Billy n'est pas une personne du matin. Il avait l'habitude d'être, de croire ou non, bien que ce fût il y a longtemps, et une habitude cultivée par nécessité. De retour au Kentucky, il devait se lever à l'aube juste pour préparer le petit déjeuner pour ses frères et sœurs, s'assurer qu'ils se brossent les dents, et si nécessaire, les traîner à l'école. Même sans réveil, il se réveillait toujours à l'aube. Mais après avoir si longtemps vécu loin de la maison, il a depuis longtemps grandi hors de l'habitude. Ces jours-ci, la plupart de ses matins sont passés à essayer de naviguer dans l'appartement avec les yeux serrés fermé, à peine conscient alors qu'il infirme encore une autre gueule de bois qui éclate le cerveau. Ce n'est qu'après avoir descendu une tasse de café noir brûlant que Billy retrouve un semblant d'humanité, mais il a encore l'impression qu'il y a un pic de glace logé dans son lobe frontal, et qu'il ne peut pas aider, mais il laisse sortir un gémissement pitoyable à la douleur qui frappe à travers son crâne, enterrer son visage dans ses mains. Il suppose que c'est vrai comment les choses que tu aimes finissent par te blesser le plus, et garçon, a-t-il adoré cette bouteille de Old No. 7.
Ici, à St James, Billy pouvait se permettre d'avoir un appartement pour lui. Ce n'était pas l'endroit le plus agréable, mais c'était assez près du centre-ville pour compenser les lacunes – surtout, de toute façon. Bien sûr, il y avait la tache de moisissure suspectement chaude qui grinçait son chemin à travers le mur en face de la cuisine, le démon absolu d'un propriétaire, et aussi comment il a dû soulever-slash-se remettre la porte de la salle de bains à chaque fois qu'il voulait la verrouiller. Le loyer était bon marché, et c'est ça. Au moins, il n'avait plus besoin de partager un appartement avec un tas de pierres; il en avait assez d'avoir tous ses vêtements qui sentent l'herbe.
Assis à la table de la cuisine, Billy est sur le point de s'installer dans la fosse profonde et sombre de regrets induits par la gueule de bois quand une aboiement subite le fait sortir de sa transe. Avant qu'il ne se rende compte de ce qui se passe, une masse chaude et furieuse s'enfonce dans les genoux de Billy, laissant une trace de slobber dans sa joue. Il tombe presque de sa chaise à la masse ajoutée, mais parvient à se stabiliser à la dernière seconde, regardant vers le bas au coupable avec une sorte de wry de sourire.
Billy murmure, la voix encore husky du sommeil, ce qui ne lui rapporte qu'une autre bande de slobber sur le côté droit de son visage. Mais il ne semble pas trop dérangé par la situation - loin de là, en fait. La simple présence de Roméo, le Bullweiler doré, lui a fait se sentir un peu moins merdique, alors il lui donne une égratignure sur la tête, puis encore sous le menton, pour bonne mesure. Bien sûr, il ne faut pas longtemps à ses jambes pour commencer à s'endormir après cela, donc Billy doit se déplacer un peu dans son siège, se tenant au chiot envahi par la végétation précaire perché sur ses genoux. Mon Dieu, tu es lourd. C'est bon, c'est bon. Je dois nous apporter quelque chose à manger.
En fin de compte, Billy décide d'un bagel de grille-pain pour le petit déjeuner, et au moment où il le termine, le bol de kibble he-d mis en route pour Romeo est déjà vide.
Jésus. Je ne savais pas que tu avais faim.Les mots sont accompagnés d'un ronflement, et d'une petite secousse de la tête. Il avait vraiment besoin d'arrêter de nourrir Roméo. Peut-être que je devrais aller à un régime, aussi, Billy contemple, sirotant son café maintenant-lukewarm, et pincée avec insouciance au bout de flab sur son estomac. Ce train de pensée, cependant, est rapidement déraillé par la prise de conscience de l'aube qu'il devait être quelque part aujourd'hui. En descendant les dernières gouttes de son café dans un seul goupille, Billy se précipite devant Romeo pour faire une ligne d'abeille pour la salle de bains, claquant la porte fermée derrière lui. Un moment plus tard, on entendit la douche éclater à la vie, suivi par le cri dégueulasse d'un homme se trouvant soudainement trempé de la tête aux pieds dans de l'eau froide verglaçante.

Il sort de la maison en quelques minutes, vêtu des vêtements les plus propres qu'il puisse excavé de sa zone de désastre d'un placard. Mais le fait est resté qu'il allait être en retard, et cela signifiait aussi qu'il n'avait pas d'autre choix que d'amener Romeo avec lui à la réunion de théâtre. C'est-à-dire, à moins qu'il ait l'impression de rentrer à la maison à un sort pire, et infiniment plus nauséabond que la mort. Il est presque sûr que les animaux n'étaient pas autorisés au théâtre, mais quelle autre option a-t-il? C'est ainsi qu'il finit par traverser les rues de St. James jusqu'au Lawrence Theatre, en laisse à la main, et qu'un sac de messager usé s'est jeté sur son épaule.
Le voyage là-bas n'est pas si mauvais - peut-être environ trois, quatre blocs de distance - mais quand Romeo s'arrête pour renifler un arbre pour la centième fois, Billy se demande si ce serait plus rapide de le prendre et de le porter le reste du chemin là-bas. Au lieu de cela, il tombe juste à un squat devant le chien, le fixant avec ce qu'il espère était un regard suffisamment flétrissant. Si la bonne routine de flic n'a pas fonctionné, alors il n'y avait qu'une seule chose à faire.
- Tu as déjà fait ça? Parce que si vous n'obtenez pas ce cul se déplaçant en ce moment, vous pouvez dire adieu à ce steak que j'ai économisé depuis jeudi.La voix de Billy tombe à un murmure en colère, en partie à des fins d'intimidation, et en partie en raison de la façon dont il ne voulait pas regarder complètement hors de son rocker si tôt le matin. Comme un gardien interrogeant son prisonnier, il tente d'attraper la ligne de vue de Romeo, les yeux rétrécis pour signifier son statut d'alpha. Cette méthode, bien sûr, ne fonctionne pas, et Romeo semblait parfaitement content d'ignorer Billy, des tentatives de plus en plus désespérées pour le faire bouger. Peut-être que le canin pouvait sentir que la menace était vide, ou peut-être que c'était parce que les chiens étaient tout à fait incapables de comprendre le langage humain complexe, mais il semblait totalement épargné par tout ce que Billy lui a dit. Cinq minutes de plus passent avant que Romeo ne décide enfin de recommencer à marcher, et le sans pitié Billy ne pouvait faire que suivre derrière lui, espérant à Dieu que ce serait leur dernier détour.
Avec l'aide de quelques gâteries de bacon rangées dans la poche de Billy, ils arrivent au théâtre sans aucune interruption supplémentaire; et à en juger par le nombre maigre de voitures garées sur le côté de l'immeuble – il, miraculeusement, n'était même pas si tard. Maintenant, c'est juste une question d'essayer d'obtenir Roméo à l'intérieur de l'endroit sans alerter le concierge.
Le creak des vieux planchers, et le click-clack répétitif des griffes contre le feuillus signal Billy's arrivée, mais la première chose qui vole hors de sa bouche est des excuses. Désolé pour le chien. Il n'a pas eu le temps de le faire marcher, alors je l'ai juste... amené ici. Il s'approche de la scène, sonnant plus qu'un peu ovin. À part lui, il y en avait trois autres – Art, Ziggy et Noa. Tout d'un coup, il ressent un besoin pressant de se justifier. Tirant un coup d'œil rapide et presque imperceptible sur Roméo, Billy continue, les lèvres se cramponnent dans un demi-sourire, et lève les mains dans un geste placassant: -Il ne sera pas du tout un problème. Promesse.
Male | 31 | Homosexual
𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘
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Billy Halford stands at an impressive 6’2”, though with his tendency to slouch, he usually appears a little shorter than he actually is. It’s mostly out of laziness, and his posture is terrible; shoulders rolled forward, hands stuck deep in his pockets. Pretty much the only time he grows to full height is when he feels threatened, and has been known to be truly terrifying when he does so. Fortunately, however, this side of him is not something people see very often.
Turquoise green eyes always seem to glimmer with something akin to amusement; and these days, Billy can often be seen chewing away at tabs of gum in an attempt to break a near-lifelong smoking habit. While he used to be a tad insecure about a crooked front tooth, he’s long since gotten past it. He likes to keep his dirty blonde hair cropped close in a messy undercut, though it inevitably grows out into a loose shag when he forgets to pay a visit to the barber. While he prefers to stay clean shaven, he often gets lazy and gives his scruff free rein. Upon closer inspection, one will also find a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones. Other than that, he does have a few notable scars. One of which is an inch or two under his right eye, stretching from the top of his ear, and another, smaller one cutting vertically through the eyebrow. Both of them were from a fight he’d gotten into a couple years back, where he ended up with the pointy end of a broken bottle to the face. Additionally, the surface of his skin is peppered by a maze of tiny battle scars, most of them souvenirs from past altercations.
That said, he’s not super built, but still pretty solid, and it’s largely due to his genes rather than trips to the gym. He’d almost have a swimmer’s physique, but lately, it’s been softened by one too many Big Macs, though he likes to think his latest part-time gig as a mover keeps him fit enough. His voice, as is befitting of his appearance, is a deep, rumbling timbre, but Billy doesn’t quite sound like he used to, after years spent away from his hometown. Most of the time, his accent can be described as generic - bland, even - a monotonous mix of North and South. In times of extreme emotion, however, he reverts back to the lazy, slack-jawed inflection characteristic to a native of the Appalachias.
‘Accidental Hipster’ is probably the best way to describe Billy’s non-existent fashion sense. He doesn’t put much effort into keeping up appearances, but somehow, still has a knack for turning his déshabillé to his advantage. When it gets chilly, he resorts to heavy flannels and/or ugly woollen sweaters. Paired with his positively ancient jeans and work boots, the whole aesthetic almost seems to scream ‘lumberjack’. On warmer days, well, he dresses exactly the same - except instead of hideous, moth-eaten sweaters scavenged from the thrift store, it’s ratty, old t-shirts and wifebeaters. Billy also seems to wear a lot of jewelry for a guy, though it’s mostly leather and beaded bracelets, steel rings on his fingers, and of course, those douchey seashell necklaces.
𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
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Billy enjoys a bottle of whiskey on the weekends, loves his dog a little too much, and could probably do with seeing a barber more than once every six months. But for all his tactlessness, he really does mean well. When he asks a question, he really does want to know the answer, and when loves, he loves pretty ferociously. His sense of humor, however crude, will never fail to bring a smile to people’s faces, and even if that doesn’t work, his laugh is deathly infectious. Billy is one of those guys you hate to love, and he knows it well. Even so, he can be unpredictable, adamant, and dislikes making commitments, especially those he is not sure he can keep. But whatever one might be led to believe, he’s an extremely passionate, and emotional person. When he truly takes interest in something (or someone), he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about everything else.
This, however, means that he is very bad at relationships – really, really bad. He often comes as pushy and overly aggressive, in both his work and his life outside of it. One of Billy’s defining traits is his volatility, though he’s mellowed out a little with age. No longer does he get into barfights (well, less than he used to, anyway), but he still makes a point of saying what he thinks, and will rarely sugarcoat his words to win people over. He’s never uncomfortable; in fact, his boldness often verges on brash and crosses into downright crude, thanks to his lack of a filter. If he likes something, he'll let you know it, and if he doesn't, well, he's never been shy about voicing his opinion in that matter either. Try as he might, Billy’s never really had the best poker face in the world, and it tends to give him away, more often than not.
If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being talked down to. Of course, this isn’t to say he’s all bad, just that he’s hard to like. He does have a few soft spots here and there, even if they aren’t exactly the easiest things to find. Yet for all his flaws, he’s never met a boundary he wouldn’t cross, and he’ll go to the absolute ends of the Earth for you if he thinks you’re worth it. Billy is, by nature, extremely impulsive, both in the things he does and says. As far as he’s concerned, life’s too short to just sit around and let shit happen. He often states that no one should take life too seriously because in the end, everyone ends up in the same place - even if he doesn’t believe what he’s preaching. At the very core of his personality, Billy is kind of a bleeding heart, and often puts the needs of others above his own.
Not many people know this, but Billy is deathly afraid of horses, courtesy of a rather unfortunate incident during his teenage years. Fortunately, horses aren’t something you see very often in the city. The next one’s a little less obvious, but he’s terrified of becoming his father, and what he’s going to do if everything with Abracadabra! ends up falling through.
𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦 & 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦
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✓ French fries
✓ Dogs
✓ Coffee
✓ Warm weather
✗ Broccoli
✗ Horror movies
✗ Vodka
✗ Horses
𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
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Born the oldest of three children in rural Kentucky, childhood wasn’t quite as picturesque for the young William Halford as most others’. His father, like everyone else in town, was a coal miner who spent more of his free time getting drunk at the local bar than taking care of his son. His mother, meanwhile, managed to juggle two different jobs at the same time. Suffice to say, Billy didn’t exactly grow up surrounded by sunshine and rainbows. But still, that was something he genuinely wanted - a loving, close-knit family, just like one of those obnoxiously American Norman Rockwell paintings he’d seen in the pages of his textbooks. His father’s idea of a bond with his son, however, was keeping the women he brought home a secret from his mother, while she thought quality time with Billy was handing him a list of chores to do as she spent her afternoons bussing tables at the local diner, and her nights at the gas station.
It wasn’t long before his father took off up north with a rouged-up tart on his arm. For a few years, Billy, his siblings, and his mom got by. He had to grow up fast, of course, but he never blamed his mother, not even for a second. Carol Ann Halford was a real good parent, if you could look past the fact that she wasn’t much of a parent at all. She was still his mother, and she worked her ass off to keep a roof over their heads. Most days, Billy tried to convince himself that having no father was better than having a drunk, deadbeat loser as one. There were people all over the world who had a hell of a lot less, and Billy knew he had to count his blessings each night and say a quick prayer to whoever it was that listened, if anybody at all. That, of course, left Billy to take care of his siblings while she was away, and he was a good sport about it, too - never fussing, never complaining - at least up until high school, anyway.
In school, he started to struggle, both academically and socially, though if he had to be honest, he saw that shit coming from a mile away. As his grades slipped, his frustration grew, and soon, he began to take his anger out on the people around him. There were too many things about him that could be picked on for his liking, and so he grew louder, more boisterous, and was forever throwing the first punch in a fight. You had to be living under a rock to not know his name, in fact, and Billy loved every second of it, no matter how many times he was sent to the principal’s office, knuckles bruised and bleeding. Everyone was divided when it came to Billy - you either loved or hated him, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It put him on the map and gave him the attention he craved; the attention he lacked. Back home, his mother was none the wiser, too busy with trying to make ends meet to pay any heed.
At age seventeen, Billy found himself with no real higher education prospects. He was uninvolved in extracurricular activities, uninterested in his studies, and shovelling horse poop at a neighbour’s farm for a few dollars a day. For all intents and purposes, it looked like he was heading down the same path everyone else in town did - that of a coal miner. It was a respectable living, sure, but did he really want to spend his entire life stuck in a dank cave somewhere, chipping away at rocks? But his siblings were getting old enough to take care of themselves, weren’t they? It wouldn’t hurt to take a week out of his life for a short holiday. And so, with what money they could scrape together, Billy and a few friends embarked on a trip NYC, as one last hurrah before they finally settled into a life of mundanity. Once they got there, however, things were a whole lot different from what they saw on TV. By the end of their second day there, Billy and his friends had gotten thrown out of more places than he could count for causing a ‘public disturbance’.
Billy’s first brush with show business (if it can even be called that), came in the form of a bespectacled casting agent from a modelling agency. I know what you’re thinking, but however hard it might be to believe, he did use to be the hot, young thing once. Instead of returning home with his friends at the end of the week, he signed a contract with the modelling agency after an audition. For a while, that was what he did - editorials and runway modeling. It was easy enough to stand around and look pretty, but no one ever fell over themselves to book him for a show. Still, he earned enough to get by, and every month, he would send an envelope filled with some money back home. Of course, nothing lasts forever, and when his problem with authority started to catch up, job offers slowly dried up.
Billy eventually turned to various odd jobs to keep himself afloat - moving furniture, mopping floors - he even worked as a morgue technician, at one point. In search of his next meal, he ended up auditioning for a bit part in an commercial. Not exactly the most exciting stuff, but it wasn’t hard to smile, look surprised, and act like the simple act pouring a drink was instead an insurmountable mountain, impossible to anyone but the most nimble of humans beings. The director was apparently sold by Billy’s ‘blandly handsome’ appearance, and called him in to do another commercial for some strange, mechanical mop.
It’s around this time that Billy starts to lose it, his accent; the accent he hadn’t even realized he owned. It flavored his words with an odd, downward lilt that people noticed immediately, their attention shifting from what he’s saying to how he’s saying it. At first, they say it’s charming. That he is charming. That it’s a ‘quaint’ little accent, like they’re speaking to a child. After that, they say other things. Things in the ballpark of ‘uneducated’ and ‘uncultured’, without being so obvious. No one took him seriously. How can they, his housemate argued, when you sound like that? He started to bleed it out after that. Loud, rough words smoothing themselves out into something that’s a bit more monotone, a blend of North and South that made him sound like nothing at all. As soon as he started doing that, he managed to pull together a semi-stable career as a commercial actor.
During one of the many dry periods in his life, Billy found himself sweeping floors at The Lawrence Theatre. That was also how he found out about Abracadabra!. Come to think of it, they were probably pretty desperate to fill their ranks, at that point. He still doesn’t know what possessed him to audition, but lo and behold - he actually got the gig through an impromptu, acoustic rendition of Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door played on a badly tuned guitar he found in the depths of the janitor’s closet. Truth be told, he didn’t even know that was a possibility. The schools he’d went had been ridiculously underfunded, and any art or theatre programs were but a far-off dream. Well, that was what he had to do now, anyway. And you know what they say - there’s no time like the present.
𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦
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● Accents - Billy has a real knack for accents. Most acquaintances don’t even realise he’s from Kentucky until they hear how he sounds completely shitfaced.
● Singing - He’s actually pretty good at singing, just that he still has a bit of trouble with actually projecting his voice across the room. Billy doesn’t like to tell anyone, but he spent a good part of his childhood as a choirboy at his town’s congregation. Billy’s vocal color can be categorized somewhere between a dramatic and lyric baritone.
● Sturdy - Billy handles most of the heavy-lifting in Abracadabra!. It’s no sweat off his back, really, he’s been doing that kind of thing for a long time. And if he ever ends up getting into a fight, he’s happy to note that he still packs a mean right hook.
● Quick-witted - Billy is quick-witted, able to think incredibly fast on his feet. While his long-term planning isn’t quite up to par (read: terrible), he’s rather good at making split-second decisions that rescue him from sticky situations.
𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦
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● Untrained - Billy’s never had any formal training in acting, and it shows. In fact, his approach to most things can be summed up with an age-old adage: “just wing it”. It’s been getting him by well enough, but how long that lasts is a question that’s yet to be answered.
● Tactless - Diplomacy is a huge problem for him, and he makes a terrible habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Try as he might, he’s never really had the best poker face in the world, and it tends to give him away more than not.
● Stubborn - Above all else, Billy values his pride. His facade of confidence is (mostly) unwavering, and he likes to think of himself the alpha dog in any social situation he’s in. Even in the most dire of situations, he rarely resorts to asking for help.
𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗦
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Supporting Actor - Billy’s acting isn’t anything to write home about, but he can still follow stage directions and say his lines. Most of the time, what he ends up doing is more of a glorified bit part than anything, but his skill at accents comes in handy for that.
Stagehand - When he’s not on stage himself, you can often find Billy running around backstage, moving props, setting up lights, and making sure no one gets killed and/or maimed by any falling scenery.
𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗖.
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● Billy owns a 2 year-old rescue dog named Romeo. He's a mutt, mostly Rottweiler and American Bulldog, but he loves him all the same, because come on - look at that face.
● Benjamin Coffin III in Rent, or Adolfo Pirelli in Sweeney Todd.