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Create-a-Character (Dáire Kerr)
Character: Dáire Kerr
Fandom: Worlds Apart (Original)
Prompt: 068. Apple
Word Count: 225
Dáire is broad-shouldered, his dark hair constantly mussed and an equally dark look in eyes the color of bitter chocolate. His square jaw seems so suited to the frown he usually wears, as though he were born to frown at the world. Stern lips, unsuited to pouting or smiling, remain in a straight line, a sharp slash across his face marred only by the scar breaking his lower lip.
He is a mage, a scholar by nature, but you would never know it by looking at him. His body is strong, toned and waiting for the next dare, the next challenge, the next fight. Scuffed jeans speak of other days, older fights that he may or may not have won. But he won't just settle back, refusing to watch the world. He will live it, if not for himself, then for the apple at his throat, that golden-stemmed, black-painted bit of jewelry that holds all his pain and anger. It nests in the hollow of his throat, an odd counterpart to the tough-guy image he offers up. And he never takes it off, never hides it away.
Some wear their emotions on their sleeves. He wears it at his throat, that self-same place his heart lodged when he was told the news. Someday, he won't need it any more. But someday isn't here yet.
Fandom: Worlds Apart (Original)
Prompt: 068. Apple
Word Count: 225
Dáire is broad-shouldered, his dark hair constantly mussed and an equally dark look in eyes the color of bitter chocolate. His square jaw seems so suited to the frown he usually wears, as though he were born to frown at the world. Stern lips, unsuited to pouting or smiling, remain in a straight line, a sharp slash across his face marred only by the scar breaking his lower lip.
He is a mage, a scholar by nature, but you would never know it by looking at him. His body is strong, toned and waiting for the next dare, the next challenge, the next fight. Scuffed jeans speak of other days, older fights that he may or may not have won. But he won't just settle back, refusing to watch the world. He will live it, if not for himself, then for the apple at his throat, that golden-stemmed, black-painted bit of jewelry that holds all his pain and anger. It nests in the hollow of his throat, an odd counterpart to the tough-guy image he offers up. And he never takes it off, never hides it away.
Some wear their emotions on their sleeves. He wears it at his throat, that self-same place his heart lodged when he was told the news. Someday, he won't need it any more. But someday isn't here yet.