intention of being carried out in front of all these people dressed like he was, and actually, he had no desire to embarrass himself further than he already was. As much as he hated the idea, being pissed off and upset in front of everyone would only make it worse. Fuck.

"I hate you guys so fucking much right now."

[MONSIEUR DISNEY]