Application: Cape Kore
Jan. 10th, 2013 07:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
casabianca[Player information]
Player Name: V.
Age: 23
E-mail: easypeasyeasypeasy AT gmail DOT com
Other characters played at Cape Kore: Sherlock Holmes, Loki Laufeyson
[Character information]
Name: Peter Guillam
Canon: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (2011 film, some extra information and backstory taken from the novel.)
Canon Point: End of film, shortly after the discovery of the identity of the mole.
Age: 36
Appearance: 6', gingery blonde, fond of tailored suits with just a hint of colour to them. Meticulously neat, takes pride in his appearance.
Inventory: Leather bag containing WWII-era revolver (Webley Mk IV, old but well-maintained), small half-empty box of bullets, passport (real), passport (false, hidden in the lining), 1970s UK driver's license, notebook, address book, comb, other odds and ends. No electronics.
Abilities: Nothing superhuman.
History: Here
and here. (note: The second article doesn't explicitly say so, but Guillam was present through much of the goings-on in the film. With a few exceptions, where George Smiley goes, Guillam follows.)
Personality: Peter's a bit of a complicated fellow, as one might expect of a man who works in espionage. As one might also expect, perhaps his most defining characteristic is loneliness. Though, as the novel explicitly states, he has no family, he is not without friends, or at least people with whom he feels some camaraderie; nor does he seem to have any great difficulty in finding lovers in either the novel or the film (though the gender of the object of his affections varies between the two – I will be following film canon in this regard). Nonetheless he's isolated from them. His friends – exclusively coworkers – seem distant, as is necessary in an environment which cultivates suspicion and secrecy. His lovers aren't permitted to know about his work, and in both novel and film the risk involved in that work leads him to drive them away.
There is, in fact, only one person with whom Guillam seems to share anything like a genuine relationship: George Smiley. George appears to be something of a mentor of Guillam's, an idol, well-known for his work with the Circus and something of a personal friend. The relationship runs deeper than friendship, however. Smiley appears at least on the surface to be something of a father-figure to Guillam, who adores him without reservation and on more than one occasion threatens violence to those who slight him. I would argue, however, that Guillam does not see Smiley as a replacement for his own absent father, at least not consciously. He does not treat him as a parent, but rather as a boss, a progenitor of the institution to which he remains loyal despite trying times, an institution which, given that his parents were also members thereof, essentially raised him – yet still no progenitor of his own.
Nonetheless Guillam's relationship with Smiley, and with his work by extension, reveals a number of important things about him. Firstly, that despite his training and the rather tremendous self-control he displays while performing various acts of espionage, he is impulsive. He is, moreover, wildly suspicious, as a spy must be, but also overly trusting – upon discovering the identity of the mole, he is both shocked and personally insulted, as he'd regarded this man as something of a mentor and friend as well.
There's another complex facet to this feeling of betrayal which is also of a great deal of importance: namely, that Guillam is head of the Scalphunters, the least well-regarded of the Circus' divisions. The Scalphunters do the organisation's dirty work – assassinations, kidnappings, blackmail, and so on. He was once, however, a field agent, head of a network in French North Africa, which was widely considered to be an extremely dangerous assignment, given only to skilled agents. It was the mole's leaked information which blew his cover and got him assigned to a home department. This, the sudden change from fieldwork, and dangerous fieldwork at that, which by all indications he performed quite skilfully, to what amounts to a desk job must contribute to his impulsiveness and to his overemotional responses to certain events.
He does not, moreover, seem particularly satisfied with his job at the beginning of either film or novel, and several times in the novel he complains to Smiley about how the organisation and hierarchy of the Circus has changed since Smiley's forced resignation. His dissatisfaction is only compounded by events in his personal life, which leads one to assume he is questioning his continued involvement in the organisation. Nevertheless, he remains loyal to Smiley and carries out his assigned duties admirably – and more, in fact. Smiley is portrayed as brilliant, but absentminded, a small and unassuming man of more than middle age who is troubled by his past and his personal life, and reluctant to return to work at the Circus. Guillam acts as assistant and sounding board and, at times, something of a caretaker, compensating for Smiley's absentmindedness. He is dutiful and reliable despite distance on Smiley's part (which he doesn't take personally, as it is more or less the mode with which Smiley regards everybody).
For all his loneliness and dissatisfaction, however, Peter is not a wholly miserable man. He can be warm and friendly, and to those who earn his affections he is unwaveringly loyal, though it's unlikely he'll ever open up completely to anyone.
[Samples]
First Person: It's alright. No, it, it is, really. It's fine. I mean, I never felt...
[Peter runs his hand over his face, sighing heavily.]
It wasn't like that. Not with George. Sometimes he couldn't even be arsed to give me more than a few words' instruction but that was enough, coming from him. I knew it just meant he was elsewhere, didn't always have time for me. Larger concerns. Is that completely ridiculous? That I thought he was brilliant enough that it didn't matter?
Third Person: theboystoodontheburningdeckwhenceallbuthehadfled runs 'round and 'round in Peter's head, 'round and 'round as though his brain is desperately trying to fill in the details between there and here, between the waiting and everything going wrong. He can't, and it's like failing. He can remember the rest of the poem, could recite it any day, can feel it like the sharp smack of the cane to the back of his hands, smell it like chalk dust, but that one recitation, that particular instance, failed to bring him understanding. Failed to bring him reason. It's still failing.
And now he's here, alone again, and in a strange place. Alone, but at least George doesn't need him anymore.
Need. Funny word. Peter hauls himself to his feet and begins to pace, rubbing dry palms together. A soft rasp, like sheets of paper. Like secrets.
No, George never needed him. He doubts George needs anybody, not really. Ann can come and go and Smiley goes on all the same. After he'd left, been driven out, Peter hadn't seen him for ages. Years. It was taboo, of course, but nobody ever bothered to play by those rules. They could've met, just occasionally. Had a few drinks together maybe. But there'd been no communication at all from the end of that particular line, note until convenience (not quite necessity) had driven them back together.
In the end it hardly even matters. Peter cares for George. He did care, would care for that brilliant man, brilliant and absent, so elsewhere, so caught up in himself and in the past that Peter can't reach him at all sometimes. It doesn't matter. He could care for the body if not for the mind. It'd be better than anyone else bothers to do. George isn't like a father to him, though in terms of absence and distance he's a good facsimile of Peter's. George is something more sacred. A national treasure, maybe, though hardly anyone knows it. They'd certainly not be able to tell just by looking at him.
George holds them all together. He keeps them all safe. Gives too much of himself and takes nothing in return; somebody has to compensate. Ann wouldn't do it. Nobody else bothers to try, and Peter loves him, loves him for all that he does and all that he stands for, and so he'd stepped in. George Smiley is a remnant of the old days, good days, worth holding onto.
Peter snorts at himself. That makes poor old George sound as though he belongs in a museum somewhere. Oh, maybe he does. He wouldn't be out of place, staring at the floor musingly through his thick lenses while the world spins on without him. Yes, Peter has to get home to him. They have work to do. They've got to carry on wandering and thinking and even if Peter's left doing naught but carrying the coffee and opening doors it'll be better, far better, than being here and alone. It would mean something. Just one tiny something.
Anything Else?
Thanks! <3
Player Name: V.
Age: 23
E-mail: easypeasyeasypeasy AT gmail DOT com
Other characters played at Cape Kore: Sherlock Holmes, Loki Laufeyson
[Character information]
Name: Peter Guillam
Canon: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (2011 film, some extra information and backstory taken from the novel.)
Canon Point: End of film, shortly after the discovery of the identity of the mole.
Age: 36
Appearance: 6', gingery blonde, fond of tailored suits with just a hint of colour to them. Meticulously neat, takes pride in his appearance.
Inventory: Leather bag containing WWII-era revolver (Webley Mk IV, old but well-maintained), small half-empty box of bullets, passport (real), passport (false, hidden in the lining), 1970s UK driver's license, notebook, address book, comb, other odds and ends. No electronics.
Abilities: Nothing superhuman.
History: Here
and here. (note: The second article doesn't explicitly say so, but Guillam was present through much of the goings-on in the film. With a few exceptions, where George Smiley goes, Guillam follows.)
Personality: Peter's a bit of a complicated fellow, as one might expect of a man who works in espionage. As one might also expect, perhaps his most defining characteristic is loneliness. Though, as the novel explicitly states, he has no family, he is not without friends, or at least people with whom he feels some camaraderie; nor does he seem to have any great difficulty in finding lovers in either the novel or the film (though the gender of the object of his affections varies between the two – I will be following film canon in this regard). Nonetheless he's isolated from them. His friends – exclusively coworkers – seem distant, as is necessary in an environment which cultivates suspicion and secrecy. His lovers aren't permitted to know about his work, and in both novel and film the risk involved in that work leads him to drive them away.
There is, in fact, only one person with whom Guillam seems to share anything like a genuine relationship: George Smiley. George appears to be something of a mentor of Guillam's, an idol, well-known for his work with the Circus and something of a personal friend. The relationship runs deeper than friendship, however. Smiley appears at least on the surface to be something of a father-figure to Guillam, who adores him without reservation and on more than one occasion threatens violence to those who slight him. I would argue, however, that Guillam does not see Smiley as a replacement for his own absent father, at least not consciously. He does not treat him as a parent, but rather as a boss, a progenitor of the institution to which he remains loyal despite trying times, an institution which, given that his parents were also members thereof, essentially raised him – yet still no progenitor of his own.
Nonetheless Guillam's relationship with Smiley, and with his work by extension, reveals a number of important things about him. Firstly, that despite his training and the rather tremendous self-control he displays while performing various acts of espionage, he is impulsive. He is, moreover, wildly suspicious, as a spy must be, but also overly trusting – upon discovering the identity of the mole, he is both shocked and personally insulted, as he'd regarded this man as something of a mentor and friend as well.
There's another complex facet to this feeling of betrayal which is also of a great deal of importance: namely, that Guillam is head of the Scalphunters, the least well-regarded of the Circus' divisions. The Scalphunters do the organisation's dirty work – assassinations, kidnappings, blackmail, and so on. He was once, however, a field agent, head of a network in French North Africa, which was widely considered to be an extremely dangerous assignment, given only to skilled agents. It was the mole's leaked information which blew his cover and got him assigned to a home department. This, the sudden change from fieldwork, and dangerous fieldwork at that, which by all indications he performed quite skilfully, to what amounts to a desk job must contribute to his impulsiveness and to his overemotional responses to certain events.
He does not, moreover, seem particularly satisfied with his job at the beginning of either film or novel, and several times in the novel he complains to Smiley about how the organisation and hierarchy of the Circus has changed since Smiley's forced resignation. His dissatisfaction is only compounded by events in his personal life, which leads one to assume he is questioning his continued involvement in the organisation. Nevertheless, he remains loyal to Smiley and carries out his assigned duties admirably – and more, in fact. Smiley is portrayed as brilliant, but absentminded, a small and unassuming man of more than middle age who is troubled by his past and his personal life, and reluctant to return to work at the Circus. Guillam acts as assistant and sounding board and, at times, something of a caretaker, compensating for Smiley's absentmindedness. He is dutiful and reliable despite distance on Smiley's part (which he doesn't take personally, as it is more or less the mode with which Smiley regards everybody).
For all his loneliness and dissatisfaction, however, Peter is not a wholly miserable man. He can be warm and friendly, and to those who earn his affections he is unwaveringly loyal, though it's unlikely he'll ever open up completely to anyone.
[Samples]
First Person: It's alright. No, it, it is, really. It's fine. I mean, I never felt...
[Peter runs his hand over his face, sighing heavily.]
It wasn't like that. Not with George. Sometimes he couldn't even be arsed to give me more than a few words' instruction but that was enough, coming from him. I knew it just meant he was elsewhere, didn't always have time for me. Larger concerns. Is that completely ridiculous? That I thought he was brilliant enough that it didn't matter?
Third Person: theboystoodontheburningdeckwhenceallbuthehadfled runs 'round and 'round in Peter's head, 'round and 'round as though his brain is desperately trying to fill in the details between there and here, between the waiting and everything going wrong. He can't, and it's like failing. He can remember the rest of the poem, could recite it any day, can feel it like the sharp smack of the cane to the back of his hands, smell it like chalk dust, but that one recitation, that particular instance, failed to bring him understanding. Failed to bring him reason. It's still failing.
And now he's here, alone again, and in a strange place. Alone, but at least George doesn't need him anymore.
Need. Funny word. Peter hauls himself to his feet and begins to pace, rubbing dry palms together. A soft rasp, like sheets of paper. Like secrets.
No, George never needed him. He doubts George needs anybody, not really. Ann can come and go and Smiley goes on all the same. After he'd left, been driven out, Peter hadn't seen him for ages. Years. It was taboo, of course, but nobody ever bothered to play by those rules. They could've met, just occasionally. Had a few drinks together maybe. But there'd been no communication at all from the end of that particular line, note until convenience (not quite necessity) had driven them back together.
In the end it hardly even matters. Peter cares for George. He did care, would care for that brilliant man, brilliant and absent, so elsewhere, so caught up in himself and in the past that Peter can't reach him at all sometimes. It doesn't matter. He could care for the body if not for the mind. It'd be better than anyone else bothers to do. George isn't like a father to him, though in terms of absence and distance he's a good facsimile of Peter's. George is something more sacred. A national treasure, maybe, though hardly anyone knows it. They'd certainly not be able to tell just by looking at him.
George holds them all together. He keeps them all safe. Gives too much of himself and takes nothing in return; somebody has to compensate. Ann wouldn't do it. Nobody else bothers to try, and Peter loves him, loves him for all that he does and all that he stands for, and so he'd stepped in. George Smiley is a remnant of the old days, good days, worth holding onto.
Peter snorts at himself. That makes poor old George sound as though he belongs in a museum somewhere. Oh, maybe he does. He wouldn't be out of place, staring at the floor musingly through his thick lenses while the world spins on without him. Yes, Peter has to get home to him. They have work to do. They've got to carry on wandering and thinking and even if Peter's left doing naught but carrying the coffee and opening doors it'll be better, far better, than being here and alone. It would mean something. Just one tiny something.
Anything Else?
Thanks! <3