Post by Filch on Jan 9, 2011 1:08:24 GMT -5
Daman
'Anything worth taking seriously is worth making fun of.'
'Anything worth taking seriously is worth making fun of.'
Name: Daman
Age: Twenty two
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Yes
Crime: Oh, Daman has done quite a few things in his life to warrent his arrest, though, all of them fall under the category of non-violent- er, for the most part. The man had lived his life by theft after being tossed from his crafthall thanks to suspect possesion of Crackdust- it had been impossible to convinct the man in to prison, as their proof was the flimsiest 'Well, people act strange around here except for him, so we think he must be dealing'.
He had, for a while, continued studying his craft, until he was introduced in to the wonderful world of the underground drug trade -no, surprisingly, he hadn't been dealing Dust before-. It took him a few theiveries and a bit of arson to climb to the rank where one would teach him to manufacture the stuff, but one he was taught, he took to it spectacularly, his backround as a healer helping him make sure to find the way to create the most powerfully addictive form of the substance he could. He also was quite a naturaul business man, his harmless appearance easily lowering barries for those who were paranoid.
Strangely, he isn't a user of the drug, though he's been committed to the prison for possession, distribution, and manufacturing, as well as the theivery and arson. As for fraud, he had often took on the task of impersonation various people, forging signatures, and slandering the names of those he impersonated with outragoues acts.
*More about when this all happened and what not in history!*
Craft/Rank: Healer. Journeyman.
Appearance: Daman was not at all muscular; in fact, he was more prison bitch material than anything. Any muscle he posessed was defined only faintly, and it was the wiry muscle of a runner, not the bulging biceps of a boxer. This alone didn't make the man feminin. No, that was attributed to his delicate frame and elegant fingers, as well as the slightly curvacious frame. Full lips, large, baby blue eyes, curved, thin eyebrows, and long eyelashes only furthered the girlish appearance. As he only stood at 5'6, below average for a male, it only was easier to mistake him for a female
.
It was a tad easier to identify his gender now that his hair, which was a pitch black color, was shorter, only reaching down to his midback instead of to his waist. The hair was lovingly groomed, even for someone who was in prison, showers braved as often as possible to keep the thick, shimmering locks from tangling. The only break in the black color was a streak of pure white in his hair, caused by a lack of pigment. It reached from the front of his hair downward, almost seeming to split when it met the ends of his hair.
Personality: Daman seems harmless enough, and his tone is almost always sweet- too sweet. In fact, he almost always is mocking someone or something, though it was extremely hard to tell if he was being sincerely nice. The best bet was that no, he wasn't; despite appearances, the man was not nice, and was the kind of person who would gladly betray any other person for any type of advancement. However, he acted as sweet as possible, knowing that a slip up could cause many issues in the prison.
He only acted sweet towards guards, whom he enjoyed flirting with, male or female, as there was great confusion over his gender, and, when he encountered other prisoners, something that annoyed him, he was a vicious, rabid, and rude person. His comments were nothing beyond insulting, the male often putting things in such a tone that the person regretted saying anything to him. If one tried to comment on what he did wrong, he would go off on tirades about topics that were vaguely related, if simmilair at all.
It was impossible to tell if he truly cared for someone, or if he hated them. His tone was almost always the same pleasant, mild speech, no matter who he spoke to. Despite this, he could be quite the pervert, always finding some way to twist the most innocent of things in to innuendo. The man had been quite promiscious previously, though, that's died down a degree in the prison; or, at least his going searching for a partner had stopped happening so frequently.
History: Born at Fort Hold, the boy lived a bit of a harsh life. He was a product of rape, which lead to his mother's distate, as she wished to throw the boy on the streets, only stopped by the faint hope that he may actually end up doing something in his life. The rest of his family was no more supportive; the youngest of seven boys, his feminine appearance was a constant source of harassment from his older siblings, all of whom posessed devishly good looks, a masculine appearance, and what one could consider charismatic personalities.
The fact they were all of fair hair was something his mother was deeply proud of; they were all beautiful sons, and their father, bless his soul, would have been so happy to see them grown.
Yes, the father of the six perfect children had been killed in what he had been told was an accident; in all actuality, he was a Dust dealer, and the manufacturer he bought from had thrown himself at the mercy of the Watchers, hoping that ratting out the dealers he gave to would reduce his sentence. Having resisted arrest, it was unknown if the man escaped, somehow, or if he was dead. Frankly, Daman didn't care.
One day, in what seemed to be an extreme act of kindness, his brothers had invited him to come meet their friends. Shocked by this, the boy, who was usually cynical and cautious, immediately agreed, pleased beyond all belief that his family finally loved him. However, meeting his brother's friends was not as he expected; the boys and their companions had swiftly converged on the young man, beating him in to unconciousness and leaving him in the street; the trauma from this is what has caused the Mallen streak in his hair, the pigment having been 'frightened out of him'.
It was soon after this that the boy was sent to study healing; why, he had no clue. He figured it was his mother's attempt at doing something useful with him. Whatever the reasoning, the boy had quickly taken to it, absolutely fascinated by the things that happened to the human body. Having no friends, the boy devoted his entire time to studying; at the young age of eighteen, he acheived Journeyman status, something he wore with pride.
However, he soon became bored with his studies afterwards, having decided that it was fine to just stick with this status, he turned to what he had ignored for so long; people. While some were charmed by his wit and brazen tongue, most preffered the act of sweetness he put up; this act is what led to the promiscious lifestyle (something he found much more fascinating than studying) that got him kicked out of his Hall. Appearently, master craftsmen didn't take kindly to you having sex with their son. Who knew?
For a while, he stole to live, occasionally pretending to be a woman to win the sympathy of a man, only to leave him when he had become boring or had not enough to satisfy the voracious needs Daman possessed. Few things could- that was when he discovered Rahfeer.
Rahfeer was a Dust dealer; perhaps one of the more prominent. After having been pick-pocketed by the young 'woman', the healer's ferocity in the face of death amused him, and he had quickly offered the young man a place working for him. While his job started off as thefts and the occasional task of burning down a house, he quickly climbed through the ranks, impersonating those who had done Rahfeer wrong. At the point where he was taught how Dust was produced, the older man was delighted in how quickly the young healer took to it, the knowledge of medicines and herbs and what not gained through study allowing him to find a manner that made the Crackdust Rahfeer sold more addictive than normal.
As the months passed, Daman become a dealer as well, though, when not on a job, it was rare to see him leave Rahfeer's side. The kindness of the drug-dealer was the first he could remember experienceing; when kindness was given to those who didn't know it, they took a liking to that person. Maybe liking was a bit of an understatement; Daman was in honest-to-Faranth love with the deceptive man, and don't you dare believe that Rahfeer didn't know it. He provided the healer with even the most minor affection and the man was eager to do whatever was wished of him. It was easy; gloriously easy.
It was on one of these tasks that Daman had been caught. Unbeknownst to him or Rahfeer, the man who had contacted them was a member of the Watchers. His attempt at a sob story that consisted of him being forced to work for the man didn't get him off the hook; at the age of twenty one, he went to prison.
Daman did not react well to his hair being cut off; he hated going anywhere, and, when his hair started growing back, he was more than relieved.
About nine months in prison, which was relatively uneventful, the man (who now had hair down to his shoulders) was wandering in between the beds of the barracks in the morning, not having decided to join the others in the mess hall. He was probably trying to see if anyone had left anything worth stealing. Unfortunately for him, a much taller, stronger man was also prowling the rooms. Not thinking anything of it, the man, who was probably the closest thing resembling a female in the entire male populace, simply walked past the other.
We all hear jokes about prisons; things about not dropping soap, jokes about how new inmates would be stuck with large cellmates with extremely backwoods sounding names. No one ever took it quite seriously, and Daman was one of those who didn't. So, he just walked by.
He should have turned and ran, truthfully.
The guards may have heard the muffled screams and strangled sobs, but, if they had, nothing was done to help him; for all they knew, it was a trick. However, another of the prisoners had entered the barracks, and witnessed the unfortunate situation. While he was too late to prevent the situation from happening, he ran for a guard anyway.
He ended up with a wher- Zalmansk, the golden wher who was very well known for being protective. While she managed to tackle the other prisoner off of the small man, it was far from early enough to prevent trauma.
For a week or so, the male refused to leave the barracks, staying curled under a blanket and refusing to go to the healers, even though it had been suggested the cuts and bruises that had been obtained should have been looked over.
He emerged meaner and colder than ever, the white streak in his hair having grown in thickness.
Other stuff: If anyone wants to RP Rahfeer, one of his siblings, or the unamed rapist dude, they're welcome to~ :P
