[b]The Basics[/b]
Your Name/Handle: JD/Picaro
Your Age: 22
Full character name: Daniel Cole Conway
Gender: Male
Birthplace: Definitely not a brothel in Westminster, London
Marital Status: Unmarried
Age: 25 (born December 19, 1790)

Your preferred custom title: Dissolute Tragedian of Mixed Repute

[b]Physical Appearance[/b]
Hair Color: Light brown
Eye Color: Grey blue
Height/Weight: 5'10”, 165 lbs
General Appearance: Tall and with a lithe, borderline feminine build alongside a deep, pronounced jawline and an upturned nose, Daniel is well-aware that he can turn a face or three in a crowd, and moves with such a distinctively [i]present[/i] bearing that one could forgive him for being one of the [i]ton[/i]. Less masculine is the smooth texture of his unblemished skin (Daniel is eccentrically partial towards lotion), and the gentle touch of the actor's hands, who have clearly never seen a day's honest work. His hair is styled in the fashionably egalitarian Brutus haircut, but little else about him seems to suggest a particular leaning among the fashionable: his clothes are adequately tailored and expensive, to be sure, but too bright and adorned to suggest that he was a dandy. Neither so does he seem a fop: the tragedian dresses to stand out [i]among[/i] a crowd, not apart from it, and his pale, oft-tired complexion is ill-suited to rouge and powder.

[b]Personality and Ambitions[/b]
Overall Personality: What some might claim as Daniel Conway's biggest flaw is in fact the defining trait of his personality: the young Londoner, having scarcely seen a countryside apart from the occasional carriage-ride or palatial estate, was born to the stage. In everything he does, whether that involves a particular dramatic interpretation of Iago's character or simply his indulgence in wine, women, and song (or for that matter, a carriage-race, wager, or any other handful of degenerate bohemian habits), Daniel does little by half. To do so would be suicidal, after all, having been born on the outskirts of the [i]ton[/i], to a woman who only gained status [i]after[/i] his birth by becoming the mistress of Lord Wexford. Interestingly, however, this seems to concern him little, as least insofar as appearances are concerned: the newest reputed actor to grace the more-noble stages of Covent Garden seems remarkably cheerful, if prone to insolence in the company of his betters and an indolently irreverent attitude towards his own advancement.

Indeed, it is remarked upon by a select few that the only subject which brings up any emotional reaction at all is that of birth, presuming one excludes the absolutely horrendous attitudes Society displays towards the classics and newer, more inventive dramas. The tragedian, it seems, while otherwise terrible at approaching a situation with any degree of seriousness, is highly sensitive in regards to the issue of paternity; whispers have it that the man who provided his now-squandered (as many well-educated, incisive minds seem to do these days) education is not the father of the louche, affable actor, but that another man claims that ignoble honor...though such claims are best made out of earshot, unless one wants to find their welcome rebuked throughout most entertainment halls and houses of ill repute within the bounds of London.

Less spoken of, but nonetheless present, is a deep-seated tendency towards the starry-eyed and idealistic, with a distinct sympathy for the underdog and a kind heart towards the downtrodden. Daniel believes, despite having been raised among the theaters and less savory locales of Covent Garden, that there is yet beauty in the world. Not even his occasional mingling during the various Seasons of London have managed to change this, even in the face of an ingrained suspicion towards the aristocracy and their motives. They, of course, lack the perspective that a scion of the demi-monde is born into: even an unacknowledged bastard who counts more actresses, cutpurses, and fallen ladies as friends than he does lords and merchants is far more secure than most men and women born in His Majesty's Britain.

Goals: With her health failing, Daniel is beset by requests from his mother to develop a more serious attitude, as what remains of their wealth will one day pass to him. While he has as of yet done little to improve his status outside of the Theater Royal, it is Mrs Ainsley's wish that he do so forthwith: perhaps by an acceptable marriage, or gaining the friendship of more acceptable Society figures. This is particularly important with regards to his sisters Margaret (eighteen years old and as genteel as a bastard can be) and Isidora (fifteen, dark of complexion, shrewd and sharp-tongued) both of which were acknowledged by Lord Wexford, as well as his younger brother (Simon, nine, even more wild than his brother). While the concept of obligations and responsibilities means little to him, their  brother [i]does[/i] feel somewhat beholden to ensure at least [i]their[/i] future, regardless of his own.

More personally, Daniel's aspirations as an actor have not ended with his sudden breakout as Iago at Drury Lane. He wishes to continue this trajectory to its natural conclusion: more than a few starring roles are in order, he feels, followed by (ideally) working his way towards the role of actor-manager. This is made more difficult by the fact that those actor-managers who already operate England's theaters guard their position precariously, but when it comes to the stage, Daniel is nothing if not dogged. He is, after all, one of the newer voices against the Bowdlerization of classic works, and [i]that[/i] is a fight that won't end any time soon.

[b]Background and History[/b]

If pressed outside of polite company, Daniel will explain his birth as being “a bastard of a Welshman's English bastard” and leave it at that. This is not an evasion or understatement on his part, but a close approximation of everything he knows of his father. Only a few, minor details are omitted: it is the young actor's understanding that the man was (or is, Daniel neither knows nor cares) a Baron with curious notions of patriotism, little import to Society, and a callous enough heart as to never once contact the woman who gave birth to his illegitimate child.

The history of his mother (herself the child of a common soldier and the easily-impressed daughter of a Yorkshire country squire) is spoken of more readily (and defensively). It is, after all, a common story: sent to live with her mother's cousin in London, Emmeline Ainsley was soon seduced by promises of comfortable living and high status, only to find that her cousin's friend was a procuress for a Westminster madame. It was here that she lived three ignoble (if comfortable, for 'Mother Calwell' made up in protection what she lacked in scruples) years before meeting the man who would become Daniel's father while he was visiting London.

The tryst being extraordinarily brief, Emmeline thus had to rely on letters to inform her one-time client of her pregnancy, although none were ever answered, even after the man was informed that the child was to carry his surname as a middle name. So it was that Daniel Cole Conway spent the first five years of his life in Calwell's Palace, the rambunctious darling of the women who worked there but provided with little opportunity or anything but the most basic education.

This changed when Miss Ainsley (never quite a classical beauty, by dint of her Cleopatra nose and deep brow, though nonetheless striking and with a captivating, sardonic wit) gained the attention of one Matthew Roche, more properly the Earl of Wexford, an Anglo-Irish lord and noted Tory in his early forties with a deceased wife and four grown children. Quite taken with her in his grief, the kindly Lord Wexford soon moved Emmeline and Daniel to his London house, scandalizing Society but nonetheless introducing the pair to the Season and its personages.

More importantly, he agreed to tutor Daniel, before sending him to a boarding school for moderately well-off families, where the kindly, very liberal schoolmaster soon introduced the boy to the classics, as well as other children his age. Originally starting with simple works and the basics of comedy, Daniel soon developed a taste for tragedy (to the extent that the poor schoolmaster was lobbied nigh-daily to order more plays), and having always adored attention, took time off from the rough-housing and competitive games that he so adored to lead his fellow schoolboys in rehearsing scenes from plays, and inventing a few of their own as well.

This arrangement continued until the summer of 1806, when Lord Wexford passed away and the earldom and its estates fell into the hands of his less charitable brother. Left with two daughters, a reasonable stipend, and a surprising amount of heartbreak, Emmeline  began cultivating her old contacts. With Daniel now home, she re-emerged into Society as the temporary mistress of many men, becoming a quite popular sight at Watier's, and dancing on the arms of Dukes and financiers alike, while an old friend of hers who had once been the understudy to Sarah Siddons began to take Daniel under her wing, noting the young man's fondness for the theater.

It was her influence that set him on his current path: once decided, there was little Emmeline could do to deter his son from his passion. With the assistance of their family's friends, he joined up with a respected company that played in melodramas on a circuit from Cornwall to Swansea, with an occasional trip to Dublin (a town which Daniel does not speak of fondly, due to a variety of incidences that have made him an unpopular figure among the more devout of the gentry) and one important role at the Bath Theatre Royal. Gaining some renown, the outbreak of war with the Americans and the conflict necessitated the arrival of new blood in London's Byzantine theater circuit, and soon Daniel was off to London.

As he rose from the ranks of understudy to supporting cast with typical aplomb, finally gaining the role of Iago in the Theatre Royal's telling of [i]Othello[/i], things could only seem up. It was then, and only then, that Emmeline revealed to her son the truth: she had not taken a lover in three years, and not simply because of her faded beauty.

This he prefers not to think about.

[b]Strengths and Weaknesses[/b]

Daniel is hard to dislike, and for good reason. He is one of those naturally amiable sorts who have little ulterior motive for their disposition, although the nature of his profession suggests that the tragedian knows how to work a crowd. Indeed, a certain finesse is required with the precarious nature of his position, and he is no less capable of mingling among the nocturnal ladies and criminal scoundrels he counts as associates (and, on rare occasion, allies) as he is willing to be perfectly deferential and servile to the aristocracy that patronizes his trade, even if this requires a measure of subterfuge and feigned interest on his part. Of course, charm and contacts matter little without some sort of status to back it up, and while not all may have heard of the newest Iago to grace Drury Lane, only the least astute could have forgotten Emmeline Ainsley, her lovers, or the conspicuous wealth she now flaunts in the face of the easily-outraged [i]ton[/i]. This, naturally, Daniel is entirely aware of. Although he barely recognizes it himself, it is impossible to grow up among the [i]demi-monde[/i] without a keen eye for number one, or an even keener awareness of what would make a particular person tick.

Although Daniel will refer to Lord Wexford as the only man resembling a father figure in his life, there are two undeniable facts that can be easily ascertained about the young actor. One (the most obvious), Daniel was born illegitimately, and to a known prostitute-turned-courtesan at that. Two, his father was [i]not[/i] the kindly Tory from Ireland, but an unknown nobleman who has never acknowledged his natural son. This is enough of a stain on his honor on its own, but the fact that he is an [i]actor[/i], a barely-legitimate profession on its own, and a courtesan's son to boot hardly speaks well of him in fashionable circles. This is something of a sensitive subject for him, to the point where his normal affability fades in the face of any insult with regards to his mother (as the broken nose of a certain viscount can attest, to say nothing of a pair of inconclusive duels he prefers not to speak of), and has become particularly worrying as Mrs Ainsley fades from the public eye due to her progressing illness. Apart from these family matters, the tragedian's biggest flaw is again his most defining trait: life without a stage is scarcely with living, he feels, and he will do most anything to retain the attention of a crowd.