carry on my wayward son
Name: Snow
Personal LJ: whitehaired
Contact Info:
AIM: yasoinaba
E-mail: nivosusum @ gmail
Plurk: snowji
Other Characters Played: N/A
Preferred Housing: N/A
Character Name: Dean Winchester
Character Series: Supernatural
Character Age: 32
Background: Official Wikipedia, Supernatural Wikia
Personality:
If he'd lived a normal life, Dean would have been a regular ol' red-white-and-blue blooded, apple pie eating, ball playing All American Boy. ... Technically he still kinda is, but the life of a hunter, and later on the apocalypse itself, sorta puts a damper on all that shit, don't it?
Dean is, through and through, a soldier to the core, fighting every battle he comes across (against common sense and better judgment sometimes, which causes him to have a lot of Big Damn Hero moments). He is, however, also a very broken soldier. He can smile and joke and pretend well enough, but on the inside he's jaded and aching, the signs showing daily. Bogged down by guilt and the memories of his time Downstairs, he gets maybe three or four hours of actual rest a night after more than a dozen drinks a day. The man is trying to drink himself to death, and very little stops him. He himself has said on more than one occasion that he is, at the very least, half crazy. You have to be, to be a hunter.
Self-depreciating, miserable, and faithless, to all appearances Dean is lost in the bottom of a bottle with nothing left to stop him from saying "yes" to becoming the archangel Michael's vessel, or just outright losing his life in a case. When God Himself says that the apocalypse is none of His concern, an apocalypse that Dean unwittingly started, it's easy to see where Dean is coming from.
But somehow, he gets up in the morning. Somehow, he goes out to the Impala, his brother at his side and an angel on speed dial, and he tries. By god--God--he tries. And maybe he's had a few bumps along the way, a few instances where he almost did say yes to Michael, he keeps on telling the angels and demons, the entire supernatural populous, to stick it where the sun don't shine.
It's the faith others have in him. Sam and Cas and Bobby, the people they've met through their insane travels, his family, as fucked up as it is, they all believe in him for some deranged reason. Dean himself doesn't understand, but it compels him to not let these people down. They're the ones that keep him from drowning in booze and guilt, the ones that get him up in the morning. They are his world, and are the ones that let him be himself between killing demons and dispelling ghosts.
When at ease, Dean is... quite the character, to say the least. His maturity level is questionale at times, belonging more to a five-year-old than a 32-year-old. This goes for his sense of humor as well, as it quickly becomes apparent that he's simultaneously grim and immature, the kind of guy who could switch between toilet and gallows humor without missing a beat. Not to say he isn't intelligent or charming, oh hell no. Maybe he's not the smartest guy around, and maybe he doesn't have a lot of common sense, but Dean's smart when it comes to the physical aspect of things: hand him something and he'll figure it out on his own, even if he'll bitch about it in the process.
And despite his often times awkward interactions with people, he's pretty good at at least pretending to fit in and go with the flow. He enjoys being around others, though he knows that he can't ever stay in one place for too long. Also something of a womanizer, Dean greatly enjoys the company of the fairer sex, though it was far more prominent in earlier years. Since the apocalypse, he's largely cooled his heels and focuses on other things. Doesn't mean he won't flirt or tease, but he's... somewhat of a tease regardless of gender. A playful, snarky smartass even if he's mouthing off to something that could break his neck, he acts familiar with anyone and everyone, whether the relationship is positive or negative.
Abilities:
Raised as a hunter since the death of his mother, Dean is skilled with and knowledgeable in a variety of things:
- the use and maintenance of firearms, with typically exceptional results
- superb hand-to-hand combat of no specific style
- the ability to pick locks and mend wounds with just about anything he can get his hands on (ie: dental floss for stitches)
- capability of thinking on his feet and improvising at the last second, though also displays skills in pre-planning contrary to typical gung-ho head-first actions
- a wide range of knowledge regarding the supernatural, going from demons to vampires to skinwalkers to roogaroo to wraiths, whether it's how they can be killed, warded off, or identified
- typically above-average senses, though intuition is the strongest and common sense is the weakest
- ability to understand how most human objects work through touch, observation, and time, and how to dismantle/repair them (specifically cars)
- knowledge of the workings of various U.S. agencies (ie: FBI, CDC) and how to copy their IDs believably
- excellent liar/actor/bender of truths to get information and what they need for cases
- an insane level of pain tolerance for a human, due in part to being tortured in Hell for 40 years and how often he gets throttled by monsters on Earth
- an intimate knowledge of how to effectively torture someone, though he typically refuses to utilize it
- the ability to run really really fast away from really really scary things
- the ability to smarm and be a general wiseass at things that could kill him in the blink of an eye without (too much) fear of the consequences (right away)
Sample Entry:
[ After a moment of the line being filled with munching (angry munching, mind you!), Dean finally speaks up. ]
All right, look. I've been forced into all kinds of crazy shit these past couple years. Altnerate realities, the past, sitcoms. But Pleasantville, USA? Not one of them, and definitely not someplace I wanted to visit after the apocalypse.
[ A pause as he grouchily shoves a forkful of something into his mouth. This something is actually an apple pie made by a drone wife that is probably off making more elsewhere. ]
Cas? Bobby? Sammy? Much as I'd love to sit around and eat pie all damn day, I'd like an idea of what the hell's going on even better.
And I wanna know where my baby is. [ Read as: Impala. ] All of my gear... [ The grumbling fades away to even more grumpy eating. ]
( See also here if you want a bit more. )
Personal LJ: whitehaired
Contact Info:
AIM: yasoinaba
E-mail: nivosusum @ gmail
Plurk: snowji
Other Characters Played: N/A
Preferred Housing: N/A
Character Name: Dean Winchester
Character Series: Supernatural
Character Age: 32
Background: Official Wikipedia, Supernatural Wikia
Personality:
If he'd lived a normal life, Dean would have been a regular ol' red-white-and-blue blooded, apple pie eating, ball playing All American Boy. ... Technically he still kinda is, but the life of a hunter, and later on the apocalypse itself, sorta puts a damper on all that shit, don't it?
Dean is, through and through, a soldier to the core, fighting every battle he comes across (against common sense and better judgment sometimes, which causes him to have a lot of Big Damn Hero moments). He is, however, also a very broken soldier. He can smile and joke and pretend well enough, but on the inside he's jaded and aching, the signs showing daily. Bogged down by guilt and the memories of his time Downstairs, he gets maybe three or four hours of actual rest a night after more than a dozen drinks a day. The man is trying to drink himself to death, and very little stops him. He himself has said on more than one occasion that he is, at the very least, half crazy. You have to be, to be a hunter.
Self-depreciating, miserable, and faithless, to all appearances Dean is lost in the bottom of a bottle with nothing left to stop him from saying "yes" to becoming the archangel Michael's vessel, or just outright losing his life in a case. When God Himself says that the apocalypse is none of His concern, an apocalypse that Dean unwittingly started, it's easy to see where Dean is coming from.
But somehow, he gets up in the morning. Somehow, he goes out to the Impala, his brother at his side and an angel on speed dial, and he tries. By god--God--he tries. And maybe he's had a few bumps along the way, a few instances where he almost did say yes to Michael, he keeps on telling the angels and demons, the entire supernatural populous, to stick it where the sun don't shine.
It's the faith others have in him. Sam and Cas and Bobby, the people they've met through their insane travels, his family, as fucked up as it is, they all believe in him for some deranged reason. Dean himself doesn't understand, but it compels him to not let these people down. They're the ones that keep him from drowning in booze and guilt, the ones that get him up in the morning. They are his world, and are the ones that let him be himself between killing demons and dispelling ghosts.
When at ease, Dean is... quite the character, to say the least. His maturity level is questionale at times, belonging more to a five-year-old than a 32-year-old. This goes for his sense of humor as well, as it quickly becomes apparent that he's simultaneously grim and immature, the kind of guy who could switch between toilet and gallows humor without missing a beat. Not to say he isn't intelligent or charming, oh hell no. Maybe he's not the smartest guy around, and maybe he doesn't have a lot of common sense, but Dean's smart when it comes to the physical aspect of things: hand him something and he'll figure it out on his own, even if he'll bitch about it in the process.
And despite his often times awkward interactions with people, he's pretty good at at least pretending to fit in and go with the flow. He enjoys being around others, though he knows that he can't ever stay in one place for too long. Also something of a womanizer, Dean greatly enjoys the company of the fairer sex, though it was far more prominent in earlier years. Since the apocalypse, he's largely cooled his heels and focuses on other things. Doesn't mean he won't flirt or tease, but he's... somewhat of a tease regardless of gender. A playful, snarky smartass even if he's mouthing off to something that could break his neck, he acts familiar with anyone and everyone, whether the relationship is positive or negative.
Abilities:
Raised as a hunter since the death of his mother, Dean is skilled with and knowledgeable in a variety of things:
- the use and maintenance of firearms, with typically exceptional results
- superb hand-to-hand combat of no specific style
- the ability to pick locks and mend wounds with just about anything he can get his hands on (ie: dental floss for stitches)
- capability of thinking on his feet and improvising at the last second, though also displays skills in pre-planning contrary to typical gung-ho head-first actions
- a wide range of knowledge regarding the supernatural, going from demons to vampires to skinwalkers to roogaroo to wraiths, whether it's how they can be killed, warded off, or identified
- typically above-average senses, though intuition is the strongest and common sense is the weakest
- ability to understand how most human objects work through touch, observation, and time, and how to dismantle/repair them (specifically cars)
- knowledge of the workings of various U.S. agencies (ie: FBI, CDC) and how to copy their IDs believably
- excellent liar/actor/bender of truths to get information and what they need for cases
- an insane level of pain tolerance for a human, due in part to being tortured in Hell for 40 years and how often he gets throttled by monsters on Earth
- an intimate knowledge of how to effectively torture someone, though he typically refuses to utilize it
- the ability to run really really fast away from really really scary things
- the ability to smarm and be a general wiseass at things that could kill him in the blink of an eye without (too much) fear of the consequences (right away)
Sample Entry:
[ After a moment of the line being filled with munching (angry munching, mind you!), Dean finally speaks up. ]
All right, look. I've been forced into all kinds of crazy shit these past couple years. Altnerate realities, the past, sitcoms. But Pleasantville, USA? Not one of them, and definitely not someplace I wanted to visit after the apocalypse.
[ A pause as he grouchily shoves a forkful of something into his mouth. This something is actually an apple pie made by a drone wife that is probably off making more elsewhere. ]
Cas? Bobby? Sammy? Much as I'd love to sit around and eat pie all damn day, I'd like an idea of what the hell's going on even better.
And I wanna know where my baby is. [ Read as: Impala. ] All of my gear... [ The grumbling fades away to even more grumpy eating. ]
( See also here if you want a bit more. )