Polo and Inkerz: 'Janté'

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Polo and Inkerz: 'Janté'

Post  Polo trapped in an inkpot on Wed Feb 05, 2014 12:55 pm

Danté Oberon (24)

Role in Story: Destroy Hashworld, then seek out Jesse to repair him.

Occupation: Underground hacker for Xerox.
 

Physical Description: Completely colourless, translucent skin, smooth as alabaster. Very handsome face; sharp and narrow nose, clear, high cheekbones and an angular jaw, beautifully defined, and ending in a narrow chin which juts out slightly below his proud, thin lips. Fairly long neck with strong muscles stretching into broad, well-held shoulders. Thick, muscular arms and a strong, toned body. He has the build of a boxer; strong, but athletic, although he’s also fairly tall and skinny. He has the typical pale, smooth look of a vampire, by no fault of his own. He was born without pigmentation, which was what eventually led to the cruel burn scars marring most of his left side, from just above his hip across most of his chest and his shoulder. His face, unfortunately, suffered the worst of it, so he covers it with a white porcelain mask. His hair is a shocking jet black, shaved from above his ear to his parting, then falling in a long, shining wave across the other side of his face, mostly covering his mask. It is cut in layers, and spikes out savagely at the top before falling in a jagged curtain about his face. He dresses in a black trenchcoat with a high collar, a loose, button-up white shirt and a pair of smart black suit pants, usually finished with a pair of tough, heavy leather boots and a stylish white scarf which he often wraps up to hide his face.

Personality: Danté is a smart man; proud and confident in himself if not his appearance, and generally level-headed, although he becomes easily unstable when faced with reminders of his past. He likes to be in control, to be the one to call the shots, and he hates relying on anybody. His personal motto seems to be ‘We’re born alone to die alone’, and he feels no sadness for this. He feels no need for acceptance, and wastes no time trying to impress others. He will always call it as he sees it, no matter how blunt, no matter how rude, though seldom with malicious intentions. The only kinds of people he’s willing to tolerate are those that are as completely, brutally honest as himself, because they are the only ones he respects. The only ones he’d dare trust, even a little. He’s ambitious with a dry sense of humour and a sharp tongue, and he’ll do just about anything to reach his goals, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his strong yet somewhat controversial moral code. In his way, he is compassionate; he pities the helpless, and deep within him lingers a nurturing instinct born from caring for his younger sisters, though throughout his adult life, the nurturing has been doted mostly upon soothing his own troubled mind enough to keep his sanity.

Habits/Mannerisms: Danté is terrified of fire, and not fond of any kind of heat. He takes cold baths, cold showers, and becomes dizzy from heatstroke within moments under the sun on a hot day. He speaks with a bitter edge, and always seems to have his arms folded in front of him when he speaks to people, clearly on the defensive. Although his voice is clear, he speaks with his mouth half-open, reluctant to speak at all, and this often amounts to his words sounding muffled. He always seems to flatten his hair when he’s stressed, and on the rare occasion that he finds himself happy or pleased, he’ll usually crack a joke and respond with some kind of light, aggressive gesture. He hates white but loves colour, and he can’t stand watching movies of any kind. He does, however, adore the sound of birdsong. In fact, he could gladly spend hours just watching the majestic creatures, wondering what it would be like to fly through the sky. Heights have always been something of a romance for him, and he always loves to be high up.
 

Background: Danté was born to a poor family in Singuerlín, heart of the slums in Spain. Under the hot Spanish son, all of his peers and neighbours held the same dark complexion to match their black hair and eyes, whilst Danté himself was shockingly pale in comparison; his skin perfectly smooth, and devoid of the expected dirt sores and pockmarks. This rapidly led to the urban legend that Danté was, in fact, a vampire.
The community was an uneducated one, and with times as tough as they were, the myth became something for the people’s troubled minds to fixate upon, distracting from the issues of reality. Danté rapidly became their scapegoat. And as they blamed every disaster, be it big or small, on the pale-skinned boy, the community’s fear and hatred of him only began to grow. By the time he turned twelve, things had grown out of hand. A young child; a little girl with whom Danté had sometimes played, had been found dead in an alleyway on the outskirts of town, her little skirt ripped and blood dripping from wounds all over her body - the deepest on her throat. That was when the village had declared that the vampire should be burned at the stake.
Danté was dragged up to a wooden cross, kicking and screaming, while his family - mother, father, two younger sisters and an older brother - looked on in silence. He shrieked and thrashed, crying out to them for help, but they all just looked on with the same resentment smouldering in eyes all around him, along with perhaps a small degree of shock. Not once did his father think to step up to protect him, nor did his mother shed a tear. The dull looks in their eyes at that moment would haunt him for the rest of his life; for when the kindling was lit and he felt his young body go up in flames, that was when his entire family - from his sixty year old father to his youngest, five year old sister - became dead to him.

The storm that hit that night was the only reason Danté survived. The crowd fled and dispersed at the first strike of lightning, leaving him for dead, and as the fire burned through the ropes binding him, Danté managed to pull free and throw himself down in the mud, rolling around until he was extinguished. He crawled as far as he could from that cruel place, until he finally passed out beside a large, busy road. At some point a kind passer-by stopped to pick him up and deliver him to the hospital, where his life was saved, even if his skin was not.

He was left to fend for himself after that, and after the first laptop he stole to trade for food, Danté found his one true calling; he was the best hacker the world had ever seen. With nothing but a single, high-tech laptop to his name, he fled to England, where he holed himself up in a tiny apartment to take on freelance hacking. The world feared his scarred face, and yet on the web, his name was whispered at every corner, dark and foreboding. He was a legend, and no job was too large. Until they caught him.
It had been early in the game, and he was still inexperienced when he was given the commission to hack into Xerox and leak their latest software. He had made a mistake, for a the genius Max Jefferson of their IT department had logged on while Danté was inside the system, and had managed to trace his IP address back to the tiny apartment. At first he had thought that all was lost, that he would be dragged off to prison for life, but that was not the case. Instead, Xerox offered him a compromise: he would work exclusively for them, and in return, they would refrain from turning him in.


Now, the company has commissioned him with their largest mission yet: Hack in, and destroy Hashworld. 
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Polo trapped in an inkpot

Posts : 8695
Join date : 2010-04-14
Age : 23
Location : With the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head...

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