"Manners maketh man. Do you know what that means?"
Harry Hart is the very picture of a gentleman. He's well-mannered and well-dressed, could recite the complete and unabridged rules of etiquette word for word if he so chose, and decorates his posh London home with framed butterflies.
He's also a secret agent who knows how to kill a man just as well as he knows the proper way to set a table for tea.
It's not immediately apparent that Harry is anything other than the tailor he claims to be, but he'd be a very bad spy if it was. He's good at blending in; he's an agent of Kingsman -- an organization unaffiliated with any government operations and therefore bound to secrecy and discretion.
At heart, he's a good man. One can surmise that he's ambitious and determined, as anyone who's successfully completed the training to become a Kingsman agent would have to be, but he has strong morals, and believes in good vanquishing evil. He may come off as a snob, and he never corrects Eggsy when called a snob, but he also makes it clear on more than one occasion he believes that one's breeding does not determine one's value in the world.
However, even though he clearly believes in Eggsy, his decision to propose him as the next Lancelot reveals a blatant rebellious streak. He is told outright not to make the same mistake again (he had proposed Eggsy's father 17 years earlier), yet he still chooses Eggsy, despite running into the boy by complete chance that day and spending less than 24 hours monitoring him to determine his suitability. Harry believes the Kingsman are too set in their ways and could do with some shaking up, and little things like this are his way of showing it.
That, and outright calling Arthur (Kingsman's senior member and essentially Harry's boss) a snob. Harry is always polite, and very patient, but he's not above rudeness or sarcasm or even crass jokes. He swears far more than you'd expect of a gentleman and I think by now everyone knows this scene. Basically, he could tell you to go fuck yourself and it'd still sound like he was being very mannerly.
He could be described as a bit of an eccentric. As I mentioned earlier, he has framed butterflies in his house. Like...the walls are covered. With framed butterflies. It's never mentioned, never referenced in any way whatsoever, he's just really into butterflies, apparently. He also keeps his stuffed dead dog, Mr. Pickle, mounted in his bathroom.
Finally, as even-tempered and patient as he may be, he does allow his emotions to get the better of him at times. He very dramatically and stylishly kicks the asses of a group of goons right in front of Eggsy, and excuses it as needing to let off some steam because he'd had some bad news that day. He then threatens to amnesia dart Eggsy right in the face. Additionally, despite his years of experience, he's not above missing details or making really terrible decisions. Seventeen years ago, he missed that a man he was interrogating had a grenade, which resulted in the death of Eggsy's father, Lee. Harry still feels immense guilt over the fact, and tells Eggsy that everything he's done for him has been in an effort to repay Lee. Also, when undercover as "Mr. DeVere" to investigate the movie's big bad, Valentine, he makes an enormous mistake that ultimately costs him his own life -- he casually namedrops a professor whom Valentine had kidnapped earlier in the movie. The thing is, the professor is nobody important. He's not famous, and there's no reason some billionaire like Harry's cover would know him. Valentine catches on, and a few scenes later Harry's dead. Valentine was already suspicious of Harry's extravagant billionaire cover, but that one remark sealed Harry's fate.
His death comes immediately after a scene in which Valentine is testing his Evil Plan to turn people into homicidal maniacs using sim cards to transmit waves that lower a person's self-control while raising their aggression. Harry is present and affected, and ends up slaughtering a lot of people in a church. They're terrible, hate-mongering, bigoted people but, as Harry puts it, the Kingsman only condone taking a life to save another. Since he's killed right after this, we're not given the chance to see how he's affected by what he's done. He was fully aware while under the sim card's influence, but states that he "wanted to" kill those people. His tone implies regret, and it's very likely that he's going to experience some lasting guilt and grief over what he's done.
Flavor Abilities: n/a, he's just a dude
Suitability: He has decades of experience doing spy work. Not only is he more than capable of defending himself and others, even against multiple targets, but he's no doubt been stranded in difficult and uncomfortable situations before and come out alive. He'll know how to weather the storm, so to speak. He's going to want to get to the bottom of this and try his very best to find out who's responsible.
Most of his time will be spent investigating, and testing Norfinbury's limits. He'll offer help to those who need it, but won't immediately be looking to team up or anything of the sort. He'll be content to play the lone wolf, at least at first, so that he can go about his investigations without putting anyone else at risk.
RP Samples:
network
[It's been three months. Three long, mind-numbingly dull months.
Harry's carried on under the guise of the tailor from London, carefully avoiding any details that might out him as anything else. He's remained secluded whenever possible, sequestering away in buildings he knows aren't frequented by the others.
But now, he thinks, that charade has gone on long enough. It's clear that this has nothing to do with Kingsman, never has, and he won't do anyone any good if he continues on like this.
So, one evening, he picks up his tablet and looks steadily into its camera, expressionless.]
Hello. It's been a long time since I've done this, but this evening is special: if my numbers are correct, it's been three months to the day since I first came here.
A lot has happened in these three months, yet we know barely more about this place than we did when I arrived.
[People have come and gone. Information has been unearthed, but it's never enough. They have scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle but none of them fit together quite right, not just yet.
It's clear that they need to do more, as a group, but Harry Hart the tailor doesn't have many skills to offer.
Harry Hart the secret agent, on the other hand, just might.
His mouth forms a tight line, and his brow furrows. He's thought a lot about what he's going to say next, but that doesn't make it any easier. It's hard to go against decades of carefully-trained secrecy.]
I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you all, and I think it's time I put an end to that:
Despite my impeccable knowledge on men's dress shoes, I'm not a tailor. I'm something more like a spy.
At first I thought this place may have something to do with that, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for misleading you all; I wouldn't have done so if I'd thought I had a choice.
I'm admitting this now because I'd like to extend an offer. Many of you know how to defend yourselves, but I'd wager just as many haven't a clue. I'd like to help. You'd be amazed at what one can accomplish when one only knows how to throw a proper left hook.
Consider it an olive branch. I don't expect you all to trust me, but I don't intend to give you any more reason not to.
log
Harry had often complained of the cold during winter back home, especially when he was younger. He just didn't like it. There's nothing charming about going on with a snotty red nose and wet shoes. Not Christmas nor hot chocolate nor merry snowmen with carrot noses could redeem such a horrid, freezing, wasteland of a season, in his opinion.
Now that he was in Norfinbury, he regretted each and every complaint he'd ever had about an English winter. This was true cold, the kind of cold that chilled you to your bones and made you hurt until you were numb. It was hard to move, even hard to speak most of the time. Frostbite was a constant threat.
He'd been lucky enough to find a good pair of boots only a few days in, and a pair of gloves a week after that. He was still cold, but lost digits were no longer an immediate threat.
Today, luck found him again. He'd discovered a small cache of five blankets in a crumbling building. They had been packed away in a trunk and hadn't been touched by snow or ice. He managed to fit three of them into his pack, and rolled the other two carefully to carry in his arms. They would be a little wet from the snow, but still usable.
He was almost happy when he made his way into a small cottage for the evening, shutting the door hard behind himself. It wasn't quite getting dark yet -- he'd decided to turn in early -- so the young woman huddled in the corner wasn't hard to miss. She looked frightened, and her only warmth was one of the coats everyone was issued. Her tablet sat nearby.
A new arrival, undoubtedly.
"Oh. Pardon me" he said. "I thought this one was empty. I can leave if you like."
She shook her head, waving away his apology. "It's fine," she said. Her voice was weak and shook in that way that meant she was much, much too cold. She wouldn't make it through the night at this rate, even indoors.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you look cold. Here."
He sat the two blankets he'd been carrying aside and slung his pack off his shoulder to dig out the three dryer ones. The girl looked on eagerly, and didn't protest when he handed her two of them.
"The fireplace looks dry enough. Do you know how to start it?" She shook her head. "I'll show you. It's very simple, if you have the supplies."
He produced paper and matches from his pack -- the fireplace itself already had two dry logs in it. This was a lucky day, indeed.
As he showed her how to start the fire, he introduced himself, and decided to offer some words of advice.
"I won't lie to you. Survival won't be easy," he said. "But it's possible. Tread cautiously, always. Most people here are willing to help you if you need it but there are always those who would rob you blind, given the chance. It's best if you can help yourself."
If anything, she seemed more frightened now, not that he could blame her.
"Keep those blankets," he went on. "I'll help you find more supplies tomorrow."
He offered before he could stop himself, but then it wasn't as though he could let this poor girl fend for herself. With her bleached blonde hair and perfect manicure, she didn't strike him as the type to really know much about roughing it. Of course, Harry made the same impression on people, himself, so far be it from him to judge. Knowing how things worked here, she was probably a werewolf, or vampire, or something else equally absurd and fictional.
Or she could just be a frightened girl who truly needed some guidance.
Either way, apparently he'd just roped himself into being the one to do it.
--
Also a couple of tdm threads that were too short to use as real samples, just for good measure: 1 & 2
no subject
Harry Hart is the very picture of a gentleman. He's well-mannered and well-dressed, could recite the complete and unabridged rules of etiquette word for word if he so chose, and decorates his posh London home with framed butterflies.
He's also a secret agent who knows how to kill a man just as well as he knows the proper way to set a table for tea.
It's not immediately apparent that Harry is anything other than the tailor he claims to be, but he'd be a very bad spy if it was. He's good at blending in; he's an agent of Kingsman -- an organization unaffiliated with any government operations and therefore bound to secrecy and discretion.
At heart, he's a good man. One can surmise that he's ambitious and determined, as anyone who's successfully completed the training to become a Kingsman agent would have to be, but he has strong morals, and believes in good vanquishing evil. He may come off as a snob, and he never corrects Eggsy when called a snob, but he also makes it clear on more than one occasion he believes that one's breeding does not determine one's value in the world.
However, even though he clearly believes in Eggsy, his decision to propose him as the next Lancelot reveals a blatant rebellious streak. He is told outright not to make the same mistake again (he had proposed Eggsy's father 17 years earlier), yet he still chooses Eggsy, despite running into the boy by complete chance that day and spending less than 24 hours monitoring him to determine his suitability. Harry believes the Kingsman are too set in their ways and could do with some shaking up, and little things like this are his way of showing it.
That, and outright calling Arthur (Kingsman's senior member and essentially Harry's boss) a snob. Harry is always polite, and very patient, but he's not above rudeness or sarcasm or even crass jokes. He swears far more than you'd expect of a gentleman and I think by now everyone knows this scene. Basically, he could tell you to go fuck yourself and it'd still sound like he was being very mannerly.
He could be described as a bit of an eccentric. As I mentioned earlier, he has framed butterflies in his house. Like...the walls are covered. With framed butterflies. It's never mentioned, never referenced in any way whatsoever, he's just really into butterflies, apparently. He also keeps his stuffed dead dog, Mr. Pickle, mounted in his bathroom.
Finally, as even-tempered and patient as he may be, he does allow his emotions to get the better of him at times. He very dramatically and stylishly kicks the asses of a group of goons right in front of Eggsy, and excuses it as needing to let off some steam because he'd had some bad news that day. He then threatens to amnesia dart Eggsy right in the face. Additionally, despite his years of experience, he's not above missing details or making really terrible decisions. Seventeen years ago, he missed that a man he was interrogating had a grenade, which resulted in the death of Eggsy's father, Lee. Harry still feels immense guilt over the fact, and tells Eggsy that everything he's done for him has been in an effort to repay Lee. Also, when undercover as "Mr. DeVere" to investigate the movie's big bad, Valentine, he makes an enormous mistake that ultimately costs him his own life -- he casually namedrops a professor whom Valentine had kidnapped earlier in the movie. The thing is, the professor is nobody important. He's not famous, and there's no reason some billionaire like Harry's cover would know him. Valentine catches on, and a few scenes later Harry's dead. Valentine was already suspicious of Harry's extravagant billionaire cover, but that one remark sealed Harry's fate.
His death comes immediately after a scene in which Valentine is testing his Evil Plan to turn people into homicidal maniacs using sim cards to transmit waves that lower a person's self-control while raising their aggression. Harry is present and affected, and ends up slaughtering a lot of people in a church. They're terrible, hate-mongering, bigoted people but, as Harry puts it, the Kingsman only condone taking a life to save another. Since he's killed right after this, we're not given the chance to see how he's affected by what he's done. He was fully aware while under the sim card's influence, but states that he "wanted to" kill those people. His tone implies regret, and it's very likely that he's going to experience some lasting guilt and grief over what he's done.
Flavor Abilities: n/a, he's just a dude
Suitability: He has decades of experience doing spy work. Not only is he more than capable of defending himself and others, even against multiple targets, but he's no doubt been stranded in difficult and uncomfortable situations before and come out alive. He'll know how to weather the storm, so to speak. He's going to want to get to the bottom of this and try his very best to find out who's responsible.
Most of his time will be spent investigating, and testing Norfinbury's limits. He'll offer help to those who need it, but won't immediately be looking to team up or anything of the sort. He'll be content to play the lone wolf, at least at first, so that he can go about his investigations without putting anyone else at risk.
RP Samples:
network
[It's been three months. Three long, mind-numbingly dull months.
Harry's carried on under the guise of the tailor from London, carefully avoiding any details that might out him as anything else. He's remained secluded whenever possible, sequestering away in buildings he knows aren't frequented by the others.
But now, he thinks, that charade has gone on long enough. It's clear that this has nothing to do with Kingsman, never has, and he won't do anyone any good if he continues on like this.
So, one evening, he picks up his tablet and looks steadily into its camera, expressionless.]
Hello. It's been a long time since I've done this, but this evening is special: if my numbers are correct, it's been three months to the day since I first came here.
A lot has happened in these three months, yet we know barely more about this place than we did when I arrived.
[People have come and gone. Information has been unearthed, but it's never enough. They have scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle but none of them fit together quite right, not just yet.
It's clear that they need to do more, as a group, but Harry Hart the tailor doesn't have many skills to offer.
Harry Hart the secret agent, on the other hand, just might.
His mouth forms a tight line, and his brow furrows. He's thought a lot about what he's going to say next, but that doesn't make it any easier. It's hard to go against decades of carefully-trained secrecy.]
I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you all, and I think it's time I put an end to that:
Despite my impeccable knowledge on men's dress shoes, I'm not a tailor. I'm something more like a spy.
At first I thought this place may have something to do with that, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for misleading you all; I wouldn't have done so if I'd thought I had a choice.
I'm admitting this now because I'd like to extend an offer. Many of you know how to defend yourselves, but I'd wager just as many haven't a clue. I'd like to help. You'd be amazed at what one can accomplish when one only knows how to throw a proper left hook.
Consider it an olive branch. I don't expect you all to trust me, but I don't intend to give you any more reason not to.
log
Harry had often complained of the cold during winter back home, especially when he was younger. He just didn't like it. There's nothing charming about going on with a snotty red nose and wet shoes. Not Christmas nor hot chocolate nor merry snowmen with carrot noses could redeem such a horrid, freezing, wasteland of a season, in his opinion.
Now that he was in Norfinbury, he regretted each and every complaint he'd ever had about an English winter. This was true cold, the kind of cold that chilled you to your bones and made you hurt until you were numb. It was hard to move, even hard to speak most of the time. Frostbite was a constant threat.
He'd been lucky enough to find a good pair of boots only a few days in, and a pair of gloves a week after that. He was still cold, but lost digits were no longer an immediate threat.
Today, luck found him again. He'd discovered a small cache of five blankets in a crumbling building. They had been packed away in a trunk and hadn't been touched by snow or ice. He managed to fit three of them into his pack, and rolled the other two carefully to carry in his arms. They would be a little wet from the snow, but still usable.
He was almost happy when he made his way into a small cottage for the evening, shutting the door hard behind himself. It wasn't quite getting dark yet -- he'd decided to turn in early -- so the young woman huddled in the corner wasn't hard to miss. She looked frightened, and her only warmth was one of the coats everyone was issued. Her tablet sat nearby.
A new arrival, undoubtedly.
"Oh. Pardon me" he said. "I thought this one was empty. I can leave if you like."
She shook her head, waving away his apology. "It's fine," she said. Her voice was weak and shook in that way that meant she was much, much too cold. She wouldn't make it through the night at this rate, even indoors.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you look cold. Here."
He sat the two blankets he'd been carrying aside and slung his pack off his shoulder to dig out the three dryer ones. The girl looked on eagerly, and didn't protest when he handed her two of them.
"The fireplace looks dry enough. Do you know how to start it?" She shook her head. "I'll show you. It's very simple, if you have the supplies."
He produced paper and matches from his pack -- the fireplace itself already had two dry logs in it. This was a lucky day, indeed.
As he showed her how to start the fire, he introduced himself, and decided to offer some words of advice.
"I won't lie to you. Survival won't be easy," he said. "But it's possible. Tread cautiously, always. Most people here are willing to help you if you need it but there are always those who would rob you blind, given the chance. It's best if you can help yourself."
If anything, she seemed more frightened now, not that he could blame her.
"Keep those blankets," he went on. "I'll help you find more supplies tomorrow."
He offered before he could stop himself, but then it wasn't as though he could let this poor girl fend for herself. With her bleached blonde hair and perfect manicure, she didn't strike him as the type to really know much about roughing it. Of course, Harry made the same impression on people, himself, so far be it from him to judge. Knowing how things worked here, she was probably a werewolf, or vampire, or something else equally absurd and fictional.
Or she could just be a frightened girl who truly needed some guidance.
Either way, apparently he'd just roped himself into being the one to do it.
--
Also a couple of tdm threads that were too short to use as real samples, just for good measure: 1 & 2