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


CHARACTER OVERVIEW


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. 



STATS


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)

HISTORY


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.