Member
Reginald Carrington
"Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once."
-William Shakespear, Julius Caesar
Name
Reginald Truth Carrington
Nicknames
None because he demands the respect of his full name.
Age
68
Gender
Male
Occupation
CEO and owner of the United States largest energy company (and Canada's 3rd largest). Trium-Veritas, or TriV, owns half the west side of the U.S., and they're a large competitor along the southern border of Canada. They are looking to expand further east, in hopes of giving Japan and Australia options for cleaner energy.
Sexual Orientation
It's Complicated
Relationship Status
Married to Cassiopeia Carrington
Appearance
Tall.
Handsome.
Rich as all hell.
What isn't Liam Neeson Reginald Carrington? A lion of a man, Reginald embodies confidence in ever crease and smooth line of his form and features. Confidence quickly bleeds into intimidation and the wide set of his shoulders does great work in making him seem taller than his 6'3" stature (nearly a foot taller than his wife, though she makes up for the height difference with high heels and an icy glare).
Health is an important factor in Reginald's appearance and day-to-day life. Getting older means eating healthier and keeping once taught muscles proud and healthy as they shield the ever aging organs. Of course, keeping a strict diet and work out routine has always been a staple of his person, and Reginald has not once faltered in his routine—he very well attempts to impose it upon his children and even wife. Partly why he loathes the ravages of time, but loathes plastic surgery even more. Reginald has pride imbued in every pore on his body and knowing that his defined features and sharp jaw aren't his own doing wounds him greatly. Plus, his ever handsome visage being au natural is just another thing to hold over the elite upper class. Even his wrinkles radiate with pride.
What shows even more of his pride are the exceptional amount of clothes he possesses, and footwear. Oxfords are his everything and three piece suits comprise most of his closet, though his casual clothes are from unfashionable. Reginald takes quite a lot of his time creating an outfit, and the perfectionist in him will urge him to spend hours just trying to figure which sock is best for his ensemble, even if his ensemble is jeans and a t-shirt and some converse.
Handsome.
Rich as all hell.
What isn't Liam Neeson Reginald Carrington? A lion of a man, Reginald embodies confidence in ever crease and smooth line of his form and features. Confidence quickly bleeds into intimidation and the wide set of his shoulders does great work in making him seem taller than his 6'3" stature (nearly a foot taller than his wife, though she makes up for the height difference with high heels and an icy glare).
Health is an important factor in Reginald's appearance and day-to-day life. Getting older means eating healthier and keeping once taught muscles proud and healthy as they shield the ever aging organs. Of course, keeping a strict diet and work out routine has always been a staple of his person, and Reginald has not once faltered in his routine—he very well attempts to impose it upon his children and even wife. Partly why he loathes the ravages of time, but loathes plastic surgery even more. Reginald has pride imbued in every pore on his body and knowing that his defined features and sharp jaw aren't his own doing wounds him greatly. Plus, his ever handsome visage being au natural is just another thing to hold over the elite upper class. Even his wrinkles radiate with pride.
What shows even more of his pride are the exceptional amount of clothes he possesses, and footwear. Oxfords are his everything and three piece suits comprise most of his closet, though his casual clothes are from unfashionable. Reginald takes quite a lot of his time creating an outfit, and the perfectionist in him will urge him to spend hours just trying to figure which sock is best for his ensemble, even if his ensemble is jeans and a t-shirt and some converse.
"I do not hesitate. Once I swing my ax it will not miss."
Personality
A man of stone and marble, there isn't much in the way of expressions that move Reginald. He belies the look of a man intent on perpetual judgement, with eyes a piercing midnight—a cold Van Gogh painting. Expressions of cold, hard stoicism are not far from the truth. Reginald feels, but he doesn't express himself in ways normal to human beings, or much at all. The man himself fairs on the ruthless, efficient side. With eyes that can swoop like an ax, Reginald feels little in the way of sympathy or pity. A utilitarian at its finest, Reginald believes in the greater good of his company, and thus in the world at large. The philosophy less uses Reginald at its behest, but rather services the man's great endeavors.
Because a man like Reginald has grand ideas to churn out and he works as a steam roller, caring little for who gets caught beneath.
But, like any man of fine taste, Reginald acts with airs and pomp. Though, his fancy airs always come tinged with superiority, a cleverness that belies a sharp intelligence, and a lack of filter. Reginald says what ails his mind; the truth comes from his mouth like fire. And he leaves nothing untouched by his hand of judgment. He nitpicks, sees flaws and wishes to correct them, to an OCD obsession. Possibly more than just a perfectionist, Reginald will go out of his way to see something fixed, careless as to who he disrespects. Because Reginald does not lose respect, he merely gains and demands it. If it is refused to him, Reginald will act in a manner almost ruthless, letting his anger simmer until it blindsides whoever attracted his ire.
Reginald assumes perfection, yet has never been so far from it.
Because a man like Reginald has grand ideas to churn out and he works as a steam roller, caring little for who gets caught beneath.
But, like any man of fine taste, Reginald acts with airs and pomp. Though, his fancy airs always come tinged with superiority, a cleverness that belies a sharp intelligence, and a lack of filter. Reginald says what ails his mind; the truth comes from his mouth like fire. And he leaves nothing untouched by his hand of judgment. He nitpicks, sees flaws and wishes to correct them, to an OCD obsession. Possibly more than just a perfectionist, Reginald will go out of his way to see something fixed, careless as to who he disrespects. Because Reginald does not lose respect, he merely gains and demands it. If it is refused to him, Reginald will act in a manner almost ruthless, letting his anger simmer until it blindsides whoever attracted his ire.
Reginald assumes perfection, yet has never been so far from it.
Likes
- David, by Michaelangelo
- Pieta
- Rye Bread
- Italian Cuisine
- Enacting Judgment
- Sweet Peas
Dislikes
- Losing Money
- The idea of old age
- Horses
- Inaction
Strengths
- Brutal
- Efficient
- Cunning
Weaknesses
- Lacks Morality
- Classist
- Extremely Conservative (not in a political sense)
Fears
Death by old age. Seeing the ravages of time. Being told by his children that he is hated.
"If I had my way, I would sit back and watch the world turn until the sun engulfs it and the universe simply... carries on."
History
As a young boy, Reginald wanted to be many things. However, one thing that stuck with him until his late teen years was writing for Broadway plays and singing for musicals. Drama club had been the height of his high school career. Though his grades were impeccable enough to land him into Oxford, Reginald had a laser focus on theatre and English. One could still ask Reginald to recite every word of Midsummer Night's Dream and he'd be able to do it without fail.
However, come graduation, he'd received a letter from Juliard and Columbia both stating that they were sorry to inform him of his rejection to both schools. Not until he'd been staring at his father's body, handsome as ever in his coffin, that Reginald realized that he did, in fact get accepted to both schools. His mother handed him the letters his father kept, informing him that Mr. Carrington had plans for him and none of them involved prancing around on a stage acting for a long dead man.
Funny how ironic that turned out to be.
William Shakespeare once said that all life is a stage. However, Reginald was no longer acting for the man of utter talent, but for the long dead father he'd grown to loathe.
Hopes and dreams already dashed, Reginald moved to the one university his father did approve of. With spite icing his veins, Reginald went through each and every class with a goal in mind. He'd graduated with a 4.0 and went on to Cambridge soon after. Everything he did was begrudgingly, with precise efficiency and ruthless tact. Anyone in his way was steam rolled over if they didn't move in time and he had no qualms about it. If his dreams were not good enough for the world, then he'd do what he can to change it and his perception.
Of course, Reginald did grant himself one last hope, in the form of Shakespearean Lit. He poured everything he could of himself in the various classes needed for the major and with a gentler side to himself. It was his last goodbye, something he could grant himself if not for but the memory of it.
Afterwards, he inherited his father's company, renamed it from the ever prideful Carrington Inc to Trium-Veritas and moved on to cleaner energy, much to his father's chagrin. It sky rocketed him into practical stardom and gained the company an enormous amount of wealth in stock and shares. He put every bit of himself into the company as he could, until finally meeting the love of his life.
Well, kind of meeting her. She'd resisted his advance that first night and Reginald knew not to push after the first rejected drink. However, she proposed an idea he hadn't thought of. Friendship. Reginald didn't have many friends outside of work related issues—most friends were merely tools to garner more interest and money. Cassiopiea was different in that she offered him nothing but her company and he took it gladly. It wasn't until he was waiting for her down the aisle that he honestly needed nothing more. Not the company. Not the money. Not the world. As long as he had her.
And maybe something else.
Or a few something elses. Though, only Cassiopeia knew of those other needs in his life.
However, come graduation, he'd received a letter from Juliard and Columbia both stating that they were sorry to inform him of his rejection to both schools. Not until he'd been staring at his father's body, handsome as ever in his coffin, that Reginald realized that he did, in fact get accepted to both schools. His mother handed him the letters his father kept, informing him that Mr. Carrington had plans for him and none of them involved prancing around on a stage acting for a long dead man.
Funny how ironic that turned out to be.
William Shakespeare once said that all life is a stage. However, Reginald was no longer acting for the man of utter talent, but for the long dead father he'd grown to loathe.
Hopes and dreams already dashed, Reginald moved to the one university his father did approve of. With spite icing his veins, Reginald went through each and every class with a goal in mind. He'd graduated with a 4.0 and went on to Cambridge soon after. Everything he did was begrudgingly, with precise efficiency and ruthless tact. Anyone in his way was steam rolled over if they didn't move in time and he had no qualms about it. If his dreams were not good enough for the world, then he'd do what he can to change it and his perception.
Of course, Reginald did grant himself one last hope, in the form of Shakespearean Lit. He poured everything he could of himself in the various classes needed for the major and with a gentler side to himself. It was his last goodbye, something he could grant himself if not for but the memory of it.
Afterwards, he inherited his father's company, renamed it from the ever prideful Carrington Inc to Trium-Veritas and moved on to cleaner energy, much to his father's chagrin. It sky rocketed him into practical stardom and gained the company an enormous amount of wealth in stock and shares. He put every bit of himself into the company as he could, until finally meeting the love of his life.
Well, kind of meeting her. She'd resisted his advance that first night and Reginald knew not to push after the first rejected drink. However, she proposed an idea he hadn't thought of. Friendship. Reginald didn't have many friends outside of work related issues—most friends were merely tools to garner more interest and money. Cassiopiea was different in that she offered him nothing but her company and he took it gladly. It wasn't until he was waiting for her down the aisle that he honestly needed nothing more. Not the company. Not the money. Not the world. As long as he had her.
And maybe something else.
Or a few something elses. Though, only Cassiopeia knew of those other needs in his life.
Education
Oxford and then Cambridge for his Masters.
Favorite memory
Witnessing the birth of each and everyone of his children, or signing the adoption papers to those brought into the family. His wedding is only second to any of these and both have brought the man to tears.
Least favorite memory
The first Thanksgiving he celebrated with only himself; Cassiopeia had been stuck at the Vancouver airport and Charlie had somewhere better to be.
"I don't want to admit that I've failed in life. Not even once. I won't admit it now, however dishonest I am being."
Birthday
June 18th, 1947
Astrological Sign
Gemini
Social Media
KaiserReggy - For all handles
"Maybe I should just accept a few inevitables in my life. But, then again, where would I be if I had already done so?"
Reginald Carrington
"Character quote here."
C A S S I O P E I A C A R R I N G T O N
"A match made in Heaven. Or Hell, depending on who you asked."
T A T I A N A C A R R I N G T O N
"Ah, the publicity stunt."
Her chuckle caught him off guard, quiet and heavy in his ear. He almost jumped, but stood his ground. "You're crying," Cassiopeia whispered over the roar of the crowd.
"This ingrate beside me flecked a kernel in my eye," Reginald sniffled. He turned away as if to glare at the man beside him. Rather, he asked him for the handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket. The man smiled and handed it to him.
"Do you know her?" the man asked, leaning closer.
"Do I know her?" Reginald beamed at the question, "she's my prima ballerina. My daughter."
"You must be proud."
"I always have been."
M A R I S O L C A R R I N G T O N
"I suppose business measures do like to rely on sex appeal. At least I know where my money comes from."
"Wow, look at this pretty bitty."
Reginald's head swerved, out of disinterest, really. He hadn't been watching the two young frat brats the moment they came in. The specialized mechanic chop shop had a rack that entirely consisted of scantily clad women. On off days he'd scowl at it, as if the obvious display of perpetual horniness offended him. Today had been one of those days.
Sexism scrawled all over that entire section of the lobby and these two boys seemed intent on drooling over women they'd never get.
"What's her name?" the blonde, a boy who wore his polo two sizes too small—to accentuate his muscles, no doubt—leaned over to ask. He shot a look at Reginald.
"I dunno, dude," the other spoke, too orange for his own good. Spray tans; Reginald scoffed the moment he walked into the room.
Spray Tan leaned over and put the entire pin up on display. Reginald sucked in a breath at the sight of one of his younger daughters, Marisol, displaying a tight fitting ensemble. She looked breathtaking and beautiful, striking a pose that seemed casual, yet proud. A Carrington tried and true. Reginald beamed with pride; his daughter was doing what she loved and she was damn good at it.
"Haha, looks like the old man's interested. The bathroom's open. We won't tell if you wanna borrow, if you know what I mean," Blondie spoke up, nearly shouting as he bent over two chairs to fist bump Reginald.
The next thing Reginald knew he was standing outside the shop with the keys to his SUV and the owner barring him from his services for life. They didn't seem too concerned with Blondie unconscious on the floor over there, his nose bent out of shape. While Spray Tan had an ice pack on his testicles and a black eye to match the orange on his face.
Reginald looked down, a scuff on his favorite shoe and a deep throbbing in his right fist. Grabbing his phone he dialed quick and spoke once he heard an audible click. "I'm going to be late for my meeting, darling. Would you care to take it?" he paused to hear Cassiopeia's inquiry, "Nothing, just... uh... slammed my hand pretty hard in the car door. I think I broke a few bones. Yes, I know. Love you too."
R O W A N C A R R I N G T O N
"Who?"
"Your son wants to be exactly like you," Cassiopeia wandered in that evening, disheveled with her lips in a thin line.
"An emotionally constipated old man?" Reginald said, not bothering to look up from his monitor. He could tell his wife threw her head back, just by the way her laugh radiated from her vocal chords. He looked up then in time to see her soft smile.
"You're more than that," Cassiopeia murmured and sat herself on his desk.
Reginald rubbed his eyes and leaned into his leather chair. "Then hopefully that other major in English will set him on the right path," he leaned forward to rummage through a drawer before pulling something out. He threw them at Cassiopeia's hip, while she arched her brow and looked down. "Send him some brochures, offer him these, and hope for the best."
"Shakespeare? Book of Mormon? Is this Wicked?" Cassiopeia recited each pamphlet, moving on to drama classes, singing lessons, the works.
"If he wants to be like me, then he should be the real me. The me who wanted more than—" Reginald gestured to the paperwork, the document on his computer, crappy business awards, "—this. More than what my own father wanted."
C H A R L E S C A R R I N G T O N
"Ah, the last and final hope. For some reason, I'm not too hopeful"
"And if you'd take a look at the quarterly report..." the voice hadn't reached Reginald yet, even with the added tightness of it.
"And if you'd take a look at the quarterly report," it demanded his attention again, of which was currently laser focused on stuffing things into an envelope.
Reginald cursed, frowning at the bent corner as if it had personally offended him. "Do I need a bigger envelope?"
"Sir?!"
"I am busy here, Mr. Daily," Reginald snapped back. With raised envelope and a numerous amount of paper sticking from it, Reginald waved it to emphasize his point before slamming it on the table. Cassiopeia did her best to hide the smirk adorning her face, but Mr. Daily caught the snicker as soon as it left her mouth. He threw an icy glare her way before waving the pointer at Reginald.
"What could be more important than my sales pitch?"
Reginald's jaw tightened. The discussion ended abruptly, with Reginald standing at an alarming speed and stomping out. The glass door shattered on his way out and he stopped just before the corner cut him off. "Three minutes to clean out your office."
In his haste, Cassiopeia followed, sending glares at the shards of glass poking the soles of her heels. As soon as they were out of ear shot, she whipped her husband around and gave him a hard look. "What was that? His idea could have gained us a profitable share of Vancouver and you fired him?" Cassiopeia hissed between clenched teeth, "What is the matter with you?"
"Nothing he had to say was more important than this," Reginald raised his voice to match Cassiopeia's ire. He waved the envelope in her face, giving his wife the opportunity to snatch it. "Cassiopeia. Rosalind. Carrington. You are playing a dangerous game."
"Are these VIP tickets to the San Diego Comic Con, Reginald? Who gave you these? The next episode of Star Wars doesn't come out for another six months," she tore everything from the already shredded envelope. At least he could acquire one of the appropriate size now. "Explain," this time Cassiopeia made an effort to mock him with a wave of each.
"It's Charlie's birthday tomorrow. And I had asked Hamill for a favor. He owes me one and I thought this was an important enough occasion to cash in," Reginald deflated, rubbing a hand over his face, "You know how busy we've been since his birth. He hasn't had anyone actually be there lately. You know he thinks he's being sneaky when he orders 10 issues of the many versions of X-Men and the recent Avengers series from our credit cards."
For a moment, Reginald thought she just might tear them to shreds. They lost quite a big portion of their investments in that man and could have possibly lost Vancouver to a rival company. They most definitely lost their spot as 2nd in most used and best source of clean energy in Canada. However, Reginald would quite literally go back in time to do the exact same thing. Probably in a flashier ordeal. More yelling and shattered glass. Maybe send security up immediately.
"You need a bigger envelope," Cassiopeia said, an exasperated sigh quickly leaving her lips as she handing everything back. "And there are two tickets to see Episode VII, you'll need another for Comic Con, since I doubt he'd want to go alone."
Reginald could only smile. He just wish he could see Charlie's face when he received his gift in the mail.
"And put a pamphlet for MIT in there. I know he doesn't think he should go just yet, but it's nice to know how long he'll have the option for the best. If anything you have a friend who teaches there, right? They can meet. Discuss... nerd things. Star Wars. I don't know."
"How could I possibly live without you?" Reginald mumbled.
"You couldn't," Cassiopeia gave a wink before sauntering off. He could hear her a hallway away, already screaming, "It's been 5 minutes; why is there still glass in this carpet? This is a walking hazard. You! Yes, you. Are you the janitor? Yes? Alright, clean this up and then you're fired."
G A B R I E L C A R R I N G T O N
"Mama's boy didn't have time for his own father. Ironic."
D A N I E L C A R R I N G T O N
"He used to have an awful stutter. Awful."
A V E R Y C A R R I N G T O N
"Like everything Avery's done, his 'best-seller' was simple luck. I suppose the universe took pity."
