Post by davey on Mar 20, 2012 14:21:59 GMT -5
CHARACTER APPLICATION [MALE ADULT]
DAVEY JAMES GREYBACK
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I WALK A LONELY ROAD
[/color][/font][/center]"this is the place you'll end up when you lose the chase
where you’re dragged against your will from a basement on the hill,
and all anybody knows is you're not like them and they kick you in the head,
and send you back to bed isolation pulled you pass a tunnel to a
bright world where you can make a place to stay."
[/font][/center]where you’re dragged against your will from a basement on the hill,
and all anybody knows is you're not like them and they kick you in the head,
and send you back to bed isolation pulled you pass a tunnel to a
bright world where you can make a place to stay."
THE ONLY ONE I HAVE EVER KNOWN
[/color][/font][/center]Outofcharacter
[/font][/center]Your Name: Shaun!
Your Age: Twenty.
Other Characters: None just yet.
Experience: Six years.
Secret Word/Phrase: admin edit
DON’T KNOW WHERE IT GOES
[/color][/font][/center]Incharacterbasics
[/font][/center]FACE CLAIM: MATT LOEWEN.
FULL NAME: DAVEY JAMES GREYBACK.
NICKNAMES: As a child, DJ. Dave, Greyback.
AGE/DOB: JANUARY 5TH, 1997.
JOB: WEREWOLF REGISTRY AND SUPPORT SERVICES LIASON, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
BLOOD STATUS: HALFBLOOD.
SEX: MALE.
ORIENATION: HOMOSEXUAL.
BUT IT’S HOME TO ME AND I WALK ALONE
[/color][/font][/center]Incharacterapperance
[/font][/center]EYES: "My eyes are a pale-ish blue, I guess. They have these little flecks of grey around my pupils - they certainly aren't my dad's eyes. Whenever I'm on the verge of... you know, well, they tend to darken."
HAIR: "My hair is just your plain old brown; that, I'm going to assume, I inherited from my father, Fenrir; it's the same wavey, muddy mass when I don't get it cut often enough - which I'm glad to say, I try not to do now that I have my ministry position."
HEIGHT: “I'm a pretty tall guy at six feet, two inches."
BUILD: "When I was a kid and even up until I was almost out of my teens I was spindly as fuck. Now I've fleshed out a little, I find it easier to buys clothes that come in factory sizes. I wouldn't say I'm particularly muscular, but I'm toned and look in good shape."
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: "I have a rather hideous looking scar just under my shoulder on my left arm. I don't know when it was that Fenrir decided that, at some point or another, he was going to make us all as cursed as him, but he did. He may have fooled some of my younger siblings but I just know better. I also have a tattoo of a shackled lion across the top of my chest - only half, on the scar's side. Maybe, at the time, it might draw some attention away it. Nowadays I don't really care."
SKIN TONE: “I'd like to forget about the days when I wasn't only ridiculously skinny, but also extremely pasty. I look like a living caucasian now."
I WALK THIS EMPTY STREET
[/color][/font][/center]Personality
[/font][/center]DISLIKES: ARGUING, HARASSMENT AND EMBARRASSING SITUATIONS.
LOSING, RUNNING-UP AND DRAWING.
WHITE CHOCOLATE, OLIVES AND STRAWBERRIES.
ICY COLOURS, VIOLET AND DARK BLUES.
WORKING, SWEATING AND ACHING... UNLESS OF COURSE...
BAD WEATHER, BRITISH CRITICISM AND PREJUDICE.
PRESSURE, HARSH DEADLINES AND RUTS.
THE DREADED FULL MOON.
CLOTHING HORRORS, DIRT FOR DIRTS SAKE, AND STAINS.
LIKES: CRYSTAL, WHISKEY AND HAND-CUT ICE.
FASHION, ROBES AND STYLISH DEMEANOR.
CLOAKS, WAISTCOATS AND SKINNY TIES.
FLUFF, WARMTH AND BROWN LEATHER.
DARK REDS, AMBER AND MAUVE.
SUSHI, CAESER DRESSING AND SALMON.
EARNING HIS LIVING, RELAXING AND CREATIVITY.
READING, WRITING AND ILLUSTRATING.
SECRETS, GOSSIP AND PARTY CHAINS.
ROMANTICS, LOW LIGHTS AND FIRES.
TENNIS, SPECTATORSHIP AND MUGGLE SPORT.
TINKERING, EXPERIMENTING AND JOKING.
MEMORABLE MUSKS, NICHES AND SMOKING.
BAD HABITS: "I'm not too sure. Would you count scratching yourself post-lycanthropic transformation a common habit? Hmm. Me neither. I guess you can count biting my nails; I think the last time I cut my fingernails with clippers was when I was about twelve. I've always been a bit of a worrier, but little things like nail biting give me away when I'm trying to keep it all bottled up. Could that count as a habit? I try my best to bottle up everything."
GOOD HABITS: “I'm a bit of a clean freak. Personal hygiene is important and I'm always clean and tidy but I'm talking about my home. Everything has it's place. Everything is dusted down. The floor is always hoovered. Tea towels go in the right cupboard. If you mess with the cleanliness of my home, you're disturbing a demon in placid slumber. You can extend that to another of my good habits; my desk at work. Don't laugh, but... it's what I could 'time and priority organised'. The stuff on the left of my desk is the stuff that I can get done quickly but may not be of the most importance. The stuff on the right is more difficult work that I have longer to do. ... what? I'm an organised guy!
I can't stand it when people aren't well mannered. I consider greeting people, holding doors open when needed and trying your best to help someone else out one large good habit - it's just common courtesy."
WEAKNESSES:
BLUSHING, NON-VIOLENT SUBMISSIVENESS AND JAWLINES.
"I've always had this thing for jawlines. Yes, you can consider it a weakness! I don't know where it came from, but the smoothness of the skin until it meets a little facial hair is just - just. And blushing? Honestly, I'm not some ego-tyranical sociopath that's obsessed with attention. But, when someone blushes, it's endearing. And confidence boosting. And I enjoy that. People that can't admit to liking a little attention, and personal gratification, have a problem."
BRIGHT LIGHTS AND INTENSE SUN
"I have no idea as to what other werewolves' experiences with bright lights and the sun are, or if it's just my own personal weakness but, there's something about bright lights that hurt my eyes. What do they call that? Photo-sensitivity or something?"
TIGHT CLOTHES, MUSKY COLOGNES AND INTELLIGENT DEBATES.
"Sex is not one of my weaknesses, per se. Sex appeal? Perhaps. There's nothing sexier than someone who's wearing a cologne that actually smells manly. I can't stand sharp tingly scents that usually go hand and hand with perfumes. Add that to a guy with a brain and - you get the picture. Ha. They could spin me any load of bullshit and I'd believe every word that came out of their mouth. Isn't that just fucking disgusting?"
STRENGTHS:
THE DARK AND WARMTH.
"I was a strange kid. Most kids hate the dark, and like the landing light to be left on until they go to sleep. I know people that hated the dark so much that they wouldn't even go to the bathroom in the night. Now, I was the total opposite - I couldn't sleep with a light on or if my bed was cold. When it came to the light, me and my sister's would squabble through the wall, adamant that the light be left on or off. Even with my door closed, the light around the edges would drive me crazy. I guess that's why I'm quite adapt to the dark and warmth, whereas other's lose heads in it."
UNDERSTANDING AND EMPATHY.
"As you know, I work with werewolves. My kind, so to speak. I know what it feels like to be shaking and crying in your room at fifteen, not because your first crush has just made a laughing stock out of you in front of your entire form class or because your parents are screaming and shouting downstairs, but because in the next hour or so your body is going to mutate into something that you cannot control. Because you could hurt somebody whilst your trapped inside something that just can't be you anymore. I understand, I empathise and I try my damn hardest to help."
PERSONALITY:
"I've never been too good at describing my personality and so I've developed a way of helping people that ask me about it to make their way into my mind and the kind of person that I am. Ready?
Imagine that one day, when you wake up, you forget, for only a few seconds,that in just over ten hours you're going to turn into a werewolf; you're not going to have control over yourself. You're going to be locked up inside your room or be running wild with your family doing only God knows what. Imagine that you remember and the colour drains out of you face and you suddenly don't want to get up out of bed any more. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to see anyone. Then imagine that it's only a month until you have to go back to Hogwarts and hide that from everyone there. Imagine that your friends find you secretive and distant; tired and agitated from sleepless nights. Imagine that they drift away from you slowly, just like everyone else until it's only you and the thing you turn into.
That was what my teenage years were like, and they shaped me into who I am now. You'd think that it would have fucked me up, right? Well, it did. For a while. Then I watched the same thing happen to my older and younger siblings and found that, actually, if we had each other we could build our own groups of friends and still aim for our dreams. I'm a dreamer. I guess that's to be expected when you're a person that locked themselves away through their most important life-affirming years. I found that I could apply myself to anything and everything that I wanted, and I have. I have the job I wanted, the home I wanted and if I do say so myself, when I'm not getting ready to visit my old friend 'lycy', I don't look half bad.
I'm also a romantic. You know those stories where the princess turns into a monster and the only thing that can save her is true love? Well, call me whatever you like, but I guess that's the kind of romance that I like. No. I'm not saying I'm a princess. Refined for a werewolf, perhaps. But I'm no princess. The idea that someone could come along and just be like 'hey, i get it, it's cool, i love you anyway' just fascinates me. I know some people that suffer from lycanthropy end up marrying fellow werewolves. To be honest, that sounds kind of sick. I know that I can control myself somewhat now, thanks to the wolfsbane, but the idea of couples running around having a jolly old time together like that just knots my stomach up. Like some kind of hairy tailed Bonnie and Clyde, y'know?
I guess you can sum me up in just a few words; headstrong, empathetic, hard-working, faux self-assured, descriptive, emotionally volatile and somewhat opinionated."
ON THE BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS
[/color][/font][/center]Incharacterextras
[/font]WAND: OAK, THIRTEEN AND A QUARTER INCHES, RIGID, DRAGON HEART STRING CORE.
BROOMS: NIMBUS 2000S, BUSINESS RANGE.
PET(s): N/A.
WHERE THE CITY SLEEPS
[/color][/font][/center]Relationships
[/font][/center]AMORTERIA: CINNAMON, DEW AND OLD BOOKS. PETROL, PARCHMENTS AND LAVENDER. SOAP, MINT AND PEACHY CONDITIONER.
MIRROR OF ERISED: A FAMILY. "As of now - I don't want children. Just someone to spend my life with. I guess I don't fit the stereotype of most werewolves; either witheringly ashamed, overbearingly aggressive or invigoratingly heterosexual. I'm just a nine 'til five liaison and werewolf counselling worker that happens to be into men."
VERITASERUM: POSSIBLE DEATH OR INJURY.
"I hope you know that this is extremely difficult to talk about. Sometimes, as you're growing up, it can be difficult to understand the importance of wolfsbane, or sometimes, difficult to get a hold of in time. Sometimes you rebel. Other times, you think you have control. You're delusional, of course; you never have control. Once, after I had left Hogwarts, I couldn't afford my wolfsbane and so I locked myself in my room and tried my best to make my surroundings safe. It didn't work - I must have found a way out and when the moon had finished with me I had shreds of clothes that weren't mine and blood on me that most definitely wasn't mine either.
Do you know what it's like to think that you may have killed someone but don't remember it? I'm not sure if I do either. I try and push it away."
BOGGART: BLOOD.
"Ah, fourth year Defense. I loved Defense at school, and the lesson that my professor let a boggart out of that rattling medicine cabinet was one of the most memorable lessons I ever had. Sophie Harlinger actually passed out when her aunts ghost came flying out of it. Mine? This dark creeping mass came dripping and then pouring out of the hinges and the cracks when I stepped up to it, and at first, I was a little confused. Why the hell was oil coming out of it? It wasn't until it was starting to flow forwards and towards my feet that I realised that it was red. Yeah, blood. It wasn't pretty.
Have you ever felt the blood literally rush out of your own face? I was dizzy for a second, but I managed to turn it into a big, red, irregular shag rug. That got some laughs, but somehow, it didn't really help. I was left with this feeling of discomfort, and to this day, I'm unsure of the reasoning behind this fear of blood that I know I have. Sure, I witnessed a severe splinching, but the blood wasn't the key horror of it. Do you think boggarts know what's coming? Like fear, maybe a fear you don't understand is just lying in wait for something that you know you're dreading. Uh. I'm getting way too into this."
DEMENTOR: SPLINCHING.
"You'd think that, taking my cursed blood into consideration and all, that my worst memory would revolve around that. But now - I don't tend to remember much.
I've only had the unfortunate experience of meeting a dementor once, and let me tell you, once was enough. It was on the way to the court, after the outlet that me and Fauna owned was broken into. Of course, with the spells that we each put up, he was caught - and sentenced afterwards, by the way - but the dementor that I had to pass by just outside the main hearing hall entrance was one of the coldest and evilest things I've ever experienced. Why the ministry allows such things to be in charge of people that may have only committed a small crime is beyond me. But -- then again, at the minute, you can never be too careful, can you? Ugh, and the things it dragged up. The time that one of my best friends tried to apparate after reading some instructions written by a seventh year? God, the blood. He was in hospital for weeks after that. Most people end up with a clean split, but he somehow managed to break bones while doing it. I've never freaked out so much in all my life - I was all alone and left with an arm and a foot in the middle of the snow in Hogsmeade at sundown.
Fucking terrifying. I don't remember all that much after the initial crack, and the above objects, but I screamed and screamed, with a hint of laughter scratching at my throat. You know when you're a little kid and you're crying and crying over something so trivial that your parents can't help but laugh a little? It was like that, but with trivial replaced with the kind of hysteria that can only be associated with violent situations that can or could only be a sick dream.
"Of course, it wasn't a dream. I just stood, shaking, unable to take my eyes of this foot and this arm, a part of me desperate to pick both up in my robes and run to the toilets in the Three Broomsticks with them, were I knew the rest of the body would be. Then again, the snow and patches of grass were pretty stained with blood and my stomach was churning over and over. Eventually, Professor Flitwick apparated along with a few wizards and took them to Saint Mungo's along with me. i didn't sleep for a few days after that."
PATRONUS: CARACAL.
"You know, I've never been able to perform the patronus charm properly. Not like some people, I mean. Oh, it's not entirely corporeal - you can tell that it's a caracal and everything, but it's a little shimmery and doesn't tend to last all that long. Perhaps it's the memory that I u- what? Oh, a caracal. It's a wild cat that has feathery, pointy ears and can jump insanely high for it's height. We actually studied them Care of Magical Creatures. See, muggles just assume they're good at spotting birds and have powerful legs, but the truth is, they insnare them. Like, they call to them or something like that - I don't really remember, I wasn't too good at Care of Magical Creatures. I'm going to have to look it up one of these days. When my younger
The memory that I use may not seem like a particularly great memory to some, but to me, it's both happy and important. It's of me and my big sister - we'd never really gotten on that well until after I dad scratched the living life out of me and I'd gone through my own first transformation. Afterwards I was pale and shivering and I lay on the floor in the bathroom for hours. Everyone knew not to try and come in or ask me to get out, even when there were seven of us. Eight including dad. I don't know how long it was exactly until she came and knocked on the door lightly before pushing the door open. She had chocolate in one hand and a hot drink in the other, my still keen eyes over-focusing on the little trails of steam that swam into the air.
She looked like she'd been crying too, and for a minute I wondered if she was keeping a secret from me or if she was just upset to see her brother in such a state. She knelt down next to me and I gave her the longest hug I have ever given anyone in my life. She told me she knew how scared I was and that she was scared for me too, but it'd all be fine. I'd get better at it and one day, everything would seem normal. I'd never felt so understood and loved in my life; sure, my dad let us run wild and hugged us, made us food when it suited him and took us on trips - we all loved each other, but there was always something huge missing. In that moment I felt like I'd found it."
AND I’M THE ONLY ONE
[/color][/font][/center]Familyhistory
[/font][/center]FATHER: FENRIR GREYBACK, AGE UNKNOWN, WEREWOLF, PUREBLOOD.
MOTHER: NO INFORMATION KNOWN.
CHILDREN:
___ ___ greyback, f, 37, tainted blood
davey james greyback, m, 25, tainted blood
___ ___ greyback, f, 24, tainted blood
norah emily greyback, f, 7th, h, tainted blood
___ ___ greyback, f, 5th, g, tainted blood
___ ___ greyback, m, 2nd, s, tainted blood
___ ___ greyback, m, 1st, h, tainted blood
OTHER IMPORTANT FAMILY: N/A.
HISTORY:
Davey James Greyback was born on January 5th, 1997, and was named so by his father, his mother's influence beyond the physical entirely absent. After a one night encounter followed by five months of an near undetectable pregnancy, she had no wish but to have the child, give it to it's father and then put the entire thing behind her. Leaving him on Fenrir's doorstep four months later, Davey grew up without any knowledge of his mother's whereabouts, her name, her age or even what she looked like. The only thing that he did know is that his eyes mus have been passed down from her side of a family he would never get to meet.
His childhood was a strange one by all accounts, with an older sister that always seemed years beyond his reach and a younger sister that he had no memory of not having in his life. It was never explained to him that, they had different mother's or that, in fact, everyone has or had a mother to begin with. On the rare occasion, he did not have a father either as he would vanish for days at a time, leaving the eldest of his children to get them food and keep them entertained. He shared a room with his younger sister, until the time came that, aged eight, Norah made her way into his small world and she was placed with her. Now surrounded by females without any idea as to who a young boy's chief female influence truly should be, he found himself preoccupied in his own little world and mind in his own little room. Strange noises came from the house at strange times, and Davey found that, if he wanted to, he could make things make strange sounds or movements too. The kettle, for example, which would inexplicably whistle with appreciation if he were to think about it for too long.
Of course, aged eleven and with yet another female in a house in which his father only seemed to have time to give him the occasional hug because he was sorting out 'You know, son, the girls' problems'. The man was rough and stern but had a strange affinity for those in his own 'pack', until a certain time came; a time that would come for Davey in only two years. School began, and he was placed in Ravenclaw house; a house in which his quiet but friendly demeanour and sharp brains helped him to mix well. His first years passed without issue and he learned more than he ever would have expected in his short life; there was so much for him to do, to look forward to and to strive for.
It as the summer between his second and third year that his father seemed more interested in him than ever before, and not in a way that he liked. Davey found Fenrir to be snappy and pushy, questioning him endlessly until his father would snarl and slam around the house like an ill tempered gale. Eventually, his father's temperament met it's peak and for the new twenty four hours, Davey was ignored entirely. A sickness was wavering through is veins for hours as he tormented himself with what it was that he could have done. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to ask; a question that was met with cold eyes from a man that was about to transform before his eyes. Davey was locked in a paralysis, his mind empty and his bones vibrating with fear. In one swift movement, his father moaned loudly before thrashing by him towards the doorway, lashing out at his eldest son with a ferocity that threw him onto his pack as he whimpered.
With a timidity that was so unlike a Greyback, Davey made his way through school, suffering from bouts of a serious depression and an intolerable weakness of any kind of conflict. It wasn't until he found hope in his OWL results, which were extremely good, that he found he knew what his path was. With happiness he found a new dream and goal, something that had driven him; he would help other's like himself; fight their battles with them and help them feel as human as he was beginning to feel again.
Davey took a post in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures as a liaison and registrar for werewolves and those with family members or friends who suffered from lycanthropy. He know lives in Leicester and Central London depending on work.
AND I WALK ALONE
[/color][/font][/center]Roleplaysample
[/font][/center]Memories seemed to be playing an excruciating key role in Shaun's life as of late. First, he'd travelled back to visit his family, a thing he'd done more than enough times over the passing years. Visit his mother and father, tell them all about his life abroad, at the Ministry, the world of wizards itself. Then his brothers, his nephew of five years running around this way and that, awed at the magic tricks that his uncle could do. Of course, he'd never reveal true magic to the child, only the odd muggle trick or two, with a helping hand or twist to it that no ordinary muggle could ever complete. And it always scattered smiles across his face, to see them all. He missed them terribly whilst he traveled, of course, but nothing could match what he felt now, his arms around Sara. He'd missed so much, an amount that he knew he'd never be able to make up for, even if he lived to see the turn of the next ten centuries. But a twinge of hope glittered, a glow he grabbed at as he tried hastily to wipe away the tears under his eyes. They had here and now, didn't they? That wasn't lost?
The only thought that tainted such a glimmer, was the idea that once Sara had pulled herself together, had time to think, she'd see the situation as it was in true form. This was his fault, and no one else's. He'd settled that much over the years, even if, emotionally, he'd settled little else. If Sara's thoughts did cluster, and the haze of their re-introduction did clear, then he knew he'd deserve more than just her cold shoulder. A hex or two, perhaps. Not that he planned on admitting such a thing to her, it would only make her eyes stream further, which was something he most certainly didn't want.
You sound just... j-just like me. Trying to cheer up the first years, I mean.
It's not your fault. Please, don't ever think it is.
Shaun wanted to roll his eyes, argue perhaps, with her train of thought. Of blame. But he decided against it, but he would try later. She wasn't in any fit state to divulge on such things, and remember his own upset, Shaun recognised that he was not far from the same state, if just less watery. No, he would comfort her, but would not give her further reason to continue her ravel of self-blame. The tears had stopped, on his part, the few he had parted with having released a ton of pressure on his mind.
"Sara..." was all Shaun could mutter, shaking his head. he could think of little else to say, but if anything had been making its way to the forefront of his mind, it was wiped away by the look in Sara's eyes. It was one he recognized, and one he was sure other would have seen in his at the oddest of times, whenever he mused over the past behind him. And then she spoke again, this time, of the small scar that etched itself across the left of his upper-most abdomen, not thick nor wavering, but elongated and almost measured in precision. The scar left by a severing curse. Sara was correct in both her statements, it had of course, healed as the years went by. But she was also right in the description of his wound. It had most certainly been of the nasty kind. He remembered little of the actual damaging moments, little more than a sharp twinge as he felt an object of sorts, naturally sharp in nature, pierce his skin. And yet, when he'd flashed a look down at it, nothing had been sticking out of him, lodged in his, as it felt something was. But the black that was creeping from the corners of his eyes, and the throbbing that was emitting from his body had sent waves of darkness crashing over him, the vast majority of the pain with it. he could hear muttered words, as though he was sinking slowly under the lake, and pokes and prods and pulls, as though he was deep under a large duvet. But nothing more. Shaun had awoken in St. Mungos, with nothing more than a sharp pain whenever he moved to quickly for the few months that followed, and the odd bleeding. The scar itself took a horribly, magically, long time to heal. If he remembered rightly, close to a year. But now it was nothing more than a memory and a mark on his physical being.
MY SHADOW IS THE ONLY ONE THAT WALKS BESIDES ME
[/color][/font][/center]Credits
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