BASIC INFO
| NAME: | Devon Rex |
| A.K.A.: | Dev, Rex, Idiot |
| CANON: | Original / Animais |
| HOMEWORLD: | AU Earth |
| AGE: | Appears 17, is much older technically. |
| GENDER: | Male |
| SPECIES: | Human |
| GAME: | ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png) saltburnt |
| Contact: | ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico) witchpunk or PM |
FIRST GLANCE
| HEIGHT: | 5'8" |
| BUILD: | Thin, scrappy. |
| HAIR: | Dark brown |
| EYES: | Brown |
| DRESS: | Youthful, layered. |
| SCENT: | Blood, body spray. |
| DEMEANOR: | Bratty, argumentative. |
| KINKS: | x |
PERMISSIONS
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| BACKTAGGING: | ✔ |
| 4TH-WALLING: | ✘ |
| THREADJACKING: | ✔ |
| MIND-READING: | ✘ - ask |
| FIGHTING: | ✔ |
| ROMANCE: | ✔ |
| INJURY: | ✔ |
| KILLING: | ✔ - ask |
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Devon Rex
Family's Crash-Test Dummy
HISTORY
When he was about six years old, Devon and his parents were in a horrific car accident; both of them perished along with their driver, but Devon survived the wreck. It was the first of many catalysts that shaped his life from there on in - family members scrambled to find him somewhere to grow up, with his wealthy aunt taking him in when nobody else could - or would.
He lived with her for a handful of years, raised by nannies and hired help due to his aunt's elderly age. She taught him what she could of manners and the importance of appearances - and to her face he would always play the part of a good 'son'. Whether that was because he knew there was an ever looming threat of rehoming or because he genuinely respected her as the only figure in his life to raise him is... up for debate. Devon, as he is now, is not very forthcoming with truths when he can embellish things with lies instead.
When he was twelve he was sent abroad to study at a prestigious boarding school and spent the next handful of years approaching his graduation, finding a reputation as something of a trouble-maker or class clown and almost getting ejected more than once. However his aunt's wealth and status kept him there, despite it all.
In 2011 he made his pact with Raíz. Coincidentally the year his boarding school burned to the ground and also the year his aunt's obituary hit the papers. All coincidental, surely.
ABOUT DEVON
Devon feels no pain, claims he never has even before his pact with Raíz.
His healing factor resets him back to the state his body was in when he made his pact. This means his organs will restore themselves, including teeth and eyes. But he'll never get this poor tonsils back, since they were taken out when he was 8.
THE BLOOD PACT
Some would call her a story, others a deity; to the Institute, she's an Unauthorized Passenger. Raíz is what she calls herself, and she's a multidimensional entity that pops over to our reality every now and then to see how she can mess with its fabric. It's a bit like checking on an ant farm, except she can talk like the ants, look like them, and then tell them to go poke holes and/or survive against another multidimensional being's magnifying glass in the sun.
It's simple — she finds someone with big dreams and makes it possible for them at the end of a hundred year blood pact. Work for her in that time, and once it's up, that great impossible thing you wished for will be all yours! We could give you examples, but the people who get into these blood pacts proceed to forget what they asked for, and won't remember until time's up. You're just going to have to trust her — and your past self.
Whatever age you're at when you agree to make the pact, that's where you're staying for the duration of the contract. Temporary agelessness can be prolonged through 'infractions', which range from breaking rules or just doing something that makes Raíz (semi-affectionately and semi-sarcastically called 'Mom') sad, or immediately revoked if she thinks you really fucked up. If revoked, your body instantly matches your chronological age, and chances are it'll be extremely painful or extremely deadly.
The people she signs into her little group get new names and neat super powers so facilitate fulfilling their 'missions'. What are these missions? Whatever she feels like sending you off to do, which can be mundane or battling monsters, if not something grander, possibly world-ending. There's something for everyone, but there's also a lot of downtime. That's why there's a nice boarding school by and for the obscenely rich style house where they can live, train and bicker together. You don't have to, but if Mom is in town from reality-hopping and wants to gather all her kids for dinner, you better show up and have fun. It's another infraction if you don't, and she'll just show up wherever you are and bring you over, be it from down the street or on the other side of the world.
Raíz likes to think of herself as a cool benefactor, that she's nice and fun, but the power dynamic is demonstrably horrendous and condescending, not least of all because she assigns her subjects new names and thought it'd be appropriate if they were always based on animals. (Using your real name makes her sad, by the way. You know what that means by now.)
The Institute, which specializes in capturing, researching and controlling all kinds of anomalies they consider a threat to humanity, though they'd prefer to use them as weapons instead. They've been trying to catch Raíz and her subjects for a while; sometimes they succeed with the latter, but she eventually shows up and yoinks her pets from their cells to sit them down at the dinner table again, so it all works out.
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[ JUNE 2025 - AU MONTH ]
Kieran's parents died when he was young and he survived the high-profile wreckage; his face was on the front of every newspaper, the orphaned son of a newly elected politician that had been promising perhaps just a little too much change, too quickly. Not unlike the death of a certain Princess of Wales, rumors rumbled everywhere - but nothing ever came of them. Resentfully, life went on.
Kieran bounced around until his ancient aunt took him in for stability, enrolling him in boarding school and putting up with his unruly behavior as she attempted to set him up for success down the road. Unfortunately she only got so far, and after her passing - guardianship (and the fortune he was heir to) had to go to someone...
cheat sheet[ SEPTEMBER 2025 - COMMUNE ]
Marker of: None.
Marked by: Cellar Spider (throat)
Mannerisms: Bratty and crude, tends to make jokes regardless of whether or not they're appropriate. (A coping mechanism, what?) He is impulsive, always handling or fidgeting with something or else he is uncomfortable staying still. Chews his lip. Has little to any shame. Would do anything for the right price.
Dreams/Nightmares: Dreams of seclusion, being far away from shore, from people - out of earshot, possibly forgotten. The thick smell of smoke, of high licking flames on a familiar building. Broken glass and bloody palms, a blurred sense of reality and the utter feeling of total, incomprehensible loss.
Fleshworker, a curved bone needle.
Task: Modifies bodies, heals wounds, and perfects the flesh.
Transformation:
☩ They can touch a wound and feel what needs to be mended or broken. Their fingers yearn to perfect blemishes and injuries. They feel compelled to fix, even against someone's will; they begin to deliberately cause injuries to others, just to be able to feel the rush of fixing them.
☩ Those they heal require constant upkeep and maintenance from the Fleshworker, lest their bodies fall apart in their absence.
☩ Their own body does not always feel right. Bones shift under their skin, their fingers move before they intend. Some nights, they wake up with new anatomy — extra ribs, organs that should not exist, new joints — but by morning, they are gone.
☩ The more they heal, the less human they feel. Their fingertips turn black at the edges, their veins shift beneath the skin, their pupils turn dark and empty.
☩ They feel every wound they heal. Each broken bone, each torn muscle, each tear. It festers and flares inside of them, absorbing their patients’ pain. Their skin begins to collect every scar, every slice, every scab like a living tapestry of the commune’s injuries. At night, they toss and turn, feeling every incision they made or pain they cured that day.
☩ Their repairs are too perfect or subtly wrong; healed bodies seem just slightly unnatural, too smooth, too strong, or uncanny in some way. Mended skin turns numb. Fingertips lose feeling. Bones become unbreakable or brittle.
☩ Their presence is soothing. Fear, pain, grief — all negative emotions fade when they are near, replaced by comfort and even elation.