Life in front of an audience is a frightening existence when you're less than five years old. Especially in the lifestyle of the Pageant Babies and Theater Children; talk about pressure to perform! Though Mamma Walker wasn't the worst of the pageant/theater moms, she was a far cry from sympathetic. Starting from age three long, long hours were spent practicing poses and walking and smiling and waving... in general being cute on cue. When the theater was integrated into the routine and learning lines and songs became yet another drain on Holly's time, childhood was for the most part tossed aside.             Holly was (and still is) superb at strutting his stuff, whether for judges, the camera, or a breathless audience of one hundred... or one. But life in the spotlight often casts long shadows and in the darkness, away from glitz and glamour and roles, black hearts scheme. Vengeful parents, jealous children, pedophiles and worse were constant stumbling blocks to navigate around. And through it all you always have to SMILE!

Breaking taboo... not just a scandal; it's a way of life!             Very little is sacred to this fallen angel. If it's off limits, it's sure to draw Holly's attention. Self-described ambisextrous, steeped in the Scene and polyamorous makes for a walking social outrage. But the scowls of the straights only earn a light-hearted laugh at best. Carpe diem and laissez les bon temps roulles are words to live by in his book. Morality is for the bible belt prophets and sobriety for the straight-laced grannies.             His 'wife' Benjamin lives in the day-to-day role as Holly's slave, subject to all of the ups and downs to that role. Of late the distinction's been fuzzing more and more as the role of spouse tangles up with that of slave. It's a confusing relationship at times and often frought with furious emotion. It's also a relationship that several simply don't understand or agree with. But it's theirs.

Born to an immigrated Scotsman from Edinburgh and a native charmer-lady in New Orleans, Holly carried in that talented body the blood of ancients: Fae blood. Though not of the fae his blood kinship is strong; about as strong as it gets without being the direct child or sibling of the Secret Folk. Eshu-kin: the wanderers, the tale-spinners, the reckless ones and the gurus of living life to its fullest.             Curiosity is Walker's mainstay; he can't leave a wrapped package unmolested or a sealed envelope untampered. No matter who's name happens to be on it. Mysteries itch worse than poison ivy and every house he's invited into needs thorough exploring. Sovereign over his home -- where ever that might be for the time -- he is affectionately referred to by those closest as 'Riene', the French word for 'Queen'. A gentle poke at his effeminate nature as well as his tendency to carry on like some decadent regal holding a debauched court. The eyes are the real betrayer of the veiled heritage: infinite gemstone eyes that sway through every shade of green, dependant on the beauty's mood.             During a run with the Theater of Dreams Holly found himself enchanted on a weekly basis by the Sidhe troupe leader, opening his bright emerald eyes to the wonders -- and the terrors -- of the Dreaming. Unforunately this was done without an explanation as to what he was seeing. Over the course of four months the definition between reality and dream lost its distinction entirely. By the time Bobbie came to aid him and explain things to him it was far too late to undo the damage; monsters are real and nightmares can walk. She continues to tutor him, trying to keep him on the right path despite the rough beginnings.

Like any good yat, Holly's quite superstitious. New Orleans is ripe with superstition and the supernatural and Walker's more than convinced of the veracity of the the legends. Marie Laveau? Speak of Her only with respect. Jonathan Finn? Bought him a glass of whiskey just the other evening. Pennies, coal, dried rose petals, milk and cigarettes are often donated to the tombs of the dead he knew in life as a way to keep things friendly between this world and the next. After all... he wouldn't wish to be neglected just because he was no longer among the corporeal world.             Why? Because he's brushed the other side of the Mirror in more ways than one and the knowledge of existance beyond the grave has been an enlightening, often terrifying, one. Every day that passes without contact from the spiritworld is a blessing and a curse at once. Anticipation has bled away to latent waiting... each still point between touches is now known only to be a temporary thing. Haunts are, it seems, a permanent part of this boi's life. There's little to do but accept this. And court it at times. It was never said that Holly was a rational individual.             Sometimes... sometimes there's a craving for that contact -- for good or ill -- and little will do but for this gawthangel to find that very thing. In whatever form it chooses to present itself. Flirting with the grave. It's a bizarre and irrational urge he's never shared with anyone given that he doesn't understand it himself. What compells a person to seek out that which terrifies on a primal level? To court Restless who are, without a doubt, best left alone? Perhaps a subconcious deathwish or some perverted fascination with death... either way it remains his secret alone.

Therapy.             The doctors suggested it when he saw a fellow actor in the youth community theater hanged. No go. His mother attempted it in junior high school when his effeminate features were taking their toll on his social life. He went twice and never again. The doctors demanded it when he tried to blow his brains out, surving that only thanks to being tackled by Ben, his loving 'wife'. Holly saw the shrink only until she agreed to end the family sessions with the suggestion he seek further pyschiatric care, sending him off with mood-stabilizing drugs which were promptly flushed after three days' use -- they made him 'feel funny'.            The troubled angel agreed to personal therapy so long as Ben did as well and proceeded to talk to Dr. Sanders... once. The doctor's attitude was too cool. The questions too abrupt and personal. He felt prodded; invaded. No more therapy.            ...till he was literally picked up in Jackson Square by Dr. Bizalion and physically forced to Elks Medical Center for consuming anticonvulsants and a fifth of tequila after Ben left him temporarily in the wake of violent spousal abuse inflicted. Tied down and forced to undergo lavage to prevent certain poisoning he was then admitted into the hospital's psychiatric ward for detox. It was a rough three week stay behind those locked doors and it was only through the intercession of Dr. Fallow Graves that he was released so soon with the provision that he see the doctor twice a week. Mandatory drug testing was also stated, causing the performer no end of personal angst. The doctor, however, is the first of many to actually penetrate the barred interiors and poke through with a gentle touch into the hurting darkness within. Only time will tell if the man will be successful in his endeavor to rehabilitate the patient. Holly hasn't had a great track record thus far...

A secret told is a secret no more. Didn't think it would be -that- easy, did you?