(Mun's note: Darran does, to some extent, parallel Mercutio, but not in the early death. I hope. ^^;; )
Name: Darran Isanyeti
Name Meaning: Darran means 'great' and Isanyeti means 'knife maker,' but the truth is that his parents didn't really have much in mind when they named him.
Age: 23
Date of Birth: November 18
Astrological Sign: Scorpio
Bloodtype: B
Alignment: Very tricky. Obviously, his job leans him towards the evil side; however, there is something inside him just dying to be converted. After all, his love of life could lead him either way-- towards pleasure at the cost of others, or a desire to protect life.
Strengths:
His strengths are very appropriate to his chosen profession. He has a photographic memory; if he specifically concentrates, he can memorize pictures or passages of text perfectly. His body is strong-- not amazingly so, but he more than compensates for the extra strength an opponent might have with agility. He can move very quietly and stealthily, using shadows to great advantage, or run like hell if his target is fast. Darran's skill with weapons ranges from handguns (an excellent shot if concentrating, not so much if running and dodging something at the same time), through basic knowledge of bombs, to edged weapons. He is a second-degree black belt (one-third of the way to his third) in Goju Karate, a fairly streetwise style that tries to master all forms of fighting and studies other styles to better attack them. It brings together Judo throws, Thai boxing, grappling, Tae Kwon Do kicks, traditional Karate katas and stances, as well as other influences. Since it touches lightly on weapons, it also gives him familiarity with double kodachi (short swords) and knives, familiarity which he practices at other times to bring to a quite expert command.
Other traits not so closely associated with fighting are his intelligence (not staggering, but he can usually do pretty well for himself), his street sense, and his engaging, slightly cocky smile. He is also very loyal to his friends, particularly Kein. He's taken up a little cooking, mostly for survival, and can throw together a fair meal without setting off the fire alarm.
Weaknesses:
His attention span is less than perfect, and sometimes combined with a narrow-mindedness that dismisses nearly anything not immediately concerning him. He can be foolhardy, especially about his job, and also likes to show off in any manner, if he has a good enough audience. When he loses his temper it _really_ goes, and can only be resolved through physical exertion, most often beating someone to a bloody pulp. However, he also carries a growing feeling of discontent with his life as it is, and even guilt. Though it's vague and quite unnoticed at the moment, the right words aimed that way could wound him badly.
Nevertheless, his most striking weakness is for his employer and best friend, Kein Montague. As Kein's bodyguard and choice assassin, Darran is fiercely protective of him, even if he often has to hide it (since such displays would normally annoy the hell out of Kein). There's nothing that could rouse his anger so quickly or easily as a serious threat to Kein, and he would, quite literally, give his life for his friend if he had to.
Likes:
Darran is surprisingly good with little squirmy things like animals and young children. Though everything has a time and a place-- he wouldn't, say, pass up a night of clubbing to baby-sit some kid-- he does have more of a soft spot than he admits for little children. Besides, he doesn't usually need to deal with them _too_ much, so the novelty never really wears off for him.
Though Darran will willingly dance to whatever techno or rock is circling around the clubs, his tastes in private run more towards "goth" music and blues, with Lacuna Coil presently taking up more of his listening time than strictly necessary. He likes clubbing for the chance to unwind, the casual drugs, the acknowledgement he receives from those who know Tiger Claw (his assassin alias), and, of course, all the cute singles. He's a very, very furtive anime watcher-- the kind that would deny any knowledge of their favorite show, then go home, lock all the doors and windows, and take out the special CD they've burned with all their favorite episodes.
Dislikes: Though Darran does his share of party drugs, he hates anything seriously addictive. He can barely tolerate it when other people show signs of dependency on drugs or alcohol, and it even rankles when an acquaintance seems addicted to something less apparent, like a person or hobby. Indirectly, this causes him to steer away from most medications; besides, if it's just a headache or an aching muscle, he'd prefer to tough it out. Naturally, he mistrusts anyone involved in the law, and also avoids religious 'freaks'-- possibly out of fear that they could convert him. Serious people don't mesh very well with his personality, and they usually bore him so badly he'll just drop them and move on without worrying as to etiquette. Purely because of Kein, he's an enemy of the Capulets, and even goes so far as to not listen to Wingless.
Greatest Fear: Darran most fears himself. Below the level of his consciousness, he's afraid of sinking so far into the blood-- becoming dulled to and even appreciative of the horrors of being an assassin-- that not even his lovers or Kein will be able to pull him back out. And not only that, but if he loses the value of human life, he'll also lose the desire to protect Kein.
Motivation: Darran lives life in the moment, for the moment, savoring every pleasure he can so as to quell the darker side of him that can't be satisfied by anything less than killing.
Favorite Food: Cheese crackers, or pistachios. They're savory and yummy, and he can pop them all day long.
Least Favorite Food: Sweets nauseate him. About the only candy he likes is peppermint patties, and only one at a time.
What grade are they in: He's a dropout.
Marks: Generally, his grades hovered in the Ds and Cs, with an occasional B for spice; he was a smart slacker. (That is, smart enough to never actually flunk.) The one exception was Biology, where actually paid attention, got involved, and received As.
Favorite Class: Biology; he once dreamed of becoming a veterinarian.
Least Favorite Class: Most classes bored the hell out of him, but US History was by far the worst. Utterly tedious, with brief, infuriating and even embarrassing episodes on the subjugation of Native Americans.
Personality:
At first glance, Darran is fun loving, easygoing, with a healthy sense of humor and a relaxed outlook on life. He's always friendly at first, and can usually draw someone reasonably receptive into a pretty good conversation. He also comes across as a little rebellious, a little mischievous, always up for a party or a good dare. This is not an act on his part; when he's with others, it puts him in a good mood, and so he is quite pleasant to be around.
However, though he's always been at his ease while socializing, he's never developed any of the normal coping mechanisms for darker emotions like anger. As a result, his fury can be brought to the surface quicker than one would expect. If someone were to tease him (or even make an intelligent guess) about his feelings for Kein, it would provoke quite a spate of cursing and sullen, almost childish behavior. If one were to push him farther, he would get quieter but also more dangerous, lashing out with words as a precursor to violence. Finally, if provoked to his limit, Darran would get into a fight without hesitation, and would fight instinctively, with no hint of mercy.
There are only a few ways to temper Darran's savage side; if the object of his wrath is a close friend, he can restrain himself. Also, if he feels he is indebted to someone, he will put up with any insult short of a physical attack-- until, of course, he feels the debt is repaid. The last way is a route only possible to the best fighters: to simply stand firm and slug back as much as possible, until Darran's anger is spent along with his strength.
Darran occasionally falls into a grim depression whose origins he can't even quite determine. He hates this mood, and tries to counteract it by forcing himself to be around others. Obviously, this makes him somewhat out of sorts and surly, but it does help him back into his cheerful mood much more easily. And, with the right people and a good drink, it's a perfectly effective way to get him back to himself.
However, this is only a stopgap measure; Darran's real outlet is killing. He kills to vent and exorcise every bad memory with bloodier, but at least less personal ones. Though he never admits it, he is afraid of the fact that there's something so dark inside him, he's capable of killing. He tries to put a professional screen between himself and his victim, viewing each assignment as a 'challenge' and learning only the very basic stats of each, so as not to get attached in any way. Not only that, but for days before and after an assignment he will immerse himself in partying and whatever can get his mind away from it. It doesn't quite work; the morning after, he is always slightly nauseous. His professional screen, also, never quite works; no matter how calm or detached he tries to be beforehand, the actual murder is always done in savage, nearly blind fury, as he lashes out at every demon in his past and present.
But there is also a lot of underdeveloped good in Darran; he once wanted to be a veterinarian, and still very quietly harbors that attraction to giving up his bloody job and actually _saving_ lives instead. He is affectionate with friends, and generous; favors are done with no questions asked, and only minimal grousing. Lovers are always treated considerately, even if he never really makes a move to carry things far beyond the physical. If the mood strikes him-- children and animals tend to bring it out-- he can be pretty gentle, and even protective. But he also knows enough not to smother people (with the possible exception of Kein), and to back off and shut up if he has to. He rarely takes offense save at insults directed at Kein, and so has been known to weather more than one unpleasant character with surprisingly bloodless results.
Darran is not religious-- he accepts that there's 'something' bigger out there, but refuses to call it God per se. Though he would be more receptive than he likes to admit, if the right missionary came along, his morals veer very sharply from Christian ones at 'Thou shalt not kill.' As far as Darran is concerned, New Eden's current decline is all right by him, and even to be encouraged. After all, this assures that if he is somehow caught, Kein will be able to bail him out none the worse for wear. Besides, it allows him access to parties, clubs, and all the rest. Very, very deep down he regrets it, though, as the New Eden he now lives in every night and day bears practically no resemblance to the utopia he read and daydreamed about as a child.
Appearance: (picture)
As a full-blooded Sioux of the Siha Sapa band, Darran has a dark complexion, brown eyes, and slightly coarse hair. He stands at 5'8", has dyed his hair orange, and keeps it short and messily spiked. His frame is lithe and wiry, as he has a hard time putting on weight, even with his muscle. He carries himself well, though if he's sitting he'll have a tendency to slump back a little and sprawl himself out. For identifying marks, he has a tattoo that stretches clear across his upper back and shoulder blades, of a slinking black-and-white tiger. He has a piercing in his lower lip, as well as two in his upper left ear. His hands, including the palms, bear heavy scarring in the form of long, thick white gashes.
Darran's normal fashion style has a lot to do with so-called punk; he's never happier than when in a pair of bondage or orange-toned camouflage pants, paired with a band T-shirt. He also likes those huge, heavy wallet chains, and owns quite a few leather arm cuffs, chokers, spiked bracelets/collars and the like. When "on assignment", Darran wears all black, including a facemask, gloves, and a black t- shirt with a back made entirely of fishnet, thus allowing his victims a view of his tiger tattoo before they die. He has a custom belt that accommodates his kodachi sheaths, a gun holster, and three knife sheaths. He also wears heavy black boots that each conceal an emergency knife.
Social Status: Darran enjoys the respect he gets as 'Tiger Claw' a little too much to be totally discreet; thus, in the underground, it's a badly kept secret. Those who might usually make trouble respect and avoid him, and those who are attracted to such things (a surprisingly large number) flock to him. The police are the least of his worries; law enforcement's gone to hell in his opinion, and he's perfectly sure he could outfight or outrun them anyway (_if_ it ever came to that).
Love Life: Whoever it is has to be fun and hot, but since "hot" can be defined broadly, Darran's good with pretty much any clubber who comes along. However, he's currently battling a hopeless crush on Kein. It's both embarrassing and frustrating to him.
Family, Friends:
Atama Isanyeti: Darran's mother, 43 years old. Still living in Spencer and still working in her dead-end waitress job, Atama has pretty much given up hope of ever tracking down her only son, or seeing him return to her. Of course, with her fatalistic view of the world, she never exactly tried to find him, even though checks still arrive in the mail-- and even if they aren't addressed, they _are_ postmarked from New Eden. Darran loves her from a distance, and sends money faithfully, but her dull compliance with whatever misfortune falls upon her was one of the many things that drove him out of his home, nearly crazy with frustration.
John Isanyeti: Darran's father, 49 years old. He lives with Atama, but could more accurately be described as living at the local bar. He was raised traditionally, with the name Owl Watcher, and hoped to teach Sioux culture. He even raised the money to buy a little building where he planned to run classes and seminars. However, not only did this exhaust his money but also proved to be a failure, as the local people were indifferent to his idea. When his building was destroyed, he retreated into himself, relinquishing his ideals and even taking a common English name. Ignoring his very pregnant wife, he began haunting bars, drinking his failure to oblivion. Darran never knew him as anything other than a pathetic caricature, mocked even to his face, and came to hate John for his dependence on alcohol. John was never a violent drunk, but it might almost have been better that way; then, at least, he could somewhat convince his son there was still some strength left in him. As it stands, John barely remembers him and Darren wishes he could send those checks with the stipulation that none of it goes towards supporting the man, though Darran knows Atama would just ignore such a command.
Kein Montague: 20 years old, 6'1", blue eyes, black hair. The recently anointed head of the Montague Corporation, Kein is Darran's employer, best friend, and ongoing crush. They mutually depend on one another, Kein sending Darran out on kills but staying in communication with him the entire time, following his moves by computer. When Darran falls into his blood frenzy in order to complete the job, Kein's voice is in his ear, calming him down and bringing him back to sanity. Even if he weren't attracted to the man, he'd still be very devoted, and as it is, he sees his current lifestyle as being entirely thanks to his friend. He tries to repay by always looking out for Kein, whether the threat comes from another assassin, a predatory would-be lover (because of his wealth and status, there have been several) or even Kein's own mother, who sometimes artfully exploits her son. Darran can see all this happening, usually far before Kein, and does all he can to prevent such plots. Moreover, he has Kein's trust, and so can read him like an open book (not an easy feat).
Debbie Manx: 55 years old, 5'7", Caucasian, brown eyes, rapidly graying brown hair. Seven years ago, Debbie's then twelve-year-old son got hit by a car, lapsed into a coma, and continues to this day on life support. Though money was tight, Debbie refused to give up on him; Brian is her only child, and thanks to birth complications she is no longer able to conceive. Brian's father was a boyfriend who had only lasted a few months, so Debbie had no money but what she herself could bring in. It wasn't enough, so a friend got her a better paying job as a cleaning woman for the Montague complex.
It wasn't until years later, when Debbie was assigned to clean the suite of Mr. Montague's new bodyguard, that she truly realized what a Devil's bargain she had made. Darran would come back at all hours of the night, and of course his clothes would be soaked in blood. Debbie put it together and wrestled with her conscience and fright for a few weeks, weighing them against her hope for Brian's recovery. Finally, Brian won, and she stayed. She was extremely frightened of Darran for several months afterwards, until a turning point occured. After that, she recognized that Darran is in some ways still a child, and with this realization began to be herself around him. She nags him about leaving his clothes and junk all over the place, jokes with him, and lets him cook dinner now and then, accompanying such efforts with exasperation-tinged assistance. Darran considers her a good friend, and hasn't yet realized that she acts as more of a mother to him than Atama ever did.
Birthplace: Spencer, South Dakota
Current Residence:
A luxurious suite in the Montague complex, adjoining Kein's own. There is, in fact, a door leading to Kein's living room, just in case some attacker actually manages to penetrate security. Before he moved in it was actually part of Kein�s apartment, but has been modified into its own space.
The first door upon entering leads to the bathroom, primarily because often, the very first thing Darran must do upon arriving home is wash off all the blood. The room has a full bath and showerhead, and the most gigantic towel you ever saw in your life, ordered from a specialty catalog. When towels are too small, it annoys him.
Continuing down the hallway and into the living room, Darran's walls are painted light orange, edged with green tracing. His furniture is all made with natural, unstained wood and white cushions, and large windows let light come streaming in at all hours of the day. Though he has more than enough space, everything manages to be comfortably cluttered, what with the stacks of books, CDs, videos and utterly random junk filling all possible corners. Kein keeps nagging him to get more shelves-- obviously, if one moved the piles, there would be room to accommodate them-- but he keeps dragging his heels, and so his rooms stay looking as if he'd only just shoved everything out of the way for company.
His bedroom is no different, though Debbie has guilted him into not leaving clothes, at least, lying all over the place. Instead, he strews around the various tools of his trade; knives, bullets, a gun, and a sword (but never a naked blade) can be spotted here and there. Oddly, though there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to their "storage," Darran can tell you in a heartbeat exactly where every single one of his weapons lies. There are a couple posters on the walls, for his favorite bands as well as one Hellsing-- but not, he's quick to qualify, because he watches anime, just because that _one_ particular show happens to have a totally kick ass soundtrack. Uh-huh.
His bed is a pretty generous queen-size, and matches his other furniture in that it's just a plain wooden frame with white sheets and comforter. However, it's very expensive because it's a massage bed-- and no, not just for _that_. After a particularly tough fight, Darran may well stagger home aching from head to toe, and he's never so grateful for this bed than on such nights. A bit beyond the bed is the sliding glass door to a large patio, with a couple chairs and a table perfect for summer nights and a drink or two.
History:
After a tornado roared through the town of Spencer, South Dakota, leaving not even a tree in its wake, the town never really recovered. Families were reluctant to move, and the local factory was rebuilt, yet something about the atmosphere changed; a new edge crept in, as if people felt they had to get as much as possible done before the next disaster hit-- or felt that it was all totally useless, and they might as well give up altogether.
John Isanyeti certainly chose this way as he surveyed the wreckage of the building he'd saved and scrimped so long to buy. It had been his dream to turn it into a Sioux cultural center, with classes, seminars and the like, but the indifference he'd met with had slowly been eating away at his confidence in the idea. Now the dream was utterly smashed; there was no building, and no more money to rebuild. Crushed, he returned to his wife Atama, and began to drink.
Atama accepted the loss with equanimity, but one might just as well have called it passiveness. She had always been that way; pregnant at nineteen, she'd simply married the father of her child with no thought as to whether or not she loved him, just the acceptance that it had happened and, inevitably, she would have to go through with it. Now she accepted that their investment was gone and John would be bringing in no more money. Thus, pregnant as she was, she secured a job stuffing envelopes for an office. She simply put her head down and pulled through, working every job she could find-- but this left her precious little time to care for her new son. She did love him, naturally, and tried to do what she could, but her indifference to life in general made her efforts lukewarm at best. Probably the most influential thing she ever did was to bring home a used, dog-eared travel book one day. Darran had little interest in it, until he came to the section on a new city called New Eden. The book was a little slanted, and painted New Eden as a glowing paradise, full of upstanding, successful citizens and wonderful tourist spots of flowering culture. But Darran drank it up, spending hours imagining what his life might be like in such a place, where there could actually be opportunities outside the menial labor he could look forward to in Spencer.
So Darran grew up on his own, always with a group of friends but never with any sort of adult guidance. The little things he faced as he grew-- awkwardness, a friend's thoughtless cruelty, and other small trials-- he faced without the benefit of being able to talk them over with anyone at all. Though an adult would have been able to put such things into perspective, Darran could not, and these episodes boiled away inside him, creating pressure even when he was a child. And this pressure only increased when he became a teenager, suddenly inundated in changes and mood swings he could barely keep track of. What was worse, things became decidedly crueler as his enemies started to hone in on what could really wound him. The fact that the pool of people he was willing to date was about twice as big as the pool most of his male friends drew on was seized as a chance to call him fag. His father's reputation as drunkard was forced down his throat again and again until Darran couldn't even stand the man for all the pain his intemperance was causing his son. But, with no way of knowing how to deal with the stress, Darran tried to shove it down, bottle it up, deny it even existed. He would grin and laugh any insult off, but soon the tactic turned into following up the laugh with a punch. And then some of his tormentors took him up on the challenge.
Darran's fighting career started, as most do, with backyard and alleyway scraps. However, just because these were small-time fights, with little or sometimes no cause, didn't mean they weren't dangerous. If anything, the lack of rules or supervision made them worse, because these teen fighters would use anything at all-- pipes, lighters, chains. Darran himself would don heavy leather workgloves and then wrap his hands in barbed wire before a fight. The gloves, of course, did not lessen the damage done to his own hands by much-- a friend once commented, "Jesus, you look like you walked away from a fight with a tiger." However, his reply was, "Yeah, and the other guy looks like he _crawled_ away." To his mind, the damage was worth it, as long as it crippled his opponent even more-- and freaked others out, since that would add to his reputation. Indeed, this was what led to his nickname of "Tiger Claw," one he solidified with the tattoo he got done on his back. With his fearsome reputation in place, Darran found Spencer a friendlier place; his former enemies were careful around him, and his friends frankly admiring. But Darran's frustration was still growing, because he could see more clearly than ever that Spencer was such a _tiny_ place. Like he'd intuitively guessed years before, he knew there was no opportunity, no future to be had in the town. He tried pointing this out to Atama, trying to get them to move to _any_ city, but she had let inertia bind her where she lived and simply refused, as apathetically as ever, to leave. When Darran could stand it no more, he left without her, traveling to New Eden partially because he had nowhere better to go, partially because of his old dream.
New Eden surprised him in that it was a good deal seedier than it had sounded, but this new look suited him perfectly. He found a job, a tiny little flat, and couple friends willing to show him around and get him into parties. But in the meanwhile, Darran began hiring himself out as an assassin, and unfortunately was good enough to attract the attention of the current top assassin, Whisperer.
The man was waiting for him in his own apartment one night, calmly ignoring Darran's shouts for an explanation and then proceeding to state that he didn't tolerate competition. While Darran was good, he was no match at all for Whisperer, and came to slumped against his own wall late the next day.
But if Whisperer thought that was the end of it, and that the newbie wouldn�t be so foolish as to challenge his good fortune at still being alive, he was sadly mistaken. Darran was determined to make his way in New Eden, and as it happened, this felt like the only thing he could do successfully. Already having trained extensively in martial arts, Darran now threw himself into it obsessively, as well as weapons training. The next time he and Whisperer confronted one another, he did not make the mistake of leaving his opponent alive.
This caused a bit of a stir in the underground, because a shift of power in the assassins' ranks was something of note. At any rate, one very important company was obviously keeping an eye out, because hardly more than a week later Darran was approached by a casually arrogant young man claiming to be the heir of Montague Corporation. The boy was hot enough and the salary good enough to draw Darran in, and soon he found himself growing closer to Kein. Even if he wanted to, he can't quit now.
Writing Sample:
Howard T. Brun. Founder and owner of Stenato, Inc. Manufacturer of memory chips. Refused rush shipment of last five orders. Unacceptable. Brown eyes. Grey hair. Three percent of the last shipment arrived flawed. Unacceptable. Forty-nine years old. Five feet, nine inches. Two percent of the shipment before that. Unacceptable. Tailing began at eight forty-five p.m. precisely, as he walked into his favorite bar. Disgusting. The man stayed for more than four hours. Whiskeys. Many of them. And then he was pulled into a dark alley on his way home. Very quiet. Too drunk to put up much of a fight. Too much blood.
Debbie paused in front of the door, shuddering slightly. What would she find in _that_ man�s apartment today? More blood splattered in the sink? More clothes to scrub stains from? It was a comfort, that the man was always gone before she arrived to clean up, but she wasn�t sure if she could do it anymore, even for Brian. But there was still today to face, even if she gave notice, so she turned the knob and opened the door.
On the threshold, she froze. The apartment was entirely dark, meaning that he hadn�t pulled back the shades that morning, as he _always_ did. And then, there were also the bloody footsteps leading in and a red-inked handprint on the wall as if he�d planted his hand there to steady himself. Even though he always tried to be so neat...
Howard T. Brun had hit the wall of the alley hard, then blinked up in muddled astonishment. "Whudda wan� from me, no money, no mon..." True. He had an account at the bar. But money wasn�t the issue here. Wasn�t at all.
"Miserable bastard," his voice came out lower, rougher than he�d expected. Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. "It�s not _about_ the money, is it, fucker? It�s about you neglecting _everything_, letting everything go to hell for your goddamn drinks--" Steel sinking into an oversized paunch, a mouth slack with drooling bloody amazement as jowls quivered, then something _shifted_ and the face shimmered and took on prominent cheekbones, darker skin, brown almond-shaped eyes shot through with broken blood vessels and a shiny red drunkard�s nose-- Oh no, no, no.
Debbie followed the trail with her courage screwed up, clutching the mop as if it could somehow be protection. She knew it was dangerous, but something about the atmosphere was very wrong, and she couldn�t just back out and run away down the hall. She hesitated once more at the door of the bedroom, then took a deep breath and flung it open.
Darkness. Face in his hands, trying so hard to breathe. Not working, not working. Sound, light, door opening, head jerking towards the sound but muscles refusing to move, refusing to react, refusing to defend. Was there anything left to defend?
Debbie stared at the figure huddled against the wall, blood splattered on nervous fingers and smeared in great streaks around wild eyes-- wild not with murderous intent, but with blind, frightened confusion. Slowly, she let her breath out. There was nothing, anymore, to fear; now she knew all she had to do was comfort a scared, lost child. For it was a child that she saw.
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