Hawke, Devlin, ;; gray

[DEVLIN HAWKE]

devlin hawke

Devlin Hawke has no idea how he got here. He’s fairly sure he was born in this wasteland of a city and someone had to have named him at one point, but Dev’s been on his own for long enough that he doesn’t quite think on it anymore.

Looking at himself, Devlin knows it probably wouldn’t shock anyone to find out he lived in a sewer. With pale, almost translucent, skin and his long fingers, he sometimes feels like some sort of fairy tale creature. The shock of his dark brown hair tops his thin body like a mop; odd grey-green eyes, like the sky before a tornado hits, peer out between the shaggy fringe. Dev estimates he’s about 5’ 7” nowadays, but as he’s never been to a doctor, it’s all a guess. He figures that’s one part of him that he doesn’t really care to know, unlike the question of who his parents are or how old he is.

Devlin has very faint memories of being cared for—he must have been very small when those who birthed him left. Those he has come to accept as elementals, spirits, and sprites help him to keep his home running and taught him how to use his skills for the best. Most days, Devlin wakes to a kettle screaming, its boiling water ready to be poured over the loose tea mix Dev made by swiping handfuls of spices from the kitchens he sometimes works in for pocket money. He rolls out of his hammock, pulls on his jeans and gets to work.

There are irrigation systems to be checked—a slow trickle of water combined with some sort of magic keeps some basic root vegetables growing out of the walls of Devlin’s subterranean home—and gears to be checked. There are times when the damp of the sewers causes iron gears to rust over, creak, and flat out stop working. These are the most frustrating moments, as the store-bought oils and solutions for rust made the sprites shriek and elementals disappear. Devlin had taken to using vegetable oil to grease the gears of his home and he soaked those already affected in vinegar. He greased all the mechanics once a day, but those he used often, like those to open the door to the outside world, he medicated at least three times a day—Devlin had no desire to be locked out of his own home.

Devlin looks like he’s somewhere between 16-19 years old, and therefore would have no opportunity to have a normal life, even if he should want one. He has very little knowledge of where he is, or its history. He knows he is in Plymouth, Massachusetts; he knows he is something more than human that allows him to enjoy his solitary lifestyle with the sprites. Devlin can read, write, and speak in English, but cannot do more than simple math and he sometimes forgets the words for things. There is a lilt to his quiet voice, a sort of Irish accent that intensifies under pressure.

The outside world is like a sedative to Devlin. He feels like he is sometimes in a dream when walking on concrete streets surrounded by steel; he is much more at home in his caverns. Devlin is a good sous chef and works as a short order cook when his lifestyle allows him. He also has been a busboy, dog walker, maintenance man, and lawnmower. He is often out and about the city, especially in the parks or in the Gap, touching trees, laying in the grass, or soaking in the sun. There are many times that he wishes there is someone he could ask questions to about what he is, but there is always just him. Just Devlin and the spirits.

I'm et, you can reach me via PM. my character is played by skandar keynes and is a gray.

[CECY ANABLE]

accepted!

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