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Trevor Lawson

"Just focus on what you can control, everything else will fall into place."

0 · 892 views · located in Utopia NightClub

a character in “Club Utopia”, as played by CutUp

Description

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Nothing Else Matters | Metallica | Mary | The Death Riders | The Truth Shall Set Me Free | Story of The Year





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"I'm a werewolf. But that doesn't make me a monster."





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{ Misnomer }
Trevor Lawson
"Yeah, the woman who found me gave me the name. Said it was her dead son's. Kinda creeps me out."

{ Gender }
Male
"How many women you know with scruff like mine?"

{ Sexuality }
Heterosexual

{ Species }
Werewolf
"Not by choice, but I manage."

{ Inhuman Appearance }
When in his wolf form Trevor takes the appearance of a very large black wolf. He also has unnatural bright yellow eyes when he's in wolf form.
"I'm not very cuddly."





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"I am nothing special."





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{ Personality }

Trevor is generally a cool, calm, and collected young man. He is a born werewolf who has learned to master his change. Due to his stoic nature he doesn't get angry very often, but when he does you don't want to be around him.

He has a very farm boy attitude to him, and is genuinely kind, and sweet to about everyone, but despite that he is a bit of a loner, due to him fearing that he might lose control over his wolf side. He can be sarcastic though, especially when around people he doesn't like.

Growing up Trevor was always a screw up. No matter what did, or how hard he tried everything just seemed to work against him. Due to that he doesn't have the highest self-esteem. Trevor has always been an orphan and has never found out who his birth parents, something that bothers him to this day.

Trevor is pretty naΓ―ve when it comes to the supernatural world. He has had dealings mostly with just other werewolves and doesn't really know much about other species except for what he's read, or heard.

Trevor is extremely self-reliant. He learned to control his wolf side by being in complete solitude in the wilderness, and has never been apart of a pack. The reason why he's never been apart of one is because his adopted mother and teacher generally disapproved of packs due to a horrible experience she had when she was apart of one. But Trevor is very curious about werewolf packs, especially ones in cities. He just wonders how they learned control in urban settings, compared to how he learned in the wilderness. Trevor is also a bit of a claustrophobe. He prefers open spaces to anything, and if he ever couldn't control himself he absolutely refuses to be locked up.





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"Some questions need answering. Even if you don't like what you find."





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{ History }
Trevor was abandoned as baby on the steps of a church in Kentucky, clichΓ©d yes but that's how it happened, with only a necklace on him. He became a ward of the state and sent to an orphanage in a very small town. Growing up in as a orphan was never easy for him. But one night when he was twelve things became a whole lot more difficult.

That was the first time he changed under the full moon.
He was scared to death. He had no idea what was happening to him. So he kept it a secret, which wasn't too hard because no one paid any attention to him. He would sneak out every full moon to change in the woods, and would return in the morning when he changed back.

This system would work for about seven more months, when he was too late to change in the woods. When he changed he went into a feral state and slathered the entire orphanage. The next morning the authorities arrived and found Trevor there covered in blood. The police concluded that a wild animal had gotten into the orphanage and killed them all, and Trevor must have stayed hidden.

He was sent to another orphanage but didn't stay there long. Another, more experienced werewolf adopted him when she got wind of what happened to Trevor. The older werewolf was a woman named Angela Lawson. She taught Trevor how to control his power, how to accept the wolf inside him. She didn't do it very kindly either. She never coddled him, and would drop him off into the woods without any sort of provisions months at a time. But it worked. Trevor became stronger, faster, and could control the beast inside of him.

Growing up under Angela's tutelage, Trevor was at first treated like student, like a burden rather then her adopted son. But she eventually warmed up to him, and started acting more motherly to him. Over the years they grew closer to each other and started acting like an actual family. But still, in the back of his mind he couldn't help but to continue to wonder who his birth parents are.

Angela could sense that his parents identities was constantly on his mind. When he turned twenty-one Angela told him that she had nothing left to teach him and that he needed to go out in the world and find the answers of his past for himself if he is ever to move on.

Angela pointed him in the direction of Brooklyn New York, because she knew that it was a supernatural hotspot. And so Trevor set out for New York. Once he arrived in Brooklyn, Trevor did a little snooping around and found a bar that supernaturals frequently go too, Club Utopia.







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{ Face Claim }
Landon Liboiron


So begins...

Trevor Lawson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: Errol King
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The streets of Brooklyn were cold and dark that night, the only pedestrians out being the sort that knew how not to lose themselves in a twisting labyrinth of ever narrower, Stygian streets and alleyways. Utopia was waiting for them right around the next bend, forever roaming; the only constant in it's surroundings being the fat, impregnated moon peaking through thick cloud cover hanging overhead.

Magnus Bane's smalt hair reflected the changing neon colors of a human club sign: the words Ecclesia Peccatoris lined in Carmine red, Indigo blue, and metallic gold. This nightclub consisted of a big, tightly packed space that's bare bones resembled that of an ancient church, though that was from design for no church had ever been built on the corner of Amity and Court. Stained-glass windows rose high up in the walls, painting everything beneath them in hues of rose. Darting colored spotlights picked out the blissed-out faces of dancers in the churning crowd, lighting them up one at a time in shades of Amaranth pink, Harlequin green, and Mauve violet. There was a DJ booth along one wall, and trance music blasted from the speakers. The music pounded up through his feet, into his blood, vibrating his bones. The room was hot with the press of bodies and the smell of sweat and smoke and liquor.

He propelled forward, through the dancers; the mortal crowd seemed to part like the sea around the hull of a ship, people looking up to glance at Magnus, then dropping their gazes, backing away out of instinct though they knew nothing of his power or otherworldliness. Something was to be said about mankind and their intuition. On the far side of the room, there was an archway that all of the human club goers seemed not to notice or pay any heed to. Through it a set of stairs led downward, curving away into darkness. Magnus descended steadily, graceful and sure-footed, not worried about slipping on the age-smoothed stones. The air grew cooler the further down he traversed, and the sound of the pounding music faded. The only noise left was the sound of his own breathing, devoid of company save for his shadow thrown, distorted and spindly, against the walls.

The new music bled into his hearing before he ever reached the bottom of the stairs. It had an even more insistent beat than the music in the mortal club. A small cock-sure grin stretched across his face as he entered his Utopia.

Everything was stone, the walls bumpy and uneven, the floor smooth beneath his feet. Huge marble fountains sprayed sparkling water; Electric blue rose petals drifting on the surface. Explosions of color and light burst like cherry bombs throughout the room, nothing like the artificial light upstairsβ€”these were beautiful, effervescent like fireworks that floated on the air, and every time one burst, it rained down a glittering shimmer onto the dancing crowd below. The dancers themselvesβ€”whirling and spinning and clappingβ€”none of them were human.

Even a mortal would be able to sense the nonhuman-ness of the people in the room, the vampires with their pallor and their swift and languid grace, the werewolves fierce and fast. Most were young, dancing close, writhing up and down each other’s bodies. Another explosion of colored light lit up the darkness above them. Metallic drops rained down; catching in their hair and shimmering on bare skin like mercury. Magnus swiped at the silvery liquid that mixed with his hair and skin, painting him in metal as he watched the elated crowd with darkened eyes. The faces of the dancers around him to any human might look vulpine and faintly frightening, but to him they were just darkly beautiful. They were venerable and entranced. The platinum droplets were a mild hallucinogenic, the effect being like that of a cross between ecstasy and mushrooms if it got into your mouth. It was something he had whipped up with the use of some Fae blood, charitably donated of course to cover some old debts owed to him by a Fae lord.

Magnus drew toward one of the fountains in the middle of the room, and sat down on the wide marble edge, leaning over and studying the smooth dark surface of the pool. He could see his own face reflected back at him, his normally yellow cat irises turned an array of fractured colors by the peculiar light in the club like the bright pieces inside a kaleidoscope, his eye makeup smudged like bruises, his hair artfully unkempt. The water shivered apart, his reflection distorting, unrecognizable, the surface broken by a kelpie serpentinely smiling up at him. They were small, and could easily fit in the palm of your hand if you desired to scoop one up...but Magnus knew better, they were all shark sharp grins and razor teeth and like pixies, they had quite the temper. She had an upper body that resembled a human's but her lower half was like that of a seahorse. The incandescent creatures hair spun around her like the filaments of luminous jellyfish as she played with one of the floating blue rose petals, dancing with it like it was her partner.

Magnus turned from her as she swam away and leaned back, his hands braced behind him on the fountain’s edge, his smile like the edge of a straight razor and devilishly wicked. He had done well with his choice of setting tonight, he was pleased with the over all effect. Another ball of colored light burst above his head, scattering silver, drops of the metallic liquid spangling his thick eyelashes. He decided to remain there and study the moving crowd for a short while, watching couples of twos and threes vanish into the shadowy alcoves that lined the walls. There were dozens of these circular alcoves, some armed with small loveseats in a lovely deep shade of royal blue, others with circular velvet beds but they all provided the clubers with a heavy curtain that could be pulled closed to provide a modicum of privacy. It also succeeded in discreetly muffling the pounding music outside, though by no means did it make it inaudible. He felt a pang in his chest, a stab like a knife being drug against the insides of his rib cage. How many years had it been since he had taken a lover? How long had it been since he slunk away to the nearest hiding place so that he might just steal a second alone with someone? A warlocks curse was, you either outlived everyone or they lived just long enough to distort themselves into something unrecognizable.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Errol King Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by CutUp
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Trevor rode on his motorcycle through Brooklyn with a small scrap of paper in his right hand with the words 'Ecclesia Peccatoris corner of Amity and Court tonight. Look for the arch inside!' written on it. Trevor's focus moved from the paper, to the street signs, and back to the road ahead.

Trevor finally found the address, and parked his bike nearby the club's entrance. He looked around at his surroundings, and let out a displeased sigh. He hates being in big cities like this. Too many people, too many strange smells, too many loud noises, and most of all too cramped. Give him the wide open spaces of the country any day.

He isn't much of a party animal either. Preferring the peace and quiet to the loud thumping music, and moving bodies of clubs. Trevor took a deep breath in and exhaled. This was the first step in finding his birth parents, something he's always wanted, but still it's a hard step to take.

Trevor entered the human club that concealed the supernatural inside. All he needed was one step in the door to really realize how much of a fish out of water he really is, how out of place he was. The young wolf ran his fingers through his long, greasy brown hair, pulling it back behind his ear as he scanned the room for the archway.

Bingo. Once Trevor spotted it he made his way through the crowd. "Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me." Trevor said as he weaved between the clubbers, he is a gentleman after all. Once he reached the archway, Trevor straightened his jacket and shirt before he entered.

After a bit of a climb down the stairway he finally made it to the real club Utopia. As he entered he felt even more out of place. Trevor caught some of the metallic liquid that rained down from the ceiling in the palm of his hand. He sniffed at the substance out of curiosity, and was tempted to have a taste before he realized that it's probably not the best idea to be tasting strange metal liquids that fall from the ceiling.

Errol exited the taxi cab that drove him to Utopia's current location. Errol took out a couple of hundred dollar bills and tossed them at the cab driver. The vampire sighed and a big devilish grin crept across his face. "This is gonna be a fun night!"

Errol made his way through the crowded cover to the real club. His eyes darted around at the crowd. The buffet of flesh was almost mouth watering. 'Easy tiger. Plenty of time for the buffet later.' he thought as he walked through the archway and into the real party.

"What's up party monsters?! No need to worry! THE Errol King has arrived!" Errol yelled out, announcing his presence.
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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The repetitive "what can I do you for?" probably should have tugged at some nerve shoved deep within Rosalie's core. But by the fifth customer, her movements around the bar were looser, freer, and more graceful. She appeared deep in her own element, laughing at a few guests who decided to have a drinking competition. Which, on a bad day, reminded Rosalie too much of prepubescent boys at an institution using their parents' hard earned money to see who could chug the most beer. Her nose wrinkled distastefully at the thought of the liquid; she wasn't the biggest fan. No, Rosalie was a woman who appreciated items that held depth. Currently, with that thought in mind, she nursed a glass of Chateau Margaux, a very deep and expensive red wine she found while looking for a few bottles of a requested liquor.

Despite it being a club, Rosalie hardly partook in the drinks that she prepared for the guests. In fact, she surprised herself by actually drinking a few shots of a strong vodka concoction that she had whipped up a few months ago. Not particularly turned on by out-right drunkenness and debauchery, Rose contended herself with the glass of wine, sipping it demurely as two faces she might have seen prior to this night arrive to her little kingdom.

After checking with a few of her more familiar customers, Rosalie's eyes fell on a rather new face. It probably would have been an insult to his ears, given what he was though Rosalie would not have known it herself as she observed him, but his countenance and overall demeanor reminded her of a lost puppy. He seemed unfamiliar and out of place amidst the loud, pulsating music and the rowdiness of the supernatural creatures that surrounded him. Smiling gently, Rosalie set her glass down and grabbed a bottle of beer. Nodding to one of her fellow helpers, she left the safety of the bar, stepping onto the dancefloor. It throbbed beneath her feet, even through the layers of her black suede pumps. She approached the male warily, however, no matter how languid or naturally sensual her walk may have seemed. She shot him a rather charismatic smile, the movement tugging at the corners of her mouth gently.

"You look a little lost, love. I don't believe I've happened upon you once. Care for a drink, darling?" The rich upper crest accent of her ancestors dripped from her tongue like silk, icy blue eyes glowing amidst the flashing neon lights and grandeur of the club. Rosalie extended the drink towards the stranger.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Errol King Character Portrait: Seth Sykes Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by CutUp
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Trevor looked around at the patrons of the club, trying to find a werewolf or someone who could help him track one down. Between the hustle and bustle of the clubbers and the music, he couldn't focus on observing whether they're a werewolf or not. "I'm so out of my element." The young wolf sighed to himself.

He was about to go around and awkwardly make small talk with a bunch of strangers in the hopes of getting lucky and finding someone who could help him, but then some very pretty woman came up to him.

"Huh?" Trevor looked behind himself to make sure she wasn't talking to someone else. "Umm, yeah sure. I'm in a club aren't I?" Trevor said as he took the drink from her hand.

"Thank you very much miss." He then flashed her a warm smile. "Oh, my name's Trevor. Trevor Lawson." He introduced himself.

"Yeah, Clubs aren't really my scene." Trevor said as he took a big swig of the drink she gave him. "I'm not much of what you'd call a social butterfly."

"Oh right!" Trevor said when he remembered what he was there for. "You're the bartender right? Maybe you could help me?" Trevor said as he took off his necklace and showed it to the woman. "I'm looking for someone. Well some-two hopefully, but someone is fine too."

"I'm looking for my birth parents. I'm 100% purebred werewolf, so my parents must be werewolves too." Trevor explained. "I was left on the steps of a church when I was baby with only this necklace. Yeah it's pretty cliqued I know."

"Anyways I heard Brooklyn's a hot spot for things that go bump in the night. So I thought coming here would be my best bet to find them, or at the very least a clue." Trevor went on. "So, do you recognize it?"

"If not, could you point in the direction of someone who can?"
Trevor asked as he took another big swig of his drink. "Oh, I've got one more thing to ask you before I stop bothering you. Do you know of any cheap hotels around here?"

"I'm sorry for talking your ear off."
Trevor apologized.

Errol flowed around the club like a gust of wind, never staying in one place. He would spend a few minutes with a couple vampires, and then he'd move on to a few faes, and then to everyone else.

He started dancing and grinding around with just about any female he saw. But he got bored after awhile. He scanned the room to look for a empty table, or at least mooch off someone.

He found one with just some guy in it. Perfect. Errol grabbed a couple of drinks off of a tray that a passing by waitress was taking to a table. Errol started chugging one of the drinks as he arrived at the booth.

Now that he was up close he could see that the guy's a werewolf. Well that's a bit problematic, most wolves don't really like vampires. It's pretty stereotypical.

"S'up dude?" Errol greeted as he just sat down and spread himself out on the booth. "Don't mind if I sit here right? Didn't think you would." Errol said, not giving him a chance to answer.

Errol slid the other drink he grabbed towards the werewolf, as if that would pay for him to sit there. "Name's Errol Isaac Theo King. Or Errol Is The King. I quite like that." Errol said with a sly grin as he took a sip of his drink.

"You're a werewolf right? Of course you are, you're hairy enough to be one. I've got a question for you. Do you like ever wolf out when you're asleep?" Errol asked. "No wait! What about when you're screwing?"

"Wait, when screwing does that count as bestiality?"
Errol wondered. "Or does that make you a furry?"
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The setting changes from Brooklyn, New York to Utopia NightClub

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magnus Bane Character Portrait: Ignatius Perrish Character Portrait: Rosalie Hart Character Portrait: Trevor Lawson Character Portrait: Dacey Bekam Character Portrait: D. Hugo
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The night bled into day as all the creatures intermingling in the underground club partied well into the morning hours. Ignatius Perrish discovered he had made an unusual contact in the form of a nymph, and left the bar not feeling quite as dejected as he'd of had had he made no acquaintance. Any new contact was a step in the right direction on the search for his family's killer, and if he was being completely honest with himself, he felt a tad less lonely having shared the evening with someone other than his guilty conscience--even if it was only for a short while and at the expense of his coat.

Magnus Bane had spent a socially acceptable amount of time with the ever incorrigible Mr. Bekham before he concluded his own night on the dance floor and ventured into one of the many sealed doors in the backroom of Utopia where a king bed rested with proverbial open arms, waiting to envelop the warlock, inviting him to sleep. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him that evening, more so than it had in a millennium and it had nothing to do with his vigorous dancing. So many questions that vampire had posed, all about Magnus' solitary life style. It felt as if Magnus was made to poke his tongue over a hole where a tooth had once been, reminded of it's absence in a sore fashion. He flopped on the mattress with a doleful sigh, surrounded by a mountain of feathered pillows and lost in the rolling waves of his crimson downy duvet he finally found rest.

There had been heated arguments and passionate elicit exchanges made in Utopia that night, but then again their always were. This was not a place of quiescence even if it acted as some sort of haven to the supernatural society. As the elated and blissed crowd funneled out into the streets with twilight blossoming overhead, dawn fast approaching, there was a sense of excitement over what the next night would offer up. The club would be of a different theme, as it always was, and be in a new location; ever changing like the fads and times around widely the immortal beings. One thing was for certain though, there would never be a dull moment if the High Warlock of Brooklyn was throwing a party. What sensation wasn't plaguing the lascivious clubers however, was the impending sense of doom...they had no idea what was truly just around the corner and what it had in store for all of the mystical creatures of New York.