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Devon Rice

"I don't know. I don't think I was ever meant for this. I'm no leader."

0 · 228 views · located in Knott

a character in “Things that go Bump in the Night”, as played by Exotica

Description

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Full Name:
"I hate my full name, I'm not a stuffy bureaucrat, promise."
Devon Isaac Leopold Rice iii

Preferred Name:
"I can't even remember who first started calling me Dev. Must have been when I was tiny."
Dev

Ethnicity:
"Both my dad's dad and mom, and my mom's grandparents were born in Tromso. We're vikings! Hell yes!! Haha"
Nordic

Birth Date:
"Wolves are supposed to like the cold, but nah. Not me. And I had to be born in one of the cold months, too."
December 18th

Age:
"Well, I'm some sort of legal now at least. And I can buy cigarettes!"
Eighteen

Sexuality:
"I uh... It's not a touchy subject or anything, I just don't exactly... Well I've never heard a term for it. I just... like people. It doesn't matter if they're male or female or neither or both or none of the above. I just like people. Especially passionate people. I like falling in love with little things. That's not anything to do with gender I don't think."
Pansexual



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Height:
"I'm five ten. Which is short for my family but tall enough for me. I won't let anyone push me around cuz I'm shorter than them. That's a bullshit reason."

Distinguishing Marks:
"I... er... okay, so here's the skinny. I like tattoos, I do. If I had the money at the right timing I'd have some of my own but, uh, as piercings go, well. There was this one time, I was sixteen, dumb kid I was I got shitfaced. Woke up this morning aching in the worst possible places. Terms out I hooked myself up with some... decoration."
He's got a choice er... unsavory piercing.




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ImageDevon isn't the kind of person you would go to for advice. He's often reckless, and more often confused. He sees the world for what it is; huge, and has problems making moral decisions for the realization that his actions run the risk of hurting others. He often frets too much and becomes completely oblivious to the present while worrying about the future.
That said, Devon is one of the kindest, stupidly brave people one is oft to meet. When someone he cares about is in trouble, he will spring to action in a heartbeat, often without thinking at all, and will sometimes cause more problems for them than he means to. He could be likened to an overly anxious dog who only wants to protect those it trusts, and will too-often bite the mailman in an attempt to do so.
With a gentle lust for life, Dev has learned to fall in love with passion, and every tiny bit of it he sees in other people. He likes the way shoulders tense when someone leans in half an inch because they're talking about something they love, or the way their lips tremble when they take a drag off a cigarette in between explaining in detail every little bit of whatever tiny thing makes their insides glow.
Much more prone to listening than speaking, Devon tends to become entirely unaware of how people think about him, and often times when he's relaxed with someone he'll forget he even exists, much happier to lend the other person enough rope to speak on whatever they choose and watch them glow with passion. When he's reminded he is present he's instantly confused, but quickly evens out. He's used to it by now.
To put it simply, Dev just loves falling in love with the things others care passionately about. He likes people.


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Species & Gift
"Werewolf. My family are old blood, huge Eurasian wolves. I'm actually kind of proud of it. Even if it means I've got the mandatory wolf form for a night during the full moon, I can mostly shift on will the other days. Gotta be human on the new moon. Tit for tat I guess. But you don't really wanna hear this much about me do you?"
Devon is an old-world pureblood werewolf, one of the few purebred "alpha" (not a perfect term, but one which is still in use simply out of pervasiveness of use) bloodlines left, predisposed to being bigger, stronger, faster than the less-dominantly-inclined American mutt counterpart. Devon, however, also is what his mother would call a 'huge disappointment'. While rarely stronger than the average werewolf, Devon is a skinny thing with dark chocolate fur and who stands nearly five inches below the shoulder of any old world Eurasian he's ever met. This is something he's not only defensive about, but also very careful at compensating for.
Every night of the full moon, Devon must spend the time from dark til dawn in wolf form. This isn't any grievance to him in a town like Knott, but is certainly an inconvenience. Inversely he must spend the night of the New Moon without the ability to shift into a wolf, although other days he mostly has free reign over which form he takes. That said, the closer to the full or new moon he is, the more pull he will find to one side of himself. It's a complex existence, one Dev hasn't at all gotten the hang of just yet, but one he's definitely struggling to.




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Relationship Status:
"I don't know. Dating's not something I've ever talked about. Werewolves are supposed to mate for life but I haven't ever... I don't know. I guess I haven't met anyone, or maybe I just don't know what the spark of 'hey that's your mate' is supposed to feel like. I don't know. I mean, I messed around a bit in high school, but I don't know if any of that was honest to god dating or if it was just kids playing around. I don't think anyone's ever really been interested in me like that."
Single.

Family and Friends:
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Father \\\ Peter Graves Rice \\\ 43 Years Old \\\ Werewolf \\\ Missing
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Mother /// Marie Alice Rice /// 43 Years Old /// Werewolf /// Missing
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Brother \\\ David Grayson Rice ii \\\ 20 Years Old \\\ Werewolf \\\ Deceased
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Right Hand Man /// {Role 3} /// Age /// Species /// Alive & Well
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Pack Member \\\ Kimberlynn Kale \\\ Nineteen \\\ Psychic \\\ Alive & Well
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Pack Member /// Jakob Alexander Masters /// 19 Years Old /// Witch /// Alive & Well

Known Languages:
Norweigian and English fluently, understands but can't speak French, and can read and write Icelandic but not speak it or understand it conversationally.

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As werewolf packs go, the one presided over by the Rice family had always been a slightly odd one. For generations prior to Devon's birth they'd been largely nomadic, returning to the Nordic motherland every few generations to stop their travelling and rest before going out in search once more of a proper place to live, attempting to escape the hunters who put a high bounty on the heads of old world werewolves, pure of blood and leadership lines. They were a pack who would take in anyone who needed protection or could offer it, their size fluctuated over the years and over their travels, as some pack members settled wherever they bedded for a few weeks, while others joined on.
When Devon was born, they had already made the jump to the United States and were staying in a small town a few hundred miles from Knott, and his mother and father were co-leading the pack as it had been done for generations. His elder brother was always the first in line to inherit the pack before him, and Devon was raised as a warrior of the pack, someone respectable who would take orders but shine through with ancient blood and still be the best in his given assignment. Even from a young age, he was what his mother called a disappointment. He simply didn't have much fight in him. He was more interested in libraries and listening to the elderly members of the pack tell stories of the old world, of Tromso and Amsterdam. He liked to fill his head with thoughts of beautiful things and the huge world around him, not with bloodshed, even if it was for a good cause.
When Devon was five, his pack made a move to Knott; his pack's final move. By decree of the alphas, they'd found their final place, where they were meant to be, for whatever reason. Devon never got a full explanation on why precisely Knott was the home they'd been seeking for generations, but he liked it alright. There were more children like him to play with than the pack usually had and many were very close to his age, so he liked it. Knott became the place which was thought of whien someone invoked the word 'home'. It felt right.
By the time Dev was ten, their pack had secured their place as the protectors of Knott. His brother was taking on more and more responsibility at only twelve, showing the promise of being a proper, good leader. Everything was okay and Devon truly believed he had a place in the pack learning to scout their borders and defend himself if needed. He spent many an afternoon obliviously tucked into Knott's library, drinking in the world and everything he could find about werewolves and witches and vampires. He often tore himself from his book only to make trips to see historical sites in Knott or explore old buildings, he always wanted to know everything there was to know.
It was exploring an abandoned building that Dev met {Role 3} and was quickly befriended by him. Through that friendship he met another pack member; {Role 3}'s sister Kindle, who he learned to trust by transitive property of her brother. Since then, it's been rare to find Dev going to anyone but {Role 3} for advice and help, and often just to cry or yell or vent.
When Dev was fifteen, he finally tore himself from his shell a bit with his mother's incessant undermining of his abilities. Marie Alice Rice had never been known as a particularly forgiving woman, and when she realized her son was doing nothing which in her eyes furthered her pack, she was not one to treat him kindly. By the time Dev was fifteen every family dinner came down to a picking apart of his faults, and to his rebellious retorts which usually boiled down to little more than 'fuck you mom leave me alone'. While the pack was growing in size, stability, and strength, the family in charge of it was quickly crumbling as Devon's two years elder brother David started slipping under pressure, began drinking and disappearing for days at a time. Within a year the family was practically in shambles, not that they showed it to the outside world. That would be unprofessional, as Devon's mother put it.
Dev's father was all that was holding the family together, and Devon often had to escape even him for the feelings his family started stirring in him whenever they were around. He escaped and often simply sat around town smoking cigarettes and watching people. It was always during these times that Devon first noticed Jake Masters. It wasn't that he disliked the boy so much as he always had fantastically bad timing, to the extent which Dev began playing 'bad timing bingo' with him in his head, checking off a box each time Jake had approached him when he was that close to breaking down or taking the fuck off in the opposite direction to be as far away from his mother and his family as possible.
When Devon was seventeen his brother's drinking problem had reached it's peak. No one was stopping him. The family had withdrawn, family dinners were no more and they rarely looked at each other. It took two days for any of them to realize that David was missing when he was, and two hours for any of them to think to check his room. When they did there was nothing to be done. It was an overdose, autopsy said, most likely intentional.
David's death meant two incredibly rigid things for Devon. First was the loss of someone close. Someone he'd looked up to, someone he'd had hope for. This was the first thing that cracked Devon wide open. The second was the fact that pack leadership then fell to him. He'd prepared his entire life thinking he would be a scout, a hunter, a fighter, just another member of the pack albeit one with pure blood and great asset. His mother became stricter on him, began grooming him 'to be a leader' intensively, Devon stopped leaving the house for nearly four months, he couldn't bare to leave.
A month ago, only three months after Devon began leaving the house again, his parents vanished. No sign, no signal, no one left with them and no one seemed to have answers. Devon wasn't sure what to make of it but it meant he had more important things to worry about than his parents. He had a pack to lead. A large, unruly pack which he was not in any way prepared for.
He's still struggling.

So begins...

Devon Rice's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jake Masters Character Portrait: Devon Rice Character Portrait: Kindle Kale Character Portrait: Roger Kale Character Portrait: Sage Rylan

0.00 INK

#, as written by Exotica
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Town Square, Open
To put it bluntly, Dev was running out of time to figure his shit out. He knew it, the skittering messenger who had come to inform him yet another human was slinking around looking suspicious and two more pack members were MIA doing god knew what, he knew it too. Dev slumped down on the marble rim of a fountain pushed conspicuously off to the side of the town square and clumsily fumbled with the button on his breast pocket, his other hand shoved itself into his jeans pocket and procured his cheesy decorated bic lighter.

"You're free to go, but for fuck's sake tell Roger I need him to report to duty at some point today," Dev muttered as he managed to wrestle the button on his front pocket open. The messenger, a springy sylph who Dev had forgotten the name of already, a pack newbie, immediately disappeared with a gust of cool wind. He didn't stay to see Dev wrestle the half-smoked, half-crushed pack of black american spirits from his pocket and pull one out with his teeth.

Devon was lighting the cigarette when his phone gave a little chime and he distracted himself by looking down at it for the second it took to singe his eyelashes a little before he yelped and successfully dropped not only his lighter and phone, but also the half-lit cigarette into his lap, which only set off another yelp and him standing up with the force of a hurricane at his back and sendig the cigarette flying, the phone skittering across the cobblestone, and the lighter disappearing into what could only be described as the Insatiable Void Where Lighters Always Go And Never Return From. He stared at the cigarette and phone and with a huge sigh stood.

He picked up the cigarette first, puffing it back to life and then knelt to take a look at the damage he'd dealt his phone. Luckily it was only one more crack to the half dozen already making their home on the screen and he nodded, opening it to see the message again.

From: Thyme Chancellor
To: Devon Rice
hey man we got another border breach. nothing srs-- i thought i'd hit kindle or david up to check it outt. just be careful man. sorry. i'll try to keep my boys on it better


Devon sighed. Thyme was one of his parents' original pack, one of the higher ups in his. He and his boys were on patrol that day and of course they'd been fucking off instead. Of course. Dev groaned and took a long drag off his cigarette before burying his face in his hands and letting out a frustrated hybrid of a growl and a sigh. He didn't text Thyme back, instead he flipped back and created a group message.

From: Devon Rice
To: Kimberlynn Kale, Roger Kale, Jake Maste...(and 2 others)
Please tell me one of you is here. I just... need someone to relax with I guess. I'm in the Town Square. I've been working all morning. I just need a break. Maybe find somewhere out of the way and smoke or something. Just... someone respond and stop being a bunch of lazy fucking assholes sometime in the near future please?





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Knott Outskirts, Open
Sage had spent all day more or less dodging border patrol duty. They couldn't exactly find themselves doing anything of any real essence that day and they didn't particularly want to. There was a park that spilled into the forest outside Knott which had become Sage's spot for spending time technically in the town, but also far enough away from the inner reaches of the town that the more skittish forest residents still weren't scared away by the noise.

Sage reclined on a bench, letting hair fall over their shoulders as they tossed their head back and let their eyes fill with sky. A squirrel skittered across the back of the bench to sit next to them and watch the sky. Sage reached out a finger, mostly to see what the squirrel would do, and the squirrel's paws closed around the finger, immediately grabbing it and attempting to run off. Sage laughed a loud, bubbling laugh and the squirrel spooked, off back into the bushes and up a tree.

They weren't sure what to do in Knott, they never were. Sage could never really find a real place in Knott that felt like home, but the forests and the animals among them were beginning to feel less like family, and they didn't know how to fix that, so they thought perhaps, maybe they had to move on.

Nothing really felt certain anymore, nothing had since the werewolves moved in and took over the silly protection of this silly town Sage had barely even known when their parents pledged to protect it. They fought off the feeling of dread which slowly began to fill their gut at that. They didn't know where there life was going from here, but it certainly wasn't going up. This town might eat Sage alive and no one would ever know or care and that was a deeply sobering feeling.

Sage was never quite certain where they stood with the world. With the civilized places they were being forced into, there were wild feelings that destroyed them from the inside out, and in the wilds there was emptiness.

Sage was dragged from their thoughts by a small bird landing on their shoulder, a bluebird who chirped loudly, informing them there were fey on the move a few miles, something the bird thought they should know. Sage was perplexed; fey moved a lot, not nearly so little as to need a personalized messenger of their presence. The half-fey scowled and shook their head, hoisting themself from the bench and slowly making their way toward the direction the bluebird had indicated, which would take them directly through town. Sage sighed with an upset edge and a disgusted tone cutting the edge. This was probably not going to be pretty in any capacity.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Devon Rice Character Portrait: Roger Kale

0.00 INK

#, as written by Cypher
Roger Kale was, indeed, there. He had been there for a great deal of time, actually. How long? Unspecified. He could be quiet when he wanted to be, which was... Almost all the time, come to think of it.

The point is, Roger was in the town square. He had been there for a length of time that could have stretched anywhere from minutes to hours, sipping his way through a soy latte he had acquired by grudgingly parting with the last of his cash money, leaving him thoroughly and completely broke. He stretched out in his chair, letting his legs reach over to the sidewalk (much to the annoyance of several inconvenienced passers-by) and the sun shine down on his face and arms. Today was nice. Today was good. It was sunny, and busy, and for once he wasn't going to be needed at the library for a few hours, and nobody was going to bother him. He could just sit at this chair, drink this latte and consider important things, like:

  • The nature of reality.
  • The size of the universe.
  • The beauty of nature.
  • How great it was to drink a latte that didn't moo disconcertingly at him deep in the annals of his mind.

And other such wonderful things. Yes, this was going to be a nice, slow, relaxing--

Wrrrrrrrt. Wrrrrrrrrrrt. Wrrrrrrrrrt.

"... Shiiiiiiiit."

Roger puffed out a sigh and fumbled in his pocket for the buzzing cell phone that spent most of its time there; a black plastic clamshell that was most likely a relic of the late 2000s and was mostly held together by Gorilla Glue, duct tape, and the hopes and prayers of everyone but Roger Kale, who (to be honest) would prefer the thing to just keel over and die already and let him go off the grid for a few days/weeks/infinities. But this was not the case, unfortunately, and Roger continued being timely and courteous with his phone-answering, such as he was now.

It was Devon, of course. Good old Dev, the Norwegian and the unofficially-official boss of his life. Not that Roger minded, of course, Dev was a good friend and had been for as long as he could remember. And, in addition, he was in need of some kind of intervention. Roger was good for that kind of thing. So he looked down at his latte, sighed, took it up to the counter, and fired a return text to Devon.

From: Roger Kale
To: Devon Rice

Your knight in shining armor is on his way. Thank me later. Meet you @ the lib in 5?


And then he was on his way.