Chance Dillinger's page

So that we're on the same page, I'll clarify those both a bit as well.

• Hooligan Son of the Dillinger Firearm Legacy - "Hooligan Son" is intended to be the most evocative, because not only does it imply rebellion and a bit of shame, but hopefully in a playfully destructive manner. I intentionally chose "hooligan" over "rebellious" or "black-sheep" because I want to conjure images of someone who starts scraps for the sake of the thrill, who enacts this rebellion not through subtlety or guile but with volume and disregard of self. The "Dillinger Firearm Legacy" could be shortened to "Dillinger Legacy" if established in the fiction that the Dillinger name is one attached to a legacy of crafting exquisite firearms. This denotes an upbringing, a familiarity, and a prowess that comes attached to such a family. It also implies a burden of responsibility not likely being upheld.
  
• Sucker for a Pretty Face - This really intrigues me :) By this I intend the obvious, that Chance has little will or reason when it comes to the fairer sex. This leads him to foolishness, manipulation, and even hesitation should he find one in an adversarial role. But beyond that, I want to push it also to indicate that Chance truly looses any degree of bravado he might have otherwise boasted when in the company of an attractive woman. He says incredibly stupid or unfetching things and acts in a manner that even he will likely regret when his higher faculties return. He's more than drawn to them or fooled by them... he's a sucker for them.
  

Charles (or "Chance") Dillinger III (the Third) is heir to the Dillinger legacy. The Dillingers are a fairly affluent family, even by the heightened standards present amongst those of the Palatial Quarter. His father, obviously the second Charles, had much to do with their rise in status through his exceptionally crafted firearms as well as prowess with them. As a family, they have ties to old blood and money, but receive an even greater respect as Charles II has so thoroughly proven his worthiness of it.

Charles the Third, is the only son amidst four older sisters. Thus he is the child of the family, but also the heir. The former he boldly personifies, while the latter he shirks.

Growing up his father took immense pride in finally having a son to carry his increasing legacy, and did everything to foster it in the youth. Charles the third was trained in etiquette, in the art of gentlemen's combat, in marksmanship, and the intricacies of craftsmanship. And while he managed in every area, marksmanship is the only area in which he showed any passion.

Instead, the boys passions were just that--boy's passions. He's grown to be quite a blemish on the Dillinger name, as his father spent much of the boy's youth calling in favors to keep him from facing the full repercussions of his delinquent actions.

The past year is when the young man reached the end of his incredibly long rope. Frustrated at the boys constant rebellion and haphazard lifestyle, not to mention the flagrant disrespect of the name that he represents, his parents have cut him off from the chords that tie him to their affluence and privilege. He no longer has access to their limitless funds, completely cut from access to their account (though he still has a generous amount he's ferried away under his own name). He also no longer has them to free him from the penalties of his almost nightly charades.

It was during one of these most recent blunders, where he was forced to occupy a cell like so much of the riff-raff he chooses to associate with, that his warden took notice of his mark...

The young man sits in the back of his temporary cell nursing his swollen eye. The bruise is forming quickly and the skin stretching over it begins to split rather painfully. A large gentleman seated at the bench on the other side watches him with a smug look of satisfaction. Chance too, fights back a smile; in part because the gesture would further strain his swelling features, and in part because it might incite the larger one to even him out with a second strike.

So he laughs inwardly, as the vision in his left eye slowly fades. He recalls the couple of sucker punches he got in before being dropped, lamenting that the brute didn't have any visible marks as tokens, but hopes he can feel them at least. Surely Madeline had been impressed by the way Chance bobbed and weaved as well, beneath the booming fists and thundering insults. Girls love that stuff right? He hopes so, because there's really no reason to have started that fight otherwise.

Then, as has happened so many times before, the mustachioed warden stomps down the corridor with cell keys in hand. Chance's reprieve is at hand, which is surprising given the sincerity with which his father indicated the exhaustion of his resources at the young hooligan's behest. This time there were a dozen other men, armed and alert, who accompanied him. Chance recalls that usually there were only two or three.

The warden is cautious and quick as the keys click in the cell door, and the others spill in like a wave of steel and flesh to separate the others and wrench Chance prostrate onto the dusty floor. There's the sound of tearing fabric as they rip the tailored shirt from his back, despite the young man's growing protests.

There it was, clear even in the dim light that filtered through the high, dingy windows. Just below Chance's right shoulder blade was the mark of The Stranger.

"Birthmark, I swear." he tries to joke, through lips pressed to the floor. "Mum thinks it kinda looks like a girra..."

A baton to the back of his head, and the world goes black.