[IC] MARQUETTE, jericho lee

[JERICHO LEE MARQUETTE]

JERICHO LEE MARQUETTE
"I wrote the story myself; it's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it."

Name: day
Age: sixteen!
Experience: 5-ish years
How did you find us?: i am 'us' (:

Full Name:
jericho lee marquette
Nickname(s):
jay, jaylee, jaybird
Age/DOB:
twenty five; january first, 1985
Grade:
n/a
Orientation:
heterosexual
Occupation:
editor in chief to gentlemen&players men's magazine
Member Group:
resident

Jericho's appearance is somewhat typical of a girl who has spent the last five years of her life living in California; where most have conformed to a certain standerd of beauty. Locks that are naturally brunette have been dyed a nearly ivory-white blonde, upkeep maintained to keep natural roots from showing through and spoiling their platinum sheen. They are lengthy, cascading in a natural wave along her shoulders, occasionally straightened but more or less given free reign to curl delicately.

She stands at about five foot two in height, making her smaller than the average woman, but not as much as to be incredibly overlooked. Prone to dressing in incredibly high heels, her height has become less of a draw-back through the years. Given to the vibrant blonde of her hair, most are expecting an equally bright hue to match eyes; but rather than green or blue, Jericho's eyes are a contrastingly dark and soulful brown, soothing against the pallor of her features and equally pallid shade of her hair.

Her body is naturally curvy -- hips, thighs and a waist that tends inward in a girlish shape, only to be enhanced by the breast augumentaton she underwent nearly three years ago; turning B's into D's and adding another vuluptious curve to her frame. Her look is incredibly, and immacutely, manicured, everything combed and trimmed and dyed to utter perfection; not leaving the house until every tiny detail is fixed to her desire. Afterall, your appearance reflects on your work, and Jericho is nothing if not a perfectionist.

Likes:
organization, beaches, relaxing, working, animals, cleaning, reading, shopping, fast cars & art.

Dislikes:
messy places, disorganization, spoiled people, bad manners, meat, drug use, shallow behavior, being alone, laziness, & cheaply made things.


Please write 3-4 well developed, detailed paragraphs explaining your character's inner personality.

Family/Relationships:
jeff 'jax' jackson -- former fiance; 75; deceased
ramona lee marquette -- mother; 48
marcus ashton marquette -- father; 50
jonah marcus marquette -- brother; 28
skylar marie marquette -- sister; 18


"I was born and raised in James Town, Wyoming -- a town with a population of about 552. Obviously, not very big, and incredibly close knit. My brother, Jonah, was three when I was born, thus making us a tiny, happy family. My upbringing was that of any normal childr; I attended public schools, played sports, went to girl scourts and so on. I was a nature lover from the very beginning, not at all shy to the idea of going on hikes with my father and older brother, relishing in the great outdoors and all the wildlife that inhabited it. My mother had another daughter when I was seven, something that delighted me to no end, and I attached myself very closely to Skylar. I grew up surrounded by family, friends and an assortment of dogs that strayed into our front yard and were quickly adopted. My high school career was pretty average; I made cheerleading squad my freshmen year, attended all the dances, games and parties, where we would drink in the middle of fields and go skinny dipping. It was during my junior year that I became close with a girl named Audrey, a wild, uncontained spitfire that was forced to move here from the East Coast. She was tiny and blonde, with the mouth of a sailor and the sense of humor of a thirteen year old boy, but I loved her. She had ambitions to move to Los Angeles when she was eighteen and become a model, and we quickly sketched out a plan for me to join her on her journey. We counted down the days until our adulthood, and as soon as we graduated the summer after turning eighteen, we ditched Wyoming -- much to my parents disgruntlement.

However, we set up house in L.A, living in some dingy ghetto apartment and working in diners and restaurants to keep ourselves afloat. Nothing too glamorous, that is, until we were employed by Hooters. It was there that Audrey began to get noticed; getting offers from all over for modelling, catching the eyes of many men, and becoming her own little self proclaimed 'it' girl. We were ninenteen when she was invited to attend a Gentlemen&Players party. Though I'm sure you've heard of it, Gentlemen&Players is a multi-million dollar men's magazine, dedicated solely to random 'manly' information, interspersed with centerfolds of naked girls. Built from the ground up by the acclaimed and idolized Jeff 'Jax' Jackson, there was a mansion dedicated to it in Beverly hills, constantly throwing infamous lingerie parties. After being begged and pleaded with for weeks on end, I finally allowed Audrey into bullying me to go with her, and together we attended the enormous party; mingling among guests wearing little to nothing, witnessing their drunken indescretions and overall having a wonderful time. We were invited back nearly four times before Audrey seemed to grow sick of my appearance and the fact that I wasn't gaining as much attention as she -- apparently I was a 'downer' and was forced to undergo an extreme makeover by her own hand. My hair was bleached, my brows were plucked, my wardrobe altered into a manner that was skimpy and immodest, and I was entirely made into another human being. Something far more glamorous and polished than I ever held dreams of being back in James Town. I made my debut nearly a week later at the Summer's End party, one with a guest list that bulged at nearly 2,000 attendees, the entire backyard of the mansion transformed into a fairytale world that boggled your mind. It was there, at that party, where Jax first noticed me. Now, let me fill you in on a few details of Jax -- who at the time was seventy. He had been married four times prior, and at the time of our first meeting, had a slew of 'girlfriends'; girls that flitted about his home and slept with him and made a giant skeptical of hanging all over him, something I had no desire to do whatsoever. But, as I had read in several magazines, he was nothing if not charming and charismatic, and to be noticed by him.. well, it was a pleasurable experience. We talked, laughed, and enjoyed the party with one another, and the following evening I recieved a phonecall from his secretary, saying he wished to take me to dinner. I was shocked, by accepted the invitation, flattered and nervous, a girl with a school crush.

I never intended to fall in love with Jax. Anyone who has ever believed that my advance on him was pre-determined and an attempt to gain money is wrong, as that was never the kind of girl I was, and I had never once ever believed I would ever come face to face with him, let alone end up romantically involved. But that date with him opened up a world I never knew existed, and showed me the man behind the cameras and the fabulous, international nude magazine. He was funny, articulate, gentle, kind, a complete and utter doting gentlemen, and I could not resist him. Three months after initial date and meeting, he asked me to move into his mansion as one of his 'girlfriends' -- something that turned my stomach with jealousy and discontent, but that I would not decline. Anything to be with him, whether it meant suffering through courtship with nearly six other women. I moved out and Audrey, disconcerted and somewhat envious, watched me go. Jax willingly paid for my college courses, as well as my cars, my pets, anything I could ever want and desire was handed to me with his smile and approval.

I climbed the latter among the other girls, and eventually became his favored girlfriend. When I was twenty two, he abandoned all of them -- save for two girls, who happened to be closest to me, Kylie and Jenna. Together we made up a somewhat dysfunctional, but happy family, spending time travelling with one another, attending dinners, functions, and various interviews. My family was disgusted by my behavior, thinking it awful and rolvting that I was dating a man nearly old enough to be my grandfather, and also happened to be courting two other girls as well. They disowned me without second thought, refused to support the situation, and set about to ignoring me. Back home, as well as in the public eye, I was made out to be a gold-digging skank -- the farthest from the truth as one could get, for any that spent a day with me and Jax could clearly see that I was in love with him. Him, not his money; not his fame, nor his mansions or cars. Him, charming, ridiculous, soulful Jax, who seemed to be a thirty year old trapped in a body far too old for him.

I began interning at the G&P, a dream that Jax was willing to make come true, providing me with all my secret wishes and desires and not hesitating to set me up in the business of his magazine. Three months before my birthday, he broke things off with the other two girls -- much to everyones surprise, though they were still allowed to live in the Mansion.

On the eve of my twenty-fourth, we flew to Monaco, and the following day upon a private beach, he asked me to marry him. It felt as if every dream I had ever had was coming true; the man of my dreams had completely rearranged his entire lifestyle to be with me, something I had barely dared to think about for the last three years. I had never once thought to hope that there would perhaps be a time when I was his only girl. Of course I accepted, and we set about planning our Summer Wedding.

Jax's death was unexpected, though many say I should have known better getting involved with someone so much older than me. Nonetheless, I was caught off guard by his heartattack and abrupt passing, about a month before our planned nuptials, in June. My shock only escalated when it was announced that I was to inherit everything. The mansions, the cars, the animals, the jewelry, the magazine. Yes, I was made Editor-in Chief to a multi-million dollar international magazine, something that is still sinking into my head. I was stunned by the sudden change my life had taken, and in my desperation to set my mind straight, I decided to move to Monaco -- the last place where things had been true perfection.

I've lived here for nearly a year now. I run the magazine from one of the offices we have set up here, and with the assistance of his old colleagues, I have managed to keep things on a smooth track. I can't quite get my head around the fact that I am Jericho Marquette, Editor in Chief of Gentlmen&Players, but I'm hoping that one day things will completely sink in and I'll lose the strange sensation that I'm caught in some odd dream. I'm aware of the fact that I am heavily judged as a fortunate golddigger, but I've long since given up caring about my reputation; anyone who witnessed me and Jax together knows in their heart it was real. I know it was real, I know it was love, and I honestly don't desire any approval from anyone. My attention is fully set upon the magazine, and carrying on the legend that was my wonderful, genius of a fiance."

"Alright, Elana, just pretend just you like Jacob for this shoot, please? I know you guys have history but come on; there's no love in this picture." Husky voice held a drawl of slight impatience to it, the photographer shifting her place upon the floor where slender body had come to rest, adjusting the camera that was laid against her chest. Before her was strewn a trio of breathtaking models, all entertwined intimately, wearing nothing but pairs of torn and ratty jeans -- the newest of the season, already coveted by Manhattan's population. It was a true honor to be participating in this campaign, yet the models regarded it with bitter expressions and scowls, all of them seeming to have some mixed up past with one another these days -- exhausting if you were forced to work with them. City Carter felt herself to be above the drama, refusing to indulge the queen bee's and their drama-inducing kings; a tiny frown indenting the smooth white skin of her forehead as she watched their childish squabbling, vying for center place before her lens.

Drawing in another exasperated breath as body pulled itself upward, fingers expertly twisted the knobs of her coveted machinery, fingers jumping along the button to flourish another array of shutter clicks. Snapping just mundane shots as the three moved themselves about, reorganizing into a position that would not, for lack of a better word, rub them the wrong way. "That's more like it. Look like one big happy couple, please. You're wearing jeans that look like they've been through both World Wars, act like you enjoy it." Though there was definite authority to the words, City dropped a wink to soften their judgement, rising to slender, albeit short, legs and bringing the camera to her face once more. Sour disposition folded into that of an artist, concentrated, in depth as she wandered around the three of them, clicking incessantly and occasionally letting out a coo or reprimand.

There was distraction in these familiar actions, mind, body and soul throwing themselves full force into the task. Not for the sake of simple enjoyment, but now for her sanity. The earlier conversation with Christian Delacroix had shaken mood, rendered her dizzy and caked full of more anger than one tiny, five-foot-one frame should be capable of hangdling. When hands had slammed down the top of her beloved laptop with an audible click, she'd momentarily feared hurling the equipment across the room, that's how badly he'd pissed her off. He was smug, arrogant, impossible, and for whatever reason seemed to get his kicks out of infuriating her; but never would she allow him to see just how unsettling his constant presence in her life was. No, mask it behind being a workaholic, click away at your precious camera, snap shots of these ridiculously beautiful people that were practically their own species of marvelous. Lose yourself in anything that was not Christian Edward Delacroix.

Satisfaction had twisted a curve into her lips, emitting a bark of demand towards her assisant, all the while adjusting one of the model's golden curls -- brushing them off his forehead with hands that were nearly loving, still issuing orders, rearranging, altering, changing. Molding everything into a perfect form that would be forever captured on film, idolized in the top fashion magazines, and brushed into the corridor's of fashion history forever. So intent upon her work, the approach of footsteps up the back stairs had eluded her attention, caught up into this brilliant world; eyes somewhat unfocused as she delved, head first, into fantasy and expression, no longer caring, the resounding ache in chest lessening as time sped past -- Chris's mark lingered but no longer punctured as painfully as it did a few hours ago. It was when Elana shifted, seemingly intrigued but flustered -- shirtless as she was -- that City finally cast a glance over her shoulder.

And there he was.

Just as unbearably present as ever before, his entirely too huge body looming in the doorway of her studio; unwarrented, uninvited and unwanted. Body turned about so quickly, pivoting on one heel and sending wavy, chestnut locks -- secured in a messy ponytail -- lashing about her features, tendrils quivering as they fell about her face and hazel eyes were filled with absolute digust. For a moment, City just stood there, staring at him, refusing to be intrigued by the leanness of his body, of the slight bronze of summer left in his skin, the muscles, the biceps. All of them so incredibly appealing to the female eye, though she did not indulge the desire, instead battled against it, only adding to the erruption that was building. Husky voice was pitched even lower in her absolute rage, disbelieving, as if her eyes played tricks; "You're kidding me, right?"

Her muscles were locked into a solid mass of vexation, heels sounding like gunfire across the wood floors as she stalked -- stiff legged -- toward him, halting abruptly to look up into his face, her own features pinched with barely contained anger. Lifting one pale hand, she gripped him by the upper arm and yanked him out into the hallway, door being tugged shut behind her -- the scowl never once abandoning her face. "Christian, what the fuck is the matter with you? I am WORKING, Chris, WORKING! You know! That thing people do, for money. I am in the middle of a huge campaign shoot and you just waltz in here, as obnoxious as fucking ever, completely interrupting me! How the hell did you even get in here in the first place? And what in that pea-sized brain of yours made you think that this was even a remotely good idea?! I told you NO! I told you leave me alone, I told you to drop dead; what about this are you not getting, you stupid jackass? What part of that means show up -- at my HOUSE, while I am WORKING --and ask me to dinner?" Breaking off, breathless, head shook itself angrily; stepping back from him, uncomfortable by the close quarters of the hallway, of the sensation of his skin beneath her fingertips -- hand immediately dropping from where it had laid on his arm. Looking up at him, eyes still smarting with infuriation, one slender brow was cocked. "Well?".