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Devan Miyamoto

The violent spirit of a delinquent young man.

0 · 232 views · located in Havana

a character in “Am I a monster?”, as played by Animality Opera

Description

DEVAN MIYAMOTO
Image
ImageImage

Age: Technically 29; appears 18
Gender: Male
Extra Details: Japanese ethnicity. 5'8" with a lanky, scarecrow-esque build of only lean muscle. Pale olive skin. Large and expressive black-brown eyes. Golden brown, auburn hair that's straight when worn down, but most frequently in a teased mess he styles with toothpaste and/or maple syrup.
Race: Monster
Monster Type: Ghost

Skills:
- Though he might not be described as cunning, Devan is resourceful, creative, and careful.
- He will pause to calculate a plan just as often as he acts impulsively, making him dangerously unpredictable.
- He has developed a fighting style something akin to Jeet Kune Do, involving flowing movements based on adapting to the opponent.
- As far as his ghostly talents are concerned, Devan is particularly adept at physically affecting inanimate objects due to the vehement emotions present in his being.
- On the occasion he is made very upset or angry, he is capable of affecting electricity, from making the lights flicker to making appliances short out or light bulbs shatter.
- Perhaps his most dangerous ability, when his bloodlust really gets the best of him, Devan is not only capable of generating blood from his hands, but also reaping open wounds across living people with just a brush of his skin. For example, when this power is exercised to the fullest extent, if he were to grip someone by the throat, his touch alone would rip open their neck.

Personality

At first glance, Devan appears to be little more than a heartless, sadistic sociopath. He has an addiction to conflict, violence, and destruction. He has a fixation with blood; seeing so much as a small cut makes him want to rip it open, and for this he had to spend much of his life avoiding it, so much so that classmates at school had the idea he was squeamish. However, although many people would be quick to dismiss him as "psycho", he is surprisingly rational. There is reasoning behind everything he does, even if it's something as simple as "because it felt good" or "because it sounded fun". He is not especially intelligent, but is far from stupid, and has a greater capacity to learn than he gives himself credit for.

He is not the most attentive young man, being rather easily distracted and somewhat lacking in listening skills. Blood and violence is about the only thing that can consistently ensnare or hold his attention.

Devan is selectively mute, but this doesn't mean he's any less capable of expressing himself - which he does so very colorfully without the aid of words. He has a notable fear of cats; upon sighting one his immediate reaction is to kill it at all costs, but if it seems too aggressive or if it simply unnerves him he'll be just as likely to run away from it rather than after it. He always had a certain discomfort in the presence of fire, and after his death this discomfort has grown into a phobia. Devan is also dyslexic enough that although reading is not impossible, it's often not worth the trouble for him.

History

Devan grew up an only child in a rather poor suburb. His mom left when he was six; his father was physically abusive and beat on him almost every day. For this, Devan built an unusually high pain tolerance to the point where it could be suspected he didn't feel pain at all. He started killing stray animals and neighborhood pets when he was around nine years old, usually with a knife or a bat and sometimes with his bare hands.



He never really made any friends. He never tried too hard in school and picked fights frequently. His father stopped abusing him once Devan was old enough to retaliate around 15. Surprisingly enough, the troubled youth did manage to graduate high school. He had no plans for the future, and in his free time only continued to pick fights on the streets late at night.

Having built a reputation for beating opponents into the hospital, not to mention the rumors over his murdering of animals, there was a group of kids who conspired to put an end to Devan. Working together, they lured him into a warehouse, trapped him inside, and set the place ablaze using gasoline. He never made it out. Ten years later, he arose from the empty dirt lot that had been the warehouse as a spirit, and has since had to grow accustomed to being dead - though he has never coped with his death, and his insatiable hunger for violence and conflict remains unchanged. He is uncertain who was responsible for his death, as he did not know the kids who killed him, nor does he have any idea if they were ever caught.

So begins...

Devan Miyamoto's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Devan Miyamoto Character Portrait: Tao
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Devan did not like the unfamiliar. In both life and death, he rarely strayed very far from familiar territory; he stuck to the streets he knew, where the buildings and the businesses and at least a portion of the people were recognizable, all haphazardly categorized in his mind.

Tonight he had been drawn out of his usual area, to a more foreign part of the city. It seemed violence and death had a subtle pull on him; frequently he had wandered into the midst of a fight or even murder. Such intuition now compelled him through unfamiliar streets, eventually leading to a house in particular. Yet upon arriving, there was no sign of conflict or destruction from the outside... nor shouting or screaming from within. Dark eyes swept over the walls and windows of the home searchingly, but still nothing happened to justify his coming here.

A disappointed scowl crossed the youth's features, and he began to pace back and forth at the doorstep of the home. Devan could not phase through solid walls and doors like some other spirits seemed to. His only chance of getting inside would be if the door was opened, but that was unlikely at this hour of the night. Still, he maintained his pacing, hoping that some hint of violence might turn up if he waited around just a little bit longer. He had nothing better to do.


~


A form sifted through the crowd of a night club as little more than a shadow. Despite the young man's height, arresting gaze, and ethereal good looks, he moved between clusters of people utterly unnoticed. Tao was capable of toning down his noticeability just as much as spiking it up; all eyes could be on him one moment, or he could be as good as invisible the next. It took an inhuman or only the keenest of humans to be able to detect him in the latter state... and so far he had encountered neither. He had no planned performances for the night. He was mildly hungry and, above all, bored.

He was dressed in black, leather pants that flattered his slender legs and firm hindquarters, and a black shirt with semi-transparent sleeves... and on the hunt for somebody new, somebody interesting. He scanned through the faces of people he passed for one that would catch his eye, even in the crowds, the wild club outfits, the darkness, and the fluctuating, colored lights.