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Role: Third Blair Offspring.

Gender: Male.

Age: 505.

Apparent Age: 25.


Nicknames:
Donnie— though it's more a mockery, used when he's not fighting so well. He hates it,
in all honesty. Call him "Donovan, and nothing but, please."


Species: Werewolf.


Birthplace: Near St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada. He was initially born in a small colony of settlers outside what's now the modern-day city, but for all convenience he'll just give the name of the nearest city. He actually lived about an hour out for years, but Canada's sparsely populated enough, so it serves as a point of reference.

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Height: 5'8

Build: Slim and gentle-figured— he's more a swimmer than a runner, though he's not the most muscular of people, regardless. Though he has somewhat broad shoulders, he has a narrow waist that can give a generally balletic (in a feminine, not a partnering, way) appearance. He has small wrists and long, tapered fingers with wide nails. His thumbnails are perpetually chipped.

Hair Colour: Dark brown.

Eye Colour: Hazel.

Markings: Donovan has a large, brown birthmark on the left side of his lower back. It's about the size of a clementine, but it's a bit more oval-shaped. He has a number of scars across his chest and his back, and there are a few on his wrists, as well. The scars on his wrists, though extremely neat and precise in their application, are characteristic of fire. He has a handful of deep cigarette burns on the back of his right hand, though he's not and never has been a smoker. Other than the remnants of what would seem to be many fights, though, his skin is surprisingly free of markings— save for a small tattoo of a seal hidden on his hip, though he'll be damned if he'll admit it. Donovan also has a small chip off the corner of his left front tooth.

Clothing preference: He tries to dress classy. Donovan will often be found in blazers, white shirts, and slacks, but the tie's off by noon, and he's a habitual unbuttoner of collars that are meant to stay up. Having lived in near-Arctic Circle temperatures his entire life, it's not uncommon to find him with a heavy coat and a beanie over everything. He's a lover of Ray-Bans and wears nothing but boots as his shoes of choice, having paid patronage to the same outfitters for two hundred years. It's likely he doesn't own any other shoes. If he wears anything other than his usual uniform, it's plaid and cargo pants. But that's an if.

Face Claim: Ben Barnes.

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Skills:
Liar, Liar, Take Me Higher. Donovan is a skilled actor, charmer, or manipulator— whatever you'll call it. He's used to getting what he wants no matter what it takes. Often the last suspect to come into the equation, it's as though he can silver-tongue his way out of anything. He has a way with words and can mold his face into any expression he needs, be it a grin or a grimace. That said, with great power comes great responsibility: it's easy to guilt Donovan after he's done something bad, and after the most swaying of performances he feels the impulse to apologize for what he's done even if others would never have expected him to need to. He's also a master of mocking voices and accents.

A Hunter's Step. Donovan has a light footprint, be it on the earth or in a relationship. He's a remarkably gentle person until he feels the need to strike, and when he does, it's quick and usually painless— a manifestation of his politer side. Having lived in Newfoundland just outside the city most of his life, he's experienced with firearms and knives and can trap and skin as though— or, well, perhaps because— he was born to do it. He's quiet, yet quick on his feet, and he's a great shot.

Live and Let Be. Regardless of how he has been wrong, Donovan has a tendency to forget past conflicts and reach for something better and more productive. He forgives easily, and because of this he often makes himself vulnerable around people he shouldn't. He's a pacifist by nature, friendly and avoiding conflict at all cost. If he must be driven to conflict, he himself will be extremely conflicted inside about doing so. Immediately afterwards, his impulse is to attempt to reconcile both sides and to try to start anew. It's earned him a good many scars.

Life Like a Song Provided he sets the words to music or at least has it playing in the background, Donovan is able to memorize any number of texts word-for-word with almost impeccable recall. To remember the information, however, he needs to at least hum the song again. It's a skill that's served him well.




Quirks:
Sorry's a Promise. If he's learned anything in five hundred years, it's that everyone's deserving of respect. Because of this, Donovan apologizes like no other man. Some have joked that it's because he's Canadian, but it's less his national identity and more his upbringing by a harsh Siberian refugee that's made him as seemingly self-conscious as he is today. He's easily guilted, and when he feels he's done wrong, Donovan will attempt to rectify the situation by any means available.

Ink is My Legacy. Donovan's hands are constantly written-on with reminders for the day. Though he can memorize vast quantities of text at will, he has a tough time remembering the little things if he doesn't jot them down. He's often been told to buy a notebook, but hands are more convenient— and they're hopefully always there.

One-Track Train Tracks. Donovan is obsessive about whatever he's thinking of, working at it until he's finished and then moving straight to the next task. He's a terrible multitasker, but if he's asked to do something, he'll get it done. With that in mind, he tends to want things done here and now, making him a bit impatient and pushy, at times. Additionally, because of this, he's hard to sway with seduction, as he's usually busy with other things.

Sleepyhead. Donovan is the master of falling asleep in inappropriate places. Be it a roof, a tree, on horseback, or on the tip of an iceberg, he's probably fallen asleep there. He's a light sleeper, so he doesn't stay put for more than four hours at a time. Paired with his obsessive nature, he makes a fine watchdog.

Let it Be. Animals instinctively hate him because he smells like a predator, but Donovan has a soft spot for animals he's never quite been able to shake. He can hunt to kill and eat, but anything without purpose that endangers animals can and will twist his heart. He's not overly pushy about it, given his nature, but animal abuse sickens him, and he enjoys the company of things that are furry.




Likes:
- Sunny weather.
- Being outdoors.
- Rock climbing.
- Snow and ice.
- Target practice.
- Friendly sparring.
- Thrills.
- Cats and other small creatures.
- Napping and being lazy in general.

Dislikes:
- Being woken up. Fear his wrath.
- Things that are overly ornate.
- Preachy people.
- Confrontational people.
- Unnecessary violence.
- Getting distracted.

Fears:
- Anything beyond platonic relationships— of which he has many.
- Lions.
- Never being forgiven.
- Whores. He just doesn't trust them— real and figurative ones, alike.


Written description: Donovan is a kind man, never without a smile or a compliment to dish out. Regardless of affiliations, he dreams of peace between the warring, doing his best to get along well with everyone he meets. Because of this, it may seem as though he's easily used because of what might seem to be a desire to please, but one should be warned: he's stubborn in his patience, and he knows what he wants. That said, it's not hard to make him feel guilty about almost anything he's done. If he's determined, playing on his soft heart is the way to lead him astray. If he sees unfairness, he'll rectify it; if it's pointed out to him, he's trusting enough to do the same without a second thought. Though he's not the strongest of the group in terms of physical prowess, he's skilled in shooting and swaying hearts to stop fighting. He prefers the latter, of course.

Additionally, Donovan is something of a rugged, dogged soul, used to taking abuse both physically and mentally. He can spring back from any insult, and he himself isn't hurt easily— though any hint of unfairness, sexism or other kind of prejudice will set him off like a match to fireworks. Donovan has a masterful attention span and doesn't give up easily; everything he does, he wants to do well and thoroughly, leaving no corner unsanded and no stone unturned. This can sometimes lead him to go too far, risking himself and others for the sake of some other cause. When the good of one against the good of many are pitted against each other, Donovan may have a tough time deciding between the two.

Surprisingly, for all the kindness in his heart, Donovan has had little experience with women. He's made a good many friends over the years, but nothing has ever quite lead to romance. Donovan isn't the most romantic of people, letting his feelings show through in acts of caring and nothing more. The few times he has begun to fall for a woman, it showed itself subtly, through flowers and words that put a smile on her face. Donovan puts no one before anyone else, so letting love show through his strict equality is something of a challenge for him. Because of this, his feelings and his relationships alike rarely extend beyond platonic. He doesn't fall in love easily, and even when he does, he feels that the best way to go about it is to collide gently as individuals, even if it is slow, rather than sweeping her off her feet before she's ready.

History:Donovan Greene Katenka was born in the early 16th century to a Norwegian woman married to a Siberian escapee in a tiny town in what was to become Newfoundland. He was not the child of the father who raised him— in fact, he never learned who his father was, as his mother died from infection just weeks after his birth. Small and bearing little resemblance to his father, he was perhaps lucky that his mother didn't live to bear more children to give starker contrast between him and the towering Russian who raised him. Despite his size, however, Donovan was raised a resourceful and hardy child, learning to fend for himself and his father through hunting at a young age. His father was a stern man who grew kinder with drink, forgiving beyond his composure after his years of traveling nearly alone across the barren near-arctic. Donovan doesn't know to this day what crime his father was sentenced for, but conditions in the Siberian prison were enough to force him to escape across Alaska to the other side of the country over the course of twenty years. Due to his age, Donovan's father died while his son was still young, leaving fifteen-year-old Donovan alone in their cottage in the woods of Newfoundland. He buried his father beside the river, unashamed of his tears as the kind man had taught him. One year later found him on a ship set out to trade with South American natives. After sixteen years in the woods, the sea was a shocking but not unwelcome change in the boy's life.

While other sailors were pining for their lady loves, however, Donovan, who had lived a withdrawn life in the woods, pursued the newly-available academics, taking up tutoring under the captain of the ship. The captain taught him to read and write, and exploring the worlds of the written word became Donovan's greatest fascination. He spent what little he made in burgeoning seaports to buy books and notebooks, penning novels based on the folktales he'd grown up on. They were, for the most part, a hollow activity designed to pass the time, but over the course of the voyage, he'd taken to reading to his crewmates in his spare time, eventually memorizing entire volumes to recite back to the other sailors. Though burly men, they didn't mind his telling tale of interesting things— of worlds far beyond their fingertips to be captured only in their minds' eyes.

Donovan spent nine years traveling the world aboard ships, ferrying payloads from gold to settlers in his time as a sailor. He sold off a handful of his notebooks when he ran out of space, though not without a good deal of effort, and had still regretted to fall in love with the beautiful seaport women. Despite the globe-trotting, he felt as though he was still a bland man. It was returning home, in fact, after so many years at sea that was to change Donovan's life.

In the ten years he had been gone, an old hermit most called only the Woodsman had taken up residence in the old cottage where Donovan had spent his childhood years. It seemed as though he fed on nothing but raw meat; there were rumors, in fact, of the man dragging whole deer back to his home with nothing more than his jaws. Donovan, however, failed to realize this and was promptly attacked by a massive, white wolf on entering what had once been his home. It had been the fate of countless hunters over the years— who could blame the old man, trying to protect his secret? But what caught his eye about the young man bleeding out on the floor was the way he apologized, over and over, to his mother and to his father and to him. The hermit realized that he had no reason to attack the man, and, in a fit of regret, dragged him to the river to die in peace rather than tearing his guts out and eating him.

Donovan, however, survived, despite the amount of blood that had mixed in with the river's water and washed downstream to the village. That night, as Donovan lay on death's threshold, a full moon rose, dragging him from near-dead to a renewed, invigorating, maddening state. Donovan did not die that night. He ran, and he ran, and he ran, drunk on the power of his new body. He had powerful legs, four of them, and a form built to chase. He was strong— sickeningly so. He ran until the moon set, leaving him back a sleeping young man. But that young man was never quite the same again.

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