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Quirinus Avery

Tell me we're dead, and I'll love you even more.

0 · 385 views · located in Westcreek

a character in “Westcreek”, as played by peachy

Description

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    β™š QUIRINUS . AVERY β•―
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    PLEASE DON'T GO ( I'LL EAT YOU WHOLE ) I LOVE YOU SO.


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    xxxxx.γ€ŒNAME」
    ......Quirinus Laurel Avery
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    xxxxx.γ€ŒALIAS」
    x.x.xxxxx.Quin
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    xx.xxx..γ€ŒAGE」
    x.xxxxxx....189
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    xxγ€ŒOCCUPATION」
    x.Mortician & City Coroner
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    xxxx.....γ€ŒEYES」
    x.xxx......Burgundy
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    xxx....γ€ŒHEIGHT」
    x.xxxxx......5'11"
    xxγ€ŒORIGIN」
    x..London, England
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    x.γ€ŒGENDER」
    x..........Male
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    .γ€ŒSEXUALITY」
    ........Homosexual
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    ....γ€ŒSPECIES」
    ..........Vampire
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    x.....γ€ŒHAIR」
    .......Dark Brown
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    x..γ€ŒWEIGHT」
    ............155 lbs.




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                  ( QUIRKS *! )

                  He does not own a single item of red clothing. β€’ He
                  once. slept. through. an. entire decade because no
                  one bothered to wake him up. β€’ His ultimate secret
                  pastime is reading vampire-themed YA novels and
                  scoffing loudly at all the shit they get wrong. xβ€’ All
                  manner of odds. and .ends. line. the .bookshelves
                  around his home, .thus relegating the actual books
                  to teetering piles on the floor... β€’ .He firmly denies
                  any and all knowledge and .involvement pertaining
                  tox the .oft . mysterious .disappearances . of .the
                  owners of every new mortuary that pops up.
                  __( LIKES *! )

                  Sleeping β€’ Warm places/warm people β€’ Cute boys
                  β€’ Late night strolls β€’ Well-tailored suits β€’ Satin and
                  soft leather β€’ People who smell nice β€’ Rare books
                  β€’ Lemon-scented sunscreen .β€’ .Collecting random
                  trinkets β€’ Drawing/painting β€’ Being insufferable on
                  purposex β€’ Pretending he doesn't care (especially
                  when .he .actually really does) xβ€’x Trashy tabloid
                  magazines .β€’. Bad romcoms β€’ Sneaking up on the
                  unsuspecting. β€’. O-negative blood .β€’ .Make-up .(a
                  little. goes. a .long way to get rid of the paleness
                  that comes as a side-effect of being dead).
                  __( DISLIKES *! )

                  Felines β€’ Whenever his fangs unexpectedly pop
                  out β€’ Competition β€’ Sunburns β€’ Fire β€’ Being more
                  flammable .than .most .β€’ xBeing denied entry to
                  places .β€’. Strong scents β€’ Surprises β€’ Most large
                  animals .β€’. Snide. remarks. aboutii his. real .age
                  β€’ .Unnecessarily .loud .noises .β€’ .Unnecessarily
                  loud people. β€’ .High xfat content in blood .β€’ .The
                  colour yellow β€’ Anaemics β€’ Late blood deliveries
                  β€’ Coffins β€’ Being mostly immortal β€’ The thought
                  of .spending. the .next. couple. of centuries the
                  way he usually does: alone.


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    β—’PERSONALITY Β°


    β—’ The summer of 1827 birthed a gentle boy. Rosebud cheeks and a sunlit smile; porcelain fingers plucking soft berries to press into strangers’ palms. Boys like these are easy to love; especially as they blossom into kindly young gentlemen pulled from the pen-tips of lovesick authors. Quirinus once fancied himself as such a boy. A soft boy. But immortality has made him bitter; hardened by the press of sharp teeth on tender skin; made frigid as the holes in his neck pissed his life's blood into the cold, black dirt.

    Still, the world's injustices haven't soured him completely. Though he may no longer be so kind, the affability persists. You just have to get past the sneering, scoffing layers of caustic derision to get to it. Some people like to call it a 'front', but Quin thinks otherwise (he'll be damned if he'll let anyone refer to it as a 'defense mechanism'). The rationale behind it is this: everybody takes advantage of the kind, quiet pushover; but it'll take an army and a half to even try to do the same to the asshat with a god complex bigger than the sun. He carries himself with the lofty air of someone who knows he’s better than everyone else. Always impeccably dressed, always with just the right amount of blush to suggest the presence of blood on blood-less cheeks. If that doesn't intimidate people at first glance, he's since found that a good glare and a well-aimed remark can work wonders to get people off his back.

    He does have friends, few though they may beβ€”or at least people he's friendly toβ€”but bar one or two exceptions, he resolutely refuses to allow anything to run deeper than mere friendship. A lifetime of watching people you care about shrivel up and die before your very eyes can do that to you, and to put it simply, Quin is tired of it. His lack of close bonds may also be attributed to his love of privacy. He dislikes other people bludgeoning themselves into his private life. The noise they bring even more so.

    His relationship with Westcreek is a love-hate thing at best. Sort of like how an inmate comes to love his prison cell. You don't truly find comfort in it, but it's better than nothing. Besides, he gets food delivered to his doorstep every fortnight. He's never liked hunting (nor was he a very good hunter to begin with), so that's one unsavoury aspect of vampirism he can live without. It's also afforded him some stability. Eighteen-ish decades of precious things unceremoniously pulled from his grasp has left him extremely territorialβ€”whether it be over his business, his cozy position as the Chief of the City Coroner's office (which he definitely did not get by discreetly doing away with the last three), or the small blanket of people he calls friends. Once he's branded something 'Important', he's not like to give it up without a fight. And boy, can he fight.
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                    ( STRENGTHS *! )

                    Super strength. Amazing senses. Normal vampire shit. .β€’ Make-up. He can
                    make your dead aunt look half her age in twenty minutes. β€’ His knowledge
                    on all things medicine is quite vast. He attributes this to nearly fifteen de-
                    cades' worth of schooling and experience. xβ€’. He's an excellent negotiator,
                    which .reallyx means that he gets what he wants by finding out what other
                    people want and giving it to them. .β€’ Quin can be very protective over the
                    things he considers ximportant, xand will damn well be willing to fight tooth
                    and nail before he can be persuaded to let go of them.. β€’ Despite his best
                    efforts, xhe's still plagued by strong emotions. xHe's better at concealing
                    them now, xotherwise the good citizens of .Westcreek would have to deal
                    with xax weepyx 189x year old vampire on a daily basis. xβ€’x For what it's
                    worth, ..he's pretty good at the whole art thing. ..He paints, draws, but his
                    works never leave the four walls of his home. .β€’ All in all, he speaks a to-
                    tal of about fifteen languages fluently, and snippets of a dozen others.
                    __( FLAWS *! )

                    There are no quiet ways to kill a vampire. They all involve burning or stab-
                    bing, and just a general sense of trauma-inducing unpleasantness for eve-
                    ryone involved.. β€’ Unless given express permission to do so, Quin cannot
                    enter any establishment without being invited in beforehand. β€’ People tend
                    to underestimate just how sensitive his hearing can be. ,,Very loud noises
                    can make his ears ring for days. β€’ He does not tiptoe around anything and
                    can be quite crass as a result. .β€’ .Human food = projectile vomiting. β€’ It is
                    quite well-known that vampires are more flammable compared to most. .It
                    doesn't help that he has a love for fireplaces and practically lives in a fire
                    code violation disguised as a residential building. β€’ He doesn't function too
                    well under pressure; something his assistants at the funeral home can att-
                    est to. .That plus his temper is also the reason why he can't seem to keep
                    said assistants. xβ€’x He looks like the tidiest fucker out there, but honestly
                    he's just one giant mess. Look at his house. β€’ Resting bitch face for sure.

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β—’BIOGRAPHY Β°xxx


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Quin lives his life in snippets.

His first memory is that of indigo-stained fingers; sticky prints smeared across marble walls; tart blackberries crushed under baby teeth. The estate was vast but he tripped and ambled over every inch, never stopping, but always steered from danger by gentle hands that put him to sleep at night, whispering, 'My boy. My rosebud boy.'

He remembers his mother's face when he tells her of his desire to pursue medicine. He had never seen her smile so wide. Nor his father, the seasoned war General who had gripped his shoulders so fiercely, pleased to death that his only son chose the business of saving lives instead of ending them.

He remembers his first apprenticeship. Only sixteen and working with a man ten years his senior. He was quiet, careful. With tawny hair and eyes of the greenest green. Quin makes it to a month before he leaves his heart in the clinic and never looks back.

He remembers medical school at the Sorbonne. The sweeping elegance of Paris. Love. Freedom. Hushed fumbles in the dark with bright young men who whispered poetry in his ear and planted wet kisses across his bitten knuckles.

He remembers his first clinic as vividly as he remembers the war. It opened the same month it started.

More importantly, he remembers the day he died.

Everything else is best surrendered to the wind.

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                  ( OOC *! )

                  FACE CLAIM: Jacob Young
                  HEX CODE: #EE6363
                  PORTRAYED BY: peachy
                  CS CREATED BY: Epimetheus
                  TIME ZONE: UTC+08:00
                  college sux
                  ___( ASSOCIATED *! )
                  ..words and phrases

                  This photoset xβ€’ xSatin and black leather at 90Β°F β€’
                  "I know fuck-all about vampires!xIt's not like I got
                  an instruction pamphlet when I was bitten." β€’ Black
                  is the new black. β€’. This video .β€’ English accents β€’
                  Gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.
                  β€’ Crush - Richard Siken .β€’ What you are is a fuck-
                  ing tragedy β€’ Draco in Leather Pants xβ€’ Potentially
                  evil, potentially good, too.x β€’x Tap-tapping at your
                  window at 3AM, telling you to let me the fuck in.xβ€’
                  Forever young in the body of a slender boy .who-
                  se soul has long since outgrown it. β€’ A man with a
                  fork in a world of soup. .β€’x His. glitter .foundation
                  makes him sparkle. Not the fucking sunlight ok.
                  _ _( MISC *! )

                  Has an actual house near the woods, but prefers to live in the
                  tiny space above the .funeral home because he's a lazy fuck
                  who can't be bothered to walk/drive. xβ€’ xWestcreek-ians often
                  underestimate just how many people die every week. The an-
                  swer is this: way too fucking many for Quin to handle alone.,β€’
                  Assistants are very useful for this purpose. .If only he'd stop
                  driving them away. xβ€’ ,.He splits his time between the funeral
                  home and the Coroner's Office, .but mostly the funeral home
                  because .making dead people pretty is a lot funner than fore-
                  nsic work and signing certificates all day. .β€’ .Became a morti-
                  cian because hospitals don't tend to trust .vampires with their
                  sick and dying. xβ€’ Goes home and trashes the place in fits of
                  drunken sobbing every Oct. 23 in memory of his deathday.

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So begins...

Quirinus Avery's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Raleigh Lanster Character Portrait: YΕ« Maeda Character Portrait: Belle Tarkani Character Portrait: Olivia Summers Character Portrait: Valerius Cinna Character Portrait: Tallulah Lum Character Portrait: Maxwell Kelly Character Portrait: Lucas Silva Character Portrait: Helena Grimm Character Portrait: Quirinus Avery Character Portrait: Valerius Chevalier Character Portrait: Willa Haywood Character Portrait: Saira Zahariev Character Portrait: Nico Matsumoto Character Portrait: Hinata Shimizu Character Portrait: Daniel Driscoll Character Portrait: CΓ©cile Valovoi
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by Verix
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anImage
. Thanks Epi for writing the starting post!
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ACT ONE : PART ONE : INTRODUCTION
LOCATION: MAINSTREET
TIME: 6:30PM


Summers in Westcreek were nothing short of exceptional. In general, the city's climate was all around lovely, cool winters and warm summers, a generally moderate climate. But it was the summers, really, that were something else. And it was because of evenings.

When the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, it transformed the sky into a canvas, bold streaks of color staining it, creating a view that could only be called art. It was generally acknowledged that this was the best time of day to be out and about, the best of hours to be caught walking the city streets.Today was something of a unique occasion, though, and on this particular evening, you'd be hard pressed to find a citizen of Westcreek not out in the streets. There was a reason for this, and it was called the Festival of Life, an annual occurrence that called for the celebration of the original founding of the city of Westcreek. And the event was something to behold. It had all the ambiance and staples of any small town suburban fairs-- portable rides that no one felt quite safe riding but always did anyway, game stalls everyone knew was rigged but still coughed up money to play, stands for local shop owners to try and sell some wares, even the exact sort of festival food that inevitably led to an upset stomach the next day but was still widely eaten-- but was somehow grander. Almost larger than life. By all accounts, it should have been a spectacularly fun event. However, there was always, unfailingly, a vague sense of discomfort and tension hanging heavy in the air the night of.

The event wasn't mandatory, for heaven's sake, no the mayor would never want to force anybody to do anything they didn't want to do. But everyone knew it might as well have been. They'd all heard stories of the people who decided to chance it, who decided to spit on the foundation of the institution, and the stories never ended well. It was almost insulting, in a sense. Forced to celebrate what began their imprisonment? Sat down and force fed pleasantries and lies, a false history shoved down their throats that they'd have to regurgitate later on? And yet, they all attended. And it was fun. It was hard to take that away from it. The city council never went anything but all out on the annual affair. Children shrieked as they ran through the fairgrounds, holding their cotton candies high and begging their parents for another go on the vomit inducing spinning machine. The neon glow of the rides and games lent a cool and breathable atmosphere to the place Westcreek only saw a few times a year. It was fun. That's exactly what people would respond with the next day when they were asked about how their night went. With a heavy heart, a tense smile, "It was fun."