Name: Mickey Gillespie
Nickname: 'Flypaper Gillespie', 'Mick', 'That Fucking Irish Midget', 'Asshole', various other uncomplimentory names.
Race: Leprechaun
Gender: Male
Appearance: Mickey looks pretty average for a Leprechaun, standing at a diminuitive 3 and a half feet, though broad of the shoulder and thick in the neck. His face is pretty brutish, with thin lips, a large, broken nose and a perminant sneer. His bright orange hair is starting to go gray and thinning at the top, though his muttonstace is as impressive as it ever was. Like most of his kind he favors cheap, green tweeds and a bowler hat, though he also sports a pair of expreisve gold-rimmed, purple-lensed specticals (More for show than for poor vision). In his glamoured form he appears to be little more than a tall, bull-necked bald White man with a penchent for jeans and bowling shirts.
Personality: Mickey can best be described as, in the words of Bigby Wolf, "A low-life piece of shit that'd let every AIDS-ridden druggie in New York have a go at his sister for a hundred bucks." He's a cheat and a totally untrustworthy creature, only managing to escape the Witching Well because he's good at covering his tracks. There is very little he won't do to make a profit, though he is a coward at heart, and as such usualy has some hired help to protect him.
Fable: There isn't much to be said about this piece of work. Back in the Homelands he made a comfortable living rooking just about everyone he came across. From (According to his word) Jack and his magic beans to convincing the Three Little Pigs to cut the costs on the contruction of their homes and then tipping off Bigby, he had a reputation as the preminant con-artist around. These days, though, he's down to working as a fence and petty drug dealer out of his Irish pub, O'Mallory's. Lately it's been rumored that he's selling black market glamours to the poorer Fables, and even more sinisterly, dealing magical items to Mundies, though nobody's been able to prove that. Not suprisingly, he gets along well with folks like Georgie (of who's club he is a regular customer), and rumored to be on Bluebeard's payroll.
Belongings: O'Mallory's, an Irish dive bar in the East Bronx not far from the Trip Trap. Woodlands Appartment 47. Plenty of cheap black market glamours and various drugs laying around his appartment for sale (though the weed is for his personal use.)
Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jA693mX0CyM
My Lips are Sealed.
Nickname: 'Flypaper Gillespie', 'Mick', 'That Fucking Irish Midget', 'Asshole', various other uncomplimentory names.
Race: Leprechaun
Gender: Male
Appearance: Mickey looks pretty average for a Leprechaun, standing at a diminuitive 3 and a half feet, though broad of the shoulder and thick in the neck. His face is pretty brutish, with thin lips, a large, broken nose and a perminant sneer. His bright orange hair is starting to go gray and thinning at the top, though his muttonstace is as impressive as it ever was. Like most of his kind he favors cheap, green tweeds and a bowler hat, though he also sports a pair of expreisve gold-rimmed, purple-lensed specticals (More for show than for poor vision). In his glamoured form he appears to be little more than a tall, bull-necked bald White man with a penchent for jeans and bowling shirts.
Personality: Mickey can best be described as, in the words of Bigby Wolf, "A low-life piece of shit that'd let every AIDS-ridden druggie in New York have a go at his sister for a hundred bucks." He's a cheat and a totally untrustworthy creature, only managing to escape the Witching Well because he's good at covering his tracks. There is very little he won't do to make a profit, though he is a coward at heart, and as such usualy has some hired help to protect him.
Fable: There isn't much to be said about this piece of work. Back in the Homelands he made a comfortable living rooking just about everyone he came across. From (According to his word) Jack and his magic beans to convincing the Three Little Pigs to cut the costs on the contruction of their homes and then tipping off Bigby, he had a reputation as the preminant con-artist around. These days, though, he's down to working as a fence and petty drug dealer out of his Irish pub, O'Mallory's. Lately it's been rumored that he's selling black market glamours to the poorer Fables, and even more sinisterly, dealing magical items to Mundies, though nobody's been able to prove that. Not suprisingly, he gets along well with folks like Georgie (of who's club he is a regular customer), and rumored to be on Bluebeard's payroll.
Belongings: O'Mallory's, an Irish dive bar in the East Bronx not far from the Trip Trap. Woodlands Appartment 47. Plenty of cheap black market glamours and various drugs laying around his appartment for sale (though the weed is for his personal use.)
Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jA693mX0CyM
My Lips are Sealed.
