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Description

Name: Vince Beauty
Nicknames: Vincent, Vincenzo, variations of the same.
Age:Approximately 70
Gender: Male
Animal/plush: Kangaroo
Emotion: Ardor
Traits: Two Eyes [C] Slit Pupils [C] Other Animal [R] Object Stuffing (Theater curtains and an old speaker) [UC]
Sexuality: Bisexual-*heavy* leanings towards men.

Personality: Confident, flashy, and always happy to be the center of attention. In fact, he almost seems to crave it at times. Due to his background with public radio, Vince has a tendency to flatter and a predisposition towards pretty words. For the same reason it can sometimes be difficult to get a grasp on what he’s really thinking…

Don’t mention his last name too much.

Family: Human- and deceased.

Relationship Status: Very single, and *very* interested.

Backstory: Vince was made as a gift for a small boy whose family had only recently moved cross-country. It was a small, full house in a large town, with the boy, his parents, and his grandmother making sure the space never felt cold and alone. Vince’s kid was having trouble sleeping, upset that he wouldn’t see his friends again and scared of his new arrangements. Vince was the little sentinel forever posted at the boy’s bed, lending a constant ear to the boy’s woes early into the morning, sometimes up until he left to get his parents up for breakfast. When the boy did sleep, Vince was almost always in his arms.

But the boy slept less and less as he grew. School got harder and harder the less he slept, and the more he stayed in to try and sleep the less he went out.

His family tried many things, hoping to at least get him to sleep well- and eventually they allowed the boy to have a radio in his room. It took a week for the boy to turn the radio on- he’d grown stubborn and angry with weariness and failure.

But when he did, and when he finally decided to listen, it was magic.

He found a station in particular where a man with a soothing voice talked late into the night. It was a local station, and at the late hour the man wove stories for anyone still up to listen. He’d take strands of the inky night and weave a dark-violet tapestry of words, always nestling the blanket of them back into the town’s corners. He made the world outside seem wonderful and Vince wished he could be a part of it. And so did the boy.

The boy never took him, but he left the house more often, seeking the places that the host mentioned. He would bring friends that he’d explored those places with back home. He began to love where he lived, he began being happier.

He began sleeping.

It came with only a little surprise to Vince that, after almost a year and a half from finding the show, the boy placed him in a box. Vince was moved, he thought, to an attic. An attic that started rumbling all around him after only hours.

It took all of two days in loneliness and confusion for Vince to hear bustling voices- and one among them was familiar. He could hear the voice reading a thank-you letter from his boy, and how grateful he’d been to ‘the show’. It dawned on Vince where he was just as the host read aloud how the boy slept now because of them, and how he was being given as a present since Vince had been just as important. The box opened, and the host got choked up. Vince heard that pretty voice describe him for the listeners, watched that unfamiliar face get teary-eyed. He knew he’d never go back.

Vince stayed in that station for years, eventually becoming the station mascot. His new owner would never fail to set him in the booth during recordings, and Vince fell in love with the station and how it worked. He watched his owner grow old and stay happy.

On his host’s last day on the job, as he was thanking his audience for all the time spent with them, Vince wanted more than anything to thank them too. He wanted to thank his owner for all the time shared between them personally, he wanted to share his love for the station, for the magic of radio, with everyone. And so life gave him the means to, with a new body.

It was a final show nobody listening would forget.

Vince stayed with his owner for the rest of the man’s life- still returning to the radio station on occasion. And at the man’s passing, his plush was donated back to the station- and remains there still, encased in glass as part of their mini-museum.

With no home he wanted to return to, Vince stayed in the quiet for far longer than comfortable. He’s since found Shop Street, and has every intention of working in radio there...

Necrobies owned by
ROKK-U & MAJIKK-U

Vince belongs to me~

Description

Name: Vince Beauty
Nicknames: Vincent, Vincenzo, variations of the same.
Age:Approximately 70
Gender: Male
Animal/plush: Kangaroo
Emotion: Ardor
Traits: Two Eyes [C] Slit Pupils [C] Other Animal [R] Object Stuffing (Theater curtains and an old speaker) [UC]
Sexuality: Bisexual-*heavy* leanings towards men.

Personality: Confident, flashy, and always happy to be the center of attention. In fact, he almost seems to crave it at times. Due to his background with public radio, Vince has a tendency to flatter and a predisposition towards pretty words. For the same reason it can sometimes be difficult to get a grasp on what he’s really thinking…

Don’t mention his last name too much.

Family: Human- and deceased.

Relationship Status: Very single, and *very* interested.

Backstory: Vince was made as a gift for a small boy whose family had only recently moved cross-country. It was a small, full house in a large town, with the boy, his parents, and his grandmother making sure the space never felt cold and alone. Vince’s kid was having trouble sleeping, upset that he wouldn’t see his friends again and scared of his new arrangements. Vince was the little sentinel forever posted at the boy’s bed, lending a constant ear to the boy’s woes early into the morning, sometimes up until he left to get his parents up for breakfast. When the boy did sleep, Vince was almost always in his arms.

But the boy slept less and less as he grew. School got harder and harder the less he slept, and the more he stayed in to try and sleep the less he went out.

His family tried many things, hoping to at least get him to sleep well- and eventually they allowed the boy to have a radio in his room. It took a week for the boy to turn the radio on- he’d grown stubborn and angry with weariness and failure.

But when he did, and when he finally decided to listen, it was magic.

He found a station in particular where a man with a soothing voice talked late into the night. It was a local station, and at the late hour the man wove stories for anyone still up to listen. He’d take strands of the inky night and weave a dark-violet tapestry of words, always nestling the blanket of them back into the town’s corners. He made the world outside seem wonderful and Vince wished he could be a part of it. And so did the boy.

The boy never took him, but he left the house more often, seeking the places that the host mentioned. He would bring friends that he’d explored those places with back home. He began to love where he lived, he began being happier.

He began sleeping.

It came with only a little surprise to Vince that, after almost a year and a half from finding the show, the boy placed him in a box. Vince was moved, he thought, to an attic. An attic that started rumbling all around him after only hours.

It took all of two days in loneliness and confusion for Vince to hear bustling voices- and one among them was familiar. He could hear the voice reading a thank-you letter from his boy, and how grateful he’d been to ‘the show’. It dawned on Vince where he was just as the host read aloud how the boy slept now because of them, and how he was being given as a present since Vince had been just as important. The box opened, and the host got choked up. Vince heard that pretty voice describe him for the listeners, watched that unfamiliar face get teary-eyed. He knew he’d never go back.

Vince stayed in that station for years, eventually becoming the station mascot. His new owner would never fail to set him in the booth during recordings, and Vince fell in love with the station and how it worked. He watched his owner grow old and stay happy.

On his host’s last day on the job, as he was thanking his audience for all the time spent with them, Vince wanted more than anything to thank them too. He wanted to thank his owner for all the time shared between them personally, he wanted to share his love for the station, for the magic of radio, with everyone. And so life gave him the means to, with a new body.

It was a final show nobody listening would forget.

Vince stayed with his owner for the rest of the man’s life- still returning to the radio station on occasion. And at the man’s passing, his plush was donated back to the station- and remains there still, encased in glass as part of their mini-museum.

With no home he wanted to return to, Vince stayed in the quiet for far longer than comfortable. He’s since found Shop Street, and has every intention of working in radio there...

Necrobies owned by
ROKK-U & MAJIKK-U

Vince belongs to me~