(no subject)
Please allow me to introduce myself; I'm a man of wealth and taste.
No, I'm sorry, that isn't quite true. For one, I don't have a single penny on me. And considering that what I do have on me is a brightly-colored Hawaiian polo shirt, I think both wealth and taste can be safely ruled out. Although I can say with certainty that I am a man, I suppose that, logically derived from a song lyric, I don't deserve sympathy.
Well fancy that.
The meaning of my life, in a nutshell: Dexter doesn't deserve sympathy. Not dark dangerous Dexter, the monster.
I would like to think that I do. I have a loving sister, which is horrible. I am currently engaged to a beautiful woman who I like spending time with, which is awful. And that one experience I had with the strippers (which just may be at the top of every male's fantasy to-do list) certainly wasn't the highlight of my overly-eventful life. If I could be traumatized forever, I would be. To top it all off, here I am, stranded in a strange place. Dear deserted Dexter, certainly not in Miami anymore, and without my wooden box of slides; that was the important thing.
And to make things worse, I had just walked into a room that seemed like it was a gathering place for -- I don't know what, even.
"Hi," I said, almost forgetting to put a friendly expression on. Human emotions were once incredibly strange and alien to me, and still are, but I learned the rules over the years. Rule #23: If you're meeting a lot of strangers, smile and look like you actually want to meet all of them, no matter how much you feel like running away. "I'm Dexter. Uh, Dexter Morgan, if you're all coincidentally from the Miami Police Department. It's where I work. You probably wouldn't recognize me, otherwise."
My expression became slightly sheepish. "And, well, I suddenly found myself outside this place. Sorry if I'm interrupting anything."
That seemed natural enough, didn't it?
[[Typist: So! That horribly rambly intro was written in first-person narration because that's the easiest way to play this character properly. If it bothers too many people (and if it bothers me!) I may switch back to third-person, but I figured I'd give it a whirl. I bet it's difficult to respond to, though, ahaha.
That being said, this is Dexter Morgan from Jeff Lindsay's two books: Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter. It's also a new show on Showtime, but I'm not using anything from that canon (except the prettiness that is Michael C. Hall-- and the connection to the Rolling Stones song. >___>). And he really is human, too! And most people shouldn't notice anything strange about him. He's not an alien. Or a demon. Etc. ... Just wanted to say, because this is DF and anything is expected. Even the Spanish Inquisition--]]
No, I'm sorry, that isn't quite true. For one, I don't have a single penny on me. And considering that what I do have on me is a brightly-colored Hawaiian polo shirt, I think both wealth and taste can be safely ruled out. Although I can say with certainty that I am a man, I suppose that, logically derived from a song lyric, I don't deserve sympathy.
Well fancy that.
The meaning of my life, in a nutshell: Dexter doesn't deserve sympathy. Not dark dangerous Dexter, the monster.
I would like to think that I do. I have a loving sister, which is horrible. I am currently engaged to a beautiful woman who I like spending time with, which is awful. And that one experience I had with the strippers (which just may be at the top of every male's fantasy to-do list) certainly wasn't the highlight of my overly-eventful life. If I could be traumatized forever, I would be. To top it all off, here I am, stranded in a strange place. Dear deserted Dexter, certainly not in Miami anymore, and without my wooden box of slides; that was the important thing.
And to make things worse, I had just walked into a room that seemed like it was a gathering place for -- I don't know what, even.
"Hi," I said, almost forgetting to put a friendly expression on. Human emotions were once incredibly strange and alien to me, and still are, but I learned the rules over the years. Rule #23: If you're meeting a lot of strangers, smile and look like you actually want to meet all of them, no matter how much you feel like running away. "I'm Dexter. Uh, Dexter Morgan, if you're all coincidentally from the Miami Police Department. It's where I work. You probably wouldn't recognize me, otherwise."
My expression became slightly sheepish. "And, well, I suddenly found myself outside this place. Sorry if I'm interrupting anything."
That seemed natural enough, didn't it?
[[Typist: So! That horribly rambly intro was written in first-person narration because that's the easiest way to play this character properly. If it bothers too many people (and if it bothers me!) I may switch back to third-person, but I figured I'd give it a whirl. I bet it's difficult to respond to, though, ahaha.
That being said, this is Dexter Morgan from Jeff Lindsay's two books: Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter. It's also a new show on Showtime, but I'm not using anything from that canon (except the prettiness that is Michael C. Hall-- and the connection to the Rolling Stones song. >___>). And he really is human, too! And most people shouldn't notice anything strange about him. He's not an alien. Or a demon. Etc. ... Just wanted to say, because this is DF and anything is expected. Even the Spanish Inquisition--]]