Post by Jutendouji on Jun 10, 2008 16:26:37 GMT -5
Dante Yuvez
[/color][/font][/size](( Couldn't find a good real picture...so you'll have to deal with said drawing... ))
[/center] Dante Yuvez
[Nicknames here] ‘Vez, Yuvez or simply; Dante.
{Gender;;} Male
{Age::} 25 in Appearance but actually, he’s about 70 additional years older.
{Height;;} 5`11
{Status;;} an old Vampire.
{Occupation;;} Traveller
{Appearance;;}
Long dark brown tresses cascade down the sides of his face, falling just passed his shoulder at the front and finishing near his hips at the back. Slightly curled, but straight for the majority of its length, these tresses frame his narrow, smooth, femininely shaped face and angular chin. Tired worn eyes adorn the slightly pale skin on his face, rimmed with a sleepless black, but somehow that doesn’t make him any less attractive. His eyes are hued with a dark coal colour, which fades to a pale silver in the center of the dead looking iris.
Dante bares a slender physique, compactly muscular; which he holds very well, his posture is always proper and flatters his shape, which flows from his broad shoulders, slender waistline, to the bottom of his long legs, he looks more like statue; exaggerated perfection. The left side of Dante’s chest and arm are cast in a horrid, sore, pink, fleshy looking scar; like an exceedingly large burn. It spreads part the way up the left side of his neck too and goes down as far as the side of his left thigh. (See history)
Dante usually wears a form fitting shirt, with long sleeves, a couple of buttons open at the top, to show off the start of his chest and the contours of his neck. Black slacks hang low on his hips, in a rich looking breathable fabric, the trousers actually fit quite tightly to his legs, but they widen out near the ends and hang lazily over his dull black boots.
A leather strap hangs loosely on his wrist, used to tie back his hair at times, large earrings sing hollowly on his ears, both are coloured a dark crimson, adorning a gold star in the center. An array of rings sculpt his slender fingers, each one moving with an almost pained delicacy as if he feared they shatter the nearest thing.
Dante’s Smoking pipe;
{Personality;;}
Dante’s mood changes depending on the things around him, he can be quite docile at times and quite physical and wild in others. Most of the time any company his had is subjected to a cold, calm and collected exterior…with a little playfulness mixed in depending on the reaction of whomever he might be with. He has what we call a careful personality; Meaning he won’t act like himself unless he knows it won’t cause him any issues later, that and he doesn’t want anyone to get to know the real him; getting close to anyone it something he’s very unwilling to do. He becomes quite the beast if one becomes persistent in said field.
He’s quite a guarded man, and in all the years he’s been forced into living he’s become quite lazy and indifferent, change no longer scares him, neither does the types of people and creatures he meets, you could say he feels he’s seen it all. And is quite happy to sit down and watch. After all, his life ended over 70 years ago…there’s no point in clinging to the bloody remains now. Dante doesn’t believe much in hope, or the could with a silver lining…it’s all total crap in his eyes. He’s become quite the cynical fellow; but it isn’t often that he’ll express his own true opinion.
Dante’s been known to have faults of kindness, and usually ends up starving himself of blood before he’ll even think about going to get some. The act always brings about depression and a foul mood… being weak leaves him very much at the mercy of his thoughts and memories; which is an incredible bad thing, in his opinion. Dante can be quite the spiteful bastard if he wants too; He prefers for people to hate him. It makes it easier. In all his years of travelling; if he’d learned anything it was that for creature like himself; company should only be temporary.
The scent of blood sends Dante into an uncontrollable frenzy; completely mindless… he literally becomes the beast inside the wrapping. He will do anything, he’ll act cruel and cold, using his skills and talents, he’ll draw blood wherever he can…he’ll toy and make it as traumatic and as sick as possible.
{History;;}
Life is a long an treacherous journey… it’s like walking across a sea of embers; it makes you stand daintily to the side, watching it flicker until all the strength you had to walk across slowly eroded away. Through sheer Hesitation and an unyielding will not to be harmed a lot of people simply wave at life as it passes them by. Other people sit and wait for someone to carry them across; someone strong…who had made many trips across the painful and frightening light of embers.
Life is fragile, made of thin, impressionable glass. It can be put back together once broken…but that usually takes another pair of hands and a the sturdy frame-work of someone who knows you. It can be re-forged…but the work is shabby and it becomes less then a shadow of what it once was, it can be forcefully taken and put back together, into the way people thought you should be.
Dante had been broken and re-forged many times; but through his own power…and with the crumbling remains of the frame-work he’d come into being with. He had never yielded to life…much less to the fact that sometimes it ended, emotionally and physically.
1786, on the day of his birth (December 20th ), his life shattered for the last time…a lot of the pieces were never returned and if they were…he refused them.
The usual winter frost had captured London and windows were glazed in icy breath, it was numbingly cold out, but children were still hanging round outside, idling as they patiently waited for the Christmas snow. It was still the afternoon, the sun was out…and well, the world appeared pretty good. Dante opened the frost bitten door to his house with the usual difficulty. His two kids had been waiting, as usual by the window, running into the hallway, small voices crying out to be first, the noise only got louder the further he pushed the door open. Before he knew it, he was back outside, them holding him in their small little arms; even with two of them the little appendages didn’t quite get all the way round his broad-shouldered slender physique.
They giggled manically as he over expressed a pained groan, pulling them up to stand with him, one on each arm…like little Christmas drapes. He could never forget their faces… plump cheeks obscuring wide eyes, both children baring their mothers bright kind doe eyes, hued with a thick creamy chocolate brown. His little boy had wild hair, a thick dark brown, curling at the ends wildly, short and thin… Always dressed scruffily… At the time Dante wondered why he bothered bringing all the money home…if his son was adamant to remain dressed like he lived out on the street. Always covered with mud… always in trouble. Every once in a while Dante had to save him from raging merchants, or his teachers, they weren’t a rich family, but Dante had a good job, he was able to provide them with money enough to offer a couple of luxuries…
His little girl was a treasure…all proper and sweet, she was the mimic of her mother…the only trait of himself he saw in her was probably the faults in her personality; his little princess… She was innocent, so forgiving and mature when things got tough. His two children were the same age, born in the same year…but she acted like the big sister, and took good care of her brother on days when Dante was a bad father.
Aye. Those days came along quite often. But they forgave him. Stupid family…stupid-wonderful-god-gifted-loves.
”What’s wrong with your hand Daddy?” The little girls voice was a song, he could sit for hours and listen to her talking, the faults and the silent letters she forgot to ignore… It brought on such a smile.
”Ah. It’s nothing My Love… Just a nasty bite”
The children exchanged glances, then smiled and let the curiosity pass, each leaning forward at the same time to kiss him sweetly on his cheeks. He laughed as they retreated, grabbing after them…but they’d already run screaming into the other room. Little monsters.
”A bite? …Strange man! What have you been doing! I do wish you wouldn’t get into such trouble.”
His wife, god was she beautiful…he would have easily believed it if a halo glowed above her head and she shed white feathers… She looked at him like that often, like he was a child and she was worried about the things he got up to while she wasn’t around.
”Heh… It was just some nut I gather…”
It began to rain…hours later, darkness tinting the windows, the moon caged behind thick clouds, captured by dark angels. The rain was cold, hard and unyielding…as it was coincidentally on any night of true despair, danger and sorrow. Water dripped through the roof, pattering on the floor much like the blood did as it sunk through the old floorboards and stained the basement below.
The infection had spread…it was uncommon in those days…a few people were bitten and then never seen again, but society blamed it on murderers… The realization of vampires came centuries later. Too late.
He held the chilling bodies of his children in his hands… Blood, he could remember exactly how he’d ended them, it was like he was standing behind a window…watching it all happen. Not in control… he was just along for the ride; getting sick of the insatiable pleasure he felt in taking their sweet lives.
His wife was upstairs…he couldn’t go up there and mourn her. His children…he couldn’t leave them here alone. He wanted to warm them back into waking, stroking their hair…stained red from his fingers. He stayed there for days…nights, god…he couldn’t leave them. He mourned them until they’d long since gone. He blamed himself and destroyed whatever his hands could grasp.
His eyes were rimmed with a sleepless black, he was a state, still wearing their blood. His little princess…his little boy, his wife…everything. Gone. And what was worse…was that these hands had taken them. He looked at them…bloodstained and shaky.
Next thing he knew, he’d thrown a punch through his window, the hot glare of the sun burning into his left side, he cried out in unbearable pain…this was what his insides felt like. The searing heat scarred his skin fast…smoking as he tore himself away from the window, breaking down again in silence. He couldn’t look at them anymore. He walked outside, into the thick shade of the doorway. Waiting for the darkness to sweep him away with it.
He never forgot them, that moment. Those long and painful days. The void is still there. He counts the years and imagines how old his children would be, he imagines their matured faces and the kind of greeting he’d get once reunited. He travelled around, spending a lot of his time in Venice. Moving around to America; New York, he travelled a lot of places and tried life a lot of times, he’s had many lovers, many drama’s and cruel twists of fate...
I guess you could say he’s tired… so, he returned back to London recently.
He picked up a lot of habits, to fill the voids left by precarious tales and a world of events, Dante turned into a new monster; he pretends he doesn’t care…becomes a new man everyday, rising from ashes that are being diminished by the rain and carried off in the wind.
{Fears;;}
+ Being forgiven. (He feels he’d have no purpose if he was forgiven, he likes to think that this is his punishment.)
+ Becoming attached to someone.
+ Becoming a mindless monster.
+ Blood (He doesn’t fear it, he just has literally no control when he can smell it, and is capable of a number for cruel deeds… and what he might do scares him)
+ Running out of tobacco (It makes him dangerously irritable)
{Skills and talents;;}
+ He’s quite clever and can be quite profound.
+ He’s smooth, seductive and he can pretend to be any type of person.
+ Dante’s very calm and collected, there aren’t many things that can change his expression (That he doesn’t allow)
+ He’s very slight of hand.
+ Talented in weapon forgery.
+ Is a natural with animals.
{Character played by;;} ‘Ren’ –Jutendouji
[/sub][/font][/right][Nicknames here] ‘Vez, Yuvez or simply; Dante.
{Gender;;} Male
{Age::} 25 in Appearance but actually, he’s about 70 additional years older.
{Height;;} 5`11
{Status;;} an old Vampire.
{Occupation;;} Traveller
{Appearance;;}
Long dark brown tresses cascade down the sides of his face, falling just passed his shoulder at the front and finishing near his hips at the back. Slightly curled, but straight for the majority of its length, these tresses frame his narrow, smooth, femininely shaped face and angular chin. Tired worn eyes adorn the slightly pale skin on his face, rimmed with a sleepless black, but somehow that doesn’t make him any less attractive. His eyes are hued with a dark coal colour, which fades to a pale silver in the center of the dead looking iris.
Dante bares a slender physique, compactly muscular; which he holds very well, his posture is always proper and flatters his shape, which flows from his broad shoulders, slender waistline, to the bottom of his long legs, he looks more like statue; exaggerated perfection. The left side of Dante’s chest and arm are cast in a horrid, sore, pink, fleshy looking scar; like an exceedingly large burn. It spreads part the way up the left side of his neck too and goes down as far as the side of his left thigh. (See history)
Dante usually wears a form fitting shirt, with long sleeves, a couple of buttons open at the top, to show off the start of his chest and the contours of his neck. Black slacks hang low on his hips, in a rich looking breathable fabric, the trousers actually fit quite tightly to his legs, but they widen out near the ends and hang lazily over his dull black boots.
A leather strap hangs loosely on his wrist, used to tie back his hair at times, large earrings sing hollowly on his ears, both are coloured a dark crimson, adorning a gold star in the center. An array of rings sculpt his slender fingers, each one moving with an almost pained delicacy as if he feared they shatter the nearest thing.
Dante’s Smoking pipe;
{Personality;;}
Dante’s mood changes depending on the things around him, he can be quite docile at times and quite physical and wild in others. Most of the time any company his had is subjected to a cold, calm and collected exterior…with a little playfulness mixed in depending on the reaction of whomever he might be with. He has what we call a careful personality; Meaning he won’t act like himself unless he knows it won’t cause him any issues later, that and he doesn’t want anyone to get to know the real him; getting close to anyone it something he’s very unwilling to do. He becomes quite the beast if one becomes persistent in said field.
He’s quite a guarded man, and in all the years he’s been forced into living he’s become quite lazy and indifferent, change no longer scares him, neither does the types of people and creatures he meets, you could say he feels he’s seen it all. And is quite happy to sit down and watch. After all, his life ended over 70 years ago…there’s no point in clinging to the bloody remains now. Dante doesn’t believe much in hope, or the could with a silver lining…it’s all total crap in his eyes. He’s become quite the cynical fellow; but it isn’t often that he’ll express his own true opinion.
Dante’s been known to have faults of kindness, and usually ends up starving himself of blood before he’ll even think about going to get some. The act always brings about depression and a foul mood… being weak leaves him very much at the mercy of his thoughts and memories; which is an incredible bad thing, in his opinion. Dante can be quite the spiteful bastard if he wants too; He prefers for people to hate him. It makes it easier. In all his years of travelling; if he’d learned anything it was that for creature like himself; company should only be temporary.
The scent of blood sends Dante into an uncontrollable frenzy; completely mindless… he literally becomes the beast inside the wrapping. He will do anything, he’ll act cruel and cold, using his skills and talents, he’ll draw blood wherever he can…he’ll toy and make it as traumatic and as sick as possible.
{History;;}
Life is a long an treacherous journey… it’s like walking across a sea of embers; it makes you stand daintily to the side, watching it flicker until all the strength you had to walk across slowly eroded away. Through sheer Hesitation and an unyielding will not to be harmed a lot of people simply wave at life as it passes them by. Other people sit and wait for someone to carry them across; someone strong…who had made many trips across the painful and frightening light of embers.
Life is fragile, made of thin, impressionable glass. It can be put back together once broken…but that usually takes another pair of hands and a the sturdy frame-work of someone who knows you. It can be re-forged…but the work is shabby and it becomes less then a shadow of what it once was, it can be forcefully taken and put back together, into the way people thought you should be.
Dante had been broken and re-forged many times; but through his own power…and with the crumbling remains of the frame-work he’d come into being with. He had never yielded to life…much less to the fact that sometimes it ended, emotionally and physically.
1786, on the day of his birth (December 20th ), his life shattered for the last time…a lot of the pieces were never returned and if they were…he refused them.
The usual winter frost had captured London and windows were glazed in icy breath, it was numbingly cold out, but children were still hanging round outside, idling as they patiently waited for the Christmas snow. It was still the afternoon, the sun was out…and well, the world appeared pretty good. Dante opened the frost bitten door to his house with the usual difficulty. His two kids had been waiting, as usual by the window, running into the hallway, small voices crying out to be first, the noise only got louder the further he pushed the door open. Before he knew it, he was back outside, them holding him in their small little arms; even with two of them the little appendages didn’t quite get all the way round his broad-shouldered slender physique.
They giggled manically as he over expressed a pained groan, pulling them up to stand with him, one on each arm…like little Christmas drapes. He could never forget their faces… plump cheeks obscuring wide eyes, both children baring their mothers bright kind doe eyes, hued with a thick creamy chocolate brown. His little boy had wild hair, a thick dark brown, curling at the ends wildly, short and thin… Always dressed scruffily… At the time Dante wondered why he bothered bringing all the money home…if his son was adamant to remain dressed like he lived out on the street. Always covered with mud… always in trouble. Every once in a while Dante had to save him from raging merchants, or his teachers, they weren’t a rich family, but Dante had a good job, he was able to provide them with money enough to offer a couple of luxuries…
His little girl was a treasure…all proper and sweet, she was the mimic of her mother…the only trait of himself he saw in her was probably the faults in her personality; his little princess… She was innocent, so forgiving and mature when things got tough. His two children were the same age, born in the same year…but she acted like the big sister, and took good care of her brother on days when Dante was a bad father.
Aye. Those days came along quite often. But they forgave him. Stupid family…stupid-wonderful-god-gifted-loves.
”What’s wrong with your hand Daddy?” The little girls voice was a song, he could sit for hours and listen to her talking, the faults and the silent letters she forgot to ignore… It brought on such a smile.
”Ah. It’s nothing My Love… Just a nasty bite”
The children exchanged glances, then smiled and let the curiosity pass, each leaning forward at the same time to kiss him sweetly on his cheeks. He laughed as they retreated, grabbing after them…but they’d already run screaming into the other room. Little monsters.
”A bite? …Strange man! What have you been doing! I do wish you wouldn’t get into such trouble.”
His wife, god was she beautiful…he would have easily believed it if a halo glowed above her head and she shed white feathers… She looked at him like that often, like he was a child and she was worried about the things he got up to while she wasn’t around.
”Heh… It was just some nut I gather…”
It began to rain…hours later, darkness tinting the windows, the moon caged behind thick clouds, captured by dark angels. The rain was cold, hard and unyielding…as it was coincidentally on any night of true despair, danger and sorrow. Water dripped through the roof, pattering on the floor much like the blood did as it sunk through the old floorboards and stained the basement below.
The infection had spread…it was uncommon in those days…a few people were bitten and then never seen again, but society blamed it on murderers… The realization of vampires came centuries later. Too late.
He held the chilling bodies of his children in his hands… Blood, he could remember exactly how he’d ended them, it was like he was standing behind a window…watching it all happen. Not in control… he was just along for the ride; getting sick of the insatiable pleasure he felt in taking their sweet lives.
His wife was upstairs…he couldn’t go up there and mourn her. His children…he couldn’t leave them here alone. He wanted to warm them back into waking, stroking their hair…stained red from his fingers. He stayed there for days…nights, god…he couldn’t leave them. He mourned them until they’d long since gone. He blamed himself and destroyed whatever his hands could grasp.
His eyes were rimmed with a sleepless black, he was a state, still wearing their blood. His little princess…his little boy, his wife…everything. Gone. And what was worse…was that these hands had taken them. He looked at them…bloodstained and shaky.
Next thing he knew, he’d thrown a punch through his window, the hot glare of the sun burning into his left side, he cried out in unbearable pain…this was what his insides felt like. The searing heat scarred his skin fast…smoking as he tore himself away from the window, breaking down again in silence. He couldn’t look at them anymore. He walked outside, into the thick shade of the doorway. Waiting for the darkness to sweep him away with it.
He never forgot them, that moment. Those long and painful days. The void is still there. He counts the years and imagines how old his children would be, he imagines their matured faces and the kind of greeting he’d get once reunited. He travelled around, spending a lot of his time in Venice. Moving around to America; New York, he travelled a lot of places and tried life a lot of times, he’s had many lovers, many drama’s and cruel twists of fate...
I guess you could say he’s tired… so, he returned back to London recently.
He picked up a lot of habits, to fill the voids left by precarious tales and a world of events, Dante turned into a new monster; he pretends he doesn’t care…becomes a new man everyday, rising from ashes that are being diminished by the rain and carried off in the wind.
{Fears;;}
+ Being forgiven. (He feels he’d have no purpose if he was forgiven, he likes to think that this is his punishment.)
+ Becoming attached to someone.
+ Becoming a mindless monster.
+ Blood (He doesn’t fear it, he just has literally no control when he can smell it, and is capable of a number for cruel deeds… and what he might do scares him)
+ Running out of tobacco (It makes him dangerously irritable)
{Skills and talents;;}
+ He’s quite clever and can be quite profound.
+ He’s smooth, seductive and he can pretend to be any type of person.
+ Dante’s very calm and collected, there aren’t many things that can change his expression (That he doesn’t allow)
+ He’s very slight of hand.
+ Talented in weapon forgery.
+ Is a natural with animals.
{Character played by;;} ‘Ren’ –Jutendouji
