Post by LOGAN TATE on Nov 12, 2012 4:32:41 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; padding: 10px; border: #000000 solid 0px; ] stuck in this daydream. [style=font-family: helvetica; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 6px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center;]MELIMUS PRIME FULL NAME: Logan Grady Tate ALIAS: NA DATE OF BIRTH: 12/07/1982 AGE: 30 OCCUPATION: MMA Trainer/Fight Ring Operator SEXUALITY: Heterosexual PLAY BY: Jessie Pavelka LOCALS [style=background-color: #65727A; border: 10px solid #65727A; font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: 10px; color: white; text-align: center;]all about me So where did you come from? Originally? Ireland. Never know it with a last name like Tate huh? I lived over there for a good portion of my life. It's where the accent comes from, obviously. I guess you could say it was probably where I first got my thirst for scrappin' from in the first place. Naturally, the legal drinking age in Ireland is only eighteen (not that I didn't sneak myself into the pubs earlier than that), so as you can imagine, when you're young and full of piss and vinegar, you start drinking and one thing winds to another. I got into my share of scraps growing up. I was never really much of a fantastic child, admittedly. What do you mean you weren't a fantastic child? Hah. I got into a lot of fights, as I admitted. Wasn't very respectful towards the law... Hell, I guess I'm still not, but back then I was a lot more cheeky... and vocal about it. It's not like I didn't appreciate what the police force did but I couldn't damned well help myself. There's a rush in the art of fighting that not enough people recognize. Most people just look at me like I'm retarded when I say something like that. Who could possibly be stupid enough to enjoy getting beaten the hell out of. But see, that's the thing. If you're not a slacker and a dumbass, you don't get hit. You block them and send your opponent reeling. So how did you wind up in the USA? Well, I guess that kinda ties into the whole thing with me getting into trouble a lot as a kid. See... My mother was more or less a single woman. Sure, I had my father but... he was really never actually home. When I started getting into trouble, I was just a young teen. She couldn't handle it and didn't think sending me with my father - wherever the hell he was - was such a brilliant idea. She was more or less left to raise me for the most part. I think she blames a lot of how I turned out on my father never having been there to reign me in but... it is what it is. When I was barely eighteen, she packed me up and shipped me off to the USA to live with an uncle of mine, figuring that being around a male figure would somehow be a good idea. But when you have an eighteen year old boy who's got a serious alpha male complex, you just don't throw him together with another alpha male personality. What happened? We fought. Majorly. I didn't want to have to listen to some asshole who hadn't been in my life for eighteen years, but was suddenly supposed to dictate my every move. We were living in New York City there... and as you know, there's one hell of an Irish community there. Well... I got in with that Irish community. And not on the good end of it either. I made it pretty apparent that I was in to fighting. Majorly into fighting. So... they gave me a shot of a lifetime and threw me into a fighting ring there in New York City. Let me tell you... the New York City fighting circuit is nothing like any of he smaller circuits you see around the world. It's the real deal. The guys in there are fighting every night for money that'll likely make the difference between sleeping with a roof over their head for the next month and... well... not. How'd you do? At first? I was horrible. I got the crap kicked out of me, but I kept getting up and standing my ground. I wasn't as big as some of those guys in there but... that changed eventually. There was one guy who tossed a shitload of money around the circuit on a nightly basis. He took an interest in me and pulled me aside. Offered to turn me into a proper fighter. He'd invest the money and time into my training if I wanted it. But I had to want it damned badly so that he'd wind up making a profit on me in years to come. I agreed. Snot nosed kid... What the hell did I know? So you started training then? Yep. I had some of the best instructors. Mixed Martial Arts were something I picked up like a bloody magnet. I was quick on my feet and, slowly, I started building up the muscle mass. I was already a decently big kid, but by the time they were done with me... Well... [Looks down at himself] Look at me now. [Smirks] But it went beyond that too. Eventually, I was winning enough fights and making enough earnings that I was able to get the hell out of my uncle's place and into my own. It wasn't anything fantastic. Bare bones with just enough of everything that I needed, but it was my place and that was all that mattered. Eventually I wound up putting myself through school too for business management. Business management? Oh don't look so bloody surprised. Yes, business management. I wanted to run my own training facility. Wanted to help train the next generation of fighters and offer other classes to the public. It was all a good cover up in the end. And what about the guy who had invested in you? Oh, he made his profits back on me and then some. He would bet on me in matches and when I won, he'd treat me like I was his golden boy. There was only one time I bet on me and lost... He was Irish blood and part of a gang of his own. He made it more than clear to me what would happen to me if I lost again when he had his five other fighters beat the crap out of me in the alleyway one night. Believe me... I was never more happy than when the son of a bitch died. When did he die? Two years ago. That's when I moved here, to Myrtle Beach. The rest of the gang agreed to leave me the hell alone so long as I established a circuit here in Myrtle Beach and helped them profit a little bit. I walk a fine line sometimes... Between my temper and wanting to tell them to piss off... Well... it's not always the best in business transactions but... I make it by, I guess. So you have a legitimate business here then? Yeah. It's a club and gym nearby. I'm legitimately certified and recognized by the MMA association for training and teaching MMA but... it's all too regulated for my likes. The real fighting kicks out in the middle of the city every Friday and Saturday night. We bounce around between a few different warehouses that the crew back in New York City owns. Keeps money in their pockets. Do you still fight? Truth be told... I'll probably die in the ring some day. Yeah. I still fight every now and then, but not nearly so much as I used to. I'm more the guy that you don't want to fuck with in the crowd. I keep an eye on everyone in the stands and make sure that my guys make it out of here late at night without incident. You'd be amazed at how pissed off some guys can get if they wind up losing a match. But I command a lot of respect in this circuit. That being said, people will usually back off if they see me around. They either respect me or their scared of me. Either way, I'm content with that reputation. It has its purposes. Do you have any other family besides your mother? My Mum, obviously. I also have two siblings. An older brother and a younger sister. There's a lot of rumours floating around back home about my brother, but I can't believe a damned bit of it. The brother I knew was always the one who was there for me when I needed him, right up until the moment I was shipped out to the US. He was my partner in crime, sure, but he was always there for me when I needed him most of all. Of all of my family members back home, even though he wasn't there as much as I'd like him to be, he's the only one I'd still bother contacting... if I knew where the hell the bloody arse was. And before you ask... yeah, I know I don't share the same name as the rest of my family. I felt a wee bit betrayed when my own flesh and blood wound up shipping me away from the country I was born to and to a completely new and foreign one. That being said, I legally changed my name and took on the last name of my sponsor in the fight circuit. So now, rather than Logan O'Farrell, I'm Logan Tate. Anything else you do? Yeah... Someone screws us over for money they've bet with... I collect it myself. You can take that to mean whatever you want. No one screws my boys out of what they shed blood, sweat and tears from. No one. |
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