SCULLY, russell.

[Russell Scully.]

RUSSELL IAN SCULLY

russell ian scully, "russ." | twenty-four | werewolf | good. | pansexual. | doggy daycare owner. | lee "eyebrows" pace.
so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
sons are like birds flying upwards over the mountain

APPEARANCE

Hair; Russell’s hair has a medium brown hue. It’s quite plain. He tries to keep it short and tame but, well, being a werewolf, it often grows faster than he can manage it.
Eyes; Although Russell’s eyes are hazel, you would never know. With his drab attire, large brown eyebrows, and the fact that his eyes squint when he smiles and laughs make it almost impossible to tell. Most people assume they’re brown.
Height; 6’5”
Body Type; Thin and gawky with little muscle.
Dress Sense; As for a fashion sense, well, Russ doesn’t have one of those. Sure, he doesn’t really wear clashing colors—but that’s mostly because he doesn’t typically wear colors. An occasional tan is the only non-grayscale article of clothing in his wardrobe. His closet looks kind of like Doug’s, filled with basically all the same outfit. He has, like, four white dress shirts, some slacks, a cardigan or two, gray white black blah blah blah. And the ties, skinny ties, never even remotely centered, never a hint of color. There’s also that one unfortunate bowtie but, let’s face it, there aren’t too many opportunities that allow for bowtie-age.

General Appearance; Russell’s physique is clearly that of a swimmer; he’s tall, standing around 6’5, thin, and gawky as all hell. He often seems shorter, of course, due to the awkward hunched-shoulder stance he’s so used to standing in despite the scolding he got for it as a boy. He’s always got his shoulders hunched and his hand stuffed deftly in his pocket – unless, of course, he’s using his hand. And yes, I do mean 'hand.' That's not a typo for hands. Russ only has one. The other cuts off around the elbow. He has a prosthetic that he only attaches when he knows he's going to be in public, and that fake plastic hand is always in a pocket or hidden somehow. At home, though, where no one judges him, he rocks the nub.

Ever the underachiever, Russ’s eyes take on the same average-ness the rest of his appearance works so hard to emulate. Although they’re technically hazel, they appear to be a plain, muddy, murky brown. It’s mostly due to the color of his hair and wardrobe, always drab, dark, and unoriginal. Although his eyes aren’t particularly small, they often seem that way, dwarfed by his large eyebrows, or squinting with laughter.

The aforementioned eyebrows. Most things about Russell are plain, average, sticking to the status quo with every fiber of their being. His eyebrows, though, are the rebels of his body. They stand out, completely ruining the whole fitting in thing he always tries for. By the way, they’re named Stephan and Milton.

He’s not exactly well kept. Although he tries to manage his hair, both facial and the mop of brown stuff that tops his head like cherry on a sundae, Russell finds it to be nearly impossible. He swears on something important that his hair grows abnormally fast. The scruff appears before he even realizes it; his hair grows out to waves within days. Evidence to back up the whole abnormal hair growth thing? Stephan and Milton. His only guess is that it’s a side-effect of his condition, the werewolf in him struggling to take over – trying to do so by making him a hairy scary mess of a man.

Those pearly whites of his, they could blind you. His Mamma used to call him Grinner when he was a kid. Nervous, happy, excited, flustered, his smile appears at the drop of a hat, just the hint of anything smile-worthy and there it is, those pearly whites peeking out from between those chapped lips of his. He’s got the kind of smile that takes over his whole face when it’s for happiness, the kind that leaves nothing up to interpretation: he’s happy, you can see it.

Said smile is normally accompanied by Russ’s signature blush, where his cheeks redden like two little tomatoes and he suddenly can’t force his eyes to look anywhere but the floor, and his hands instinctively find his pockets, and his feet twist and turn under the weight of his tall frame. His mom always thought it was adorable, he thought it was torture. Now that is mother is gone, he has come to cherish these traits – they remind him of the love and admiration she had for him.

PERSONALITY

Likes;

• Animals. Russ is a farm boy at heart, in his youth he fully intended on following in his father’s footsteps and becoming a farmer. His love for animals is what drives him, what gets him through those harsh lonely nights. animals don’t judge, don’t hate, don’t care if every full moon you turn into a freak of nature. His favorite animals are, of course, dogs.
  
• Painting. Before all the trauma of his childhood happened, his mother had started teaching russ to paint. After her murder death, he continued on with painting as a way of coping. He’s quite good at it now, although nowhere near a professional level.
  
• Running. There’s just something about it, the wind in his hair, the ground moving fast beneath his feet, the beat of his heart racing in tune with each step and step and step. The whole world slips away when he goes for his runs, and then it’s just him, him and his dogs and nature and the universe and nothing and no one else. To put a quote to it, "everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."
  
• Cooking. Ever since Russ realized he was responsible for the deaths of multiple people – and that he ate said people afterwards – Russ has been a vegetarian. It was tough at first but eventually he became quite adept at cooking meals that don’t include meat. He also cooks meals for his dogs, rather than giving them store bought kibble.
  

Dislikes;

• The full moon. He can always feel it coming, it’s like that feeling you get when you’re alone in the dark and in the silence and you don’t hear or see anything but the tiny hairs on the back of your neck are all standing up anyway – like they know more than you do. Russ gets that feeling every time the full moon is coming around. He can feel it for days before and days after, he can’t escape the feeling, the anxiety. Even his dogs respond to him differently, despondent and distant, some even fearful.
  
• Dark. Yes, Russ is afraid of the dark. It isn’t an overwhelming fear, he won’t break down into hysterics if the lights go out. He just doesn’t like it. He prefers to have some sort of light and, yes, he does have a nightlight.
  
• Spiders. Eight legs, a bajillion eyes, nothing should have that many of those things. Seriously. They’re gross. If one comes near Russ you might hear him scream.
  

Strengths;

• Being a werewolf doesn’t come with too many perks, though it does add a couple of strengths that Russell would otherwise be without. These added perks are a super sense of smell, seriously, it’s amazing, a bit of added strength and speed, and his sight in the dark and hearing are a little above average.
  
• While it could (and is) be counted as a weakness, Russell’s kindness is also a strength and an asset. His inability to give up on people and animals and situations that seem to be going nowhere fast has both helped and hurt him along the way. Still, as a fervent believer in karma, Russ believes that his kindness will come back to him in more kindness and, in many ways, it does.
  
• Although Russ missed out on most of the formal education that people receive (like, you know, middle school and high school), his experiences have made him incredibly street smart. The boy knows how to survive, Bear Grylls ain’t got nothin’ on Russie here.

Weaknesses;

• Though his life has done him well when it comes to street smarts, Russell can’t really be considered formally intelligent. He was able to get his GED and even a college degree after that, but there are enormous gaps in his knowledge – especially when it comes to history and the sciences.
  
• While being a werewolf comes with its perks, it also comes with some weaknesses – especially for someone like Russ, who tries so hard to deny his wild nature. Russ can be all but incapacitated by the scent of raw or cooking beef – which makes being a vegetarian quite difficult, and could also distract him during some important times. Also the whole turning into a man-eating monster every full moon thing is kind of a weakness when you don’t want to, you know, eat men and be a monster.
  
• Kindness, in Russ’s case, can easily be a weakness. Russ’s kindness occasionally results in him being pulled down and occasionally even put in danger. Russ loves, unconditionally and without control, and he would happily die for those lucky enough to be loved by him. While this may seem like a good thing, it often results in disaster.

A Secret; Although for a while Russ's secret was out in the open, now that he's not a circus freak capitalizing on his condition, he prefers to keep the fact that he is a werewolf a secret.

General Personality;
Russell is very contradictory, like most people. Sometimes it’s as though he’s two different people, the public persona and the personal persona: the mask he wears and the person beneath it. The mask is well constructed, obscuring the truths beneath until they’re twisted little shells, half-truths and wicked little lies he tells himself to get through the day.

Although Russell considers himself to be an extremely introverted man, he seems, to the outside world, to be a textbook extrovert, displaying all the signs: vociferous, gregarious, flirtatious, outgoing, friendly, seeking approval at every twist and turn. He carries himself in a proud, easygoing manner, with his pearly white smile and joyful sense of humor. As a young boy, Russell was forced to develop the uncanny ability to push his inner introvert aside. While he may prefer intimate gatherings to large parties and is greatly intimidated by large groups, he works well within both worlds – still, he can’t bring himself to define himself as an ambivert. It’s Russell’s carnival upbringing that can explain away these occasional bursts of extrovertedness. He became so used to being the center of attention in a large crowd that now, though he doesn’t enjoy it, he can become what he once was – that little boy carnival attraction, that center of attention, that spotlight hog. Still, he much prefers to be in an intimate setting with a few friends than in a party setting.

On the outside, Russell appears to be all smiles and sunshine, the kind of person that sees the cup as half full and, more than that, half full of rainbows and sunshine: an optimist, to whom the silver lining is always revealed, even in the darkest of situations. He turned into someone he felt he had to become, for those around him and especially for himself, he had to be that happy rock, that port in the storm, that steady, sturdy, smiling shoulder to cry on. Although he himself has been in a fair amount of situations where the bright side seemed to be nowhere in sight, he still believes that things happen for a reason, to teach you something, or to get you somewhere. You have to make your own happiness, he feels, and the best way to go about this is to find a little bit of it everywhere you can. Deep down, though, in his secret buried place that he tries to dig deeper into him each day, Russell panics fairly often. When situations are dour he often makes a flying leap to the worst possible conclusion. He keeps it to himself, runs his mind in circles around it, but speaks only the opposite, only the positive. He says “I’m sure they’re okay” while thinking “they’re probably dead in a ditch somewhere, we’ll never find them.” Very occasionally Russell’s inner negative-nelly will rear his worried little face – that’s when you know shit’s bad.

He has always been a friendly person by nature, and will bypass all instincts in order to help someone who he feels may need him. This has betrayed him at certain instances in the past, and yet he still hasn’t learned. Were he to see a down-looking stranger walking by him at this very moment, he would still set out to cheer them up or help them out. He’s just a sweet, helpful guy. Russell appears to be all smiles. He has been this way from childhood, and has nearly become the mask he sports so eagerly. Growing up around malcontent foster kids and orphans and then, eventually, sideshow freaks, he has learned that other people need his smiles. Disregarding any or all pain he may feel, Russell puts on a happy front for those around him who may need a shiny happy person to brighten their dour mood.

Still, though, Russell is not the constantly happy person he pretends to be. Sporting scars both internal and external, he is constantly reminded of the life he could have had, had he not been bitten. Though others rarely see this part of him, Russell is a highly emotional young man. And what happens when you hide your emotions, when you bottle them up? Well, the bottle bursts. Russell is not exempt from such emotional breakdowns, and often finds himself breaking down close to the full moon, when stress is high. Normally, though, he is able to conceal such things, having dealt with them for so long, so that he can go through them purely alone, rather than in a crowd.

Russell is motivated by a strong will to live for the simple fact that his family cannot. Were it not for the drive he gained from the tragedy, he would surely have lost his way long ago. He has no worldly ambitions; his dreams are just farfetched stories to think of before sleeping. He doesn’t want to achieve, merely to live and let others live as well. Of course a large motivator is in that he someday wishes to have a family of his own. He doubts the validity and possibility of this dream at times, due to his werewolf ‘condition,’ but he’s confident that when the time comes he will be able to figure something out by way of cages or charms. What Russell wants most out of life is a child to continue the legacy of his family.

A major of his weaknesses is, aside from the physical impairments, that Russell never had any proper learning. Having run away from foster care at six years old, he was only just beginning a schooling regiment. While this gained him a fair amount of street smarts and independent ability, he missed out on a great deal of important learning. What Russell knows is self-taught, and, due to this, he often comes off as more of a child than he is. He grew up on his own, without peers close enough to his age. For a twenty-four year old, Russell is extremely young. It isn’t that he’s immature, so much as clueless about adulthood and the knowledge you are supposed to gain before it. He does the best he can, but Russell can sometimes be a huge idiot.

Due to his carnival up-bringing, Russell fails to see physical flaws. His adoptive mother was the bearded lady, his best friend was the lizard boy, and his second crush was on the freakishly amazing three armed purple girl. Color, gender, these are just words to him, words that don’t hold much meaning. What he looks for in a person is really just that, IN the person. He is simple to befriend, not relying much on first impressions. He isn’t quick to judge and, this in itself, sometimes gets him into trouble. If you are a jerk to him once he’ll still give you another chance. He’s the kind of person who would let people walk all over him and still think, deep down, that maybe he just hasn’t given them the right amount of chances.

Of course if a person is truly evil he does realize this. He’s slow to see it, of course, hoping to give them the benefit of the doubt and not judge. But, eventually, he does see character flaws, aspects of their personality that he cannot cope with, such as a ruthless need to kill for the sake of killing. Despite his friendly nature, his morals are strong, and he stands by them with an unwavering belief. He considers the other side of the track, though, that these people only have conflicting morals, and wish to stand true to them. It’s a quality he respects, but if someone does something he can’t agree with he isn’t about to stand by and watch. He won’t call them on it, either, though. To each their own, live and let live.

At his core, Russell is a caring person who holds the opinions and lives of others in high regard, he’s the kind of guy who’ll always be there for you in a pinch, when you’re in the thick of it. He’s not afraid to get knee deep in gunk, emotional or otherwise, and he’s completely willing to help fist fight demons away —again, emotional or otherwise. He’s easy to take advantage of in that sense, his hero complex causes him to swoop in to save someone no matter the circumstances, he rarely suspects, despite all evidence, that someone would willingly do him harm or harm others. Even after all he has seen of the world, he still holds the childhood ideal that good conquers evil, always, and that everyone has good in them.

HISTORY

Born the second child to a moderately well-off couple of farmers, Russell was as well adjusted and loving as they come. From a young age he was well-behaved, a little quiet, but nothing to worry about. He never fussed, he never fought, and he always did just as he was told. His life was good, his parents loved him, his older brother wasn’t completely annoyed by him, and even the family dogs enjoyed his company. Hell, especially the family dogs. Early on Russell spent the majority of his time with the animals, even as a child he knew he was going to grow up to follow in his parent’s footsteps.

One Halloween, when Russell was only five, his older brother was ordered to take Russell with him and his friends trick-or-treating, much to the older boy’s dismay. Within minutes his friends were poking fun at Russell, at his age, his television costume, and his fearfulness. Russell didn’t much care for the dark, especially not on Halloween, and especially not during the full moon.

So annoyed with his baby brother’s wanting to grasp onto his hand, Edmund Scully ordered Russell to run home and tell their parent’s it was his idea to do so. Russell wasn’t one to disobey, even with his fear. He took off running for home as fast as he could, clutching the meager bag of candy. The rustle of the bag, the thud of his feet hitting the pavement, the pounding of his heart, the quick breaths, these all made it so Russell didn’t even hear it coming. From the bushes came what nightmares are made of, and little Russell was bitten.

When he arrived home, bleeding and severely lacking candy as well as a left arm, he was brought to the emergency room. Assuming it was only an animal, either a coyote or a dog, no one was too worried about that aspect. With some fast care and a rabies shot, Russell was sent home shortly. He had been bitten on the last night of the full moon, he didn’t turn that month.

The animals reacted differently to him upon his return, much to the dismay of Russell. Horses stomped their hooves when he moved by, dogs growled and barked, cats ran in fear. What had been his future career was now a nightmare – he only hoped that it was just a matter of becoming reacquainted with him. The next month, on the day of his first transformation, the animals became violent. The dogs had to stay outside the night, Russell wasn’t allowed near the horses, and the cats refused to come inside. All day Russell was uncomfortable, complaining about things being too loud or too fragrant. His parents figured he was entitled to a fuss, and promptly ignored his moans of displeasure.

That night, Russell, only five years old, killed his entire family—and the family pets, too.

When Russell awoke the next morning he was completely covered in blood, some of it his own, but most of it not. The house was in a state of disarray, glass all over the place, chairs broken, a total mess. Of course he didn’t think he had done it, the thought never even crossed his or anyone else’s mind. Russell, to the world around him, appeared entirely innocent. Still, not realizing that he was a murderer didn’t stop him from mourning hard the losses he had felt. Russ was devastated and confused and afraid, he didn’t sleep for days and when he was finally able it was a fitful, restless sleep.

After a brief period of mourning, Russ was carted off to foster care. When the foster homes and orphanages he was sent to were attacked in correspondence to the monthly anniversary of his family’s deaths, Russell began to suspect that something about him was amiss. At first he thought he was being followed, that someone was following him and killing everyone he lived near. Next he began to suspect himself, and, as soon as he did, Russell ran away.

Unsure of what exactly was wrong with him, he didn’t quite know how to react. Being only six years of age at that time, he was a little young to take care of himself. After a few months of running endlessly and sleeping in bushes, leaving monthly carnage along the way, Russell stumbled across a carnival and freak show, or “sideshow” as they affectionately termed it. Russell refused to give a last name, giving only the name “Russ” when asked for proper identification. . Not knowing of his werewolf curse, Russ was taken in as a stage hand by the kindly ringleader – or, perhaps more business minded than kindly. Shortly after this his uncanny talent for one-handed juggling gained him a real spot in the show.

It was about an entire month before his next transformation. Russ had been staying in the ringleader’s truck. When his transformation began it awoke the ringleader, who, luckily, was able to subdue the beast before any real damage was done – after all, Russ was still quite a small werewolf and not nearly as powerful as a full-grown one would be. As soon as Russ awoke the next morning, he was informed of his new monthly spot in the freak show.

Prior to his curse being found out, the carnival had set up missing child posters. When they were finally contacted, the ringleader had already realized what a money-getter Russ was. He formally adopted the child as his own, despite his wife’s (the bearded lady) protest. He wasn’t about to let his main attraction go. Despite knowing his former identity of Russell Scully, the boy was allowed to remain the famed dog-boy.

Russ was a part of this traveling carnival until age seventeen, when he was kidnapped by a werewolf pack looking to recruit members. For a while the pack life appealed to him. Through this affiliation he learned many things about what he was, as well as easy ways to gain cash and food. He never honestly knew before just what happened to him. It was finally explained to him what he was, what he had done, and what he would do. Appalled at the nonchalant attitude the rest of the pack had about murder, he decided that, once he learned all he could, he would leave them forever.

It was hard to leave the pack. They fought with him, threatened him, and, eventually, taunted his form as it got farther and farther away. Now eighteen, Russ was on his own again. Of course this time around he was more suited for it. He spent his time wandering the woods, merely going into civilized areas to get food and, occasionally, a bath. He spent two years in this routine before it became too much, too lonely. Russ began to long for a real life, a normal life, despite his “disorder.” So he left the woods, he used money he earned from the circus, as well as cash he had acquired while in the pack and money earned from doing side-show acts on street corners, to buy a small but homely apartment. He built a strong cage in one of the rooms, where he sleeps on the nights of the full moon.

Although many people didn’t hear of him, Russ’s story made its rounds on the various news channels, the boy who disappeared years and years ago, suddenly returned, healthy and happy. His fame made it a little bit easier for him to attend a nearby college, majoring in business. He took courses all year round and, at twenty-three, he graduated from college with a degree and was somehow lucky enough to open up a lucrative doggy daycare and grooming business.

Nowadays, Russ can be found either at his business or at home with his own pack of dogs large and small. He’s happy, somewhat, but longs for friendship of the non-canine variety.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

I don't have anything specific in mind but Russ is a nice guy so I could see him getting along well with other nice folks. He's not much of a fighter, being all pacifist-y and whatnot, but he'd definitely fight for the good guys if it came to it.

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eli. | nine years. | none. | pm.

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“Go home, Russie! Just go home!” The name Edmund is said to mean “blessed protector.” That’s how Brody always felt about his older brother, like he had been blessed with a protector, a knight in shining armor. Ed was his hero. Still, though, Ed could be a nightmare. On his particular night, he was the latter. His vampire costume made him look frightful, hair slicked back, skin painted white, fake blood dyed to fake teeth, all made up angles and real live anger.

He just wanted to hold hands, to cling to his protector, to feel safe again. Still, Ed’s friends laughed like ghouls, and the garish tones assaulted the brothers. “Go home!” Ed’s voice cut like a knife, Russell could feel it in his heart, a wrench in his cogs, cleaving through logic and what was right until Russ could only feel his feet, could only feel them running the way home.

He didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it, didn’t know it until the breath was hot and wet on him. All big and dark, matted fur and malicious intent. Fear paralyzed him, all he could do was stare on at the stark white teeth gleaming dangerously under the light of the full moon, until they were flush against him, ready to tear him, and then…

“Momma it hurts.” Linoleum took the place of pavement below his feet, a sizable difference he failed to notice. The scene shifted seamlessly from the dark outside night, to the brightness of the small kitchen. Momma beamed down at him like a saint, the light behind her haloing around her head with an ethereal glow.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s just growing pains. You’re getting bigger! Soon you might be even bigger than Eddie.” She cooed and soothed, mooring fingers through his brown shaggy locks, dissipating his tangles as she dissipated his fears. Still, he felt a pain stirring in his gut, in his bones and skin and every part of him, right down to the fingernails.

He watched his hands carefully, memorizing every wrinkle and crease, every vein below the skin, every mark and curve like he had memorized the picture in his coloring book. The single picture of a prince, strong and handsome, in a fighting stance, with a fire breathing dragon looming overhead. The hands he watched so closely, though, began to change. Fur marred his skin, the wrinkles, creases, veins, marks, and curves were quickly swallowed. He felt different, scared, pained.

His mother’s scream pierced his ears, so loud it hurt like a cut. He could feel the tones slicing through him, through the fur enveloping his body, through the hunger itching inside of him, through his own screams gurgling up in his throat.

His scream was swallowed by a howl, harsh and brash, breaking through his throat like an explosive wound. His vision blurred then sharpened. Soon the only thing he could think of was the way his mother smelled, sweet like rose perfume, but more than that, salty like sweat and tears, metallic like the blood he thought he could even hear.

Foot after foot he made his way closer, until he was sure he could hear the rush of blood through the veins below her skin, the beating of her heart. He wanted to stop, he wanted her to sooth him endlessly, to hold him to her and promise it was all okay. He couldn’t remember what he wanted. He wanted to taste her blood.

He opened his mouth, he moved in, he could feel her skin against his teeth, her struggling body below…

The sound of dogs barking was the first to register, shaking his sleep laden body up with fervor. In such a tired state everything was a monster, every shadow a vampire, every sound a predator. Even the blankets, warm and loving, tangled around his feet were vicious snakes wanting nothing more than to inject venom into his blood stream and slow his heart to a painful stop.

The barking served as a tether to the waking world, a sign that everything was fine and free. They were long, lonely barks, morning barks, clearly stating that each and every dog was ready to get up, to shake the lonely night from their thick furs – and Russ was ready, as well.

Feet swinging over the edge of the bed, Russ scrubbed his sleep-puffed face with his hands, tearing the sandman’s kisses from the corners of his eyes. “Don’t worry, boys,” he called, cracking his back and neck as he stood. “I’m coming, I’ll feed you in a second.”

The barking in the background ceased and for a moment Russ felt as though he was dreaming again. He ran his fingers over the cool rippled surface of his bedside table, the cuts and grooves he had memorized long ago for just this sort of occasion. It assured him, in that half-asleep way where everything is either an assurance or a near fear sparking in both heart and mind. Rounding the corner out of his room, clipping the doorframe with his shoulder as he did, Russ cursed beneath his breath but found his mood instantly lifted when he was greeted by Brody, Oliver, and Moose, his three rather large dogs.

Half an hour later, Russ found himself jogging down the street, Moose tagging along nicely by his feet as Bear, his corgi, struggled to keep up.

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[~ NYX ~]

.::A C C E P T E D::.
Brilliant! Welcome to Step Into The Dawn!