Post by Chris on Jun 21, 2006 19:34:01 GMT
NAME: Christopher Duncan Tyler.
NICKNAMES: The name Christopher Tyler can be shortened in any number of ways, and many of his friends have abbreviated it as they see fit: Chris, Ty’, Tyler, Dunc’. Obviously people refer to him by his rank or his surname, sometimes both.
RACE: Human.
OCCUPATION: Sergeant in the Los Angeles Police Department, specifically in the Narcotics division.
GENDER: Male.
SKIN COLOUR: Caucasian; subtly but naturally tanned.
NATIONALITY: American.
AGE: 35.
CLOTHING: When necessary, Chris, like every other LAPD officer, wears a standard uniform. Given his position, however, he doesn’t have to wear one on a day-to-day basis, though he does have a dress uniform that he wears for ceremonies and other occasions, such as funerals and other events that require that kind of respect. In and out of work, he sticks to practicality and comfort rather than fashion, and since he’s not supposed to stand out when on the job, he doesn’t wear bright colours, though he isn’t fond of those anyway, and tends to avoid them as a general rule. He sticks with slacks or jeans, and t-shirts, sometimes under a button-down shirt; his t-shirts vary with short and long sleeves — it all depends on the day. He prefers dark blues and blacks, and deep reds; darker colours without being too obvious about trying to go unnoticed, or ‘stealthy’. The majority of what he can be seen wearing is black. He wears boots, usually with steel toe-caps in them, in case he needs a ‘weapon’ that isn’t so obvious as a firearm, though out of work he will occasionally wear sneakers, and obviously he has the dress shoes to go with the aforementioned uniform, and they are always polished thoroughly before they need to be used. On his right wrist, he wears a kind of simple black sweatband, though he’s never explained why. When at work, he wears a waist-length leather jacket, in black; off-duty, he has a black knee-length cloth jacket. He also carries his official, police ID badge, in a kind of wallet, which is usually in his back pocket, just in case the one around his neck doesn’t get the message across; the one around his neck can also be clipped to his belt, which is where it resides whenever he isn’t officially on-duty, when out of his apartment. He doesn’t like not having it with him, in case of emergencies.
HEIGHT: 6’2.
WEIGHT: 179lbs.
TATTOOS: None.
PIERCINGS: None.
JEWELLERY: Chris wears his badge around his neck on a simple ‘beaded’ chain, like his partner, and others in their department. He’ll wear a watch on his left wrist, with a simple black strap and ‘silver’ face, but it all depends on the day — sometimes he wears it, sometimes he doesn’t. If he doesn’t have it, it’s no big deal, and he’ll simply refer to the clock on the screen of his cell phone instead.
BODY MODIFICATIONS: Chris has a telltale scar across the side of his left thigh, on the outside of the leg, where he was grazed with a bullet earlier in his career, deeply enough for the wound to never fully heal over.
HAIR.[/i]
LENGTH: Chris’ hair is actually quite long, and obviously so, with the greatest length being over the top of his head. It is several inches at least, though it is often hard to tell exactly how long it is, given its style. It frames his ears at the sides and touches the top of his neck at the back. If it were soaked through with water, it would easily cling to his brow and temples, if it wasn’t swept back out of the way.
STYLE: The term “has a life of its own” applies very well to Chris’ hair; if he ever tries to tame it on any given day, it doesn’t show. It spikes erratically and rather wildly over the top of his head, as if he has raked his fingers through it fiercely and it has simply remained in that position. Some people joke that he’s given himself an electric shock or stood out in a strong wind for too long. Chris very rarely laughs at jokes like that; his hair doesn’t bother him in the least, and it doesn’t keep him from doing his job, so what’s the problem?
COLOUR: Black, with some extremely subtle dark browns throughout that can only be seen under bright lights.
FACIAL HAIR.[/i]
LENGTH: Chris shaves daily, so the most he ever sports is a five o’clock shadow of sorts over his jaw and chin. The most it ever reaches is a millimetre or two, at best.
STYLE: Stubble, if anything.
EYES.[/i]
COLOUR: Green.
ODDITIES: N/A.
PERSONALITY: Stemming from being raised by a police officer and becoming one himself, Chris is a fiercely loyal, determined and law-abiding man with a very strong sense of right and wrong; he sees things in shades of black and white, with little in the way of room for greys. Chris knows what he believes in, and it just isn’t like him to waver in his opinion. He’s not the type to sit back and patiently listen to something that he knows isn’t true, and therefore not worth his time or effort, and he can be quite forceful when he believes he is in the right. With a stubborn streak a mile wide that he undoubtedly inherited from his late father, Chris cannot easily be budged, and it can take a lot to talk him down when he gets started. Despite all that, Chris is actually an easy guy to get along with if you take the time to get on his good side from the start. Even with a rather rough past, he’s attentive and polite, obviously compassionate and has a good sense of humour, especially when it comes to the other officers in his department.
The other cops in Narcotics are like a family to him when his flesh and blood relatives seem worlds away in New York City, where he grew up. He respects each and every one of the officers in his department, and as a sergeant, Chris is one of the superior officers in Narcotics, and he does his best to set a good example and lead to the best of his ability. Chris is extremely focused and driven while on the job, a career-minded man who somehow isn’t blinded to everything else around him. He is very proud of what he has achieved in his life, and even with the stress that comes with the occupation, he’s happy with what he does for a living and comfortable with his position and standing, and the responsibility that goes along with it. He’s not obsessed with climbing the ladder within the Force, though he does respect everyone above him in that chain of command, fully believing that they are where they are for good reasons; he’s not above reaching for those goals himself, but he prefers to pace himself. He might rush into danger ‘in the field’, but he knows that not everyone is suited to being in command, and he would much rather work his way there slowly and steadily.
Even with his devotion to the Force, Chris is actually rather bitter about it. For all the respect and admiration he shows for the institution, he really does believe there is a lot wrong with it, at the core, and there are a lot of things that can or should be changed in order to make it better. With an attitude like that, perhaps he would be better suited to a position in Force Investigation, but he would much rather let them do their job while he tries his best to do another one from the sidelines. But the death of his father and the circumstances surrounding Duncan Tyler’s demise have never left him, and never will, and he will actually always blame the Force for what happened. He truly believes they were the ones at fault, and that they didn’t have all the facts they should have had before charging blindly and recklessly into a deadly situation. As such, Chris always tries to think things through before he acts, especially when he has other officers with him, and always when he is dealing with or responsible for civilians in some way. He doesn’t take chances with the lives of others, and is an intensely protective individual, hence the teasing nickname of “Shepherd” from his current partner; he has powerful ‘guard dog’ tendencies that he couldn’t shut down even if he tried, and most of the time, he doesn’t even realise he’s acting on said instincts, and if he does realise, he doesn’t believe there is anything wrong with it. In his eyes, it’s better that he gets hurt than anyone else.
No doubt stemming from personal experiences, Chris absolutely cannot abide addicts, whether they be narcotics-related or alcoholics. He has no patience for them, and can become very short-tempered and irritable around them, which seems ridiculous for someone in his line of work, but in his mind at least, it makes sense that someone with his approach be in the department. He can spot the signs, hear lies where others buy the words as truth, and he doesn’t cut corners or look the other way. Chris hates being lied to, regardless of who it is doing the lying, fellow cop, witness or suspect, and he won’t hesitate to call someone on it when he catches them in the act.
Even with a relatively short fuse — depending on the trigger, naturally — Chris is actually very intelligent and definitely has the brainpower to back up his actions. He worked hard when he was younger to get where he is today, and though that might be, in part, thanks to his photographic memory, he is in no way a slacker, and takes his responsibilities seriously, regardless of what they are, or who is involved.
WEAKNESSES: Mortal, Chris can obviously be killed in any number of ways, whether it is from a wound caused by a bullet or a blade while in the line of duty, or by a wide variety of illnesses and diseases. He isn’t the most patient man when dealing with suspects in his line of work, even though he would call himself level-headed and steady; he has had to be called out of a room more times than he can recall because he has toed the line between aggressive and violent. Addicts, especially alcoholics, can always push his buttons much easier than just about anyone else on the planet, and though Chris tries to keep a lid on his past experiences and how they affected him, he has come to realise he will never be able to shut it all down, and it will always effect him in one way or another, on or off the job. Chris’ ‘guard dog’ tendencies have, many times in the past, gotten him into trouble, and put him in the crosshairs, as it were; the scar on his leg is a souvenir from one such incident when he removed another person from the line of fire only to plant himself in it, knowingly. He consciously puts the wellbeing of others before himself, almost as if he has a blatant disregard for his own safety and health, which might not actually be too far from the truth.
ABILITIES: As a police officer, one with many years of training and experience, Chris is a very capable man with a variety of skills at his disposal. He can hold his own in a fight, whether it be unarmed or with a gun; he has been trained in a wide range of self-defence techniques, and can use not only the regulation firearms in the LAPD’s arsenal, but also the larger, more powerful weapons. Chris is licensed and qualified to operate shotguns and even rifles, if the situation calls for it, and he is registered to carry a gun at all times, obviously. He has extensive knowledge of many different types of firearms, and can take many of them apart in order to fully clean them, and he can easily assemble them correctly again afterwards. Chris’ photographic memory is a useful tool in his line of work, and it comes into play on a daily basis without the sergeant even realising it; he is able to recall details and descriptions as if they were written down in front of him, even if he is explaining something that happened days ago. He isn’t a bad tactician at all, though his strength does lie in thinking on his feet, surprisingly, something that comes in handy in a crisis or heated situation. Chris can drive, automatic or manual, able to handle a vehicle at high speeds, such as in a pursuit. On a much more domestic, normal scale, Chris can cook, he just prefers not to, especially if he has been working, he is fully ambidextrous, and he can actually play poker very well, thanks to being taught the finer points by a friend.
WEAPONS: He carries a standard issue 9mm Beretta, as a regulation sidearm, and keeps a smaller Beretta at his ankle, when working. Outside of work, he has a personal firearm; also a Beretta 9mm, but with a ‘silver’ finish. He also has a small folding blade at the back of his belt, for emergencies.
PRIZED POSSESSIONS: Though it cannot be counted as a possession, Chris is very possessive of his job and his position, if such a thing is even possible. He is very protective of every officer around him, especially when working a case. When it comes to material possessions, Chris isn’t one to get attached, though his uncle did, seemingly without reason, give him a gift that could definitely be classed as ‘prized’: a 1969 Camaro.
HOME(S): Chris has a decent apartment, which is, unbeknownst to him, on Cole Stanton’s side of Los Angeles.
HISTORY: The only child born to Duncan and Anna Tyler, Christopher was born just outside of the hectic city of New York, where his father worked as a uniformed officer in the NYPD. Duncan was a well respected man who always got the job done, and had made a name for himself without caving to ambition. Even after years of working the streets, day after day of putting on the uniform and badge, he had no intention of climbing the ladder, and the people on his beat seemed to love him for that; he listened to their complaints, handled their problems, and did everything he could for them. Anna was a housewife, a caring woman who adored her husband and doted on their son. All in all, they were a happy family, very normal and balanced, and no one ever had a bad word to say about them. When he wasn’t working to keep his family comfortable, Duncan taught his son the difference between right and wrong, how to spot a crook a mile away, and the importance of loyalty, justice and truth; he was something of a typical cop father without being strict or stiff, and he was always quick to smile and ruffle his son’s hair, obviously proud of Christopher from a young age. It didn’t take long for Chris to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, inspired by the selflessness and bravery of his father, a man who came home from work every day tired and worn from upholding the law but always willing and eager to hug his wife or play with his son and help him with his homework.
Life continued in this pleasant vein for eight years, with Chris telling stories about his heroic father at school every day with other kids crowded around him, listening intently. It was a very average, even plain afternoon when Chris came home from school, dumped his backpack in his bedroom and was headed down the stairs again to get some juice from the kitchen when someone knocked at the door unexpectedly. With his mother busy in the kitchen, Chris answered it without needing to be asked. He recognised the formal uniforms of the two men at the door, and simply stood there, silently, wondering if he was supposed to tell the men that Duncan Tyler was not at home. Anna Tyler, after coming down the hall to see who was at the door, knew immediately why they were there, and proceeded to drop the glass she had been drying, along with the towel in her other hand. Chris, moving back out of the way, watched, confused and lost, as his mother argued with the men at the door, telling them between gasps and sobs that they had made some horrible mistake. Provoked by the sight of his mother so upset, Chris moved forward again with the intention of telling the men to leave — or trying, at least — when he too realised why they were there. He listened, the bottom of his stomach dropping out, as they told his mother that Duncan Tyler had been shot earlier that day, and killed; they said they were sorry for the family’s loss, and that he was a good man, and if there was anything they or anyone else could do, Anna shouldn’t hesitate.
Chris stood there by the foot of the stairs, feeling frozen in place by his shock. His father wasn’t coming home. How was that possible? It didn’t make any sense. He had seen him that morning; they had had breakfast together. They had made plans for the weekend. More than anything, he realised how unfair it was. His father was a hero, a loved man. It wasn’t fair, dammit.
The funeral was a grim affair, understandably, with a formal service befitting a fallen officer. Chris felt out of place and angry, looking at the faces of all the men who had worked with his father and somehow let him die. How could they let him die? Weren’t they supposed to protect one another? They were stupid. All of them. With his mother to one side and his Uncle Ted and Aunt Jean to the other, Chris sat there through the service and silently, mentally, told each and every officer in his line of sight that he hated them. The wake was no better, with all manner of people he didn’t know saying what a good man Duncan Tyler had been, an inspiration to them all, how cruel it was to lose him. It angered Chris even more. These strangers hadn’t lost anyone. He had. He and his mother. When people spoke to him directly, Chris didn’t respond, not once, too angry with everything that had happened to even acknowledge them. But he was a little boy, and he had lost his father, for no good reason. Those people didn’t cluck their tongues or mutter about his rudeness; they simply left him alone after their futile attempts, and by the end of the day, he was sitting in his room by himself, staring at a photograph on his dresser of the two of them playing in the yard.
It was difficult for Chris to get back to life after that, hit hard by the loss of his father. He was so angry for what felt like the longest time, but as the weeks crawled past and he finally made some effort to get back into school and activities, sick of sitting around with nothing to do — if nothing else, Chris knew that his father wouldn’t want that — he came to realise that he had no real right to hate those men, those other officers. Not really. How did he know they hadn’t tried to help his father? He didn’t, and to judge them so blindly and resentfully went against so much of what his father had been teaching him for years. His father had died doing what he believed in, and though it hurt to realise, day after day, that he would never see him again, never again walk into the house to hear that distinct laugh from the living room, he came to believe that his father had given his life for a purpose; that anger would never fade completely, but it at least dropped back and faded to manageable levels, leading him to pick up the pieces and carry on. The desire to follow in his father’s footsteps returned, the wish temporarily destroyed by Duncan Tyler’s death and the unfairness of it all, but his realisations helped it to rise to the forefront again. Chris’ determination finally began to shine through once more, something that his teachers seemed pleased with, as well as his aunt and uncle, and his young cousin, Megan. In fact, visiting his relatives across the street and seeing his little cousin helped distract him from the slowly-worsening situation at home and kept him from spiralling back down into that angry depression that had reared its ugly head after the death of his father.
Anna Tyler was not coping nearly as well as her young son. In fact, she didn’t seem to be coping at all. She withdrew into herself, grew distant and cool, even towards her son, and as the weeks passed, Chris became more and more accustomed to taking care of himself while his mother ‘slept’ on the sofa after passing out in the living room. Sometimes he wouldn’t even see her, the door to her bedroom would be completely closed and he would hear sounds coming from inside, mutterings and the sound of glass brushing against wood, the low volume of the television left on some random channel. Before he was even twelve years old, Chris became accustomed to the smell of alcohol in the house, the way it hung in the air almost constantly, and he could recognise the signs of inebriation in his mother better than anyone else. By the time he was fourteen, he had all but given up trying to stop it; hiding bottles and pouring them down the sink didn’t do anything except anger his mother, and he didn’t have it in him to fight with her. He was trying, so hard, to climb out of the hole that his father’s death had left in its wake; he was terrified of tumbling back into it, and if his mother didn’t want help, then he couldn’t force it on her. Even when police called at the door after complaints from neighbours, Chris didn’t really know what to tell them; he would simply shrug wearily and say little more than “she doesn’t want help”, and that was that.
Not the best situation for a teenager, but Chris didn’t let it hold him back. He outright refused in fact. As Megan got older, he spent more and more time with his cousin, appreciating the distraction and the sanctuary of her house, where he was always welcome. Ted and Jean understood what was happening, and weren’t about to turn their nephew away, not when they could do their part to help him and keep him from going down some unknown, dark path. As much as his mother’s alcoholism upset and disappointed him, he simply distracted himself with his schoolwork, the years beginning to fly by as he buried himself in assignments and projects, determined to get as far as he could, to the best of his ability, something his father would have wanted. The photographic memory that he had apparently inherited from Duncan didn’t hurt his chances when it came to tests and exams, and graduation seemed to creep up on him before he even knew it was on the horizon.
The next step had been obvious to him for years, and getting into the Academy was hardly difficult for someone with his drive and ambition. Being away from home helped him to focus, and his aunt, uncle and cousin were nothing but supportive, encouraging and helping him at every turn when his own mother failed to even realise what was going on around her, too lost in her addiction. Chris immersed himself in life at the Academy, striving to reach his goals, and it was there that he met Richard Green, another young man with the same kinds of ambitions and intentions. The two became friends, and took to encouraging one another, even challenging one another in order to help them succeed. After graduating from the Academy, Chris realised New York was not the place for him, and even with all his attempts to put it behind him, he found he just couldn’t forget what had happened to his father in the NYPD. As much as he had attempted to forgive the city’s Force for the death of his father, he couldn’t, not completely.
And so he left, packing his things, and with the blessing of his family, he arranged to be relocated to Los Angeles, all the way across the country. The distance would help him start his own life, and if nothing else, getting away from the exhausting presence of his alcoholic mother would be a relief. After finishing the Academy, even just visiting her was enough to inspire a stress headache. He couldn’t live with her anymore; couldn’t deal with her anymore. He needed to get out, and away, as far away as possible, and what better place than California?
Life as a beat cop was anything but dull, with any number of calls and alerts to keep Chris and his hyperactive partner, David Barrett, on their toes. Los Angeles was certainly different to New York, and the weekly calls home to his cousin to check in actually helped to keep him grounded; he and Megan would talk about anything from the differences in the weather to what random animal she had adopted that week, sometimes passing two or three hours at a time on the phone to one another. But the connection was a comfort after separating himself from everything he had ever known, and Chris never once missed a call. Barrett tested Chris’ patience regularly, but he recognised that his partner was a good man, a good cop, and the two became an effective, strong team. Despite that, sitting in a squad car day after day or walking the streets with Barrett chatting away aimlessly at his side just didn’t seem to be enough for Chris, that drive resurfacing once again. It might have been enough for his father, but for Chris, it just felt like a stepping stone, a midway point on the path to something bigger. Something better.
When Chris took the test in order to make detective, he passed with flying colours, and soon he was on his way to the Narcotics department after passing yet more tests and sitting through a number of sessions with department heads in order to assess where best he would be suited. Narcotics just seemed to make sense to him, and so, he accepted the suggestion and the transfer without complaint. That was where the real challenges started to show themselves, and Chris faced them all head-on, determined to overcome the obstacles and get his man, no matter the case. His partner, Robert Moreno, was a seasoned detective, and knew potential when he saw it, always joking that Chris was headed for greater things, that he wouldn’t be on “this rung” for long.
While working a case surrounding a growing drug ring who were branching out into kidnapping and murder, Chris found himself charged with the responsibility or protecting a valuable witness by the name of Mark Faraday, and it was a job that the detective committed himself to completely. Even when one of the runners made an attempt on Mark’s life, Chris didn’t throw in the towel, but instead earned himself a stay in the hospital with a bullet to the leg and a concussion. Mark said that was something he would never be able to repay, and Chris just couldn’t shake the other man after that, not that he even tried; he earned himself a devoted friend in the process, and hasn’t once looked back with regret. In fact, he wears the scar just as proudly as any true officer should.
It was only a matter of time after that before Chris proved Moreno right. Progressing from detective to sergeant, Chris accepted the transfer to another station in the city, getting himself out of his tiny apartment and into a bigger place closer to his new place of work, where he was quickly partnered with another sergeant by the name of Sarah Masterson, who had been in the department long enough to know who was who and what was what. But Chris learned the ropes quickly, and the new responsibilities didn’t faze or intimidate him at all. With the new rank and position, he felt he could finally make a big difference, and again, he began to tackle things face on, never once shying away, not even when things turned ugly, as they have over the last couple of years. Chris even earned himself another valued friend through his job, a woman by the name of Élodie Carrière-Ash; he and Sarah were put in charge of the investigation when Élodie’s stalker ended up kidnapping her, and though they never actually managed to convict the man responsible following his unexpected escape from the hospital, his obviously intoxicated state has made him their responsibility, something that Chris, at least, has never doubted. Chris has been keeping an eye out for the man ever since he landed Élodie in the hospital.
The Narcotics team’s challenges haven’t ended there, of course. Donnelly was a well-known name through Los Angeles’ underbelly, but it has only been in the last couple of years that the man has risen to the — unquestionably justified — title of Drug Lord, with his own powerful ring and more employees than the Narcotics department has ever been able to acknowledge. Even their informant, a squirrelly, jumpy man by the name of Benny, could never pin down how many there were, an ignorance that ultimately claimed his life. In a hasty attempt to bring the Drug Lord down, an effort that was doomed to failure from the get go, Benny was killed by Donnelly himself, and Sarah Masterson was shot and wounded by his brother, Jacob; Chris was left with no choice but to shoot and kill the man, and in doing so, he has earned himself a very powerful, very vengeful enemy. Whether or not Chris realises just how much Donnelly would like to get his hands on him is anyone’s guess, but if the sergeant does know, he isn’t letting it get to him, and he’s certainly not about to be cowed by a man who rarely shows his face more than once a month.