∞ ooc } APPLICATION
][nick / name]: Audrey
[personal LJ name]:
ignipotent
[other characters currently played]:
☇ Ariadne | Inception | construire
☇ Amory Felix | Original Character | fatespoken
☇ Ben Hawkins | Carnivale | taravata
☇ Mindy Macready | Kick Ass | neverplays
[e-mail]: aeloriax[at]gmail.com
[AIM / messenger]:
along cat is long (aim); potatosforpowerwrist (ym)
[series]: Daybreakers
[character]: Edward Dalton
[character history / background]: We can change you back. It's not too late.
[character abilities]: His blood can turn vampires of his kind back to humans, but that's the full extent of his supernatural abilities. He is notably intelligent, having been the head hematologist of the world's #1 'pharmaceutical' company.
[character personality]:
A friend of mine once said, if you took a puppy and kicked it, that would be Edward Dalton.
That may be a hyperbole, but there's truth to it: For the past ten years, Edward Dalton has lived a routine of cynicism and brooding. In the first shots of the movie, you can see the collective dismay, the weariness, the bitterness play out on his face as he observes a troop of vagrant vampire children (adults, to be politically correct). As he says to Frankie- "Life's a bitch when you don't die." For unlike most of the world, he saw vampirism for all its flaws. Its stagnancy, its regression, as men became predators and turned their backs and teeth on those who used to be their kind. This internal cynicism is never far from the surface, as we see him frequently pepper his conversations with remarks of dry sarcasm and black humor. Even if he wasn't speaking, you wouldn't miss that weariness shading every angle of his expression.
He is a humanist vampire in a constant state of moral collision. The Louis de Point du Lac trope. But Edward Dalton colors outside the lines of a stereotype. He doesn't brood no end. He's not some delicate, wilting flower who needs the comforts of books and secluded spaces. Ed takes action through practical means, dedicating his life to discovering a blood substitute. If you can't stop vampirism, then at least stop the vampires from eating humanity into extinction. You could even say that because Ed could do something to benefit his world, he found a reason to tough out a life he despised. Otherwise, there would be no reason to live this undeath. When Audrey exclaims that he could die due to his experiments, he replies, sharply: "I'm already dead."
What makes him so different than other vampires? Why hasn't he given himself up the grandeur of immorality? Well, that can be answered by two words: right and wrong. It seems like a fair judgment to say that Edward's always been guided by a strong desire to do good. Once a doctor, then one of the humans who refused turn, now a vampire who dedicates his life to saving humans. He drank only 'pig shit." His life is his work, literally. Yet even with these ironclad principles, Edward won't preach moral rectitude and shove it down your throat. In fact, he's not even rigidly good, as we see, he's willing to follow something of an 'eye for an eye' / utilitarian code when he sends Bromley to his death. Better to sacrifice the man who would kill and farm humans for the sake of monetary gain, even when a substitute has been discovered. And really, he deserved it.
Bromley calls him a coward, but that's a falsehood. Ed is the hero of the story. Between rescuing humanity and his own life, the former wins out. Sure, the experiments on himself were for his own sake, as much as anyone elses. But even with his renewed humanity, Edward gambles his life to spread the cure. He enters the home a fellow researcher, in hopes that he will help him. This ends badly as Audrey is captured, but he doesn't give up on her. Instead, he walks right into the lion's den - entering the front door of Bromley's establishment with a posture and demeanor that can only be described as 'bold' and 'determined.' Maybe even subtly cocky.
He's capable of manipulation, and not afraid to use pretense and dirty tricks if the situation calls for it. He tricks Bromley into drinking his blood. He lies and admits defeat, claiming that he can't live as a human, that he has a cure for him that will repopulate humanity, and thus glutting Bromley up with all the words he wants to hear. Except, they're all lies -- lies that are enough to egg Bromley into drinking from him, and thus reverting back to human.
Seeing how I'm bringing Ed in at the end of the series, things have changed for the better. It's too much to say that he's disposed of all those brooding and pessimistic shadows. They're still a strong influence, definitely. His brother is dead, martyring himself on his behalf. A cure has been found, but inevitably, massacres - genocide, even - may be a result of its transmissions. Their first attempt had been shot down (literally) by Ed's fellow researcher. Nevertheless, Ed will make a change for the better. There's a new-found optimism, a new perspective on life as though undeath had really been death; and now alive again, Ed can once again be human and take pleasure and interest in his experiences. He'll take it with baby steps of course.
[third person sample]
Silence is impossible even in the darkest hours of the night. The quieter it gets, the louder the muscle beats, drowning silence out in a constant pulse; a drumbeat that carries to the very tips of your fingers. Even in silence, you’re assured that you’re not alone: you’re here, alive, beating.
During the first few years, Ed would lay back, place a hand against his chest and count the beats of his heart.
Nada, nada, nothing.
Who can sleep alone with a dead man, when that man is yourself?
And in that quiet darkness, Ed would find his thoughts running rampant-tomorrow, tomorrow, he'd get up and make himself a cup of coffee; toast with strawberry jam and butter; a bowl of fruit on the side. He'd crack eggs over a pan and the only thing that would taste decent would be the coffee. Black with a layer of pig’s blood on the bottom, enough to warm him, but never enough to be enough.
Frankie never had to remind him.
It seems pointless to go to the trouble of cooking when human food. The pleasure’s thin. The taste’s dull. But Ed had sustained himself on patterns, setting an order to his life that repeated in duplicates, day in and day out: breakfast, news, work, orchid tending, dinner, news, and sleep.
But sometimes, he would get stuck on sleep, tossing and turning in that silent space to no avail. That whole thing about sleeping when you’re dead? Bullshit. So he’d rise to light a cigarette, a single red pinpoint in the darkness. He’d lay back on a propped up pillow, finally overtaken by thoughts that carried their voices in screaming tongues. Outside there is light and warmth, and outside there is nothing. In a few hours he would have to wake up, and the whole world - this whole fucked up, inverted world - would wake up with him to begin a new night.
When would they bite their tongues?
They had claimed, proclaimed, that the world would only get better. Progress, an eternal machine, would allow the whole vampire-race to reach some unimaginable height of knowledge. Were they idiots? Couldn’t they see past their own feet? What would grown men and women do ten years later, stuck in the bodies of children? What would happen when the world ran out of humans? When it ran out of blood? What happens to a society where the people will never change? What the fuck did forever mean? They were important questions- questions that had been in Ed’s head since the beginning.
He knew it then, he knows it now.
Forever doesn’t mean progression
And hell, he was right.
Ten years later, everyone had taken a step backwards. Superficially, the world had progressed with necessity-- new inventions and technology to ensure survival during the day. But as people? The world had devolved, becoming only more and more depraved, selfish, bloodthirsty. People were more like animals than the apes who started it all.
When you’re one of them, you can’t help it. De-evolution is unavoidable. There’s something visceral, a dark red beast hungry with teeth and claws that scrapes beneath your skin, masking the brain in singular impulses: blood, blood, blood, blood.
Ed knows.
In the dark of a silent night, Edward Dalton had known what it was like to be hungry.
Knows, knew.
After the first ten years, Ed would place a hand against his chest and count the beats of his heart.
70 BPM.
98.6°
Patterns can only last for so long.
[personal LJ name]:
ignipotent
[other characters currently played]:
☇ Ariadne | Inception | construire
☇ Amory Felix | Original Character | fatespoken
☇ Ben Hawkins | Carnivale | taravata
☇ Mindy Macready | Kick Ass | neverplays
[e-mail]: aeloriax[at]gmail.com
[AIM / messenger]:
along cat is long (aim); potatosforpowerwrist (ym)
[series]: Daybreakers
[character]: Edward Dalton
[character history / background]: We can change you back. It's not too late.
[character abilities]: His blood can turn vampires of his kind back to humans, but that's the full extent of his supernatural abilities. He is notably intelligent, having been the head hematologist of the world's #1 'pharmaceutical' company.
[character personality]:
A friend of mine once said, if you took a puppy and kicked it, that would be Edward Dalton.
That may be a hyperbole, but there's truth to it: For the past ten years, Edward Dalton has lived a routine of cynicism and brooding. In the first shots of the movie, you can see the collective dismay, the weariness, the bitterness play out on his face as he observes a troop of vagrant vampire children (adults, to be politically correct). As he says to Frankie- "Life's a bitch when you don't die." For unlike most of the world, he saw vampirism for all its flaws. Its stagnancy, its regression, as men became predators and turned their backs and teeth on those who used to be their kind. This internal cynicism is never far from the surface, as we see him frequently pepper his conversations with remarks of dry sarcasm and black humor. Even if he wasn't speaking, you wouldn't miss that weariness shading every angle of his expression.
He is a humanist vampire in a constant state of moral collision. The Louis de Point du Lac trope. But Edward Dalton colors outside the lines of a stereotype. He doesn't brood no end. He's not some delicate, wilting flower who needs the comforts of books and secluded spaces. Ed takes action through practical means, dedicating his life to discovering a blood substitute. If you can't stop vampirism, then at least stop the vampires from eating humanity into extinction. You could even say that because Ed could do something to benefit his world, he found a reason to tough out a life he despised. Otherwise, there would be no reason to live this undeath. When Audrey exclaims that he could die due to his experiments, he replies, sharply: "I'm already dead."
What makes him so different than other vampires? Why hasn't he given himself up the grandeur of immorality? Well, that can be answered by two words: right and wrong. It seems like a fair judgment to say that Edward's always been guided by a strong desire to do good. Once a doctor, then one of the humans who refused turn, now a vampire who dedicates his life to saving humans. He drank only 'pig shit." His life is his work, literally. Yet even with these ironclad principles, Edward won't preach moral rectitude and shove it down your throat. In fact, he's not even rigidly good, as we see, he's willing to follow something of an 'eye for an eye' / utilitarian code when he sends Bromley to his death. Better to sacrifice the man who would kill and farm humans for the sake of monetary gain, even when a substitute has been discovered. And really, he deserved it.
Bromley calls him a coward, but that's a falsehood. Ed is the hero of the story. Between rescuing humanity and his own life, the former wins out. Sure, the experiments on himself were for his own sake, as much as anyone elses. But even with his renewed humanity, Edward gambles his life to spread the cure. He enters the home a fellow researcher, in hopes that he will help him. This ends badly as Audrey is captured, but he doesn't give up on her. Instead, he walks right into the lion's den - entering the front door of Bromley's establishment with a posture and demeanor that can only be described as 'bold' and 'determined.' Maybe even subtly cocky.
He's capable of manipulation, and not afraid to use pretense and dirty tricks if the situation calls for it. He tricks Bromley into drinking his blood. He lies and admits defeat, claiming that he can't live as a human, that he has a cure for him that will repopulate humanity, and thus glutting Bromley up with all the words he wants to hear. Except, they're all lies -- lies that are enough to egg Bromley into drinking from him, and thus reverting back to human.
Seeing how I'm bringing Ed in at the end of the series, things have changed for the better. It's too much to say that he's disposed of all those brooding and pessimistic shadows. They're still a strong influence, definitely. His brother is dead, martyring himself on his behalf. A cure has been found, but inevitably, massacres - genocide, even - may be a result of its transmissions. Their first attempt had been shot down (literally) by Ed's fellow researcher. Nevertheless, Ed will make a change for the better. There's a new-found optimism, a new perspective on life as though undeath had really been death; and now alive again, Ed can once again be human and take pleasure and interest in his experiences. He'll take it with baby steps of course.
[third person sample]
Silence is impossible even in the darkest hours of the night. The quieter it gets, the louder the muscle beats, drowning silence out in a constant pulse; a drumbeat that carries to the very tips of your fingers. Even in silence, you’re assured that you’re not alone: you’re here, alive, beating.
During the first few years, Ed would lay back, place a hand against his chest and count the beats of his heart.
Nada, nada, nothing.
Who can sleep alone with a dead man, when that man is yourself?
And in that quiet darkness, Ed would find his thoughts running rampant-tomorrow, tomorrow, he'd get up and make himself a cup of coffee; toast with strawberry jam and butter; a bowl of fruit on the side. He'd crack eggs over a pan and the only thing that would taste decent would be the coffee. Black with a layer of pig’s blood on the bottom, enough to warm him, but never enough to be enough.
Frankie never had to remind him.
It seems pointless to go to the trouble of cooking when human food. The pleasure’s thin. The taste’s dull. But Ed had sustained himself on patterns, setting an order to his life that repeated in duplicates, day in and day out: breakfast, news, work, orchid tending, dinner, news, and sleep.
But sometimes, he would get stuck on sleep, tossing and turning in that silent space to no avail. That whole thing about sleeping when you’re dead? Bullshit. So he’d rise to light a cigarette, a single red pinpoint in the darkness. He’d lay back on a propped up pillow, finally overtaken by thoughts that carried their voices in screaming tongues. Outside there is light and warmth, and outside there is nothing. In a few hours he would have to wake up, and the whole world - this whole fucked up, inverted world - would wake up with him to begin a new night.
When would they bite their tongues?
They had claimed, proclaimed, that the world would only get better. Progress, an eternal machine, would allow the whole vampire-race to reach some unimaginable height of knowledge. Were they idiots? Couldn’t they see past their own feet? What would grown men and women do ten years later, stuck in the bodies of children? What would happen when the world ran out of humans? When it ran out of blood? What happens to a society where the people will never change? What the fuck did forever mean? They were important questions- questions that had been in Ed’s head since the beginning.
He knew it then, he knows it now.
Forever doesn’t mean progression
And hell, he was right.
Ten years later, everyone had taken a step backwards. Superficially, the world had progressed with necessity-- new inventions and technology to ensure survival during the day. But as people? The world had devolved, becoming only more and more depraved, selfish, bloodthirsty. People were more like animals than the apes who started it all.
When you’re one of them, you can’t help it. De-evolution is unavoidable. There’s something visceral, a dark red beast hungry with teeth and claws that scrapes beneath your skin, masking the brain in singular impulses: blood, blood, blood, blood.
Ed knows.
In the dark of a silent night, Edward Dalton had known what it was like to be hungry.
Knows, knew.
After the first ten years, Ed would place a hand against his chest and count the beats of his heart.
70 BPM.
98.6°
Patterns can only last for so long.