[hider=Beau Lewis][b]Name:[/b] Beau Lewis
[b]Age:[/b]  27
[b]Appearance: [/b] Constantly annoyed and perpetually raising an eyebrow.

Beau is a little on the shorter side, reaching only about 5’7”, and gives the vibe that the anger of “short man syndrome” has long been replaced with a dejected acceptance. He sports shaggy, medium length, auburn hair and just enough facial hair to say he has a goatee. Hazel-Green eyes that are always devoid of humor will stare at you from behind thick framed glasses and suggest you have 5 seconds to grab his attention or lose it.

Beau has some very masculine, angular features to his face, a strong nose and small eyes. He’s built like a hipster that drank a lot of milk as a kid. That is to say, he’d look like a fence post if his bones weren’t built like iron pipes. His Northern European heritage comes through very loud in this manner, making it seem like the gods got his height wrong comparatively.

Beau’s wardrobe consists of wrinkled button downs, worn out jeans, and dirty canvas sneakers. There’s an air that he might’ve actually been interested in keeping a well thought-out and consistent style but the fact everything in his closet lives for approximately two weeks before the moths get in the way of that leave the eye wanting more.

[b]Concept:[/b]  Plague Bearer. 
Shouldering a curse as a reminder of his past depravities and just trying to get through life one step at a time without falling apart, again.

[b]Curse:[/b] Beau attracts insects, arachnids, mollusks, and other such creatures wherever he goes. Said creatures do not harm him unless he otherwise instigates them. They do however, constantly get in the way of his life. From infesting his kitchen and eating his clothes to being followed around by swarms of bees.

Beau has been cursed since an incident in high school he doesn’t talk about. The most anyone has been able to pry out of him is that he has a lot more money than he lets on and that his father’s death has something to do with it. It’s a sore subject due to both trauma and regret. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, in Beau’s case it’s an urn full of his father’s ashes.

Beau to this day, a decade or more later, doesn’t know who or what cursed him. What he has been able to ascertain is that this curse was meant to teach him a lesson, else he’d have succumbed to death years ago when compared to some of the victims of his particular brand of plague. Not for sure if it was ever meant to be broken, Beau has accepted it as a part of his life and has given up on the idea of getting rid of it.

[b]Powers/Skills:[/b]
[i]Plague Bringer:[/i] Beau’s curse uses him as a carrier for the concept of “plague.” The creatures he attracts will attack individuals who commit acts of greed in Beau’s presence. The severity of the attack depends on the harm caused by the act. The curse will infect its victims and plague them for a proportional time afterwards, the attracted creatures often being hostile.

[i]Accidental Entomologist:[/i] Beau can sort of read the patterns of movement in certain insects and ask them to do simple tasks. This ranges from telling how long a body has been dead to telling you which way a field of dandelions is.

[i]Never Without Friends:[/i] Perks of bugs loving you? They’re everywhere. Unless it’s in the middle of winter or the weather is really bad, the sheer amount of flying and crawling pests that can get between Beau and his antagonists is enough to develop spontaneous entomophobia.

[i]That Deep, Primal Fear:[/i] Entomophobia, Arachnophobia, and their cousins are some of the most common phobias in the world. The ability to weaponize his curse to conjure some of the most primal fears humans possess is something he shamefully admits to abusing.

[b]What would Beau like to happen?:[/b]  Some way to purge the negative aspects of his curse and gain more control over his little friends. At this point the buzzing of bees makes a place feel like home, he just wishes the moths would stop eating his damn underwear.
[b]
What would WaywardK like to happen?:[/b] Intense interpersonal drama, an environment in which character development can thrive, and endless allusions to Innsmouth.

[Hider=Writing Example/Jeff Goldblum Fanfiction]

The light, ticklish feel of stilt-like feet skittering across his thigh rustled Beau out of a light sleep. The smell of fear and sweat pervaded the air as the last remnants of the chittering nightmares faded from his view. Arching his back like a cat disturbed from its nap Beau roared awake with an irritated groan and a mean look on his face. Was he eating something bad before bed or were these dreams getting worse?

Beau kicked his feet over the side of his bed and rubbed the dryness out of his eyes, trying to recall all the details of the night’s latest horrific subconscious movie. He grabbed a notebook off his bed stand and flipped to the next clean page:

“Hundreds of  little cocoons, spun like they’d been trapped in a spiders web dotted the sidewalk. It’s hard to walk without stepping on them and it feels increasingly like looking at the smooshed remnants of what I had been stepping on would make me hurl. I notice one looks to be squirming, like something is about to hatch. Some morbid curiosity leads me to pick it up and look at it closely in my palm. 

Little black legs poke a hole and start to tear the edges of the silk and I still can’t tell if its hatching or escaping. I get a sense of a reddish brown color starting to make its way through when I finally see that it’s some kind of fly buzzing its way out. I don’t get any sort of catharsis from identifying it before I feel like it looks like it has hair. I poke at the cocoon to turn it over and there on the head of the fly is my face, wide eyed and looking back at me.

My perspective shifts and I’m suddenly in the hand looking up at my body with a fly’s head on my shoulders. It doesn’t take me long to notice, in disgusted fascination, that the very skin of my stolen body seemed to be dotted by hundreds of wriggling eyes arranged in a pattern reminiscent of a pomegranate’s flesh. Realization dawned on me as each wriggling eye revealed itself to be the home of a pulsating larval denizen. Some foul hive of a human body cradled me in its hands, twitching like some horrid creature of undeath and seemed to regard me with the eyes of a necrophile discovering a fresh body in the morgue.”

Beau stopped writing, suddenly unwilling to conjure the images of the latest nightmare and puts down his notebook.  Every night was something new and equally disgusting as the last. Parasites, pulsating eggs, and trypophobic images seemed to be constant themes in his dreams these days. As much as Beau had learned to love the more aesthetically pleasing forms of various bees, ants, and colorful winged creatures he thought the parasitic, hole boring, body horrors that invertebrates were capable of made his skin feel like it was begging to slither off and die like some disgusting molt.

The real questions was were these new dreams due to some subconscious rejection of his curse, or a sign that his curse was evolving in a direction he didn’t want to be apart of?[/hider][/hider]


I kind of leaned into some unsettling themes for this character in the name of creeping horror, hopefully it fits the mood you're going for cause I'd love to join :)