Monday, April 14, 2014

Davan Post Examples

Long Post

From a scene where Davan's been invited to board at a family's home while fixing up the property. Other characters include the other player's main, Chase, and his grandparents.

"Well, I ain't gonna say city life's all bad," Davan allowed charitably, finding Chase's silence heavy. He didn't expect the kid to get chatty with him straight away, especially when he seemed to think he was an ax murderer. Nor did he expect that, if ever he was going to pipe up, it was going to be as his grandfather suggested he was an ignorant kid right in front of company. He probably was an ignorant kid, to some degree, but that didn't make it any better to hear, especially at the ages when it was most likely to be true. No one wanted to be told that, not in this context. Far as he could tell, ignorance was probably only an exciting prospect to scientists and other researchers. Meant there was a gap to work at filling. For him, the more things he knew, the safer he was. Ignorance was scary.

"There's a lot fer a kid like him t' do there." Clearly, he'd looked at him and made a few assumptions. It might not look it now, but he'd had his punk phase in high school. No piercings, but his friends had. "Lotta bands comin' through, record stores t' look at, what have ya. Ain't nothin' wrong with wantin' that." His disposable income as a young man hadn't been obscene, but it had been a little more than his peers, thanks to the success of his father's business and the cut of each job he was paid when he came along to help. It allowed him to pile them all in a truck and drive them off all kinds of places after he was 16, on breaks from school. Most times, they were embarking on a road trip to see some punk band that wouldn't dare set foot in Arkansas. He drank down the rest of the sweet tea in a few large gulps, because once he'd worked up a thirst, it was //intense//. Some of it wound up dribbling down his mouth, bringing him to swipe his forearm over his chin as he leaned back into the sofa, then rub at the moisture with his other hand when he brought his arm down again. " 'Course, way I see it, ya got a damn fine record store over th' internet 'n I got a car t' drive. Y'can always settle in somewhere peaceful 'n drive out when it's makin' ya nuts. Better 'n tryin' t' find peace in th' city." Though he didn't show it, he knew better than to call even a rural place like this peaceful. It wasn't all the time that the places he found himself working his 'true' job in were sleepy and unassuming, but it was a helluva lot more common than a city job. No peace in the whole fuckin' world, far as he was concerned. But the depth of how jaded he'd grown didn't jive with the easygoing face he was showing them right now, leaving it a bad idea to even come close to mentioning it.

He'd wound up giving Chase only an amused huff and a smirk for the accusation made, not of the head to cause a scene about it. Inconvenient though it was, he maintained that this boy's distrust of him was a good thing. The way he lived his life, he was prone to souring his relationships with one epic fuck up. There'd come a point, even, where he had just been too fucking good at being everything one family had needed out of a man and they'd tried to leave the fucking family property to him. Unable to deal with it, he'd burned the fucking place once they were gone. If he was a man who could do that, who could take a man's esteem for him and literally burn it to the ground, he didn't deserve trust, not from some kid just trying to look out for his grandparents. He was off the mark with murderous intentions, of course, but that didn't mean the instinct was wrong.

Despite how chatty he'd been over the course of this conversation, Bill's statements echoed those of that old man's a little too closely for comfort, robbing him of words. He watched the old man instead, with a steady gaze and a serious, dutiful expression falling over his features. The guy hadn't looked too similar, but they really were of an age. At least, Bill was now what that old man had been three years ago. He fell back to what he'd fallen on when he'd made his decision about the property. He listened and watched and nodded his head, constructing a mask to hide the way those words wrapped around his heart and twisted, how a voice in the back of his head began to chant: You're going to ruin them. Nervous sweat gathered at his temples, but was soaked up readily by his hair, effectively hiding the impact those words had.

It was easier to keep pursuing that flirtatious track, somehow, one he'd started down simply to try and endear himself to the woman and found himself walking anyhow. Bill's claiming she was all that kept him going made him promptly turn aside and step off, though, because if he did that any longer, they might start thinking he meant it and fuck, would that be strange. He'd had young women present themselves to him, undress like gifts and tell him he could have them. A couple mothers had done the same; women maybe ten years older than him. That was how women related to him, somehow. Rarely was it to touch him and tell him they wanted him, no; he could have them. It was the weirdest fucking thing, when it kept happening, so much so that it had been the most beautiful thing when that city girl had done the opposite. He'd never had a grandmother do either, which was probably for the best, because he really didn't know how he'd react! He'd taken a few men to bed, but those who weren't intimidated by him had a way of disgusting him, acting way too young and calling him daddy, clinging to him like sex and discipline had any place in the same sentence.  He'd always done all of the pursuing then. Not that he could say he had any immediate plans.

"Can't I see it? That's a beautiful thing," Davan replied earnestly, lips spreading in a warm smile. There was a part of him that burned with jealousy, hearing that, knowing it was something he could never have with anyone, but it wasn't nearly so hot as the part of him that felt he was saving families just like this one. The ones he didn't stick around too long, they were better for his time in their lives. Because there was a guy like him to prevent some tragic death, they could live this way. He just needed to cope with never having it himself.

He clasped hands with Bill, the muscles in his arm going visibly taut as he shook his hand in two strong pumps before letting go."Sounds great," he said simply, at first of their deal then, later, applying it to what was said about the room with a slow turn of his head, making a playful show of fixing his eyes on Chase, wide and with eyebrows raised, small smirk on his lips. Oh, yeah, he'd be happy to do it. "Right. Lemme get m' stuff outta the car," he decided, clapping Chase on the shoulder again before he stood up. He had a moment of thinking the kid's much smaller shoulder felt nice in his palm, skin softer than his own, less hair, the way the joint settled in, but it passed almost as soon as he had his feet and was on his way. His hand busied itself with unclipping the carabiner holding his keys from his belt loop as he left the house and tromped on back to his SUV.

Shorter Post

From a scene where Davan's just told a woman and her father that he'll need to knock their walls down to fix their wiring.

The clatter of Merry's fork made him tense up like someone had tried to hit him, for it indicated exactly what he'd been fearing, exactly the reaction he'd wanted desperately to avoid. He didn't know this woman, but he was intimately familiar with situations like this, knew how hard it was for the families suffering them, particularly in the dire financial straits he tended to find them in. On top of that, he'd already made it pretty explicit that he was attracted to her. Who wanted to see a pretty lady in that kind of distress?

"Hey, hey, Merry," he tried to slow her down a little, the tone of his voice carefully sympathetic. He didn't want to be patronizing, like he was trying to shut her up. He did want her panicked rambling to end, but not because he found it baseless; it just hurt his heart. What a soft-hearted idiot he could be, sometimes. But this gorgeous woman in her childish pajamas, making him the best breakfast he'd had in, arguably, years, had an impact on him. Already he wanted nothing more than to see her at ease.

Standing up, he brushed off any lingering worries about propriety and laid his big hand between her shoulders, trying to rub out some comfort. "Merry, darlin', you got a big house here. Plenty a' rooms t' stay in, an' I'm sure ya got neighbors who'd be happy t' let ya use their kitchen when I start workin' here, right? Like I said about the pod--it's somethin' they jus' drop off right in front a' yer house an' it's actually pretty affordable, as things like that run ya. Might be cheaper t' get a trailer, 'n we could do that, too; m' truck's good for it."

Removing his hand, he returned to his seat with some reluctance, looking between father and daughter. "I ain't gonna pretend it's the sorta thing most people have the money on hand for, but. . .I'm not gonna ruin yer home. I can fix it up just as pretty's it was." He even had pictures on his laptop to prove it, things he used to promote his business where possible. Not that he had that with him now.

Davan Shaw


Dreamin' of a killer while he dances on your door. . . 

Davan Shaw is a nice country boy. This is what he wants you to believe. Chances are, in the right scenario, this is what you will believe. He plays the role perfectly. He is the boyfriend your grandmother wants you to bring home. . .even if you're a man. He can finally fix that fucked up stair on the back porch. He knows his way around a gun. He looks like he's going to be there for you when your world turns upside down. He has a good singing voice. He has a wide variety of skills, both practical and social. He could do anything he wanted in life and do it well and make money doing it. 

He chose the road, though. He looked into the dark, wet distance and he chose the hunt. Sometimes he plays at something else. Sometimes he'll stay in a place for months, fixing up properties, ingratiating himself with the neighbors. But he belongs to the road. He always chooses it, in the end. You will never win. 

But. . .that's OK, right? This is a roller coaster you are definitely high enough to ride. 


Name: Davan Shaw
Age: 33
Occupation: Hunter, contractor, dabbles in various other paying gigs
Orientation: Bisexual, heteroromantic, promiscuous (so far!)
Height: 6'5''
Weight: 220 lbs.
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Dark brown
Origin: American south
Area of Operation: Continental US
Personality: Aggressively charming, noble, righteous, passionate, capable, dependable; immovable, wrathful (on hunts)


This was not the family business. Far as his family was concerned, it was no one's business but the cops'. Some sick bastard had taken her heart out, sure; didn't mean it was anything weirder. They understood his desire to get to the bottom of it, but when he started obsessing over the layers of claw that had torn off on the way through her breast, they tried to dissuade him. It was just some trick of a budding serial killer, a weird signature they wanted to leave. People were sick and desperate for fame, after all, and if this would get true crime books written about them in the future, everything would be worth it. Sleepless nights scouring the internet for answers had finally turned up something that felt like an answer. Werewolves ate hearts. It wasn't a compulsion he recalled from the horror movies he watched as a kid, but when it went on to say they met their end through a silver knife, he knew what he had to do. 

He'd spent too many nights listening to Delilah cry for want of her mama, cradling her uselessly in his arms and remembering all the articles he'd read during Jacqueline's pregnancy about how children bonded with their parents. At such a young age, the strongest bond the baby had was with her mother. The smell comforted an infant. It was a thing gone from this world, torn out with her heart by that ugly fucking beast. Daddy's arms would never be good enough. Even singing the most delicate lullabies, she'd calm only so long as it took for him to close his own eyes, at which point she'd start in again. With that possibility burning in his blood, determination to make sure this did not become the serial event his family claimed, he knew fatherhood had been taken from him, too. He couldn't hack it, wouldn't be so irresponsible as to take a tiny baby out on the road. She was dropped off at her aunt's, ostensibly for just a few days, while he got his head screwed on straight. 

Instead, he drove off and never returned. Sometimes, he thought maybe he'd overreacted, that what some hunters said about it being a calling was bullshit. He'd left behind what could've been a good life, even with that heartbreak. He'd stood to inherit his father's contracting business and had already been at worksites for years, helping out, learning the ins and outs of the work. Chances were he wouldn't have been ready to take over the position til about now, as it happened, but his portion of the work made a fine enough wage. If he hadn't felt so sure in that month of mourning, he might have bloomed into a fine father, maybe even found some other girl to marry, act as a mother to Delilah. He knew too many families who'd been torn apart somehow than to think doing so would be a betrayal to Jackie's memory. Sometimes, life happened and it happened hard and people did what they had to do to get by; nothing wrong with that. If she was looking down from Heaven, it was knowing that she was not on Earth; she would understand. She'd been a practical woman. 

Mostly, though, there was the righteousness. He sniffed out a dozen more werewolves, moon-bound to do the same thing to some other family as their brethren had done to his. He found countless ghosts, snuffing the lives of teenagers just for being teenaged enough to make good on dares, never given the chance to age and wise up. Vampires turning sleepy villages into monsters' nests. Deeply dark modern-day mages sacrificing little girls to some formless, demonic entity. It wasn't vengeance that continued to motivate him, for he was lucky enough that his first kill was precisely what he wanted, far as he could tell, considering there were no witnesses. No, he'd just pointed his car toward home and thought of all the other families that thing might have ruined, all the heartache and nightmares and uncertainty, and couldn't bring himself to go. He looped around down the highway instead; he was going to need more guns. 

He learned to be dirty, after a while. He'd tried earning an honest wage at first, answering internet ads for handiwork and busking where he could find a good pitch - he'd always had a good, strong baritone - but the money just wasn't enough, not if he was going to keep gassed up, keep himself in weapons and all the different odds and ends a hunter needed to do his job. His eyes could go hard, now, hard and cold in a way that was impossible to read and hard to ignore, and he used that, won half his gambles legitimately and the other through a smoothly inserted card with marks too drunk to bother counting what remained. In recent years, he'd begun stealing identities, just a little; working his way in to get credentials and slyly add one of his aliases to the list of approved users on a credit card. Meeting an older hunter after a job, cradling some broken part of himself, he'd learned how to find just the right match for himself in health insurance, too; right age, right history where there wouldn't be too many questions asked. If the only people he was cheating were the rich and stupid, the lives he was saving ripe with potential, was any of it truly a moral crime? Sometimes, the spooks have money, have weird artifacts that fetch a nice price at the right pawn shop. Lifting those, he doesn't even think twice; they're practically trophies he melts down into cash. 

Learning mostly from the hunters he met along the way, he doesn't have much by way of sympathy for the monsters he hunts down. With his first experience of that world being the murder of his wife, why would he? In his mind, even the more articulate spooks were no longer their own people, driven grotesque and immoral by curses or unnatural lust for power. The men they'd been were gone, or who they wanted to be never available to them at all. They'd never find happiness in this world. Better to send them to the next and see what happened. Lives were saved and suffering soothed.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

About Crystal Springs, CA

Crystal Springs is a pleasant mountain town in northern California. It's home to a college whose art department has come to be well-respected. 'Old money' comprises a small but powerful portion of the population, which is often at odds with the student body, though they've bought some positions on the school board. In daily life, the more liberal values and interests of the students--and those drawn to what might be expected of an art school town--are most obviously represented, but the wealthy flex muscle where they can. Being a relatively small community, rumors travel quickly.

Selected Locations

The Robin St. Cafe: Run and frequented by students of the art school, this establishment serves as a coffee shop, bakery, diner, very basic bar (small beer and wine selection, might spike your coffee) and small performance venue. It regularly hosts open mics which, in turn, feature things such as musical performances, poetry readings, comedy and dramatic performances. This is the only place in town at which Maxwell is allowed to perform; the effect his voice has on mortals sees him barred from anywhere else.

Image References: 1 , 2 , 3 (Note: Decor might not be identical, this is just for an idea of the layout/size/style. I based it off a place I went to a punk show at once.)

Likely Scene Types: Default social gathering spot, performance (my character or yours), likely to be a recommended meeting spot if such a thing is needed.

Maxwell's Home: Built in the style of stick-Eastlake architecture, Maxwell's house sits on a hill and is surrounded only by naturally-occurring plant life. Consisting of two and a half above-ground stories and an undetermined amount of basement floors, it's a sizable but modest abode when compared with the mansions of the more monied section of the town's population. The ground floor has a marble-dominated interior at odds with the charming exterior decoration of the home, its front porch having a wooden swing and a small set of wrought-iron table and chairs for hosting guests. Its numerous antiques and art pieces inside make it seem more like a museum than a home. A room on the right side of the home gives a much warmer impression, wood-floored and housing a fireplace, in addition to a daybed, bookshelves, a number of tea tables and chairs, a coffee table and armchairs. A large garage matching the style of the home has been built off to one side within the past year, and Maxwell has been putting up flyers and internet ads offering space in his home at a negotiable rate.

Likely Scene Types: House party, good ol' "I need help and you're the nearest place" scene, potential boarder scenario (your character would have needed to call/email first, there are two, maybe three rooms if he converts the attic, available as I write this), any reason your character would have to come to his door would clearly take place here.

Crystal Springs Botanical Gardens: Just what you'd expect of botanical gardens, really: All kinds of local plant life with informational plaques, hiking and biking trails, picnic tables and so on. Entrance is barred at night, but that doesn't keep everyone out.

Likely Scene Types: Small social gatherings, encounters on late night walks, likely spot to chase down a creature. Occasional date or meeting place.

Memorial Park: (Probably should be named for some local figure or another but honestly, I can't be fucked at the moment.) Distinct from a botanical garden, this has a more central location in the town, and many more open spaces. Well-lit, plenty of benches, picnic tables, small barbecue grills. One portion is a fenced-in dog park which, although technically 'closed' at night, is never locked. Another portion has a playground.

Likely Scene Types: Simple meeting/date spot, planned or unplannned; festival (bonfire, vendor stalls, etc.); carnival or circus; another likely spot to chase down a creature; include a dog, that's always fun!

Housing Development: Middle/lower-middle class development of townhouses. They have yards, but most are small. A maze of streets, small parks, the occasional wooded area.

Likely Scene Types: Probably another "may be chasing a creature through here" scenario. Maybe relevant to a hitchhiking scenario.

The Underground: Lazy name for a basement lounge favored by the town's art community, mostly college students. While alcohol is served here, the selection is more limited than a bar. The focus is on community mingling, much of it taking place via games. Card games and tabletop games (from old favorites like chess and checkers to more modern games), even some video games. The music here tends to be the local college radio, played loud enough to be heard but low enough to be considered background music and little more. 

Likely Scene Types: Social scenes, naturally. Max will often come 'hunting' here, but sometimes his aim isn't so explicit. 

The Ocean Club: A somewhat ironically named upscale club on the 'good' side of town. The kind of place with a dress code. There's a predictably blue theme inside, and the entertainment can go from a chaste, romantic singer to a burlesque troupe. 

Likely Scene Types: Hunting/socializing again. This is a good choice for those of you who play entertainers and/or rich folk. 

(NOTE: These are not the only places one could play in in town. There are your random bars, shops, what have you. These are just places that have either been established in RP, or are nonstandard RP settings. Suggestions, like.)

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Example Post for Maxwell

There had been worse instances in which to hear that loathsome drumbeat he'd set for Carmelia's ringtone, but none of them was particularly welcome. He'd been in the middle of another visit to the supermarket when the call came, meaning to pick up some nicer versions of the things one of his housemates had bought for himself. He knew that, if he openly offered the man money for such things, he'd never accept, but he wouldn't let food already in the house go to waste, either. "A giant dog?" he'd sighed, inclined, as ever, to question why it was always him, why just one of these things couldn't be pawned off to the same people who'd drag the dumb bastard in. They're vampires, for fuck's sake; they can't pulverize a corpse?

Some accusations of being a whiny bastard who was forever trying to shirk his duty later, he'd put everything back and climbed into his forgettable sedan, trying to lift his mood--and possibly better prepare himself--by fastening that big military duster of his around his shoulders. Television said that every good adventurer needed an outfit for the occasion, after all, and the WWII artifact's appeal there outstripped any monetary value he could see it having in the future, at least in his eyes. There was some irony to the comparison of the two things, really. . .he drove that stupid, weak foreign car because it was what everyone in town seemed to drive and so, describing it would be of help to no one unless they remembered the plates, yet he had no problem dressing in a way that everyone who saw him would remember. It had worked out for him so far, at least. Perhaps he was doomed to crash and burn at some later date but, if so, he had no intention of blaming himself; he'd put it all on the plate of that sheriff of his, who'd strong-armed him into this job in the first place. However much Dean might praise his skills, he'd sworn even to him that this was not his identity-that he was a singer, or a teacher, never some fucking hunter.  It was, of course, equally possible that time would lead him to stop resenting this work, but that had yet to arrive.

When he pulled into a spot at the club, he found himself needing to sit in the car for a few minutes first, girding his loins. He could hear the music already, pumping and obscene. The hate he felt for it then was foreign even to him for, put him a few years into the past, give him a manufactured heartbeat, and he might have been right in the middle of it, smiling blissfully as the beat of a few hundred hearts in unison sang to him, like some mass offering. . .this, though. Vampire clubs. He swore he'd never walk into another one, after the first time. Stupid girls asking to see his fangs. Stupid boys asking what he could do to them. Reckless vampires dragging those foolish girls and boys into bathroom stalls. And the music, always the music. One would expect, having been in a band like his, that it wouldn't infuriate him so, but it all came together into one loathsome aesthetic. . .this idiotic package that club owners sold to particularly self-destructive elements of counterculture. And, of course, these were the same people who'd become addicted to V, desperate to more closely resemble the vampires they admired, because they just couldn't find someone willing to bring them over, to give them the gift. He knew he couldn't walk in with this loathing written all over his face. When the culprit owned the fucking club, he had to look like he was there for the atmosphere.

Eventually, he climbed out of the car and plastered a confident grin on his face, making sure to lay his feet down heavy to accentuate the steel-toed boots he wore; he had airs to put on, if he wanted to get this done any time soon. He strode straight past the line, knowing that, if this was like any other vampire club he'd ever heard of, they wanted him there more than any of the humans waiting in the increasingly chilly night. "I'm here for the party," he declared to the bouncer, clapping a long-fingered hand on his shoulder and maintaining that grin like a champ. Pale blue eyes flicked, unblinking, from the shell of the man's ear to the eyes of a couple girls waiting near the front, and he gave a suggestive twitch of his eyebrows that made one of them giggle and the other shift uncomfortably. Said bouncer being a vampire himself, of course, he knew immediately what he was, and beckoned him inside.

His grin dropped off like a discarded mask when he stepped inside, but he managed to replace that with the expected curiosity of a man strolling around a topless bar, rather than the bitterness which continued to gnaw at the back of his brain. The old coat defined most of his appearance for him, closed over all but his faded black jeans and boots. His dark hair was kept long, falling near the end of a long, slender neck in waves and loose curls that, to most estimations, were artfully tousled, rather than simply being messy. He had a distinctive sort of nose, rather long to suit the way of his face, and coming to a slight hook at the end. A strong chin and an intense gaze pulled him together in a way that was, to most, passably handsome. It got him by, where finding his meals was concerned; that was really all he needed.

He found a booth in which to drop himself and, shortly after that, one of those waitresses found him. His eyes gave an expected sweep of her chest, suitably admiring without fixating in a way that would mark him rookie, finding her face in time for her to ask him if she could get him a drink. "I'll need TruBlood, thank you," he replied, pleasant enough; something about actually being in here, looking into the prospect of having to choke down some synthetic blood in the name of keeping up appearances, really cut into his enthusiasm for putting on a good face. Once she departed, his attention worked his way over the crowd. Were any of them being led into the back? Were those that were employees? Did any of them seem excited to be guided back there? It went without saying that this bastard would be promising them a good time. It's possible he even believed it himself. Enough nesting habits, enough years, or simply an ugly enough personality, and the sadist could believe that his every victim harbored deep masochism that would have them begging to be torn apart for his amusement.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Plot Ideas for Maxwell!

a.) Play a woman who's been abducted by a vampire/nest of vampires with plans to either use her as a blood doll or a feast for some terrible monster. She murders the shit out of her captors. What, you thought she was a victim? She don't take that weak woman shit. Problem is, she ain't magic. Max has to come break her out. Maybe afterward she wants to be clued in on all this crazy shit and effectively become a hunter.

b.) Play someone who's purchased a shady book (or perhaps a piece of jewelry?) from a local shop shortly before Max strolls in looking to pick it up. It's a cursed artifact that's going to do some seriously bad shit to whoever messes with it. He finds your character with it, perhaps just as they're starting to suffer some of the consequences. We go from there. Yay! You could also play a worker in the shop who'd really like to know why Max is so keen on finding it.

c.) This one will require group scenes eventually. Play a recently-turned vampire of Maxwell's somewhat uncommon magic-using breed. Their maker was killed shortly after creating them or is otherwise delinquent, so they've fallen under the care of Carmilla, Maxwell's sheriff. Maybe they're getting too nuts with the feeding, maybe they've manifested their powers in a difficult way, but the end result is Carmilla dragging them to Maxwell's house with a shiny new wardrobe and telling him he now has that partner he's been whining about. He grudgingly teaches them how to use their magic, how to control their appetite, etc.. The original plan is that they'll live with him, but we'll see how it goes, huh?

d.) I'm going back and forth on my interest in sexual content being involved in this. It's on the table, but generally I'm uncomfortable with the idea of Maxwell's happy-go-lucky hedonism being fucked over by a less than consensual experience. Good writing and an in-depth writing style's more likely to sell me on that. Play a vampire who's been wronged by Maxwell in the course of his job and captures him to get a little revenge. This generally means he's killed one of their chimeras, but there are any other number of magic-foiling things it could be, so it's up to discussion. The degree and nature of torturous elements is up for discussion. It might not be explicitly torturous at all, just imprisonment.

e.) This one will require group scenes eventually. Also sex. Play someone, preferably a student, who sees a flier or internet ad Maxwell has put up, offering a room in his home at a not-at-all-suspicious 'affordable rate'. They answer, he snoops into their social media and financial records, then invites them over for a tour of the property. This is when he tells them that the 'affordable pay' is the occasional blood donation. Petite characters are not appropriate for this role. I don't care if you make them muscular, chubby, 'curvy' or fat, just don't make them 115 pounds. He's going to want someone he can get a good meal from without endangering their health, and that just isn't the case for petite people.

f.) Play a hunter (of the saving people, hunting things variety) who works a case that Maxwell is sent in to resolve. Maybe it's a monster, maybe it's a nest of so-called feral vampires. Maybe your character witnesses Maxwell clean house, maybe Max 'saves' them, maybe your character sees him walk up and treats him as a threat immediately. Do they warm up to him or start looking into him as their next target? Details are to be decided!

g.) Play a hunter (possibly of the former variety, possibly just a vampire hunter) who gets the better of Max but, for whatever reason, doesn't kill him immediately. Maybe they've figured out he's privy to some 'weird shit' among vampires, maybe they've figured out he's been fucking Dean Winchester for eight months, maybe they hear he's such a domestic little vampire and think they can 'use' him. Who knows? But it'll involve captivity, some mild, unsexualized torture, general antagonizing stuff. Possibly a group scene with Dean later, if that's where you want to take it.

h.) Another Max-as-hero scenario. Play a human freed from a life of enslavement at the hands of another vampire. Max would've come in on another job - most likely killing a chimera that had been used to intimidate the vampire's slaves into compliance - and decided to free them while he was there, as he finds slavery reprehensible. I kind of like the idea of your character not leaving with Max immediately. He'll instead leave them with the means to escape - a secret set of keys he creates from the chimera's corpse, perhaps - and they'll later be driven to do so. Maybe they'll go on to somehow find work or some kind of success without Max doing anything else, and appear months later to thank him. Or maybe they've become so dependent on having a vampire to take care of them that they immediately run to him, and Max has to contend with their weird obedient conditioning. Discussion's good, yeah?

I would totally love if you had some ideas! Bring them to me!

Casual Meeting Places: Low-key bars, lounges, parties, coffee shops, parks, shops (including a supermarket!), even the hot springs, if you wanna be more racy about it. I'm game for a 'they meet and we see what happens' RP in any of those places. Keep in mind that if Max is hunting (or, hell, if you expect a sexual relationship out of it and aren't an always-top male), though, the 'no petite characters' rule still applies.

Things I Like RPing: Witty conversation; hilariously mundane things for a ~creature of the night!!!~ to be doing; scenes with characters who enjoy the kind of music Max plays/used to make; intellectual conversation; enthusiastic, playful, happy sex; uncomfortable moral quandaries about his right to a place in mainstream society.

Things I Don't Like RPing: Sexual/Romantic plots with characters under 16; long-term sexual relationships with characters under 19; sexual or romantic exclusivity; plots with humans who have 'special' blood; plots with humans who have powers; rape scenes; plots with socially isolated characters; sex without context; femboys; unrealistic-looking characters (eg, they'd look corny in a live action TV show).

Note that I can be convinced to play with some of the above in the right context. Some examples: 'Special blood' is fine if it's there for some other reason than attracting Max to your character and is hidden until long after they've developed whatever relationship they've developed; humans with powers are OK if the plot is especially good/they have an interesting personality independent of their power; socially isolated characters are OK if they're hunters; unrealistic-looking monsters/other things that Max is about to kill are OK, but I cannot take them seriously in the long term. A lot of these are just things that are really, really tired RP tropes that have made me one bitter motherfucker.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Cassiel zal'Berei

Playby: Thiago Santos

Full Name: Cassiel Serin zal'Berei
Age: 23
Date of Birth: August 23, 1988 (according to the commonly understood dating system, of course!)
Birthplace: Rensail, Muserae
Hair: Dark brown
Eyes: Brown
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 160 lbs.
Occupation: World traveler; poet
Sexual Orientation: Open-minded
Personality Points: Curious, shy about himself, thoughtful, friendly, moral, slow to anger, compassionate, generally sweet-tempered, occasionally possessed of a savior complex

Background Information

There are two races of humans on Cassiel's home planet of Muserae, the dal'Berei and the zal'Berei; the latter have been gifted with great magical powers, and were chosen as universal ambassadors of good will. They are prepared, from a young age, for the morning on which they will awake in a strange world, which may or may not be hospitable to their kind. They must know all manner of magicks which might protect them from harm, with emphasis on defense rather than offense. Knowing that, by blood, they have great capacity for terrible deeds, their society encourages them to use a gentle hand instead, and approach all conflict with a compassionate heart. They are instructed to introduce themselves as their forename followed by "zal'Berei", in the interest of unity; that name should be associated, around the universe, with persons who have helped to resolve conflict, bolster charity, and otherwise improved the lives of those they meet.

Cassiel, personally, is considered a late bloomer. Though he always performed well in his studies, regardless of their nature, his teenage years came and went without the rite of passage the majority of zal'Berei underwent by the age of nineteen. Having embarked upon his first trip only months ago, he has yet to establish control of this aspect of his powers; most of his travels, therefore, remain entirely random and, more than that, unexpected, though he likes to think he would know how to return to a particular place once he's been there already.

zal'Berei must return home periodically to replenish their strength and, in those times, Cassiel makes his money through poetry and the public recital thereof. This will often inform the things that he does on new worlds, though the opportunity does not always present itself.

Romantically, he has had a number of somewhat casual romantic and sexual relationships, all of them with women. Muserae's society, however, is extremely open-minded, disinclined to demand monogamy, strict gender roles, or sexualities. His options are quite open, for that reason, though he hasn't pursued relationships with anyone other than women, left to his own devices. Away from home, for the time being, pursuing a relationship is unlikely to even occur to him; he'll be too busy getting his bearings in a new place to concern himself with such things. Even so, he is rather responsive to any attention of that sort paid to him.

(Sorry for the scant description; this is a character I haven't fully formed yet, I just wrote this because I'm excited that I've found a new face for him!)

Friday, May 18, 2012

What's a vampire, anyway?

OK, I'm doing a major overhaul. Note that this post will describe vampires in the universe that I, personally, RP in. I'm not trying to say they're "proper" vampires, or any such bullshit--I will not play that silly game. They're what I like, so they're what I use. This post is for people who want to be well-informed about what I expect from vampires in my universe.

Basically, there are three bloodlines of vampires in this universe; lower, more sadistic ones who have less capacity for humanity, "normal" ones who are pretty standard vampires, and, "greater" ones, who can use blood magic (from the blood they consume, not by spilling blood). I also use True Blood as a kind of blueprint, with other sources (mostly a mix between years of all-purpose RP experience, Vampire: The Masquerade, Let the Right One In and Supernatural) changing most of the details. No form of vampire in this document will be "faithful" to any one universe, mythology, etc., though, and they're not meant to be. 

To be clear, I say that True Blood is the blueprint because it's what inspired me to make a vampire character. I use its social situation (the fact that vampires 'came out of the coffin', the political and social climate around that, etc.), and alter other things about it as I see fit. As of my writing/editing this, my story hovers around the end of season three, so there haven't been any of those major changes in the Authority yet, werewolves and shifters haven't come out, etc.. I'll edit accordingly if/when this changes. 

Now, to the meat!

Things That Apply To All Bloodlines of Vampires

They crumble to ash when they're killed.

They must feed on the blood of humans, or 'higher' creatures (eg, not animals) to thrive. Animal blood would sustain them in a pinch, but provides poor nutrition, all around.

The blood of other vampires will cause them to feel closer to that vampire, to bond with them in a more intense way than they would with humans.

They cannot procreate as they could when they were mortal.

They will live forever, barring murder or suicide.

Their body consistently tries to return itself to the state in which they were turned; they do not age, and all healing will reflect their condition just prior to being made vampire. This also means that a hair cut grows back in over the course of a day's rest.

They burn to ash in the sunlight, and are incredibly, incredibly difficult to rouse during the day, whether they're out of the sun or not.

They have superhuman physical attributes (some bloodlines are stronger than others).

They grow stronger with age.

Cutting off their heads will always kill them, regardless of bloodline.

While they can consume small amounts of fluid or near-fluid materials that aren't blood without having to vomit them out, anything more substantial is likely to make them violently ill. Even vampires who have conditioned themselves to be able to swallow food and drink will need to regurgitate it eventually, as they have no functional digestive system; blood is just sort of absorbed through the stomach and incorporated into their bloodstream from there.

Their palette has changed to find blood more palatable than a human would. They can taste things in it that humans wouldn't. Their sense of taste for other things has made them less appetizing. These are a mixture of biological and psychological cues, though, so it's possible for vampires to condition themselves to recognize what smells, etc., would appeal to humans. Possible, but definitely a learning process.

Silver burns their skin, weakens them significantly, and can poison them, if it is healed inside them or otherwise incorporated into their bloodstream. Silver poisoning is characterized by weakness, particularly gnawing hunger, and slowly starting to resemble a chemo patient, basically. The more blood a vampire drinks, the faster it's purified from their system. The blood of 'higher creatures' will hasten this process (and the blood of a fairy will purify it away instantly).

They're capable of having sex (but not of procreating sexually, remember). As that's concerned, they can't pass on diseases.

Religious things (holy water, crosses, hallowed ground, etc.) don't affect them at all.

Their tears are made of blood, rather than, you know, tears. 

They're effectively dead, so their blood is cold, their heart doesn't beat, they don't need to breathe, they don't sweat, they don't blush, they don't urinate or defecate, etc.. It's probably worth a reminder that breathing is necessary for speech, just like with anything else, but they don't need to do it to survive. 

Things that normally require bloodflow (eg,, erections) are accomplished by an unconscious magical force instead, making these things slightly firmer than they would be in a human.

They do have small amounts of relatively normal, mortal fluids that are required for them to function without appearing thoroughly fucked up. These include oils in the skin and hair, enough normal tears to keep the eyes lubricated, enough mucus to keep the nose from bleeding and sexual fluid.

Sexuality is a natural part of their hunting technique--that is, it's acknowledged as a necessary function by their bodies, so they're capable of it. They can't sexually reproduce, though. For female vampires, this means that all of their eggs were lost upon being turned. For male ones, they have seminal fluid without sperm.

Lower Vampires

This bloodline has been hunted down extensively, both by vampire hunters and by pro-mainstreaming vampires of other bloodlines. This means that they're the rarest sort.

They have many shark-like teeth that extend over their human ones when they're about to feed. These will grow back, if lost, regenerated like any other injury.

There's no special pleasure associated with being bitten by one of these vampires. It hurts just as it would being bitten by an animal. 

It is especially easy for them to create new vampires; they only need to feed them their blood, and it's done in a matter of minutes. This means that, while these vampires are relatively rare, there will often be episodes of them creating many other vampires at once, resulting in quick, scattered population explosions. This can also be accomplished by touching the blood to an open wound, which would require less blood than having them drink it would, but there's little to no danger of it simply for being on unbroken skin.

While their physical attributes are superior to those of a human of comparable size and strength, they are weaker than other vampires who share their age and build.

They have more of a pack mentality than other vampires, and tend to live in nests with their many progeny/siblings.

They can only be killed by beheading, or by especially enchanted means; stakes/wood do nothing but piss them off, really. 

Neither their blood nor their saliva has any healing properties whatsoever. 

Their monstrous qualities are especially strong; they're more distanced from their humanity than other races of vampire, more easily given over to sadism toward humans. Whether this is due to an increased appetite or some kind of natural meanness is unclear. 

Standard Vampires

These are the only vampires who have 'come out of the coffin', officially; these are the ones humans will see on TV, the ones who invented synthetic blood, etc. etc.. 

These are the most common type of vampire, and are generally the ones most dedicated to the mainstreaming effort; it was their idea.

They have two fangs that extend from their top row of teeth when they're about to feed. These are different between all vampires, just as human teeth are not identical among humans.

Attempts to enter a mortal dwelling uninvited will result in their bleeding as though having a brain hemorrhage, becoming incredibly weak and suffering agonizing pain, until they either secure an invitation or manage to crawl out of the door.

They can work a kind of subconscious magic that makes the bite pleasant. The bite itself will hurt, but sucking on it, afterward, is generally a very erotic sensation. . .unless they don't want it to be. Then it hurts about as much as you'd expect.

Being pierced by anything wooden will kill them instantly. Wooden things also cut/pierce through a vampire's skin very, very easily.

They have significantly greater physical attributes than humans of comparable build, even directly after being made.

To make a new vampire, they must drink from them until they're on the brink of death, then feed them a significant amount of their blood. Afterward, they shut them away from the sun for a varying amount of time (anywhere from one night to two weeks, depending on a number of different variables, such as the age of the siring vampire and the health of the prospective vampire), after which they rise as a vampire. It's traditional to bury them, but not necessary.

Their skin is slightly thicker and firmer than human skin, making it more difficult to cut, bruise or pierce with weapons not made of wood or silver. Still doable, of course.

They're capable of 'glamouring' humans--meaning, they look them straight in the eyes, and they'll obey whatever they say, so long as they maintain eye contact. This can be as simple as "go over there and don't move" or as complex as "you never saw us here tonight, you came to get donuts and you left". 

Their saliva has healing properties, when it can be concentrated on a particular spot. It's normally used to heal arteries after feeding so their prey doesn't bleed out; it's not especially useful for wounds larger than that.

Their blood has stronger healing properties than their saliva, and this is accomplished either by feeding it to a human, or putting it on a wound.

A mortal who's had a vampire's blood fresh from the source--that is, when they're in a position to form a clear mental picture of the vampire--will find themselves thinking favorably of them, fantasizing about them, missing them, etc., for a period of time, depending on how much blood they've had. 

If a vampire and a human swap blood in remarkable amounts, they will become blood bound to one another--basically the same thing as above, but mutual.

If this goes on for long periods of time, the bond begins to favor the vampire; that is, the human's feelings of loyalty to, and desire for, the vampire (and their blood) will be more intense than the vampire's feelings of the same.

This bond can be turned into a 'ghouling' situation, but it is not necessary to drink a mortal's blood to accomplish this (though they usually will). Ghouled humans will begin to assume a vampire's attributes, most notably their longevity, as long as they're fed that vampire's blood regularly. Heightened physical attributes apply. They're capable of being in the sun, but are likely to be made uncomfortable by it, thanks to their strong empathy with the vampire. Doing this is generally regarded as making a slave of the mortal party, because their free will is largely overwhelmed by their esteem for the vampire (and their blood). 

This process can be done to animals as well, to make them stronger, more loyal, and effectively immortal (though they're still capable of dying from, say, blood loss. . .same with humans, but I forget shit, OK? It's a lot of details!)

Drinking the blood of an unknown vampire has all kinds of positive effects; heightened physical attributes, heightened libido, etc., without any particular feelings for the vampire it came from (though, I guess if they happened to meet them while dosed up on their blood, maybe they'd feel it??). Different people react differently to these changes--sometimes the sudden heightened senses can trigger hallucinations, for example, but that's not to do with the blood itself, just the personality, body chemistry, etc., of the user. It also makes the user more easily given over to violence, and is highly addictive. It's a pretty big problem in certain parts of the world, with humans known as drainers subduing vampires and draining them dry, and other vampires willingly selling their blood for the money. It's referred to as 'V', and considered an illegal drug all around.

Greater Vampires

Most/all of the things about Standard vampires apply to the Greater as well. In addition. . .

They can use blood-fueled magic. It's suggested that this energy is supplied not by the blood, in and of itself, but by the sacrifice represented in taking it from another. Therefore, synthetic blood cannot replenish this energy in them.

This magical energy in them actually makes it much harder for them to feel satisfied by synthetic blood. Even if they're not using magic all over the place, the magical attribute represents a second kind of hunger. They naturally hunger for the power that blood gives them, even if their personality type isn't really given over to using it.

Of course, this hunger will often warp said personality type into being more superior and power-hungry. While Greater vampires are capable of mainstreaming (in the sense of letting humans know what they are, in the most basic sense, and trying to make a place for themselves in human society), the number of them who do is far lesser than Standard vampires. Many of them will, in fact, participate in human society, but they'll be pretending to be human, using magic to make themselves convincing.

To the public, any Greater mainstreaming vampire is required, by the Authority and by the urging of the supernatural community at large, to present themselves as a Standard vampire.

While they can use magic to accelerate their own healing, it's a very rare vampire that can use anything resembling healing magic on other people. If they manage to do so, it's incredibly taxing.

More drastic forms of magic are also very taxing. By 'taxing', I mean that they use enormous amounts of that blood energy. If they exhaust very much of that, they enter starvation mode and ravenously feed on the nearest available mortal source.

They can learn how to more effectively execute magic they use often to require less blood.

As insinuated above, they can do a lot with it, and can make themselves convincingly human by it (eg, making their heart beat, giving themselves body heat, sweat, etc.). However, these are conscious decisions they have to make. . .so, someone might find that a vampire is cooler or warmer than normal, that they sweat too much or too little, that the rhythm of their heartbeat is off, etc..Basically, it's hard to make it identical to what it was when they were human, so how convincing they are is up to how well they can pull that sort of thing off.

While they can use magic to create life, they need the raw materials for it, and they can't use magic to create mortal life from their own body. So, basically, they can make a homunculus or a golem, they can cause existing lifeforms to mutate in all sorts of ways, but they still can't make babies. It's the nature of the curse.

Their 'magical' nature is very palpable to magic-sensitive people or creatures. So, those who are drawn to, or strengthened by, magic, will feel drawn to these vampires. Some may think that it's a twisted and disgusting energy, while others might not make that distinction, and find the presence of magic at all to be pure and comforting. 

The blood of magical creatures replenishes their energy at a far greater rate than that of more mundane creatures (humans, basically, though some humans have magical attributes in this universe, too. . .not the subject of this post, though!).

Blood taken from a corpse renders their magical powers inert.

There's a symbol that can be drawn, in a manner similar to a devil's trap for demons, that will exploit the magic in this breed's blood. They'll be unable to leave the symbol and unable to use magic while inside it.

Their magical acuity makes it easy for them to detect many things about supernatural creatures and forces. Too many to list, really; I'll probably tell you about it if/when it's relevant.

The blood of a Greater vampire is more potent than the other bloodlines'. A human drinking it may even sometimes manifest magical abilities (though they'd have to somehow figure out they were there, of course).