Post by Daniel Slame on Aug 23, 2011 9:38:01 GMT -5
Daniel | Nathan | Slame
31, Hunters, Ex-Homicide Detective, Eddie Cibrian
WHO ARE YOU? I REALLY WANNA KNOW
"Oh, joy to my life; I get to talk about myself now. Really, I can die frikken happy, because you're poking into my private life, asking questions and bringing up shit. This was how I wanted to spend a perfectly good Tuesday. Yeah, baby!
So...oh yeah, who am I. Right. Well, the name’s Daniel Slame, but most people just call me Danny...or douchebag, but I prefer the former. Jealous bastards.
If I had to describe myself, I'd say that I was more of an...acquired taste. I'm not exactly the angriest guy on the reservation by far, but mess with me and I'll show you what I REALLY think of you. Got it? Get it? Good.
Life before Happy Land- aka, the time before I knew there were toothy, hairy freaks who went bump in the night- had me feeling okay with myself, I guess. I think I was much more easygoing and had a thing for fiery brunettes and back closets, but now...now, I can't stand being close to people. That's why I'm always moving around and get twitchy when I settle down for too long. Sure, I’ve been sticking around Louisiana for longer than the other places, but I blame that on the fact I haven’t slept in almost a week. I have a few friends and contacts here and there, but hell, they all know I'm only around them to watch their back, and for 'em to watch mine. All that 'sharing and caring' crap went out the window when I watched my girlfriend be eviscerated by my vampire-junkie ex-partner.
Can you kinda guess why I hate anything vampire related? I’ve kind of made it my life’s work to pull a Van Helsing and bring as many of them down as I possibly can.
So...yeah, that's pretty much what Danny Marcone’s like. He's kind of an asshole, kind of paranoid (and proud of it), a loner...oh, and he's really, ridiculously sexy. With huge biceps. And a downstairs that would make a nun weep.
Cocky? Me? Hell with you, man. Jealousy don't become you."
A POLICEMAN KNEW MY NAME[/u]
"That would be because I was a cop, dumbass. 'Was' being the operative word...but I guess I'm getting ahead of myself.
So I originally, was born in San Paolo, Texas and...truth be told, I was filthy stinkin' rich, man. When you say Bill Gates has more money than God, you should've met my old man; William Titan V. Sounds like he was a czar, or something, right? Well, he definitely ran his household like he was one. Lemme tell you; just because you grew up with everything, doesn't mean you have everything. Dig?
But anyway, Pops wanted me to become some senator, or the next president, so he sent me to a really expensive boarding school in London. To be expected, since him and my mom- she used to be a really famous Italian movie star in the 80's; only the best for my dad- were getting reacquainted. Out there, on my own for the first time, I felt free. I made friends, did pretty damn well, academic wise...but then I found underground gambling, and...yeah. I always did have a problem, controlling my urges back then. I'm not afraid to say it; I am a gamblaholic.
Once word reached Dad that I'd basically pissed away half my trust fund on cards, he had me come home and locked me in the mansion for a while. Really hard, right? But let me tell you; not allowing your addiction to run free is like shoving bamboo shards up your nails, so don't knock it. During this time, Mom and Dad were always screaming at one another, but I didn't think anything of it, 'cause...well, that was most of my childhood. Then, after I'd managed to sneak out one night through the attic and score a nice hit on the ponies...I came home to find Mom floating in the bathtub. Face down.
I left soon after that. Dad disinherited me when he couldn't find me; I guess he told everyone I died, or something. I lived on the streets for a while; mostly in New York's illegal gaming halls, or wherever else I could find. It wasn't a pretty time of my life, let me tell you. 17, and already I hated the world.
That's pretty much when I met Mama Paoletti; Scourge of Little Italy. She found me picking through her garbage- don't judge; like I said, I'm not proud of myself back then- and kind of...forcibly adopted me. She took me in, cleaned me up and declared I looked like gutter slime, or 'slame,' as she said in her weird lower Manhattan accent.
Thus, Danny Slame was born. Booyaw, bitches.
Because of Mama Paoletti, I turned my life around; went to meetings, stopped drinking and even joined the Police Academy. I graduated with honors and then got my Detective's badge when I turned 28. I was one of the youngest guys in the department to win it and I was damn proud of it. Homicide was my calling and I was good at it.
That is, until three years later, when my partner, Chris Gallagher, turned out to be the Hudson River Slasher. I just can't catch a break, let me effin' tell you.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night, when the blinders really came off. I’d just come off an all night shift- because paperwork is the enemy and I tend to procrastinate like a fiend- and figured hey, why not mosey on over to my girl Tanya’s house and break open a bottle of wine? There was a strawberry moon outside and it wasn’t exactly morning yet; why not try something romantic for the love of my life? So, there I was; standing on the front stoop with some weeds I’d picked on the corner and a chilled bottle in my hands, feeling like I owned the world…when I heard a crash coming from inside. Down went the weeds and the bottle, out came my extra piece and I was inside in a heartbeat.
I did the usual sweep; hallway first, downstairs, covered the closed doors, then headed up the stairs. I could smell something strange…metallic. Working the ‘Dead Beat’ for the past couple years had me realizing what that meant and I could feel my gut just start to roil. I didn’t want to open the semi-closed bedroom door, but I could hear breathing and the bedsprings squeaking…
Let me tell you, friend, I had no fucking clue about anything supernatural before that night. For me, life was pretty black and white; you had the bad guys, who killed people for money, greed and revenge. Then there were the good guys; the ones, like me, who hunted the bad ones down and made them pay for the laws they broke and the lives they took. There wasn’t any such thing as werewolves or vampires, outside of the movies. There was just…Goth kids and rabies.
So when I saw ‘ol Chris, my closest friend, holding Tanya’s slit throat over a bowl, which he handed off to some preppy looking guy in a business suit, who immediately guzzled it down like it was some kind of cheap scotch? I didn’t know what to do.
Except start shooting at the blood covered thing with the gleaming fangs. I managed to pop a couple off in him, but the fucker moved so fast, I was through the fucking wall before I could blink. When I came to, Chris was hovering over me with this…crazy look on his face. He was holding my arm over that damn bowl, now, and I was tied to the bed. Tanya was looking right at me…through me…
Then, things go pretty dark. I’m told that it’s my mind blocking shit out, but from what my old friends in the department managed to slip passed IA for me was the responding officers had to pull me off of a bloody stain on the floor. Dental records- or what was left of ‘em- said I’d just killed my ex-partner, and a jury of my peers said I deserved a year and a half for manslaughter.
Well, with my time up, I’m back on the streets and living the high life…if you call living outta motels and researching the shit out of vampiric lore anything but completely insane. I’m still not real sure if what I saw was just adrenaline and blood loss playing tricks on me, or if there really was a vampire sucking down my red cells like they were going outta style, but…I’ve made it my life’s work to find out.
And to take out as many of the fuckers as I possible can. Call me…Van Helsing.
Okay, I'm seriously tapped out now. Go the hell away before I shoot your face off."
MY HEART IS LIKE A BROKEN CUP
I ONLY FEEL RIGHT ON MY KNEES[/u] [/center]
Jay,[/size]
none at the mo!, est, PM please. ^^
