[color=#B2ACA9][hider=Donovan Dante Davis || Stone in his palm, waiting to be tossed || TW: Mention of Death and Illness][center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019c02e1-8efb-73e9-9a91-53fcceb1faa0.webp[/img]
[sub][color=B06491][b]Faceclaim: Damson Idris // Color Code: B06491[/b][/color]

[color=#64b083]i'm a stone's throw
away from another
broken window

mistaken for
the still glass
of calm waters[/color][/sub]
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[sub][color=B06491][b]Full Name:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Donovan Dante Davis[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Nickname(s):[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Don, Donny, Dante[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Age:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]30[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Gender:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Male[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Sexuality:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Homosexual[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Occupation:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Self Taught Accountant[/indent]

[sub][color=B06491][b]Place of Residence:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]157 Miners Street[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Family and Close Connections:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Nora Parker Davis (54) - Mother
Eugene Davis (55) - Father [Deceased]
Daniel Davis (58) - Uncle
Irene 'Iris' Davis (34) - Older Sister
Destiny Davis (22) - Younger Sister[/indent] 

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[table][row][cell][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/582ab686671ff7b2bcde34ad88657d5a/334ae30c313d7e9a-8a/s400x600/7e38a65e640e99dc48eaa0e558114a84a066f3db.gifv[/img][/cell][cell][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/642361504bfef1d292c1fc6f42129c48/334ae30c313d7e9a-eb/s400x600/1afa8adf8b4047624cbcd8b8eaaf3538365c4eaa.gifv[/img][/cell][cell][img][/img][/cell][cell][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/a574e995c5e3a832d78c4fb8e4e1323e/334ae30c313d7e9a-e7/s400x600/05a0185929d5b049619d4de07045b17dcd4159e1.gifv[/img][/cell][/row][/table]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
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[/center]

[sub][color=B06491][b]Appearance:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent][color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Height:[/color] 6'1"
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Hair:[/color] Black hair that's tightly curled that's very typically lowcut and well-kempt. Donovan only ever trusts himself or his sisters when it comes to hair maintenance, so he tends to keep it cut and groomed to his liking, same with his facial hair.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Eyes:[/color] Dark Brown
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Body Type:[/color] More lithe than bulky, Donovan has a lot of practical muscle mostly from doing a lot of physical work maintaining the house. Though, he's very set on his routines and has days and times where he'll go through his workouts exactly as he's set them in his calendar. Donovan's very healthy and maintains his body incredibly well. Despite this, Donovan does have issues with his lower back due to long stretches of very still sitting.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Clothing Style:[/color] Being a Pines Holler native, Donovan tends to have a lot of hand-me-downs, so his style tends to be a bit more varied out of necessity than choice. Much of what's in his closet comes from his late father, including a snug leather bomber jacket with a wool collar he wears from fall to winter near constantly. The rest are graphic t-shirts, flannels, button downs, and a huge assortment of jeans. Though, if he had the money, he's not sure what kind of style he'd settle into. More or less, he tries his best to look good with what he's given, but doesn't really dislike anything he wears.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] [color=B06491]Body Markings:[/color] None, minus the callouses from mechanic work and the ever present one on his right middle finger from having too tight of a grip on his pencils.
[/indent]

[sub][color=B06491][b]Personality:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]In a world of constant unpredictability, there's comfort in control. In routines and schedules, blocked out calendars and the consistency of knowing how to navigate through every single day. Donovan is meticulous in this, to the point of driving his mother crazy, who by some weird happenstance, is ruled by spontaneity. With sisters who have a chronic case of forgetting to call before visiting. And a father who understood, even to the very minutiae, the importance of knowing in the vastness of entropy.

Every meal planned. Every appointment slotted. Every person accounted for.

It gave Donovan peace, something he'd so eagerly sought in the buzz of his own mind under too bright lights or the ceaseless din of voices. Even with the knowledge his family possessed, they still found it difficult not to push the limits of his patience. But he had to have endless reservoirs of it, that much he learned even as a child because not many people understood the how or the why of his own behaviors.

In that, Donovan became an oddity to his peers. The quiet kid who carried a new journal every few months that he filled and filled and filled. He was silent passion and diligence who held too much intensity in his bones and his gaze for others but still filled with a boundless kindness. Though he held many at a distance, those who did get close received someone dependable who, when open, could discuss at great length the many worlds that lived in his head and the many, many stories and authors he'd fills his brain with.[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]History:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Pines Holler does not offer much excitement, even in the days prior to its inevitable deterioration. Small town life tended to favor the idyllic for a reason and Donovan cannot say he much minded that. Perhaps, even as a child unknown to the nuances of his own mind or the world around him, preferred the quiet solitude this life provided. Though, providing didn't seem the most correct term when born the second child to a starving artist mother and her mechanic husband who inherited a household from slowly aging grandparents who Donovan mostly remembers from their silhouette hidden by the living room's floral curtain, quietly rocking on the porch swing in the humid, summer air.

To a child, well-hidden hardships give life more room to breathe than Donovan had the capacity for air. Looking back, it could be that this facade of pseudo-suburban life gave Donovan the chance to not just experience normalcy (well, normal for his mind) but find peace in it. Which, might seem odd for a child to desire, but it's rather easy to conflate quiet solitude and lack of worries with peace when being introspective of one's past.

Peace for a time, at least. Not everything in one's life can be controlled.

[hider=TW: Accidental Death]Sixteen-wheelers, Donovan surmised, were catastrophes waiting to happen. On the road home, two months prior to Donovan's 11th birthday, he remembered, his father's tire ran flat. Being a mechanic, tire changes seemed rote—quick and painless, like breathing. Quick and painless, like an inattentive driver swerving into a truck parked far enough on the side of the road to very well be out of harm's way.

The funeral was small. It had to be. They couldn't afford a proper one with a casket and a rented out room and a beautifully tailored suit his father would rest in many feet beneath the ground where not a soul would remember if his tie was blue or red. No, he had to be cremated with and placed into a very nondescript urn of a mottled grey color. He still rested on in the class display of their entertainment center right next to the very small, very dingy television Donovan's father saved up for, for one great Christmas morning.[/hider]

Donovan's need for control became more of a coping mechanism than a mechanic of his own mind. It filtered the trauma out, replacing it with the steady flow of a constant routine. Wake up, bathroom routine, same breakfast, work out (in high school), school and then eventually work. It funneled life into something that was manageable when it felt like the one person who understood him suddenly vanished.

In this he found peace and in writing Donovan found himself. Though, it soon became very apparent that his desires would somehow fall to the wayside. His eldest sister flew the coop as soon as she could, though visited frequently once she found stability and his youngest found the vibrant spontaneity of their mother and amped it to a frequence Donovan frequently couldn't stand.

[hider=TW: Illness]Eventually, when it came his turn to leave, having achieved among the highest grades of his peers and a full ride to a state college, things would eventually take another turn. Illness found his mother, as Donovan liked to spin because that felt like the only way to make sense of the vibrant women he loved, who irritated his stalwart mind, being bent to the ravages of disease. It found her dancing in the kitchen in a summer dress. It found her painting the portrait of a women she'd never met.

He knew then that he couldn't leave. Not when her mind would slowly, slowly deteriorate over the many years she still had left. What was sinister about it all was that it wouldn't kill her, but it would eat away at her will to live the longer it progressed. Without him, Donovan knew very quickly that it would debilitate her quicker and he'd decided then that it would be unfair to ask a sister already making a life outside of Pines Holler's confines and a sister with a mountain of dreams of her own to sacrifice everything they could have or already do have.[/hider]

So, Donovan staid. He stays. He works a job he doesn't care for, pays for the rent and the medicine as much as he possibly can, and locks his dreams away in another journal he stuffs in the rusted drawers of his run down desk.[/indent] 

[sub][color=B06491][b]Extra Facts // Headcannons:[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent][color=#64b083]⸙[/color] This Donovan tries not to concern himself with because, as anything, much of the state of this town is so out of his control that it's not worth processing for him. He focuses on his mother and his writing and the walls around him. That's as much as he can offer the town, despite the desire to not see it run underfoot.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] Donovan adores cats and he wishes he could have a black cat that perches on his desk as he writes and writes his evenings away.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] Donovan's mother, Nora, used to hold galleries for her art and sell them for quite a pretty penny when she lived in New York until she met Eugene and stole away with him back to his home town of Pine's Holler. Donovan refuses to sell her work, though he's certain he couldn't get much out of it now.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] Donovan's mother has Parkinsons and her ability to create further diminishes. She still paints in spite of it all, determined not to let a disease take away her passion.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] Donovan's younger sister, Destiny, is currently in her last year of college having gotten into a prestige film school on a full ride scholarship. His eldest lives in Nashville with her husband and two kids. She visits often, even offers money, but Donovan refuses knowing that, despite their salaries, they still live on a tight budget between the four of them in a city.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] Donovan hates, hates, hates overhead lights (bright lights in general). They give him the worst headaches.
[color=#64b083]⸙[/color] There's about a good few dozen journals of his writing on his bookshelves and in his drawers all neatly labeled and organized. The ones in his drawers are for braintstorming ideas or simply whenever he gets the itch to write what's on his mind. The ones on his bookshelves are for fleshed out ideas, many of which are still in progress.[/indent][/hider][/color]