FOWL, dustan artemis

[dustan fowl]

NAME :: Dustan Artemis Fowl (I'm so original it's not even funny)
AGE :: Twenty
BIRTHDAY :: October the twenty-first
RACE :: Vampyr
FACE CLAIM :: Andy Ranger Biersack
HEIGHT :: 6'2''
WEIGHT :: 145 lbs.
EYE COLOR :: blue
HAIR COLOR :: goes black (domg, he's a bruise)
MARKINGS :: Tattooed into his right arm are a few of his favorite animals - bats - and a large pair of scissors thrown in for good measure. On his left arm, he's got a couple skulls, one of them bleeding. And he has lip piercings. Sometimes, he wears snakebites, other times, it's just one lonely lip ring. Depends on what he's in the mood for.
FATHER :: Matheus Fowl, forty-four, human
MOTHER :: Catarina Prewitt Fowl, deceased at forty-three, human
GUARDIAN :: n/a
SIBLING(S) :: Blake Fowl, twenty-two, human
Tootie Fowl, twelve, human
OTHER RELATION(S) :: n/a

LIKES :: black humor, night time, full moons, masks, make-up, knives, needles, theatrics, poison, killing, carving into people, watching a persons' eyes as the life leaves them
DISLIKES :: jovial laughter (as opposed to maniacal laughter, which he enjoys and partakes in), formal occasions, the forced peace, smiles, happiness in general, family, growing emotionally attached to people, emotions in general, sunny weather, warmth, the peaceful nature of his fellow vamps
DEEPEST SECRET :: He's developed an aversion toward any and all magical creatures, as he's paranoid that the gods use such creations to spy on him
HABITS :: flicking his lip ring with his tongue, tracing the contours of his victims' faces with his claw, cleaning and organizing things when bored
FLAWS :: impulsive, deranged, selfish, calloused, volatile, finicky to the point of OCD
POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES :: self-confident, efficient, detail-oriented, organized, intelligent

HISTORY :: Normalcy was never in the cards for a mister Dustan Fowl. Everyone else around him wished it were, but it wasn't. You see, normal babies cry and cry once they're spanked to life. Not Dustan. He laid there still as could be. One might have tricked his or her self into thinking he'd smiled. Then the doctors cleaned the blood and other internal fluids off him, and the screams came.

As he matured, his parents took notice of slight differences between Dustan and his older brother Blake. Seeing as Blake was the only other child they'd had, he was Catarina's and Matthew's basis for how a normal baby behaved. Blake had screamed a lot and accidentally failed to swallow half of his food (because he was screaming so damn much). His hobbies had included crawling over every surface he could and banging together anything he got his hands on (e.g. pots and pans). Dustan, on the other hand, didn't scream once. ... Until Catarina tried to feed him. Occasionally, he would crawl, but only if whatever toy he was brutally destroying slipped from his grasp and landed out of his reach before he'd finished brutally destroying it. He also bypassed pots and pans, or anything that made a strident sound when banged together.

One time, when Catarina was washing the dishes, a dinner knife fell to the floor. Dustan shot forward from the corner he'd spent most of his day in and picked up the knife. There was a dangerous glint in his eye as he turned it over in his hands, his expression one of awe and worship. Then Catarina snatched the knife from his grasp, and he threw a tantrum.

From early on, Dustan portrayed intelligence far beyond his years. He sorted all his painted stone building blocks by color and size, and every time he finished playing with them, he would rearrange them accordingly. His structures were always architecturally sound. He could converse coherently with his mother about the weather and social events about town, while he conversed with his father - whenever the soldier was at home between battles - about the war and the other races. Dustan ate up information about the other cultures, but took a particular interest in vampyrs above all else. Something about the prospect of walking the night and living forever appealed to the youth. The ease with which Dustan picked up various skills, like folding his laundry, doing his own laundry, cooking, and other household necessities, lead his mother to believe he was some sort of genius.

As was true of every genius, Dustan was a little bit... off his rocker. The only childhood pet he was allowed was a parrot. Dustan named it Aquis, after the pirate god of the seas. For a week, Aquis was kept in good health. Dustan fed him, filled his water bottle, and taught him a few words (the simple stuff, like "hi" and "antidisestablishmentarianism"). Then he stumbled across a caterpillar walking in the marketplace one day with his mother. He asked her to explain to him what the shield of white, frothy stuff was, so she explained to him that when caterpillars did that, they emerged a few weeks later as butterflies.

As it turns out, if you cocoon a parrot in cotton, it doesn't morph into an entirely different creature.

...It just dies.

He partook in many odd activities throughout his childhood. While Blake and the other village idiots boys were learning battle tactics, archery, and fencing, Dustan was crafting voodoo dolls out of hay, reeds, and spare cloth. He also went for walks at night, though not to his parents' knowledge. As far as they knew, he slept soundly from dusk until dawn, when in reality, he was meandering through the streets of Ballistar, climbing and jumping across rooftops. It was on one of these midnight walks that he met Viktor.

At around the age of twelve, Dustan had no ambitions for his future other than to be a vampyr. He learned everything he could about them. Though Viktor tried to throw him off by acting human when the pair met, Dustan knew immediately. That's why he stuck with the slightly older man.

Viktor looked to be about thirty or so, with long, thick black hair and a pair of icy gray eyes. There was a pallor about him that closely resembled a corpse. he dressed entirely in black, most of leather, and whatever wasn't leather had been adorned with metal spikes to increase intimidation factor.

Sound familiar?

It should. Dustan modeled his own look after Viktor.

They met every night, vampyr and boy. Viktor took Dustan under his wing and taught him all about the vampyrs. How most of them were peaceful, and how he couldn't stand to be around them. He taught Dustan to handle knives. The throwing kind were his and the boy's personal favorites. Viktor also taught Dustan hand-to-hand combat. He taught him how to hunt without weapons, and basic survivals skills like building fires and moss pointing north and how to locate water. And when the forced peace was announced the next year, and Dustan discovered he wouldn't be forced to join the military as he'd anticipated, Viktor urged him to take advantage of the forced peace and move in with the vampyrs. They'd grown quite close, Viktor and Dustan, so Dustan agreed.

He and Viktor lived as nomads for quite some time, exploring whichever territory the vampyrs were forced into. Then, in just this past year, Viktor grew restless. He began raiding villages in other territories for kills. Killing civilians. He started to complain about vampyrs had been all but domesticated by the forced peace. How they were crafted as killing machines and their current lifestyle was a waste of god-given (Mortimer-given, the be exact) talent. So Dustan stupidly elected to become a vampyr and help restore the race to its intended glory. Viktor stupidly took him up on it.

For his nineteenth birthday, Dustan got a free pass to eternity. The next evening, he showed up at his parents' house unannounced and tore into his mother's throat. Viktor stopped him before he made it to Tootie, though he had every intention of eating her as well. Viktor, appalled by his behavior (not so much the viciousness of his killing, but the fact that he'd murdered a member of his own family), forced Dustan out of the house and told him that from now on, he was on his own. He's been wandering the wilderness alone ever since.

ROLE PLAY SAMPLE ::

Never had The Now experienced a slow month. At least, not when it came to Reapers. Every night, it seemed, one of them received a mission folder with a new target. Or, if you were Connor, you received approximately five different mission folders which were neatly deposited on your doorstep the second the sun fell. The vast majority of his "clientele" (as he preferred to think of them) were easy prey. They would fumble unknowingly into his grip, Connor would stab a tranquilizer dart into their necks, and then he would slowly easy his hand off the syringe, emptying the stuff slowly into their blood streams. While he was doing so, he busied his free hand with the task of slashing up his victims' bodies.

Connor wore five rings on his left hand. Three skulls, one spider, and on the fore and middle fingers, two sharp, wickedly curved claws set in a black skull. The claw was his weapon of choice, though he kept on his person a wide variety of knives, needles, and other instruments of murder. When he went about his business during the day, he left his knives and needles at home, but he never went anywhere without his rings. If anyone ever lived to tell the tale of his reaping, that would no doubt be Connor's downfall.

Not that he needed to worry about that, though.

Ever.

On this particular day, Connor had noted new wanted posters hanging about the colony. He wasn't surprised to see them boasting a woman's face -- honey blond hair, steely, defiant grey eyes. Women were more willing to enact change, it seemed. They jumped readily over the wall, whereas men hesitated. And then the women were the only ones intelligent/stealthy enough to sneak back into The Now for supplies once they'd escaped. They were considered "Highly Dangerous" because they were economic liabilities. For Reapers, they were top-priority targets.

After seeing the posters, Connor was even less surprised to return to his domicile and stumble upon a new file. When he opened it up, lo and behold -- the same face plastered all over town stared back at him.

What did surprise him was the fact that that hers was the only file on his stoop.

Being the overzealous little Reaper he was, - and one with a spotless record, I might add -, Connor immediately set to work reading the file. It was surprisingly brief. Karlee had scored well on all of her aptitude tests, and The Government had marked her as a potential Reaper. Then, during Karlee's sixteenth year as a Youth, the details grew fuzzy. All it said was Karlee had been identified as an Imperfection. It gave no clue as to why. The file then continued to say that she was caught hiding her father, so Connor assumed the Perfection Police had stumbled across some interface between the two and put Karlee on the watch list. When she met with her father, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. The Police were sent to the Cliché residence to dispose of the father/daughter duo. James, Karlee's father, was assassinated without a hitch. Karlee, on the other hand, vanished into thin air.

After that, sightings were scant.

There were a few blurry photos taken from android cams that may or may not have depicted Karlee robbing warehouses, and those were taped to inventory slips from said warehouses betraying a lower count than what they'd had earlier in the day.

All the way at the end of the file was a record of Karlee's spat with a Reaper. Said Reaper was out stalking a different target when Karlee stumbled across his path. She brawled with the Reaper, and the original target fled. Only to be eliminated the next night in his attempt over the wall. However, Karlee not only escaped the Reaper, but also sent him to the infirmary with a black eye, a bloody nose, two broken teeth, and a deep gash across the waist -- almost as though she'd attempted to disembowel him.

Stroking his chin, Connor slapped the file down on his coffee table. Then he stood and crossed the apartment. He shut himself in the bathroom and went through the motions.

First, he changed out of his day clothes - slightly less conspicuous blue jeans and a band T-shirt - and into his hunting clothes. Leather leggings for ease of movement, a loose-fitted tunic for comfort, a leather jacket, less for protection from the biting winter air, more to conceal his pale arms underneath something that would blend with the dark, and two tightly-drawn belts to hold his weaponry. Once he'd donned his clothing, he applied his face and body paint and teased his hair. Then he exited the bathroom, crossed to the back window (the only window he left unbarred), and slipped out into the night.

Instinct lead him to Main Street. If he were an Imperfection slipping into The Now, he'd seek to do so in a populated area. Main Street at this hour was just the place. Connor took the backroads, of course, stalking in the shadows so he wouldn't be seen. On his way, he ventured forward, toward the mouth of one alley. What he needed for this plan to work was bait.

One girl came near enough for Connor to grab her ankle without being seen. So that's what he did. He yanked into the darkness, placing a hand over her mouth before she could scream. His left hand, of course. The sight of the Claw was enough to scare her off biting him. Connor held the girl to his chest and gently stroked her hair with his free hand. He whispered soothingly as he dragged her deeper and deeper into the alley. Then, through use of his almighty Claw, he slit a nice gash in her arm and dropped her between the dumpsters, kicking in her kneecaps so she couldn't wander off.

Hastening back to the mouth of the alley, Connor peered out at the crowd. He swept the street with his gaze, eyes finally coming to rest on a person - a woman, by look of her stature - standing apart from the others. Right around the corner from the alley in which Connor lay in wait. She had something in her hands. When she hung it back on the wall, Connor saw what it was.

A wanted poster.

Pressing his back against the wall, Connor shrank into the shadows. He held his breath as Karlee walked right past him, never suspecting a thing. She headed straight for the girl in back of the alley, as Connor knew she would. Imperfections. Ever the noble, heroic breed.

On tip-toe, Connor followed. He kept his footsteps light, so that Karlee wouldn't know of his presence until it was too late. Then she called out the girl, and they had a small exchange. Realizing that the girl was setting up to rat him out, Connor hastily drew a blow gun and a bullet from his belt. He loaded the bullet into the gun and pressed it to his lips. Taking aim, he fired his shot. It hung in the air for a moment, then plunged into the girl's head.

She slumped over.

Not wasting a second, Connor dropped the blow gun, not caring where it fell, and caught Karlee's wrists as she spun. He gripped them tightly, pulling her up until she came face to face with him. "Funny." He dragged her right arm across his front, spinning Karlee around so her back was to him and he could hold both her wrists with the same hand -- his right. Tilting his head forward, he all but pressed his lips to her ear. "After reading your file, I'd expected more of you."

Then he dug the Claw into her side.

ALIAS :: Robin, Robbio, Erbin, Roberto, Bobert, Robin-Bobbin, Batman's Steward, Epic Pwner of the Universe, and Owner of your Mom
EXPERIENCE :: long enough
CHARACTERS :: Mel, Andy, Gwen, and Dusty (nickname fail)
HOW YOU FOUND US :: a detour during my annual migration to loompa-land
HOW ARE YOU DOING? NOT CHEATING OFF THIS APPLICATION, THAT'S FOR SURE.

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HEAVEN IS WRAPPED IN CHAINS ©

[LADY EMMALINE ©]

Dustan Artemis Fowl (I'm so original it's not even funny)

I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE. Welcome back with another character, Robin, Robbio, Erbin, Roberto, Bobert, Robin-Bobbin, Batman's Steward, Epic Pwner of the Universe, and Owner of My Mom! We have plenty of brooding vampyrs, but never a psychotic one. Well... Darius is masochistic, but not insane to the same extent as Dustan. Anyway, everything's all set! Feel free to jump into some plots! Oh, yeah, and contact the staff with any questions and all that.