✕–ghost

[alwayssunnygifs]

[dayman]

[forthewickedrp]

ALIAS: Jay Gagnon AGE + DOB: Thirty | 04.12.1988 GENDER + PRONOUNS: Male | He/Him AFFILIATION: Unaffiliated OCCUPATION: Contract Driver

THE STORY //

Jean Paul Gagnon was never granted the luxury of an easy life. At a very young age, he discovered the concept of loss - as he sat there, strapped into his car seat during an alcohol-induced car accident that killed both of his parents, the sounds of glass shattering and screeching tires only confusing the small boy. It took years before the realization set in that he didn’t have parents. “Mommy and daddy went to heaven,” everybody would say, as if a 3-year-old knew the difference between living and dead. Taken in by a Catholic orphanage in downtown Montreal, little JP was surrounded by kids of all ages and sizes, various stories that were just as traumatic and tragic as his own. The other boys became like brothers to him, the older ones shielding him from the darkness and abuse that operated throughout the orphanage itself, courtesy of the nuns and Father Laviscount himself.

As he landed in his teenage years, he really started acting out - talking back to the sisters as they chided him, escaping the facility after hours to smoke cigarettes or get with girls, resulting in more lashings than he would like to remember. When things got really bad, he left. 16 years old with no place to go, packed up all of his belongings and hit the road, aimlessly in search of something that would make him feel alive when all he felt was emptiness. And then there it was - an opportunity to make enough money to get himself a place to stay and some food to eat. “You’ll just sit here and keep the car warm, as soon as you see the signal, pull around to the corner.” His first real job, the young punk getaway driver for a couple of sketchy armed burglars. Now, while most people would have a reluctance for this sort of involvement, Jay - as he was known from then on - had none. The adrenaline was addicting, and soon enough he was on his eight and ninth jobs, house after house after house.

Now, at age 30, he’s an expert in his craft. Houses turned swiftly into entire complexes, businesses, banks, armored trucks, until eventually he was rubbing elbows with members of both the Ivory Syndicate and the Vitorris themselves. A contract driver - Ghost, as he’s infamously referred to on the streets of Montreal, can maneuver a city as if he’d known it like the back of his hand. But it doesn’t just end with his ability to drive a car - it has seeped into everything that comprises Jay Gagnon. He’s a liar, a chameleon, manipulative in every which way. A master of disguises, he will speak to someone as if they’re his best friend and turn around and pick the wallet from their pocket, steal the shirt off someone’s back in the dead of winter - loyal to nothing and no one except himself.

WRITTEN BY EMM. SHE/HER. CST.

[moffiarty-blog]

[insporp]

[jaygcgnon-blog]

ALEX:

Alex assumed he was talking about the paintings. Alex had been eyeing the paintings all night. If only he was slick at stealing shit. He got caught the one time he did it. But his impulsivity always got to the best of him. 

 “If we were gonna steal it, it’d take a lot more than just the two of us. They probably got cameras and shit. We might as well go back in time and do it that way before they had cameras and lasers and shit. I’m not tryna die tonight.”

“Woah woah woah, don’t go jumping to conclusions, mon ami; do I look like a thief to you?” The answer to that question was of course... fuck yes, especially as Jay’s usual smug grin pulled at his lips and showcased his teeth. “And here I was, banking on you pulling on a white latex bodysuit and flipping around in here Cameron Diaz-style. What the hell else will we do to break up this snoozefest? I thought for sure there’d be some... action, but everyone’s being disgustingly cordial.” 

[jaygcgnon-blog]

BEA:

                Upon hearing her name and without so much as a second thought to who the voice might have belonged to, Bea swiftly turned around. It took a few seconds for repressed memories to flow through the brunette, a pained expression replacing the false grin she had been wearing just seconds before. How was one supposed to respond to the past hitting you this hard and unexpected? “Jay,” she simply returned. It had been a very long time indeed, she could’ve easily walked past him in such a crowded room if it wasn’t for that look in his eyes. The one she came to know so well it was challenging to hide around her friends, the one that made her quiver with fear and desire many times as she sat at the school library. Why was he here now, out of all places? “This almost feels like a high school reunion,” the detective noted, pacing towards him. “You clean up well.”

There was, of course, a reason why Jay Gagnon was given the nickname Ghost so many years ago - he was slippery, generally stayed put deep in the seedy underbelly of the city - apparently so much so that this Montreal detective seemed to have no clue of his connection to the name that drifted around in whispers. “Something like that,” he offered casually with a simple nod. It was unusual for a charismatic shit like him to be rendered significantly reticent, so even as he stood there a bit dumbstruck by her presence, it didn’t manifest as anything other than a smug smile. The feelings that were swirling inside him were just begging to be stifled by something stronger than the whiskey in his grasp. Hatred, nostalgia, almost. “And I’ll say you do look a lot better with more leg and less badge.” His words were supposed to be harsh, supposed to be mocking, supposed to communicate just how close he’s been this entire fucking time while she assumed he was still a damn ghost. Jaw pulsating as it clenched, he locked onto her deep hues as if doing so would answer decade-long questions, then unleashed a forced albeit pleasant grin as he paced closer.

“You wanna dance, Detective?”

[jaygcgnon-blog]

VERONICA:

“My honest bet?”, she asked in response, though she didn’t bother to wait for his answer. “I would say about absolutely nothing”, her words were whispered, as if she was sharing a secret to an old friend. “I would wager that there is maybe one or two real pieces in this entire museum, while the real ones are sitting in some vault in some rich guys mansion”, Veronica finally offered a smile, knowing all too well what truly sat in the vaults of some of the rich men in the city. 

“Ahhh, a conspiracy - I knew I liked you for a reason,” Jay offered with an amused grin as he leaned back against the bar and allowed his gaze to dance across the Vittori princess herself. “But even so. All it takes is finding the riiiiight sucker... if you got the kinda time it would take to unload this type of merchandise quickly and quietly.” A shrug bucked off Jay’s shoulders nonchalantly - it wasn’t the type of business he ever really bothered with; it was just inherent at this point to question worth - the last decade had turned everything and everyone into one giant fucking price tag. “So, what should we get up to tonight if pulling off an Ocean’s 8-level heist is off the table?”

[jaygcgnon-blog]

CASS:

“It depends on a bunch of things, really,” Cassidy responded casually. “How well-known are the artists? Are they dead or alive? Were the pieces commissioned, sold, or donated?” Her Upper East Side upbringing was showing. Cass shrugged and took a sip from her own glass, watching while Jay observed the art and the activity around them.”I don’t think now would be the right time to pull off a heist, though. My two cents.”

“Were they painted with the blood of the artist’s victims... yeah I get it,” Jay retorted as an addition to her ramblings, sidelong glance falling upon Cass as a grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. “We get it, you come from money, hot shot.” The brunette coaxed a snort to leave Jay’s throat, a loll of his head as he falsely pondered the act of burglarizing the joint. “You know what? You’re right. And here I thought I could load up all these paintings into my arms and just hit the road; how naive of me.” He tapped his forehead for emphasis before nodding towards the crowd of people mingling before them. “Who’ve ya got your sights on? Or is it your night off?”

[derekihale]

[jaygcgnon-blog]

“Beatrice Richardson.” The name that left his lips came out mindlessly to say the least – a simple thought that just happened to flow over his tongue, teeth and parted lips and then there it was, some sort of greeting for the woman he had sworn never to give a shit about again. He wasn’t ignorant to her position – she had changed quite a bit in the twelve years since high school, enough for him to notice from afar. Gone was the popular cheerleader with the perfect relationship with the football captain, replaced by a brunette vixen with a badge. Twelve years changed a lot - however, her status as this criminal’s polar moral opposite wasn’t one of those things.

“Long time no see.”

@beatrice-richardson

[jaygcgnon-blog]

ADDISON:

It had been years since she’d forced her feet into a pair of heels, and she was already regretting it again. The party was lovely, elegant and opulent, but her date had mysteriously disappeared, and she hardly knew anyone else. So Addison found herself wandering the museum, appreciating the art on the walls and trying to ignore how uncomfortable she was.

She’d been examining a midcentury work, an abstract painting with bright colors, taking small sips from the champagne flute in her hand. Addison heard footsteps approach behind her, but she kept her eyes forward. “This makes me wish I’d paid more attention in art history class, you know? So I could say something discerning and insightful about this.” She slowly shook her head, then turned. “But actually all I’m thinking is that I hate the taste of champagne.”

“Art history, quite the oxymoron isn’t it?” Jay muttered into his lowball glass before taking a rather large sip of the whiskey inside, freshly-poured over perfectly-cubed ice. “Besides, art is subjective. You could technically say you think this looks like a 4-year-old found the Crayon stash and went to fucking town while the folks were sleeping, and I technically couldn’t say you’re wrong.” Lips pulled up into what appeared as an amused frown as he offered his glass over for her to upgrade her current drink. “Nothing fancy about a hangover the size of Africa... and neither of us are what anyone would deem... fancy.” 

[jaygcgnon-blog]

ELODIE:

Elodie had been late, tonight. No, she didn’t want to be fashionably late, or make some dramatic entrance… she just had no desire to be there. So, as she finds herself distancing herself more and more from the crowd of people there, she finds herself closing in on a much smaller group off to the side. This was much more tolerable. Offering the first person she saw a light smile, she says, “are you having as much fun as I’m having?” In a semi-playful tone. 

“That depends on whether or not you’re heading to the bar in order to make this night more tolerable,” Jay deadpanned, peering out towards the sea of people as he nursed what was left of his Old Fashioned. “I - uh, yeah not really my thing,” he added, a finger pointing towards his get-up. He looked... nice for once - he cleaned up rather well, though it didn’t put any significant pep in his step. “I generally save the monkey suit for when someone drops dead.”

[fxjustifiedgifs]