kingston gilmore

the art is what draws me in and sets my soul alight. what good are points if i feel as dead inside as those with none

[kingstongilmore]

sarahkinney​:

method acting wasn’t her preference. there was something about getting lost in a role that felt unsafe, the dangerous borders between who sarah was and who annie might have been were blurred and where would that have left her. deluded into thinking that she was the number on fan of an author that didn’t even know she existed. no, she would stay on this side of sanity— her performances were more akin to a momentary blackout than anything sustained. she practiced her lines, and when action was called there was a few minutes where she was not in complete control. an outpour of rage, or fear. in the case of her last movie it might have been boredom leaking from her eyes. 

despite whatever reservations she might have had about her particular style of acting, it did not seem that her scene partner felt the same. but they were james, she was annie, and so she acquiesced with a nod. although she didn’t exactly jump to helping them, instead her eyes stayed focused on her own script. this was the memorization part, not the all out performance. “break a bone?” looked up from her own page, pencil tapped on a line once then twice. what did it mean to be crazy, or was annie just lost. looking for attention where there was a void. someone who seemed to understand where in fact there was nothing— or at least not this person. she shook it off, thought about their proposal. “we’re not going to break your arm.”

"That's not a promise you can keep," they reminded her, voice still bathed in Americanization, tone splashed by the baptismal fountain of truth. James was someone who would never believe a word at face-value, riddled with suspicion, questioning the very air. "Only in the moment can we really /know/ what will happen," they continued, half-Kingston, half-character. The half that belonged to them was the light that was flickering behind chocolate eyes, anticipating the unknown as they crawled into bed.

What was hanging above was the camera in place, the shots of James' face, the emotions that would play, the thoughts that would be right behind them. Their fingers wrapped around the bars of the headboard, feeling the grain before the eyes shifted back to Sarah. Not Annie. "Do you feel her caring about him?” There was something less curious than there was worry to the question, posed like a survivor that barely left with their life. “Was he ever going to make her happy enough to leave?"

[kingstongilmore]

Kingston's cloak was left outside of the set, not wanting to contaminate the sanctity of the set that they would be giving themselves up for until the director was satisfied. They liked it that way. A challenge to find the similarities between one soul and another. James was a writer, too, passionate about the stories that spilled from the pen, but then there were the uncharted territories that the actor was trying to become. How James, under Annie's imprisonment, was having his mind slip from him, playing tricks, unable to trust what was happening, questioning the pain, questioning whether it was deserved, the betterment for himself, the only truth to grasp onto was knowing that you had to leave, had to come back home.

"I need to try this," they spoke aloud, the nearest person nearby, the accent from Britain replaced with the Americanized version to help shape the character put forward. Their finger was on the script, the scene of an unintentional torture apparent. "You have to make the straps as tight as possible while we're working, too," they went on, wrist already slipping into one of the restraints at the head of the bed. “The only way I should be able to get out is to break a bone.”

[kingstongilmore]

Basics

Full Name: Kingston Gilmore

-Previously Known As: Axel Adler, Quinn Devereux, Cleo Lennox 

-Born As: Alton Orion Vaughn

Birthday: June 23rd

Age: 47

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Religion: Undefined spiritualist. Kingston’s belief is that there is only one life given, so why not live to full extent to experience all the emotions that it has to offer? Once you “die,” your energy is dispersed into the stars. You never really die, but there is no “afterlife” per se... you simply... go on in a new form.

–Religious Level (1-10): 7.

Birthplace: Chepstow, Wales (moved to London, England)

Current Residence: Monrovia, California

Height: 6’ 1″

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Dark brown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Love/Romantic Preference: Panromantic

Relationship Status: Single

Languages Known: Welsh, English, French, 50% Greek

Details

Car: Uber or walking. Loves to walk.

Phone: They don’t have one.

Music Genres: All of them. Really depends on the character they’re playing at the time. For Misery, they’re playing a lot of 70s rock because they’re getting that’s the vibe James would enjoy.

Wardrobe: Dark cloak [x], dramatic layers with thick silhouettes [x], olive green/grays/blacks/whites/musty yellow colors

Estimated Net Worth: Kingston had inherited a more valuable section of their parents’ estate, but they signed over all of it to Donovan. They’re not tied to wealth in the slightest. The most they will spend will be on the playhouse. 

Ransom Value: They’re experiencing the kidnapping, please, do not bother them.

Education: MSt in Modern Languages from Oxford University

Accent: Standard Welsh mixed with RP (strength 7/10)

Bloodlines + Connections

Donovan Achilles Vaughn | Younger Brother 

Rufus Vaughn | Father | Deceased

Persephone Vaughn | Mother | Deceased

Juno Benson | Pseudo-son

Tomas Visser | Pseudo-son-in-law

Levels (all based on them alone, exceptions made for the roles they get cast in)

Drinking (1-10): 2.

Swearing: 2.

Smoking status: 2.

Drugs: 1. They’ve tried hallucinogens in the past, but they don’t need it.

Cooking proficiency: 7. Slightly above average, likes to try new things.

Intelligence: 8.5

Emotional/Social Intelligence: 9

Creativity: 10

Temper: 4

[jcunos]

@kingstongilmore​

“I have wine, by the way. Red or white, take your pick.” Juno glanced up from Macbeth when Kingston came back from wherever they’d been, honestly he hadn’t even noticed them leave, too tired and aching and consumed by that old sense of vulnerability, of teetering on a precipice and being unable to claw himself away. Hence the wine, one bottle already halfway gone. And the line of socks down the middle of the room, the creative solution to keep his sock-phobic cats out of Kingston’s space.

Juno flopped back onto his bed, biting down a wince. Of all people, Kingston had handed his dream back – a role on stage, and he couldn’t ruin that now by letting his weakness show. “I’ve been thinking about Lady Macbeth.” Not really, but anything to take is mind of – that. “What are you going for? Controversially sympathetic or evil bitch? I’m game for either.”

[kingstongilmore]

"How are you faring? Before you answer, your face speaks for you when words won't," they spoke, voice a balance of care and a means to jab at the truth. Juno had been absorbed into the folds of their tender heart, and it had been long enough to notice the moments of pain, even amongst a small sea of wine. The wince that he gave was enough of an indicator of it for the night as Kingston stayed by the doorframe, unfurling the long scarf around their neck before it was hung up.

The touch on their work did give a glimmer of a smile, even if it was being used as a distraction. They could afford to play to it for now. "Let your instincts tell you what choice to make. It cannot be something that rests on my shoulders any longer. Once it was given to you, my control was also ceded over." The socks were so graciously lined up to protect them, but the border was crossed over, allowing themselves to enter into the fray of what was making their nose tickle already before sitting on the edge of Juno's bed. "My trust in you is there, as any writer should give to their performer.--What speaks to your heart more?"

[kingstongilmore]

maryastcr‌:

“you consider yourself prey then. do give yourself some agency.” though, she enjoyed the argument. it had been some time since somebody had challenged her in pure exercise. they could talk for an hour, she would not change the system for a single soul. “i should never consider you all to be ants, i am of the belief you all enjoy the lens. it hardly kills.” even if there were too many of them swarming around, black dots fading against each other. they were never obedient to their queen, trying to pull little tricks. she’d never known ants to search for a weak link. “a word of advice, since you seem so new. humanity has always been the achilles heel of this industry.” it was why their revolutions failed, it was why they spent their time bargaining against the inevitable. “you should never presume yourself martyr, you’ll find survival to be far more difficult.”

She forged the words that had been carefully constructed from raw feeling into a new sword. Her hand was on the hilt, the tip of the blade right beneath their chin, as seen in how their head tipped up. The throat can be exposed all it wanted to her. Cut into it. Make their blood become the new color of her office walls. It would not change the resolve that ultimately gave life to them; not what this mortal world offers its creatures temporary existence. "I am new only to this war zone you are so eager to compare this studio house to instead of the hell it surely is, but not to life. You are only at the beginning of your timeline, and because of it you put too much emphasis on what belongs to you--none of which likens itself to humanity, and therefore you find it weak simply because you don't understand it." There was a vague pause, knowing Mary would disagree. It was inevitable, but the intention must be diverted back. "What is there to be done to give 24 hours to him? If humanity is weakness, I am weak. Your kind should take its pound of flesh for all its worth whilst you can."

[jcunos]

Ostensibly, the move was for their own protection; Juno found it easier to believe after talking to Ms. Samson, but it still felt like kill them with kindness, inadvertently or not making everything so much worse. Case in point, the ‘out of order’ sign on the lift, and at least four fucking flights of stairs to get up to his room. Juggling cane, cats and bags was hard enough already – biting his lip and trying to get on with it could only get him so far, but he had to try, at least to prove that he still had it in him.

Halfway up the second flight of stairs, and his leg was in agony, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Giving in felt like a knife to the stomach, finally having to concede ground to the injury – but now Juno was in someone else’s way, trying hopelessly to shift a suitcase and keep Carrie settled on his shoulder. “Shit – sorry–” He tried to move out the way, almost overbalancing in the process. “Fuck– ow – sorry, have you got a moment? I could really use a hand here.”

[kingstongilmore]

This morning, Kingston was visited by a memory. It was not a pleasant one nor was it one that they could say was penned in regret for it derailed suffering to those that still held their heart. It was the moment they had signed their contract. There had been no intention from them to take up board at Cora Samson's building, but the guests that visited them hours before were more convincing than mere paper could be. They had taken a suitcase, packed their items for them, all for Kingston to refuse to take it. They came to the building empty handed for that very reason, allowing them nothing but a way to aid Juno in his plight, as they had planned to do before he had finally asked.

"You are no Atlas, my dear. It's okay to shrug when you need to," they offered in the same way they took his bags. "The heavens will have mercy." Eyes slipped over to see the feline companion, already feeling the prickle before the nose twitched, trying not to sneeze but failing as their head turned sharply to the side to avoid Juno. "My allergies,” they explained. “It's nothing contagious, you have my word."

[kingstongilmore]

sylviedewitt‌:

“something less?” she’s always attuned to word choice. how it revealed so much, especially with someone who seemed to be on a writing path if the papers were anything to go by. she knew she had set it up in such a way—insinuating that there was no place like home. still, she was intrigued that they ran with such a thought. she rarely contributed her own. “just something different.” she pressed her lips together in a smile, kind but not overbearing. a pleasant reminder that some people understood. “i find it hard to think of anywhere quite like this city. least of all somewhere like london. the history goes so much further.” and the sun suddenly became an overbearing presence for anyone more acquainted with inclement weather, she’d heard the thought before.  “you’re welcome, of course.” she stuttered back to the pages at hand. “the process must be difficult enough.” or else, she was in the presence of quite the dramatic sort. “it’s not a current production is it?”

They were not someone with a background in psychology, only a vessel for the ever-changing emotions that brought life to characters that would otherwise stay in printed form. London. The name of the city made the lips curve. Everyone who crossed their path, even those that did not know them, associated the voice with the landscape. The home was always overlooked, always buried, and perhaps that was their fault for leading others down that path. "It is a change of pace," they agreed with a nod. "I'm trying not to find myself waking up one day to find the soles of my feet red with blood from those that I have walked on." The climb to the top was not a priority to Kingston. The ladder was not leading up to any place they wanted to reach. Eyes glanced back at the script at the question, nearly forgetting for the briefest moment. "No, not yet." They gave a small smile. "Are you... a producer? I admit I don't recognize you, but I keep out of the news and the gossip rags to keep a clean slate."

[kingstongilmore]

maryastcr‌:

“if you prefer such imagery.” if she took a vested interest in every single new contract the company took on, she would be overwhelmed by names alone. she had learned to filter, to sort through the glut of people who would one day be graced by her presence. it wasn’t until they made noise, that they sat in her office and asked for favors that they became anything of interest to her. “i should think of it as a reminder; your life being one drop in a limitless ocean.” one that they were clearly willing to throw away for someone they could hardly know. she was still deciding what action such foolhardiness merited, buying them enough time to continue their speech. “of course drowning doesn’t imply the same level of victim-hood you so desire.” wasn’t that always how it went. “yet—do you really blame the snake? i must assume you knew it was in its nature to bite.”

Coldness. Callousness. The chill it brought into the room, how it filled it with paradoxical emptiness. The space felt larger because of it, as if the walls themselves had shattered, leaving them at the ends of the earth where the drop-off point was endless. "What remains when humanity has been scoured out of a person? Is there still a soul that clings to what is left, dear?" They couldn't help the gaze that stayed on her, a revolted one. "Are we only seen to you as ants from the lens you look through? You speak as though we're that small and insignificant." There was no movement on their side, no step taken forward or back, still and as rooted as anything else on this planet. "I didn't call upon on it. I was in no jungle. I was in a flat in London when it came slithering to me. What snake knows how to operate a lift and then claim it as its own territory?"

[kingstongilmore]

jcunos‌:

Kingston’s little nod compelled Juno to return the gesture, vulnerable, their words and understanding hitting him harder than he’d anticipated. To hear someone else say it – no shame – was enough to salve the guilt a little, tinder to the kindling of longing in his heart. “No, I guess you’re right – we need to live. Not just exist.” And for Juno, living meant theatre, letting the ghost of someone else’s creation inhabit him more completely than film could ever allow. It was why he jumped at Kingston’s offer, an unbidden smile flashing across his face. Hope, clearly written: “Really?” It was almost too good to be true; he half wondered whether the opportunity would be snatched away, another of Prometheus’ cruel tricks. “Well – yes, but – are you sure?” And, tacked on as an afterthought: “What part would it be?”

Excitement pulsed through Juno's veins at the offer, heard in the inflection of his reply. It was enough to make Kingston laugh, touched by the genuine enthusiasm and the relief that came to them for knowing that the choice was just. "My heart is not fickle enough to change my mind, and there's something that tells me you would make the role memorable.--Lady Macbeth." The answer may have been unexpected, but there was nothing wrong about it to Kingston. "All of the roles of gender are to be uprooted. I've never seen the need for them."

[kingstongilmore]

maryastcr‌:

“equals.” she agreed to the point that they were all quite human, but she felt no need to say such a thought out loud. she felt no real desire to comfort his thought that he was on firm ground. she was empowered only by her current position, by the knowledge that she had earned her way. the kingdom, power, and glory were hers. she would not bend for anyone. “quite dramatic of you. but i’m no contract lawyer.” blood oaths, the height of passion. they revealed a range of feelings, for which they quickly got to the heart. it was such a stance to take, to call oneself a ghost all the same. “i do wonder, why sign it at all then.” should she not be willing to hear about how she need spare mr. summer’s life, she might as well learn a little something about the person brave enough to speak up all the same. she was never very interested in the nuances of the contracts, but she was overdue for a show. “i confess, i see but a mortal in front of me.”

To be dramatic came with the territory, the kind of requirement the stage demanded. For each and every live performance, a part of the soul had to be sacrificed for the sake of the craft, but Kingston was only on the stage of life--the biggest one that could be performed on, where every move determined the difference between life and death. It was mildly surprising to hear that Mary hadn't an idea as to what made them sign. "The snake's tail knows not what the head does, does it?" The python's den was cavernous as Kingston was learning, so much so that one side of Prometheus Productions was unaware of the other's actions. So much left behind in order to protect it. Their country, their brother, their stage. "If that is to remind me of my own mortality, it is only your breath that will be wasted. The company you work for has already taken everything of mine, leaving me no choice but to accept its venom."

[kingstongilmore]

jcunos‌:

Juno laughed, realising Kingston had pinned him in one sentence. “Oh, uh— yeah.” He was suddenly shy, glancing at the floor as his cheeks flushed. What else was there to say? The theatre was — not quite like a drug; far less insidious, but it wormed its way under your skin nonetheless. “No, no; I’m not a spy— honestly, I want to perform. But I didn’t have the courage to.” It felt traitorous to admit it, but after a second hospital stay, all the fight had been drained from him. The longing still remained, stripped of the energy needed to fight— that energy had only begun to return when he’d discovered the playhouse. When he’d seen Kingston performing: something clicked then, a siren call luring him back to the stage. Juno realised he was still holding on to the scraps of script; glancing back down at them, he noticed for the first time that the words weren’t what he remembered. “Is this yours?” He dropped his voice almost to a whisper, more out of instinct than anything else. Active thought wasn’t even needed to process the danger Kingston was putting themself in, even with that subtle rebellion against Prometheus.

Their head rose before lowering once more, the type of nod that's given of deep understanding when words themselves could never give the feeling justice. "Our mortal coil within this place robs most of their courage. There's no shame to survival," they offered with a kind but pensive smile, following up with more to give, "but I'm under the belief it should not sway us from living." Kingston had been persuaded into signing by threat alone. There were no stars in their eyes nor blood that longed to be replaced by gold. There was nothing that held their heart captive more than that of the stage. Juno's yearning for the same solidified an affinity, producing a proud look against the performer's face at the question. "Could I interest you in a part?" they asked in the same lowered tone, enjoying a touch of the dramatics that came with secrecy.

[kingstongilmore]

maryastcr‌:

there had never been a point in young mary astor’s life where humanity was anything but a plague. it had nearly ruined her family, disguising weakness as some sort of unity. she was intrigued at its presence none the less. how people would paint targets on their backs in the name of it. “oh it must.” she took her time with the words, letting them stretch across time. it was hers to waste, she’d made her point immediately. it only took wearing them down. “i’ve been assured you’re new to the company.” hence her interest in the first place, these contracts were not for the faint of heart. and many wouldn’t have dared to take this meeting in the first place. “so i will make this simple for you. points cannot be transferred between contracts.” she didn’t understand many of the arcane rules that came with the company, but she wasn’t the one to change the status quo. she merely held on to power, it suited her. “i should think that twenty four hours is more than enough time. did you not sign your contract with a thought for your demise?”

The words from her lips draped the entire room in a chill. The gossamer of threat clung to it, that faint glimmer brought on by barely concealed weaponry. Kingston, so often devoted to a role, was used to a mentality that braved any and all danger with a Herculean heart. Where did their life begin and those that were printed on pages end? It all bled together in the end, bringing them to an apex, confronting those like Mary with abandon. "You're speaking to me as if I'm a child. As long as your blood bleeds as mine does, we will always be equals," they reminded of the context, the fullness of their positions, how mixed society had made it all. The question posed was polished to a fine grade, baring it of any care towards the subject. It was taken in with a moment of reflection, a memory coming like a distant dream, as if it belonged to someone else. "The signature you'll see on that piece of paper is from a pricked finger. That was my demise, Mary Astor, forever preserved in your records. You see a spectre in front of you, but not everyone shares the same boat along the river Styx."

[kingstongilmore]

sylviedewitt‌:

“don’t worry.” her first instinct is to step on the papers, catching them underfoot and prevent them from getting any further out of hand. but it only takes a glance at all the writing to know that a stamped footprint would be disrespectful to say the least. so she bent down, and started picking up everything within reach, handing them quickly over to the recipient. she scanned some of it as she went, couldn’t be helped, it was only a reflex from her office. catching people’s messages as they wrote, paging through journals to understand one’s run of thoughts. but without knowing who this person was, there was nothing to discern from the phrases she caught, there wasn’t anything yet to look for. “you could blame it on the pacific just as easily.” although it was interesting, that they were so quick to mention england. so many people in this city avoided the subject of far off places, found it something to run from and hide. not casually mention. but once again, she was looking too hard. “but it’s hard to replace home.”

Being new to the production company has afforded Kingston many things, most notably ignorance when it comes to faces that haven't been plastered on billboards, television specials, or magazine interviews. Even heavy players can slip through the cracks for them; it goes without saying that her face does nothing in terms of being registered. She seems pleasant, cordial even, but don't we all wear masks? They've worn one for so long, of different colors and shapes, that there's no telling what lies beneath anymore. "Yes, it is, especially with something so different," they agree, a pensiveness to the words before there's a sigh that sweeps it all away, hands taking back the pages that have been outstretched for them to regain. "Thank you for saving these from their own destruction. I feel sometimes the art is always on a path to destroy itself in one way or another." A smile given, but they've noticed how she's taken a look at them. Art indeed, like its performer, is always on that winding downward path. “You sound like you speak from experience with replacing home with something less.”

[kingstongilmore]

jcunos‌:

Once Red Sparrow truly kicked into gear, Juno’s days turned into the usual helter-skelter of makeup, costumes, and filming that they usually did in the middle of a project; the dull ache was a constant companion, only rivalled by creeping, ever-present exhaustion, and the frustration that came with being unable to escape those things entirely. Yet at the end of the day, it was still nice to wander around the streets – LA was a beautiful city, really, if you could look past all the tragedy. If you could admire the Hollywood sign without remembering how many people had jumped off it. He hadn’t been expecting to – almost literally – bump into Kingston: seeing them outside the playhouse felt almost wrong, sacrilegious, like seeing the pastor outside the church. “Tell England it can have it’s weather back, thank you very much.” Juno grinned as he bent to help them collect up the paper, eyes skimming it over instinctually. He’d recognise those names anywhere, practically calling out to his subconscious: “Is this Shakespeare?”

Under different circumstances, the face before theirs would have gone without a name bubbling to the forefront of the mind. Within a society where the stage didn't clash so violently with film, Juno would have been noticed as another face in an audience that Kingston had seen when delivering lines of dramatic intensity that could make them blind to everything else. It was only because of another performer that Juno's name was known, pointed out after the curtain closed with a mixture of fear for Prometheus and odd admiration of what could be given. There was a glimmer of a grin extended to him, taking his words in jest. "I would if it would answer my calls to it," they explained, a hint of truth hiding behind metaphors. Eyes slipped up as they gathered the pages with him, meeting the gaze. "Your heart must be full of longing for it to recognize it in a single beat.--I had an inkling that would be the case." Lips spread a bit more, finally collecting them all before holding them out for Juno to take back in a completed form. "I've noticed your visits," they explained. "If you are a spy, I could think of no better way for me to fall on my sword than by my own script."

[kingstongilmore]

It's as if time is a luxury. It's solid gold bars. It's diamond encrusted rings. It's all slipping through Kingston's fingers, sweeping past his body, chipping away at his life one minute at a time. It sets the priorities with a firm hand, and they've always been one to do what the heart desires first before what is demanded of them from anyone else, particularly Prometheus. Death does not ring the same bell of terror it does in others when it comes to them. There is only the fear that they will leave behind a life that was half-lived if the bell does toll for them, and where Kingston is headed is determined to never leave any stone unturned, to pour one's heart and soul out with abandon. The stage has never betrayed them before, and a signed contract will do nothing to stop them in their love. However, the wind has plans of its own, whipping the pages from Kingston's overcrowded messenger bag clean out. Splattering against the pavement is their script. Their script. The script they've written themselves. A revision of Shakespeare for the modern age, and it is curling at the end of another's feet, who could have the power to question and end their time at Prometheus if the other digs too deep. "I seem to have brought a touch of the English weather with me," they begin as they bend down to pick up the pages, getting those that are closest to being found out.

[maryastcr]

“no.” all it took was a single withering glance for her to know both agenda and answer. she looked across her desk, didn’t cross her arms. there was no hostility to her, only the honesty. “mr summers is being cancelled, the probability isn’t up for debate.” she’d seen the numbers, it was only a matter of time. she would have the studio prepared by tomorrow. she was learning. mr. van daan had been right to lean towards showmanship, she’d started employing a series of theatrics, they didn’t even require her participation for some shows. in return, the window for last minute changes was an ever narrower time frame. “you’re wasting my time if you want mercy.”

[kingstongilmore]

They should be keeping a lower profile, given how Kingston hasn't been playing particularly by the book--to their contract, to be exact--but they're nothing but self-sacrificing as long as it is to the cause of the heart. Mary was insistent, Prometheus was insistent, and a sigh was left escaping them. "Must it be this way?" The question wasn't a plea, more of a direct inquiry. They were new here afterall. The English accent of a theater performer speaking for itself, but there is no doubt that Mary knows already. The job of heading a department wrapped around cancellation must know all those that have signed. "Enough of my points can be given to him to wield him more time on this earth. If only for a week to allow his affairs to be arranged, what will the difference in time matter? This is not the kind of mercy that requires heaven to bend, but of mere humanity, dear."

[kingstongilmore]

g + m!

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Kingston is a natural born performer, a chameleon when it comes to acting, loving to shift between the skins of various characters. They're able to get inside the minds of many, so their gifts are much more sentimental than they would be of expense and luxury. Gifts that are given by Kingston are very heartfelt and given with thought.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc

A romantic at heart, Kingston's ideal date would be walking down a small Parisian street, passing those little family shops and maybe taking the time to slow dance in the middle of it from the sound of a song being played from an open balcony above. They'd have their fingers threaded through Taliesin's, of course.