[Vincent Jacobs]

VINCENT LANE JACOBS
Calm, Collected and Commanding
You leave the other story standing
With your renditions and jokes
Bet there's hundreds of blokes
That have wept 'cos you've stolen their...

Thunder



H U M A N . CIVILIAN

---

My name is Vincent but you can call me Vin, Jacobs, Lane or Rat if that's got too many syllables for you to handle.
Originally I was born in inner London and these days I live in a' apartment block right across the road from the Simmons Buildin' Usually, if you're looking for me, you might find me in the Dorset Post offices or on location somewheres because I'm a journo and a' newscaster, go figure.

I might look like I'm tipping over Firty, but I'm actually only Twenny-Eight ; hard to believe, right? Roughly, I'm 6'3 tall, last I checked, and I'd be the first to admit I'm a little on the devilishly scruffy side, but don't hold that against me. Loads of people have told me how much I resemble Ryan Gosling but personally, I don't see it.

F I R S T . I M P R E S S I O N S

You'll only ever take away from a first meeting with Jacobs what he wants you to take away where he can control it -- though he can't do much about the negative word of mouth reports everyone's so eager to put out there.
Jealous sonsof --

Most of the time, when the lights go on and the camera is rolling, or he's conducting an interview, you've never seen such a brightly shining smile. There's not a crack in his glowing facade and it's difficult to think him capable of being that 'brazen little fucker' the bosses are always complaining about. One thing you can say about Vin is that he's expressive; as articulate face to face as he is in his writing and never at a loss for words. The man is bursting at the seams with personality and it is exactly this which compels his audience. People love to seem him randomly grabbing people for interviews on the street or harassing politicians and so forth. Truly he'd be better suited to MTV or something of the sort, but he's too high brow for kids and doesn't he just know it. Smart kid, smart ass.

For almost the rest of whoever he meets, we'll get into a little bit about why the people who know him off camera.. well, they're not all rushing to start a fan club. {His dreams of 'the Jacobettes' gets further with every passing day.

When Vincent is out doing legwork, earning his column inches or landing the Saturday night news special, he is the most confrontational nosy bastard on the planet. It's like every fiber of his being was tailored to cause grief to the people around him. Why? Because drama and anger are the quickest way to get people to stop thinking before they open their mouths. He'll launch a trillion and one questions and successfully slip the net himself when they're fired back the other way, giving back trap door answers that put him out of reach and double the frustration for the person on the receiving end. Anyone's patience would be challenged by this man and he knows it. Worse, he has no problem with being thought of as a genuinely unpleasant person when it's supported by the feeling that he's doing his job and doing it well. He's competitive, more so since he's got the Water Baby case ear marked as his vehicle to fame and any rival or obstruction will readily tell you about how vicious he can be or how disturbingly apt he is at fabrication.

A rare few have also gotten to see his less guarded side when they've stumbled across him when he's in the library and compiling research. He's capable of being a little quieter, more contemplative -- though you can never be entirely trusting that he's really being serious or if he might just be playing at being serious.

No matter what the circumstances are when you first meet Vincent, he'll move with such swagger as you've never seen. Put that with his broad cockney brogue and the little white lollipop stick perpetually bobbing around in the corner of his mouth, and you're going to think of him as a wise-ass with a bad attitude and altogether too direct to be forgiven a lot of the time. He makes no apologies for who or how he is and thrives on attention.

F A S H I O N . P A S S I O N

Lane doesn't do bad hair days. Or hangovers, or missed-my-shower mornings. Not unless there's a deliberate intent behind it. If he looks even remotely like he just rolled out of bed then it's on purpose and he's spent a deliberate amount of time getting it to look just right -- aware of the desirous effect it can have on lady kind. It's a fashion-style that's come to be known as 'Camera Ready' and none are firmer followers of this trend than Vincent.

With an ego to take home it's no shock to the system to be told he's vain and when a moment of celebrity can strike at any time he does as the boy scouts do and comes prepared. {His glove compartment even houses a first aid box kitted out with grooming implements.}

Always polished, always in a wickedly fashionable, intolerably expensive, suit when he's working, he doesn't cut a half bad figure in a form fitted mac' either. His preference tends more to a cultured look, almost book-wormesque in wearing a cardigan or woolen vest on top of his shirt and beneath his suit jacket. Bournemouth's a coastal town and even when it's hot it remains windy with a touch of chill to take the heat off of him just a touch. He's not afraid to shirk the full ensemble and roll up his sleeves though, loosening his tie knot just a bit and pulling off the professionally-at-ease style either. The only time this changes up a bit is when he's doing his own recon. Being an investigative journalist, when he's out pounding the pavement and trailing a blaze, he needs to make sure he can mobilize. On those days he might go for slightly cheaper, slightly older suit -- always suiting in case he gets a screen opportunity -- but ultimately one that he can afford to damage.

Dressing casually, he'll take a flat cap and shades {because even the glory hound himself needs a little down time and lord knows he always finds a way to draw attention} and follows other similarly up to date trends. He doesn't make many waves in the fashion world, surprisingly. You would think the unorthodox button presser would be keen to rebel against clothing trends too but he manages to remain stable. He acts like a prick, and you'll think of him as immature because of how his methods bring out that quality in others, but he's a stable guy and a mature one. He doesn't need to be ostentatious or to show off his personality so he sticks with longer sleeved t-shirts and jeans or cargo pants. Few patterns, keeping the lines clean and his collars open with very little to confuse the eyes. Something of a secret beach-bunny, he likes fairly rustic looking wooden bracelets and sharks' tooth tether necklaces, typical surfer-dude fare, along with pewter jewelery.

Lastly, his guilty pleasure. Flip flops. Almost all of his time is spent with his feet confined by shoes and boots, so even if he's just dossing it around in his apartment he'll be either barefoot or wiggling his toes either side of a sandal strap.

D I M P L E S . A N D . T H I N G S

Left Palm, hole scar- When he was just a lad, maybe 6 or less, he was fooling around in the shed looking for spiders after being explicitly told to stay away. He took a fall and when he tried to catch himself he impaled his hand on a nail and it's left a mark. Now and then he feels like it's aching when the weather is bad.

Right Leg, tentacle scars- On one of the last holidays they had away as a family, the Jacobs' went to Australia at Vincent's insistence and he ended up with a jellyfish wound around his calf. The lacerations left behind are unsightly but he's just grateful the paramedics got to him before the poison left him paralyzed.

Left Upper arm/Shoulder, pocked scar tissue- During the car crash they were hit with such force as the passenger-side glass that didn't get his mother tore up his arm and left it's mark. He deliberately picked at the scabs when they were healing, wanting to always have a trace of that night. You'd think the dreams might be enough.

Under Jaw, freckle- when he isn't wearing facial hair it's been noticed by past girlfriends. A perfect little brown dot almost central on his skin, equal distance from either side of his jaw.

Eyes- The lack of pigment flaws in Vin's eyes make them noteworthy. They're almost impeccably blue and flat in their color that many find them startling and curiously difficult to look away from. Being aware of it he uses that attribute to add levity to his stares. Never trust a blue eyed boy, loves.

W H Y . D I D . Y O U . D O . I T

He's dabbled with the idea of getting the date of the crash drawn onto his skin but he's got enough reminders and he's never going to be able to erase the date.

Other than that he's got 'It's The Truth' over his heart in script and reversed so he can read it in the mirror.

M A N . W I T H O U T . S K I N

Whilst we're sure there are enough people who'd sign a petition to stop him, Vincent is irrepressibly sociable. He loves being surrounded by people and noise and always seems to find it easy to become comfortable in even the strangest company-- believe me, his bosses have tried throwing him at the deep end at elitist parties often enough to know it doesn't work. He's an enthusiastic speaker, as you can expect this becomes even more evident when the topic is himself, but he throws so much unexpected color into a conversation that it's damn hard to be anything other than rapt. He can go for hours too but his boundless energy can be overwhelming for some and it gets no easier for those that have known him a while. Lane's had to get good at jumping from one crowd to the next; in person he's a lot more difficult to get on with than his on-screen persona would have you believing and he's not really in the right kind of mind-set for forming lasting bonds with new people. However, being on his own when he has no work to do means he has nothing to distract himself with which is why he seems so keen on being the life of the party.

This all-encompassing personality comes with the added bonus of taking the edge out of the often biting things he has to say about people.
It's partially down to his own insecurities, and partly because there's just some undeniable thing in his head that makes him do it, making him call people on their flaws all the time. Often it will be when the light is cast over him in an unpleasant manner but he doesn't pull his verbal punches and has gotten disgustingly skilled at finding the things in other people that bother them most.
He's not an idiot, he knows that he goes about things in just the right way to make him anything but popular and knows he provides an abundance of reasons for people to hold a grudge against him. However, what he likes to call 'blunt honesty', along with his ego and curiosity about everything that is simply none of his business, they're all aspects of his personality he happens to find wholly endearing. They're traits that have served him well in the media business so he enjoys them, preferring to see himself much less as a horror of a human being -- as most investigative journo's tend to be referred -- and more as just a bloody good reporter. Ok, ok! It's comes with the added bonus of face time with the national public when you sacrifice things like manners and respect for personal boundaries {one thing can be said, he'll never be made to feel uncomfortable} but why should he deny himself the fruits of his labor?

In short, Vince's main concern... is Vince.
So unless he's in love with you or considers you as something like his bestie, then fucking you over to land the next big story won't cause a second's worth of moral dilemma.

He could be better at reserving the worst of his behaviors just for his co-workers but right now certain events are still fresh and any improvements will be reluctant at best. What's keeping up the barrier between himself and a conscientiousness about the feelings and attachments of others is well known by now but no one's had the girders to bring it up with the man himself. No amount of favors could have been called in to keep it out of the press, especially back at home, but no one is lacking enough sense to try and talk to him about what happened -- as it presently stands he doesn't much want to confront his own feelings on it, much less let people think they've got a right to involve themselves. Facing his issues is something he'll need to do on his own terms and no one else's. It's not going to happen for a while because, for starters, he has convinced himself that feeling too much about it will be like admitting he's weak, and further to that it would be a step along in the healing process. The latter is the worst to him because healing is the same as saying 'getting over' which is right next to forgetting and that would make him an even worse man than the one he's being right now. One without any soul at all.

Like the best of us it can become all too convenient to bury yourself in your work life to avoid dealing with things that are closer to home and the heart. Had he anyone around to give a damn, beyond his doctor, Vincent's dogged reporter routine would have long ago turned into a cause for concern. He gets quite obsessed blinkered when he's got a story in mind and that turns Vincent into the human translation of sun through a convex lens{and potentially every bit as dangerous}.
Friends, relationships, food, sleep; he gets to be so one track minded that they all get left on the wayside for another day. There's only room then for his work and how it fits into the grand scheme of an anchor position based on merit instead of kissing ass -- though he knows he's got at least a little of the latter to do further down the line. Vincent has enough consciousness of what he's doing to avoid focusing on stories that aren't going to take him where he needs to be, regardless how relentlessly he seems to always be on the heels of the next big thing. That's the main reason he's not bothered to sign a long-term deal with the Guardian even if it means guaranteeing himself inches in print every week. It's nothing to do with meeting deadlines, he just knows he can - and will - do better.

Yes, by better, we mean air time.
A glory hound with a skill for being a picky opportunist, no matter the set backs in his personal life, his overwhelming goal is still to ride the fame train. He's had to restrict himself to only doing in the field news reports for the beeb because they're not keen on sharing faces, but hot damn if he's soaking up as many minutes as he can get. It's an odd contradiction that a man who's trying to hide all his emotional clutter in the dark is so very, very concentrated on being bathed in limelight. He needs the recognition, wants to feel validation and to see his face every which way he turns.. for the right reasons. He's ever optimistic in his tireless pursuit of that tale that will rocket his career to it's peak and that helps him endure the frequent slating and bad-mouthing from MP's and other public figures. Hell, he treats black eyes and lawsuits like they're gold stars, enforcing in his mind that he's only doing his job well if someone's getting pissed off enough to do something about it.

Jacobs wasn't raised to act like he was owed a living though, no sir. He can buckle down and get done what needs done so you can say what you like about his goading talk and naughty school-boy grin, this boy's got himself a work ethic. It's probably because he knows he works so hard that he shows his testiness with 'lesser' news hounds in the form of aggressive competition. He's full of testosterone anyway, but put him in a situation where he might have to share a story or even have to fight to keep it from going to somebody else, and he'll really come into his own. The daggers come out and he won't mind making it personal and what's worse than the nasty tone he can take, is that you won't even be able to make him feel bad or take back what he's said. If you're in his way, you've got it coming.

F A V O U R I T E

"Terrifyin' as it is, I fink I live fer that moment o'pure terror right when you reckon you're gonna drown and then ya burst t'the surface. It's like bein' born again for a second. Like yer takin' ya firss' breaff all over again and at the same time, it's like it's yer larst."

D E S P I S E

"Cabbies. Moss' ign'rant, miss-informed wankers onna face o' God's green Earf."

L I K E S

Looking smart. Being noticed when he enters a room. Getting a reaction. Surfing. The Summer. Walking. Thrill of the chase. Writing. Compliments. Being asked for autographs. Fan mail. Bizarre headlines. Puns and word play. Word games. Looking at people's doodles. Having his fortune told. Butter cookies. Peanut Brittle. Watermelon or cherry lollipops. Pay cheques. His name in print. Recognition. Asking questions. Being informed. Being on the ball. The color blue. Holidays abroad. No strings. Aquariums. Dogs. Sci-Fi novels and tv shows. Going to the cinema. Going out in general. Talking to people. Interaction. The feel of paper. Pleasant dreams. Final drafts.

D I S L I K E S

When people fish for compliments. Nosey parkers. Condensation on glass. Being alone. Closing his eyes. Flashbacks. Losing out on a story. Seedless Jam. Getting into cars. Heavy traffic. Cats. The smell of gin. The letter W. Stories half-told. Stories poorly told. Prepared answers. No Comments. Brown envelopes. Being pigeon holed. Blue biro ink. Philosophy students. Body guards. Risking all and getting nothing. Unexpected reminders of his history. Not having an answer. Charcoal drawings. Being untidy. Strong perfumes etc. Medical dramas.

Q U I R K S

Boiled sweets and lollipops; it's a wonder he's got a single tooth left in his head, never mind the rows of pearly whites he does happen to have. The second that camera stops rolling, he's popping another one in his mouth and quite often has the stick of a lolly pinched between his fingers even when he's being filmed. Still, there are worse habit to have.

Junkies; his parents worked really hard to make sure he steered well clear of substances growing up and he's got a healthy respect for his body in general. He gets pissed off with users who express no desire to get better and lacks any kind of sympathy even for the ones who do. Also.. homeless beggars annoy him.

Singing; our lad doesn't just run his mouth with discordant words, he can also hold his own in a solo. Favorites include Cat Stevens and Creed and he'll often set up a chorus or murmur a couple of lines without realizing.

Paper; his only real compulsion, other than to ask questions he shouldn't, is straightening paper. Stacks are always neatened up and even single sheets get a quick adjustment to line them up with the edge of the desk they're sitting on.

D O W N L O W

Trauma; people think he won't get into a car or anything smaller than a bus because he's a health nut or just another hypocritical twat claiming to do his thing for the environment. Truth is, the second he's in a car with anyone for company other than himself, he panics. A most undesirable side effect of the devastating car crash he was to blame for. By now people are so used to it they don't even ask and those that witnessed it first hand are polite enough not to bring it up.

S H O W . O F F

Body Conscious;
No, he doesn't fuss about his carb' intake; Vincent has a physical awareness of himself and knows when to acknowledge his limits. He won't test his boundaries when the risk is too high or if the shot is too long and knows there's little sense in fighting a battle you'd clearly lose. He knows what he's capable of and will work on pushing those bars up in the gym, not by chancing it jumping from a wall.

Speak up;
It's all in the delivery when it comes to getting people interested in what you have to say. So Vince, with confidence you could bounce rocks off of -- and with a none too shabby sense of comedic timing -- could make a career away from the news as a professional orator. Now, if only he could find something other than his own merits to talk about..

Today's Face;
An occupational hazard when you spend excessive amounts of time stretching truths and dramatizing minutia, Vincent has become an unforgivably good liar. His conscience gets swept aside and he won't falter (no bluff too tough) so you might never know what's going on behind those inspiring baby blues.

Smell That?;
Like our own beloved Goldie likes to say "Game knows Game." Being a damned good at lying comes with the fringe benefit of being able to spot his own kind from a mile off so you'll need to get up extra early to get one over on Vincent. (In true Jacobs fashion, he'll be sure to let you know he's on to you at the first opportunity.)

Lonely Cloud;
Keep this one under yours hat, but Vin's not just a wicked wordsmith when it comes to prose. That silver tongue of his is just as aptly applied to poetry. Anything but hesitant in voicing his opinions the rest of the time, putting pen to paper to do the same thing is second nature to him by now. At present, his reluctance to open up also mean he's avoided doing anything beyond jotting down scraps of worthwhile lines, but there's a bunch of work books in his night stand that have a few winners between the pages.

Where-o Where;
Surveillance can be key when you're looking to find out something and the direct path isn't quite the best way of going about it. Blending in with a crowd, disappearing from notice without looking like a shifty christie at the end of the bar, it's a vital skill of the trade. He can turn down that magnetic personality when he needs to and you'd even perceive him as being a couple of inches shorter than he actually is.

E P I C . F A I L

Camera Shy;
Psyche! Like it needs to be spelled out for you, but our lad's problem is quite the opposite of being camera shy. This one cannot get enough of seeing himself immortalized be it image or text, he's got a bad case of 'Fridge Door Complex' and with no desire to put an end to it. Fame, as an ambition, dominates pretty much all of his life choices and has been the closer in many of his previous relationships. The girlfriend who died, for instance, she was a prominent model about to launch a solo album for the first time; it was like a match made in heaven .. until heaven arrived a little early.

Rehab's For Quitters; A textbook workaholic; if you're stepping out or going for a drink with him, expect that the first hour at least will be spent talking about current affairs or chewing over theories on the latest headlines. That side of things isn't really so bad if you share his enthusiasm, it's when he deliberately sets up a date or meeting place based upon the people he is likely to bump into there. He finds it hard to switch channels to so the eventuality of getting him leave what he's working on alone for more than five minutes is really none too probable.

Contrary Mary; Go on. Give him an absolute, I dare you. Tell him an opinion stated as fact and it won't matter if he agrees with you, he'll go the polar opposite and end up at logger heads just to 'serve you right'. He knows he does it, and will drop it if you call him on it because he's not really much of a stubborn ass nor as pigheaded as you'd think, but that initial confrontation is something he can't help but seek out.

Speak Your Mind; Vincent could give lessons in how not to be bashful. Thing is, it doesn't work in his favor. Ok, he'll bite his tongue when it comes to work because despite it all he's still gunning for anchor position during prime or evening time, but anyone outside of that is free game. Apparently he has an aversion to molly coddling, open with people in his life about how he feels about them and what they do -- hypocritical, when he won't let you do the same straight back -- and won't tip toe around for the sake of feelings. Equally, in dealing with matters of the heart, he'll make his intentions plain in a way you will either find refreshingly forward or else derailing. (It's hard to play coy when he's already called your bluff on day one.) He still hides his motives, the whys and wherefore behind what he says, thinks, believes, but he'll tell you if he enjoys your company or if you're a waste of space right out the gate.

How Now; Jacobs has had a wicked time landing even his field reporter's position. It's something he tries not to be sensitive about, and is taking measures to ensure it won't hamper him when he does get into the running for an anchor spot, but, lets face it, the Beeb speak the Queen's English. His coarse Cockney dialect was the reason his charisma was only put to use when delivering the bad news about the coming weather. So, he's got his elocution lessons on cd and packed onto his iPod, he just needs to practice, practice, practice.

T R I C K S . F O R . T R E A T S

When he was very young, too young now for him to even really remember, Vincent would frequently talk about places he had never been to, people he had never met and things he should of had no way of knowing. His parents said it was the TV, their young lad was a sponge for information and, over time, it slowly went away. The truth is, Vincent is three fold reincarnated. He has been a bohemian poet living in France and eventually died from Syphilis and gout; He's been a miner from Wales who died when his lantern flame met a gas pocket; And he has been a witch hunter for the Church. The only indication he has ever had of any of this is readings from various palmists and mediums which he believes to be bogus. In each life, however, he has had a gift, either a heightened sixth sense or awareness of something going on, or the ability to shift peoples perceptions just enough to fit his purpose. Only in his life as a Witch Hunter was he aware of this and was at his worst, in this current turn around the mortal coil, however, no such powers have reared their heads; who knows what the fates have in store to show this to him?

M A G I C I A N S . S E C R E T S

You don't live your whole adult life with an ear to the ground without hearing the odd bump or two.. and not only in the dark of night. Vincent is a man who's livelihood is a good story, something to grab you and be note-worthy, as such he has kept it in mind to never be cynical. He won't immediately jump to supernatural conclusion, but nor will he exclude it as a possibility.

On more than one occasion he has been intrigued enough to go and have his fortune read -- in actual fat he has been only once since the accident and found he was too upset for him to open up and have it be worth while -- but has yet to get an accurate reading. The feed back he gets it confused, thanks to his extra lives, but even if he thinks he's being scammed, he enjoys the ritualistic smoke and mirrors just the same. It's like a small performance and it's centered around him; better than a lap dance any day to this ego-monster.

He does believe there's something else out there, though whether or not that will allow adequate room for the notion of demons and other worldly beings is yet to be seen. Personally he thinks the latest news, the water baby cases, is some kind of man made mistake. How else could such a centralized spike of weird phenomena occur without any kind of precursor? And the fact it seems to stem from the blood banks? Well.. everyone knows the Government and Pharmaceutical companies are in cahoots, right?

I M M E D I A T E

Maxine Jacobs, Mother, Deceased.
Maxine was a no nonsense kind of woman. She wrote biopics for a living and was quite renouned for her endless capacity for holding onto facts about people without getting so much as a day confused. She worked from home and often helped on televised specials commemorating well known public figures and acted as a guest speaker quite regularly too. For all that, however, she was anything but an absentee mother. She and Vincent would spend a lot of their free time together and she'd permit him to come and do his homework in her office so long as she wasn't disturbed. He wasn't a momma's boy though, his time just as much given to his Father.

Jason Jacobs, Father, Deceased.
A criminal lawyer, he had worked his way up to the top of his game at the time he had past away and was amply able to care for his family. Unlike Vin's mother, Jason did express a little bit of favoritism between his boys, but it was all in the name of healthy competition. He didn't want either Vincent or William resting on their laurels so he did what he could to encourage that hard working ethic Vince is now notorious for. To each boy he would show with more praise, place well timed compliments in front of the other with just enough of a sharper edge that the subject could never be sure of the sincerity of what had been sent to him. It created a little bit of resentment between the males of the house hold, but they were still close knit.

William Jacobs, Brother, Deceased.
A little more considerate than his brother, particularly when it came down for schemes grander than those that contained just himself, William's life passion was environmentalism. By the time of the accident he was working for the National Geographic, jet setting between jungles and desert plains, reporting on what he found. Green Peace held a ceremony in his honor back in November 08 and Vincent himself couldn't bring himself to stay for the whole length. Both brothers got along in the way that only brothers can. They fought, physically scrapped, argued, didn't talk for months.. but they still loved each other. Neither one forgot a birthday, no matter the most recent fall out, and both meant it when they said they were proud. They were non-identical twins, by and by, similar in make-up but Vince was always the fairer featured.

S I G N I F I C A N T

Marie Delcroix, Girlfriend, Deceased.
The model Vincent was seeing and starting to get a little bit serious about. She was a stuck up little thing most of the time, which he didn't mind when they first met because.. well.. she was with another man at a press conference he was attending. Their eyes met, he bungled what little French he knew in a suitably attractive fashion, and before he knew it they were knocking boots. After a time he got to see her once or twice with her guard down and they grew closer each visit they made back and forth. He didn't doubt she was playing away, he did, after all, but when she moved to London for 'work' he soon eased his Lothario ways and prepared himself for a life of monogamy. The ring is still on lay away..

Samson Weyland, Best Mate, Alive and Kicking.
A chap he's known since school and one of the closest bonds he ever made apart from his brother. Samson and he were actually rivals at school, both incredibly popular but for all their own reasons. Vincent came from a nice neighborhood, Samson... not so much. They had their own crowds, were completely incompatible, but apparently one good scrap was enough to get it out of their systems and stick them side by side for life. Sam's found himself pushed out lately. He knows his best mate is being chewed up inside but any attempt he makes at closing the gap, try to bring Vince back to humanity, just seems to be driving a bigger wedge between them. Things have been said, hurtful things, at it might be time for these two to duke it out again soon to clear the air afresh.

Marcas Moriarty, Rival.. Type.. Thing, Still Alive, Unfortunately.
Moriarty is a PI that has been stepping on Vincent's toes since the beginning. Each of them have their very own set of agendas so of course they hate each others' guts. Both want to break the case, and whether or not Marc's only in it to see the thing put to bed, it's enough for Vincent that he's got competition in trying the break this bad boy wide open. Funny thing is, they might have made a half way decent duo in the past.

T H I N G S . I V E . S E E N

Vincent grew up in that limbo between Middle and Lower class. His family had too much money, were becoming too successful to be considered as poor, but they lived in a difficult area. They had no garden, front or back, to speak of, and two doors down was a burned out husk of a house that used to be a smack den. Why? The next standard of living up was just a little too far from their price range and little too far out for commuting. It scared Maxine just a little bit but she got by, making sure her sons grew up a little more savvy than your average joe.

As can only be expected growing up in a place like that, the Jacobs boys fell in and out of trouble like it was puppy love. They'd stay out, run off and take a bus into the country side, start fires, graffiti. Never anything huge, they just wanted to look bad ass to their friends living on the same street. It was just fortunate that 'drugs are bad' had been stamped on their brains permanently after their father brought home a projector and slides from one of his cop friends. Image after mind scarring image of rotten brains and disintegrated septums. The silver lining on all this was that the boys grew up humble. They still took holidays -- having relatives all over the world that they would often enjoy Summers with, but they were good little lads and appreciated what they were given.

Into their teens, a big promotion for their father and a best selling biography from their mother meant that the next phase was going to be a little bit easier. Both boys were nearing the end of college and, having done quite well in their results, could look forward to whatever path they chose. Vincent had chosen a literary lean, like his mother, even forfeiting a year's summer holiday to get some work experience when the opportunity arose. He spent his 6 weeks being mesmerized by printing presses and televised announcements, tagging along with a mid-ranking journalist who showed him a number of tricks of the trade. So, when it came to picking his university to see out the last of his educational journey, he chose the London University of Journalism and Media.

From a young age Vincent had been fighting to get rid of what he construed as his father's disappointment in him. Wrestling with his brother to come out the better, to be the one who got the approval. That was so deeply embedded in him that it grew as he grew, turning into this need to be recognized. He had love, could get it in buckets, what he wanted was to be noticed and to be appreciated. For journalists, Jacobs quickly found out that being popular with your co-workers did not also translate to being popular with the public. You had to fuck other people over to get the masses to love you, do things that were morally grey to get ahead. Boundaries were to be crossed, locks picked, words skewed.. and he was prepared to do it. He could make plenty of friends outside of work -- and plenty of girlfriends too -- so he went on the aggressive attack and became the best in his class.

His tutors, much like his bosses now, dropped out of the habit of asking how he got his material together. Not hearing it said by the boy himself meant that they could not be implicated or brought up to testify should he ever be brought up on charges. Whatever it was that he WAS up to, however, he was going about it the right way. His writing was dynamic and as attention grabbing as the author, penning his way all the way to the top ranks of his graduation ranks when he reached 21.

On top of the world, feeling good about his prospects and naively expecting to be snapped up straight away, reality reminded Vincent that a diploma did not an over night success make. He hadn't gotten his reporting chops yet and the real hard work was only just beginning because he wasn't the only tadpole fresh from the spawn of media school and looking for work. London was over wrought with wannabe journalists and writers all looking to wedge their feet in the door. So, he'd have to find a way to stand apart and it was just lucky that his upbringing and life so far had taught him it was ok to be a little... ballsy. the bar was set pretty high by editors and producers alike, so he'd have to do something that wasn't much expected of a man his age; talked parliament. Perhaps not the wisest of things to do from a 'lets not piss off the powerful' point of view, but he went after any MP he could to dig up something worthwhile. A couple of eavesdropped conversations and a nightly trawl of their garbage bins later turned up an affair topped with blackmail.

Far from front page material, but he had gusto and proved he wasn't just going to sit around and wait to be handed a story to work on. Still, whilst editors were sitting up a little straighter, his name was making the rounds, it wasn't quite gratifying enough for Vincent and it was time to leave London at last.

The Dorset Post, Bournemouth's resident paper, had an opening and they'd love to have him aboard... or at least offer him a shot. It would be an internship, nothing too fancy, just a foot through the door to prove himself and see how he got on. Not prepared to just sit back while they decided whether or not to make a long term investment, he started making the rounds elsewhere too. BBC's Bournemouth studio were also hiring, and on slightly better pay. He wouldn't get to write for them, nor achieve a starring spot just yet, but they let him do what he was steadily proving to be so good at. Investigation. He formed part of their research team, chasing leads and getting the skinny at press conferences and so forth. On the side he was still writing like a demon, sending things off to be considered by any one of the big spreads back in London and the county of Dorset around him. He wouldn't rest and his hard work was about to get him a result.

All his employers were starting to feel torn about the whipper snapper who talked as smart as he dressed and was turning out some stellar work. The departments he was assigned to were being transformed by his presence, the competitive edge boosted morale and work was being done faster, but people... they didn't always take a shine to him. So what was to be done? Clearly he was riding some high horse and thought a mighty lot of himself, but what good reason did he have not to? Worried about losing him, Vince sensed big things were in the offing and started pressing his luck. He wasn't about to be jettisoned, that was for sure, so he started pushing for something only his name would be on. Pulled in for a meeting, when asked what he wanted to do and poignantly offered a management position on the researching teams that would put his name on the credit reel, Vin wanted one better.

Anchor.

Print was all well and good but it was a dying media. They already knew he could conduct an interview -- having stood in once or twice for those hidden witness sessions with the shoddy lighting and voice distortion -- but it was a huge leap of faith to ask for something like that this early. They liked his moxie though, appeasing him with a few more disguised witnesses and putting him on the credit reel anyway, they even gave him a bi-monthly spot on the radio. Not really good enough in Vincent's opinion, considering what he was doing for them, but he let it slide when it became apparent that the Beeb would definitely not be letting him go else where in hurry without first soiling his reputation.

He was persistent though, never letting a day go by without putting some face time in on the recording floor or in the editing unit, making his presence generally felt. It soon became clear that they were not going to be giving a moment's respite and started sending him off more and more as their man on the ground at press meetings and big gatherings. He was to stick with the stories they gave him though, and the only coverage he got was on the odd occasion his mug was caught on the sweeping pan shots of the rooms filled with journalists. If nothing else, this just encourage him to become even more forward. His questions were always spoken loudest and were usually lacking the genteel tact of those around him. He feared no reprimand if it meant he was going to get famous.

A year or two down the road and the same games of push and pull were going on between himself and his bosses. He did have a regular 3 inch column in the Guardian though and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he had more options than the BBC might be able to offer him. So, wanting to pin him down at least a little while longer, they put him on the weather and loosened the reigns just a bit. Along with everything else he was doing on the side, his working life was really starting to take the path he wanted it to... if only his brother's wasn't doing the exact same thing.

All the time all he ever heard from his father was about how well Billy was doing out in Brazil or Africa or whatever other arse end of no where he was in that month. So the old tensions were still there, barely put aside at family get togethers and the like, the only respite offered was in doing his own jet setting to political summits and have his mother coo and caw down the phone.

It was on one such jaunt that he met Marie, the first in a long, long ... long line of girlfriends and casual partners that was anything worth writing home about. She embodied France for him, a little wild, certainly dramatic and a prospering model, there was little wonder he couldn't get enough of her. They fed each other's egos and it proved enough to sustain them and Marie moved over to London under the feeble guise of doing it only for work purposes. He told his parents about her after 6 months, brought her home for dinner after 9 and told his mother after 18 that he thought she might be the one.

Naturally she was thrilled but, sensing her son would soon be even less present in her life now that he would like as no be starting his own family, she put forward the idea they go for one last trip. William included. That was when he got the jellyfish sting on his leg, cutting the holiday short and bringing them all home early -- but that was just the start. The fish that stung him was pretty bad and he was put on a course of treatments and confined to minimum mobility whilst his leg tissue mended. There was a party being held by one of his father's associates, they weren't going to make it before but, seeing as they were all back, what the heck. Vincent was a sour puss about it, pouting and sulking {even more so when he found out Marie had been invited and had accepted said invite} and went back to sleep on the couch while everyone got ready.

About 3am he got a slurred phone call from his brother to come and get them -- turns out no cabs would go that far out into the countryside. Old enough not to need permission, he snatched the keys from the hook in the kitchen and limped out to the car, roaring out with a muggy head on his shoulders and going to meet them. They hadn't all been in the car but five minutes before the argument started. Vincent's blood boiled and he was seething, his meds whipping around his system and blurring his vision in the cocktail of anger, adrenaline and painkillers. He didn't stop for the light, and then didn't stop for the t-junction, just went on trucking right through.

He doesn't know what happened next but the report shows his drunken passengers hadn't had the presence of mind to fasten their own seat belts, just him. His arm was torn up but that was about the worst of it physically, that and his 6 month ban from the wheel.

H E R E . A N D . N O W

The accident happened about 2 years ago now and he's still not even begun to try an heal. He blames himself, inwardly, but he's scared to acknowledge what he's feeling and hasn't opened up to anyone. Not even Sam. He's back at work but hasn't quite been the same. Harder to forgive and intensely buried in his work - the pay off to that has been that he's now out in the field, mostly finding his own assignments and going from there. Presently his biggest peeve is that they're trying to put him solely onto the Lynch drama. He's a people person, on camera any way, and they want him to engage in the human element and go after Lynch fearlessly like the know only he can. For Vincent, however, his primary objective is his own Moby Dick that he's trying to land. The water baby cases.

His only focus at all has been his work and the progression of his career, and to be at the peak of his game means to make anchor and he's still never let that drop. He's come up against obstacles, naturally, but he's not about to let anything set him back.
.

You can call me LEXXI and I'm in the KICK ASS ADMIN/CHUCK NORRIS time zone. You guys suckered me in with SEXY PLOTLINES and I guess I'll be sticking around to post AS MUCH AS I NEED TO per week. Tell you something though, WHERE ALL THE ORDER PEOPLEZ AT?!

what you'd like your member title to be

R P . SA M P L E

"yah.. kiss my shiny metal arse" said bender.. angrily..

[lexxibeth]

. C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S .
guess that means they like you

You've made the ranks love, very well done indeed.
Be sure to claim your face, cook up your own subplot or simply start to network.

Bournemouth's your oyster, baby.