BLAKE, JONATHAN EDWARD

[jon]

[atrb=style,width: 490px; background-color: F8F5F3; border-right: 10px solid #E4C851; border-left: 10px solid #F0384E; padding: 10px, bTable][th] jon blake FILM ACTOR / DIRECTOR, SEASONED STAR, TOM HARDY
the stats FULL NAME jonathan edward blake AGE & DOB thirty three / september fifteenth ACTOR AGE RANGE 26-38 (depends on makeup) HOMETOWN hammersmith, united kingdom CURRENT LOCATION los angeles ETHNICITY caucasian, british LANGUAGE english, french SEXUAL ORIENTATION heterosexual HAIR COLOR brown EYE COLOR blue HEIGHT five foot ten WEIGHT one hundred and ninety pounds DISTINGUISHING FEATURES rugged looks, tattoos	deeper perspective STRENGTHS protective , once people get close to jon, that's usually where they stay. he has this need to protect the people around him - whether it's emotionally or physically. jon's usually the sort that's likely to jump in front of a car, or take a bullet for a friend. if he hadn't been so into acting, he probably would have ended up being a bodyguard. this side of him isn't usually prominent, and it takes a good friend to bring it out. passionate , when jon finds something he likes to do, he goes all out. whether it's baseball, or acting, or even writing - which isn't something that he particularly likes - he'll commit to the act without even contemplating the ulterior route. even though he can multi-task, he's the one track mind sort of guy. and he'll never quit something. when it comes to acting, or directing, he becomes incredibly emotionally invested in what he does. his passion usually rubs off on others, and even when speaking about something he loves he could drabble on and on for hours, even though he isn't much of a conversationalist. ambitious , this trait goes hand in hand with his passionate characteristics. even from a young age, when he was barely out of diapers and finally getting a glimpse of a world outside of a crib, jon was actively striving to be better. even if it was just getting a gold star for spelling the word 'cat' right. as he grew, so did his ambitions. and by the time he was fifteen, he was absolutely certain that he wanted to become invested in the film business. earlier on it was difficult for him to find ground, and he dabbled in a few shows here and there, always striving to learn from those around him. even now, with his success, jon is striving to be better. his goals moved from acting to directing as well, and he makes sure he is the best at whatever he does. witty , jon is the definition of the word witty. sometimes, it's not always a good thing, but for the most part people are entertained by his intelligent, back-handed comments as soon as they fly from his lips. he's a cynic, and sarcastic at most times, and his general wit simply adds on to the entertainment. usually he's a pain to interview, because if he's not being completely passionate and serious, he's being witty. this also means jon can support himself in most conversations, even though he isn't a very aggressive socializer. he understands most things, and will willingly fire them back at you, simply for his own entertainment. self-sufficient , from the age of eighteen, jon has been completely self sufficient. having been raised in a small household with just a father figure to lend him a meager hand, jon had to learn how to make it out in the world by himself. for the first ten years of his life he struggled along, meagerly paying for a low-grade apartment in hammersmith - even having to move into his father's house for a period of time. but in this time, jon learned how to support himself. even now, when he doesn't have to care about money, jon is actively being self-sufficient. he doesn't live in a big apartment, and he doesn't own any sports cars. in fact, jon could care less about the money his job offers him. WEAKNESSES aggressive , jon has a problem with his temper. it's usually not something that he outwardly shows - since he does have some degree of self control and can usually calm himself when needed - but it's still pretty out in the open. it's not just simply that one or two things can set him off, it could be absolutely anything. someone on set, a family member, a friend, or just a general douchebag walking down the street - it could be anything. but his temper also leads to a violent attitude. having boxed as a teenager, jon is simply violent by nature. and hell, can he pack a punch. but as long as you avoid saying stupid things or his flying fists, you should be fine. guarded , if there's one thing that jon is, it's guarded. having been brought up with not a lot of friends, and not very good socializing skills, jon has never been a social butterfly. in most situations, he keeps to himself, and tries to avoid socializing with people he knows he'll dislike. this, of course, leads to his guarded life. he tends to avoid the paparazzi (not that they follow him much, anyways), and always dodges personal questions in interviews. it's not so much that he doesn't want everyone to know about his life, which is of course a problem for everyone, it's more of the fact that he feels uncomfortable familiarizing with people he doesn't know, nor will ever know. somewhat arrogant , due to his own success in the business, and the fact that he almost did it single-handedly, jon has a hard time talking down what he has achieved. i mean - wouldn't you be the same way? jon can occasionally show bouts of arrogance; perhaps from the fact that he's worked so obsessively to make himself into who he is that he's proud of what he's done. plus, he just hates spoiled little rich kids who were practically born into the business. sometimes people judge jon on the fact that he can be arrogant toward other people in the business, but they ignore the fact that he is incredibly respectful to most everyone he meets. except, of course, those who don't deserve it. obsessive , this trait sort of comes hand in hand with his passionate mind set. when he was younger, jon had developed himself as a method actor. he's the sort of actor that will stay in character, even between takes. he's obsessively serious about what he does, and he disrespects anyone who isn't. but his love for his job goes beyond love, and breaches into an obsession. sometimes, it seems to be all that he can think about, and occasionally he can't separate his life from his work. impatient , when it comes to people who are slower, or less passionate than he is, jon can become frustrated and impatient. this sort of plays into the fact that he has a short fuse, and people who bother him are of no use to him. his fuse, as said earlier, is incredibly short. jon's not one to wait around for a spoilt actor to get his lines right, or to show up on time. act like a brat, he'll fire you and replace you. jon works for what he has, but he can become frustrated and tired with others when it isn't given in it's due time. he's patient enough - let's just say that. SKILLS Jon has been acting since the age of nine. He started drama classes when he lived in England, and continued until he was eighteen. He has a natural British accent, from his birth there, but can impersonate any type of British, Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or American accent. But that's about it when it comes to accents. He's been trying to perfect an Australian one, as of late. Jon has been independently directing films for the past several years, having been taught by one of his own, previous directors. He can mediocrely dance. He can also sing really well, although he's not very proud of it. And lastly, Jon has eight years of training in mixed martial arts and boxing. EXPERIENCE • BLACK HAWK DOWN - Twombly (2001) • STARK TREK: NEMESIS - Shinzon (2002) • THE RECKONING - Straw (2003) • LAYER CAKE - Clarkie (2004) • GIDEON'S DAUGHTER (TV MOVIE) - Andrew (2005) • MINOTAUR - Theo (2006) • MARIE ANTOINETTE - Raumont (2006) • SCENES OF SEXUAL NATURE - Noah (2006) • FLOOD - Zach (2007) • THE KILLING GENE - Pierre Jackson (2007) • THE INHERITANCE - Dad (2007) • SUCKER PUNCH - Rodders (2007) • BRONSON - Charles Bronson / Michael Peterson (2008) • THICK AS THIEVES - Michael (2009) • WUTHERING HEIGHTS (TV MOVIE) - Heathcliff (2009) • INCEPTION - Eames (2010) • TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY - Ricki Tarr (2011) • UNDERNEATH - Director (2011) • WARRIOR - Tommy Conlon (2011) • FALL - Director (2012) • KINGS AND CROWNS - Director (2012) • THIS MEANS WAR - Tuck (2012) • LAWLESS - Forrest Bondurant (2012) • THE DARK KNIGHT RISES - Bane (2012) Jon came into the business by doing plays when he was seventeen years old. At the age of twenty three, Jon got his first role in the famous, war movie Black Hawk Down. Although the role was minor, he enjoyed the experience. It took him several years to find his footing in the movie business, but his first big role was in the movie Bronson, where he played Bronson. The movie attracted the eyes of director Christopher Nolan, and he was picked up as a supporting actor in the famous movie, Inception. From there, his movie business picked off. With the help of Nolan, Jon found solace in directing films, and tried his hand at it three times, though only releasing the movies as independent films.
[th] the player ALIAS rem. YEARS OF EXPERIENCE seven. OTHER CHARACTERS none. HOW'D YOU FIND US? caution. RP SAMPLE "My name is Vicki Vale. I'm a journalist--" How many times had Bane had meetings with journalists? Intuition screamed no, but his brain cried yes. He'd seen them. He'd seen them everywhere. In the cold slopes of the Russian mountains, or the harsh winds of the Sahara Desert. And not all of them were specifically labeled under the job description of journalist. To Bane, they were all one and the same. People who muttered words from between their parched lips that formed vocal chords poised as questions. Questions. Anyone who asked was overstepping boundaries. Delicate boundaries so easy to break that it might appear to someone that they didn't even exist. And they did. Questions like, why do you wear the mask? Or, what are you doing? Or even a simple, who are you? Were questions that Bane would never answer. Words that formed into fragments and broke his concentration until he was forced to react to them, and silence them with a quick flick of a wrist or a slam of fingers as they crunched against bones. So the fact that a woman so fragile, so easy to break that it was almost too easy, had simply made her way into the home of a man who neither cared, nor bothered that she would most likely end up on the relinquishing end of a sewer drain as another piece of unwanted rubble, was not a wise decision. Not a wise decision at all. And he'd seen her type before. The type that wore those obnoxious heels on their feet, clicking as they collided with cement in short, quick-winded steps that bore into his brain cells and murmured at him until he had no choice to break them, and the type that strutted around as if they owned the word. As if it were straddling on the end of their ivory fingertips, alive and breathing as they desperately tried to ascertain what they believed to be power. But they knew nothing of the word. They didn't know the feeling of a word that completely possessed your being. That wrought through your bones and cried in you as you slept, purring to you and encouraging you to act and use it. Power was something that was attained. Not given. If anything, he compared her kind to the vermin that ran the streets. In all realities, he was not the villain. If anything, he was the savior of Gotham. His plan was simply to eradicate a leech. To exterminate it from the world. He was a hero. And he was doing them all a favor. He thought it to be some kind of poetic justice: that a man delivered into the darkness, a man who was left to rot in the pits of hell, determined to die for the deeds he hadn't committed, was the savior of a world that had been plunged so far into the depths of their own hell, devoured with greed and lust and the want of power, and that he was their messiah. He was the one who would deliver them from the flames, hold them up for all to see, and say you're welcome. "I'm the best journalist at the Gotham Gazette. And I want an interview with you." Her ego, she suspected, would save her. Her ability to boast her own position, to claim it in her fingers and refuse to let it fall, was likely her redemption from the griping fingers of the others. She was able to stammer a few simple words, words that had formed, and been repeated so many times, that they shaped to her plump, pink lips like a memorized speech. In the hands of others, confidence as solid as her own would be entertaining: perhaps for the thought that she was the fire, instead of the ashes, and that deeply rooted within her system, there was the simple desire to survive. But Bane had seen many faces, heard so many words, and witnessed so many different variables of a person's personality, that he knew the difference between that which was fire, and that which was ash. He also knew, that her simple claim to being the best journalist, meant that she was afraid. He could read everything. The subtle nuances in her body language, the flex of her voice as it projected from the depths of her throat. Deep within his cranium, the gears were shifting, constantly observing and absorbing. Because he never forgot anything. Not a look, a word, an action. Nothing. Everything was carefully stored in his brain, shelved and saved for a later day. And in any other case, any other, he would reserve the right to simply end her. To cease her breathing and her restless nights, and watch her descend into an eternal sleep. Something so quiet and reserved that it was almost treasurable. Honorable. But there was something. Something floating so quietly beneath the surface of the sea that it was almost invisible, almost impossible to track. And as the sea raged within him, a storm so violent and so harmful that it vibrated through every inch of his thick body, he already knew the answer to his own question. Why had he kept her alive? She was not extremely smart. She was not a thug. She was not wanted. And yet here she was. In front of him. Living and breathing the oxygen that rode between them, robbing him of his own satisfaction. And the answer was simple. So obviously simple that it was unbearably painful. Bane was a man of the shadows. A man born and raised in a darkness so thick that he could never escape it. And although he did like to slink through the shadows, morph to them like they were his only source of solitude, his only source of comfort, he also knew that he wanted to be known. He wanted Gotham to know the face of their savior. He wanted everyone to recognize that he was the one who offered them a hand when they had been plunged into the depths of the hell. That he alone was the one who delivered them to redemption. Through this time, the archaic man barely made a noise. After she spoke, he left a brief pause, a silence that clung to the air and divided them, muttering to itself and demanding their interest. His arms, thick and golden in color, had been crossed over his chest, resting on each other as words muttered from between her lips, and conversations drifted through the cracks from those he had taken to be his own. But they were of no interest to him. Not now. So his arms, in the characteristically, methodically slow way that he moved, unfurled themselves from the position across his chest, and dropped, lazily almost, to his sides. He paused for only a brief moment, perhaps to build the tension that had been drifting between them, hanging in the air like a token and begging to be noticed, before moving forward, his boots slapping across the ground and echoing in a scrupulous fashion - the thuds bouncing across the cave walls and screaming in his ears, prying at him for attention. It only took him a few steps. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Before he was placed in front of her, his golden skin only mere inches from her own porcelain skin, the air between them growing with tension, building to a crescendo until the urge to hurt her was almost agonizing. A hand, slow and methodic in moment, lifted heavily so that it was floating beside her rosy cheek, within millimeters of touching skin, but yet, hanging, suspended beside it, without even grazing the skin like she probably would have assumed. His hand moves, slowly, as if he were going to caress her cheek, but yet, his fingers still don't touch her skin. The movement, in any other situation, would have been gentle, almost intimate. But he doesn't mean it that way. Instead, the movement is a justification of his power, as it radiates from within him. As his hand floats beside her face, not touching her porcelain skin, he is threatening her. Allowing her to know that he has permitted her to be here, and is not a sense of her own sheer wit and will that has kept her lungs moving. With the small movement, he has shown her that if he wants, he could kill her, painfully, but quickly so that not a single word would spill from her blue lips, and that she would have no chance to be saved. His hand continued to float, his dark eyes drifting lazily, with the intention to unnerve her, and give her the chance to feel that he had invaded her privacy, from his own, curled fingers, to her own opaque pools. And they paused a moment there, the only sounds were that of the waterfall, as it cascaded downwards, pattering against the dense rocks that surrounded it, and the occasional invasion of a foreign voice as it echoed across the cavern. But the loudest thing, the one noise that radiated throughout the whole room, was the sound of their breathing. His was slow, methodic, like everything else he did, and loud due to the mask that captured the most prominent features of his moderately apathetic face. Like a cage, strapped to his head. A continuous reminder of the fact that he will never truly be strong. Power, of course, was a completely different story. "Miss Vale," the words drag from his hidden lips like a drug, seeping into the air so quietly, and so threateningly, that they drag dangerously long in his own earlobes. His dark eyes narrow as they dance across her face yet again, observing every shift, every feature as it dances, as to record it and use it later. Like a continuous camera. "The ability to appear humble is a vital character trait I implore you to consider." The words dance out of his lips, tantalizing on the air between them, once again, threatening her without the usual characteristics of a threat. The hand, the golden, calloused fingers, that was suspended in the air, right beside her porcelain features, now drifted relentlessly to the broad plain of her shoulder, the tips of his calloused fingers dragging threateningly over the edge of her coat - light enough to be a simple graze, as they traveled effortlessly to the blade of her shoulder. His fingers are still light, the movements slow and gentle, but the movement of his encouragement to move forward with him was not a question, merely a pleasantry. When she eventually moves with him, he guides her to the edge, where the crystalline waterfall collides with the rocks below, seeping to a sewage drain that disappears into the shadow of the wall. Beyond it, there are visualizations, picture fragments that move, the captivate men both young and old, tired and energetic, quiet and loud. BUt they all share one thing in common; one idea that binds them together like a tether, that humbles them and presses them on, constantly lingering in the crevices of their meager minds. The idea to create a better world. The common conceptuality that cries within them, ushers them to the darkness, and begs them to follow whoever can lead them there. And Bane is that person. The man with power. So with one of his large hands resting on the narrow crook settled between her shoulder blades, so light his touch is barely felt, and the other of his arms spread out wide, as if he is showing a child the world he speaks again, his dark eyes subjected to the realm before him, and not the face of the small China doll by his side. "We, Miss Vale, are here to provide the people of Gotham what they need. They have been subjugated for so long, so oppressed that they know nothing of true freedom. Their city reeks of fear and death. And a place ruled by fear is a place ruled by one." He pauses briefly, the words echoing on the surfaces of the rocks surrounding him, each word slow and methodic as it rushes from his lips. "We are Gotham's savior." He moves his outstretched arm, lowering back down to his side, along with the one positioned on her back, and for the first time since the words had stumbled from between his lips, clouded by the mask, his dark pools drifted, once again, to the porcelain features of her rosy face. "I will humble you, Miss Vale. But only this once. For I am curiosity," he pauses briefly, and when he speaks again, his voice is darker, and yet more taunting, the words sliding harshly from between his pinched, ivory teeth. "And you are the cat."
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[jennifer]