DAVIS, drew

[DREW DAVIS]

ANDREW DAVIS

[/color]
of the B.P.R.D.. [/color]

[/center]

CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]

»»FULL NAME:[/b] Andrew Harlan Davis
»»AGE:[/b] 32 (visually 28)
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Paranormal Investigator
»»FACTION:[/b] B.P.R.D.
»»SPECIES : [/b] Ghost
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Good


»»ABILITY: [/b] Ghost
- - -Strength: Drew is a ghost. He is incorporeal and very, very dead, meaning he doesn't have to deal with pesky things like eating, sleeping, breathing, and people bumping into him. He can walk through walls, go invisible, and even move objects telekinetically...to an extent. He can create cold spots, enhance fear, make walls bleed, and even attract vermin—basically classic haunting stuff. All of this hinges on him draining energy (mostly heat, electricity, and strong emotions) out of an area meaning he can do cool stuff like make lights flicker and candles die down too while powering up something else. His method of speech is functions like one way telepathy as well, although it's broadcasted in such a way that he has to actually work at it (using more energy) in order to only communicate to one person at a time. Still it's cool when he can talk to people while he's underwater or when they're trying to ignore him. Thanks to some fun hoodoo, his haunting is tied to the concept of the Bureau rather than to the actual physical structure, so he has pretty good autonomy as long as he's within 100 yards or so from another agent.
- - -Drawbacks: Drew is a ghost. He is naturally invisible, inaudible, and unable to affect the world at large without some source of power to leech off of so that he can use his abilities. Most of the time, when in the Bureau for instance, he's just a flickery, ethereal form, and telekinetically moving much of anything more than a pencil or two requires fuse blowing power to do any real damage. He's also susceptible to being dispelled by any sort of exorcism, salt, and cold iron, and if he finds himself adversely affected by the aforementioned two substances, he tends to have issues reappearing for several minutes at least. Exorcism, obviously, could have far more devastating consequences, especially if someone manages to get his remains, and God help him if he get's on a necromancer's bad side.



THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]

»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Hazel
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Brown
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5'9”
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Callum Blue

»»APPEARANCE: [/b]

Despite being about average in height, Drew is lithe and wiry, making him seem shorter than he actually is. His hair is medium brown and curly. Drew's face is thin with a pointed nose and chin, large hazel eyes, bushy eyebrows, and thin lips that seem to constantly drift into a smirk. He has a slight growth of stubble on his chin, and his rounded ears stick out from the sides of his head, lending him a boyish air. His body, as previously mentioned, is lean and has a light covering of hair. Now that he's ghosted, he's a bit wispy around the edges and can be seen through on most occasions. His coloration is a little drained as well, not full black and white, but definitely desaturated. He wears the clothes he died in: a pair of wrangler jeans, work boots, a white T-shirt, and a brown leather, fleece collared bomber jacket. They tend to reappear on him too if he ever decides to shed them.


»»PERSONALITY: [/b]

Drew is a good cop. He follows orders, has a great sense of right and wrong, doesn't shirk duty, protects the weak, and has good instincts. His moral code is strong, and he doesn't take kindly to those who break the law (despite the fact that human laws apply very little in the supernatural world). Upon first impression, he's friendly (but not too friendly), attentive, willing to crack a joke or two, and not completely boring. He bears the air of someone who has been comfortable with himself for quite some time, always fit in, but hasn't let it totally go to his head. He likes being part of a group too, and is quite a team player. From a young age, his parents instilled a sense of morals and respect for authority in him, and he follows orders very well.

The downside to all this is that he has a tendency to get a little hidebound. When he's on the job, he ends up getting a very groupthink mentality, following whoever is giving orders and not really questioning them. He also tends to get stuck in the same patterns, something a couple of his exes have reminded him of. If something works, he tends not to deviate from it, and doesn't go out of his way to meet new people, have new experiences, or visit new places. Luckily for him, he has the B.P.R.D.

Despite the staid streak in his personality, Drew is moderately open minded, and, more importantly, nonplussed by oddities in others. He doesn't judge books by their covers, and doesn't freak out about the crazy beasties he meets due to his job. It's not that he doesn't care about them, it's just that he takes each life experience, figures that flipping his lid doesn't do much good, and gets over it. This attitude carries over to his emotional life which occasionally leaves him emotionally distant and somewhat cold as he doesn't tend to show strong emotions of any kind (another fact pointed out by an ex or two). He also tends to bottle emotions that he can't just get over and once or twice he's blown his lid. According to Bureau psychiatrists, he's getting close to that point again.

His current bottled emotional state is due to the fact that being a ghost is damn frustrating. He can barely move a pencil across a desk without burning out a few light-bulbs, and has to actually work for people to even see him. He can't shoot rampaging monsters, can't knock back a couple beers with the guys to blow off steam, and can't even have sex. What's worse is that his family, who he was very close to, thinks he's dead and a few invisible trips home to watch his mother cry haven't helped the feelings of loss on his end. So far, Drew's taking it all in stride, working with specialists on using his powers, stay emotionally balanced, and trying to figure out ways to be useful to the Bureau. He definitely seems happier when he's in the field, and he's quite useful for recon.



THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]

»»FAMILY TREE:[/b]
-Jeff Davis (49), father, police officer
-Martha Davis nee McCoy (49), mother, editor
-Matt Davis (24), brother, bartender
-Ida McCoy (57), Aunt on mother's side, retired teacher, Alzheimer's patient
-George Davis (80), grandfather, retired factory worker
-Linda Davis (81), grandmother, retired secretary
-Ken Black (32), best friend, police officer, Drew's former partner
-Jean Black (31), Ken's wife, real estate agent
-Kimberly Black (5), Ken and Jean's daughter

»»IDOLS:[/b]
His father has always been one of Drew's role models. Ever since he was little, Drew has tried to emulate his father, from the police academy to the B.P.R.D. to the afterlife.


»»HISTORY: [/b]

Since he was little, Drew wanted to be a cop. He was the result of a high school pregnancy when his parents were both 17 and was born a few months before their high school graduation. His dad and mom moved in with Drew's paternal grandparents in the family hometown of Lyndon, Illinois while Drew's father went through the police academy and Drew's mother went to college. Drew's grandparents spent a lot of time watching their grandson as he grew up, and, when Drew was three, his parents got a small house down the street from Grandma and Grandpa Davis. Despite the typical family stuff, his family was close, and, more importantly, Drew's parents stuck through for the long haul. Drew idolized his father, always running around with his plastic gun and police cap arresting family members, friends, and neighborhood pets for walking too fast, treading on the lawn, or other small infractions.

When Drew was seven, he got a little brother, Matt, and as the boys grew, Drew became Matt's self appointed guardian from neighborhood bullies and the hardships of life. By this time, Drew had started going to school and had fallen in with a good cadre of friends who more or less stuck together all the way through high school. Most important among these friends was Drew's lifelong best friend, Ken Black. Ken and Drew met on day one of kindergarten and were inseparable until Drew's death three years ago. Drew and Ken tried to keep an eye on Matt, but the younger Davis brother seemed intent on constantly getting into trouble. Between school and shepherding Matt, Drew and company played soccer and managed to have the good kid's version of a social life. Drew's high school records were decent. He pulled through with a steady “B” average, a clean police record, no unwanted pregnancies or crazy exes, and the wish to be a policeman like his dad.

After high school, Drew joined the local police academy, passing the tests with flying colors. Ken was right alongside Drew through the academy, and they both managed to get jobs in the same branch of the Chicago PD violent crimes unit by the time they were 24. After a year, they were assigned as partners. During this time, Matt, in high school, started drinking heavily and using drugs, eventually running off when he turned 18 and cutting off all contact. At the same time, Drew's mother's sister, Ida, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and moved into Drew's parent's house. This hit the Davis family hard, and Ken and Ken's new wife, Jean, became Drew's sanity as he tried to be strong for his parents. Drew and Ken were assigned as partners as well, and he spent many evenings with the two. He had been best man in their wedding and was their daughter, Kimberly's, Godfather, treating her as if she was his own niece. He'd found a decent spot in life, living near enough to his parents to keep an eye on them, working in what he felt was a rewarding line of work, and was even getting ready for a promotion.

That was where it got weird. Drew and Ken had been called to a warehouse complex after gunshots were heard within. The two split up to each enter one side of a storage unit, and Drew was promptly bowled over by a man with glowing, yellow eyes. There was a tussle, Drew shot the guy in the gut (getting blood all over himself), and the guy made it off into the night. In the storage container, they found two partially eaten young girls. Reports got filed, and Drew's shirt was requisitioned for evidence, hoping they could pull DNA from the blood. Two days later, the case, shirt, and all the other evidence were requisitioned by an agent from an undisclosed department. Annoyed that his case had been reassigned, Drew dug a little too deep, finding that the agent was a member of an organization called the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense. A week later, he was contacted by the Bureau and offered a position.

To this day, Drew can't recall exactly why he left his perfectly good life to become a Bureau agent. The pay was only marginally better, the job was harder and more dangerous, and he had to start keeping secrets from his family and friends. Perhaps it was the novelty of the job or perhaps it was the fact that he felt he was doing more good in the world by locking up the literal monsters, but Drew did end up finding immense satisfaction in his new job. He was a model agent for two full years at the Bureau. And then he died.

It happened as he was on his way out of the Bureau locker room after helping to contain a rather stroppy manticore and bring it to the lab for testing. He'd showered up afterward and was heading out for a couple days off when the manticore got loose and went on a rampage through the halls of the Bureau. Drew, unfortunately, was in the way of two tons of angry mythological beastie and was mauled, dying almost instantly. The day later, he became aware of looking down on his mutilated corpse as it lay on an autopsy table. He sat through his entire funeral (closed casket), watched his little brother show up for the first time in four years, watched two year old Kimberly Black ask her mother where “Uncle Drew” was, and watched Ken burst into sobs.

He started haunting the Bureau hall where he died, only remembering aimlessly trying to find some way to be alive again. Within a month, his presence had started affecting the hallway; lights flickered, it was freezing cold, and it started having an issue with attracting flies. A Bureau exorcist was called in for a seance, and they communicated with Drew, figuring out that he still wanted to be a Bureau agent. After some work, some witchery to figure out how to free his spirit from the hallway, and a few visits with spiritualists who managed communication, Drew got something similar to his old job back. He's been ghosted for four years and on active duty for two and a half. His old Bureau buddies have taken to calling him “Casper,” and he spends most of the hours he used to spend at home or with family drifting through the halls or figuring out how to use his abilities.

After the first year, a couple Bureau liaisons figured a way to reassign his haunting from the Bureau building proper to the concept of the Bureau (they've figured out part of the reason he hasn't moved on is that Drew feels that he has unfinished business with the Bureau). That way he can move out on missions as long as he sticks relatively close (usually within about 100 yards) of another agent, otherwise he gets whisked back to the hallway where he died. This has lent him an unexpected privilege that he's termed “walkabouts.” Supervised by another agent, he goes on occasional visits to see his family and friends, most importantly keeping an eye on Matt who got a job as a bartender and is working on turning his life around.


THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]

»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Dave
»»GENDER:[/b] Male
»»AGE:[/b] 24
»»TITLE:[/b] To die will be an awfully big adventure.

»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]

Bailey Avenue was silent this evening, the snow drifting from the sky muffling all noise. To the average passer by, it would appear that the car contained only a driver—a mid-thirties, thickset ginger of a man by the name of Rudy Fallon. The average passer by would be wrong however, as the car contained a passenger, albeit one who could not (or rather did not want to) be seen or heard. Rudy lit a cigarette, holding the first lungful for a long moment before exhaling.

“You getting out, buddy?” he said to apparently thin air.

“How'd you know I was still here?” a voice said from the back seat. The car engine stuttered briefly.

“'Cause I'd still be here if I were you,” Rudy replied. “Must suck being dead on Christmas Eve.”

If Drew Davis, recently deceased Bureau of Paranormal Research and defense agent, could have sighed, he would have. He looked out the window towards the snow-covered, two story, white house they were parked across the street from. Warm light shone from the living room windows, and he could see the back of his father's head over the worn armchair that sat next to the Christmas tree sitting in front of the windows. They'd be opening their stockings—a Davis family Chritmas Eve tradition. This was the first Christmas he hadn't been sitting in there with them.

“Ain't got all night,” Rudy said, taking another puff on his cigarette.

Steeling his resolve, Drew left the car, drifting through the door, across the street, up the drive, and through the wall of his childhood bedroom. Things had changed since he was a kid. Aunt Ida had moved in when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and where the walls had once sported football posters and painted on rocketships, they now were covered in pictures of kittens and embroidered lace doilies. A floral bedspread covered the bed he slept on as a child.

He heard familiar voices from the front room—his father, mother, aunt. Another voice he hadn't heard since his funeral.

“Matt, could you help me peel the potatoes?” his mother's voice called from the kitchen.

From the slightly opened door of Aunt Ida's bedroom, Drew caught a glimpse of his brother, whose presence hadn't graced the Davis house in many a year, get up from the couch and shuffle into the kitchen. It was more than he could take right now. A few moments later, the air in the car grew substantially more chill.

“Told you it would just get you riled up,” Rudy said, cracking the door and flicking his cigarette butt into the snow.

“Let's just go, Rudy,” Drew's disembodied voice replied, this time from the passenger seat. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

[THE STAFF]