ABOUT BLUE || And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?

CHARACTER BASICS

NAME: Blue Sweeney

AGE: Thirty

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Man, He/Him

FACE CLAIM: Dylan O’Brien

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown

HEIGHT: 5′11″

DATE OF BIRTH: March 17th, 1991

ZODIAC SIGN: Pisces

SPECIES: Banshee

OCCUPATION: Pharmacist

CHARACTER HISTORY 

Named after the hue he was colored in, Blue was born blue at 5:03 AM under humming hospital lights. The Sweeneys were meant to endure, almost to a fault, and he pushed through. It seemed, however, that this wouldn’t be his only brush with death. His parents believed he faced the worst moments of his life when it just began, but that was only wishful thinking. Blue grew up being told that some people weren’t built for success, and his family was a prime example. They spent their lives with their heads over water and pretended that they weren’t tired of paddling through it all. They did whatever they could to not lose what wasn’t meant to be. Blue knew he had only a few chances to prevail, and one was taken at birth, and he didn’t want to live trying not to drown just so he could fit the nuclear family picture frame. The picket fence they fixated on wouldn’t be a means of protection, but a cage to keep their son from drifting. 

Blue followed expectation, not living life gilded but maintaining a bronze foil around himself into order to succeed. If you pushed too hard, though, you’d see that he was only made of brass. Feigned hues of great effort for accomplishment only took him so far, and it seemed that as soon as he was at a distance where his family had to squint to see his shine, he disappeared. Blue sought out higher education far from the bustling city of New York miles away in Ireland. He nearly completed his studies, but his academic affairs were short lived. He flunked out at the very end, devoid of motivation. Instead, he found himself evolving with the hollowed corners of the city he found himself in every night. His proficiency in not just ASL but BSL due to his goal to get as far away from home as possible had offered him more opportunity than a degree ever would. He was able to shake hands with all kinds of people, adapting the world for them as well as learning to adapt to a new culture. Friends and colleagues came and went as a result of finding a place to stay. He thrived in his parents’ greatest fear of roving and groveling. There was no permanence to his life and for once, Blue felt like his potential was all his own to determine.

He was nearly homeless for two years, trading his hand for just a place to rest under the guise of a friend, a significant other, or a one night stand— even going as far as other less conventional ways of finding a temporary home. In return for what he could offer by being nothing more than skin, bones, and blood, Blue’s time in what should have been the sepulchral shadows of Ireland allowed him to find a place in a service to those who lingered close by. It was there there that he found a place far from the conventional picture frame his family wanted to pin him. Blue came to align himself with those who appreciated the lack of questions he asked— and the lack of concern there’d ever be about his whereabouts if his trace went cold. It was his mind that they seemed to value more than the little warmth there was to him. He found himself nearly every night dragged into an underground den where fighters would put shame to those glamoured on televisions on the bars above. He knew what he saw, though he stayed quiet, and his silence was awarded with opportunity. His abandoned studies of pharmacy tasked him with subduing the one opponent no one could knock down, and he took it. Cutting corners was something he learned to do a long time ago living in a system where the only way was up because falling down meant digging the dirt of your own grave. He combined what he knew of chemical forgery and the finer threats to those he hung around, making his move to slip it into the drink of a vampire in order for them to fail at their boxing match. It wasn’t perfect, though, as the man had caught on to Blue’s attempt. The threat, however, was so carefully construed that it came with some honor in its creativity and consequence fell in revealing just what horrors he’d face if he continued with the vampires he roamed with as nothing more than a blood bag. This particular vampire was aligned against feeding on humans, and one last attempt at redemption, it seemed, had created an allegiance. 

PRESENT DAY (TW: ASSAULT)

For a few years they found comfort, the chase to meet expectation or find thrill abandoned for the civil lull of taking in the quaint town. Their peace, however, wouldn’t last. There were affairs within the realm Blue peeked into that went beyond a struggle for survival, but a war for what was deemed right. Rogue vampires loyal to the teachings of the House of Mars attacked the practice of the House of Juno that Blue and his friend were loyal to, ensuing a massacre. Hatred for more than just morality but the very foundation of loyalties through blood and through heart, a betrayal for one’s kind and the attack against another, bled a tragedy. The chaos manifested in the last fraying strand of one of the few human lives present in that room, that rip ringing out in a cry that latched on to the very last thread of everyone standing. Calamity manifested in Blue Sweeney, transcendence given in a shrill shriek that nearly deafened his partner for good. 

Blue had become a banshee as a result of the massacre and fled the scene with his partner. He succumbed to a single conventional path that followed that white picket fence— death. Fleeing the repercussions of their actions and the ignorance of what came as a result in Blue’s supposed survival, they’ve been on the run for nearly three years. Now, they’ve returned to the steps at which their lines of fate seemed to have started. In Rome, they’re seeking answers in place of revenge against what happened to them. There’s no telling how long they can pretend to be mundane. No array of neck ties that hang around like a noose can change the fact that it would only make a swing, and no amount of punches thrown in a den would open the scars of that fateful night and heal them over. They have to face what happened to them and the changes that ensued, and pretending to be mortal has to be buried.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Neighbors

People he can do favors for at the pharmacy

People he parties with because he goes way too hard