BASIC INFO
| NAME: | Wesley Price |
| A.K.A.: | Wes |
| CANON: | Original |
| HOMEWORLD: | AU Earth |
| AGE: | Appears early 20s. |
| GENDER: | Male |
| SPECIES: | "Human" |
| GAME: | ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png) rubilykskoye (tbd) |
| Contact: | ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico) witchpunk or PM |
FIRST GLANCE
| HEIGHT: | 5'10" |
| BUILD: | Thin, lithe: x |
| HAIR: | Dark brown |
| EYES: | Blue |
| DRESS: | Simple, plain. |
| SCENT: | - |
| DEMEANOR: | Quiet and observant. |
| HOUSING: | - |
| KINKS: | x
| | PB: | Arón Piper |
PERMISSIONS
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| BACKTAGGING: | ✔ |
| 4TH-WALLING: | ✘ |
| THREADJACKING: | ✔ |
| MIND-READING: | ✘ - ask |
| FIGHTING: | ✔ |
| ROMANCE: | ✔ |
| INJURY: | ✔ |
| KILLING: | ✔ - ask |
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Wesley Price
A Hand Crafted Replacement
ABOUT WESLEY
Created through black magic ordinarily forbidden but somehow achieved, he's a rarity of a creation with no true idea of just how astonishing his existence truly is nor how powerful he could become. He doesn't need to eat or drink but does so out of desire, he doesn't age and he heals rapidly, with wisps of black smoke coming out of any open wound until it's healed.
PERSONALITY
Wesley was designed to resemble someone else both physically and in personality - but nurture and nature had their own plans for him. While he did fall into a routine of obedience and loyalty to his Maker, there was nothing that could be done to fully craft him into the person he was created to mimic. Too many nuances, too many variants would come to the surface. However he did maintain at first a very pleasant and polite demeanor, crafted through a harsh hand and strict schedule.
Wesley was as bright and full of imagination as intended, though the latter bled into an insatiable curiosity of the world he wasn't yet part of. He loved to listen to his Maker's stories of his times abroad, what he did when he left Wesley alone, and learned through drawings and explanations a very limited amount of detail about things beyond their little stone walled home in the woods. The longer he listened the more questions he had, the more he wanted to know and his questions became specific and insistent until he learned his Maker didn't like it. Then he learned to subdue his curiosity before him, and let it out in other ways - reading books he hadn't been gifted, examining objects he was told not to touch. Defiance started to brew in him of its own accord.
And just like that, so did a sense of jealous resentment at being contained when his Maker could walk away, once or twice promising he'd take Wesley with him but never following through. It didn't occur to him at first to consider attempting to flee and in time he realized the futility of it just as he came to learn about the immense power his Maker had put into "keeping them safe". From what would be a later question, answered in solitude as he came to realize he was not being protected from anything, he was being contained.
In being contained and abandoned, any naivety in Wesley gave way to bitterness; he had only learned to trust one person and was betrayed by them, so he vowed never to have that weakness again. He would use people the way he was used, he would apply the same tactics his Maker used to subdue and manipulate him into manipulating others.
One man's mistake is another's new beginning.
HISTORY
While most people are born into the world and begin to experience what it is to grow and learn, Wesley instead was created. He was crafted by the hands of someone seeking a replacement, and he was meant to be a stand in for that person both in personality and appearance. And so he was brewed up into existence through horrendous acts and despicable means, made of ash and bone and black magic so powerful it still resides in him, like embers under the surface. Wesley came into existence with nothing but the moment he took his first breath as a memory, and from there was directed into the role he was designed to play. He was a prize, a partner, a false copy of someone his Maker could not have or control the way he could Wesley. He was created with the intent of him staying docile and malleable, to be manipulated and consumed. For a while, Wesley knew nothing but this tepid existence. He obliged his creator; he lent himself to him and his whims, he grew attached out of the false belief that this was what love was. It was a toxic environment and yet he didn't want for anything else because he didn't know better. It was not ever going to last.
At first his Maker kept Wesley away from the world, secluded behind wards and spells and in the cottage he had out in the woods. And so Wesley lacked a connection to the outside world which wasn't a concern at first, but it left him without anything to draw from in conversation. He could only speak on topics he was taught about or listened to his Maker's views of, reflecting back to him his own opinions and that was fine at first. But it grew dull and listless in time, and so Wesley began to be allowed more human experiences. He was let out into the garden to grow vegetables, taken into the city to purchase books and ink to write and draw with. He was taught to read and to write, and encouraged to explore (an albeit curated) selection of books while left alone when his Maker disappeared as he often did, for days or weeks on end.
In time, Wesley would accompany his maker on those trips. They'd travel to several other towns, riding on horses that rekindled Wesley's awe of the world. He absorbed everything from these new experiences that he could, feeling enthused and alert, stirred inspiration welling in his chest. This joy was often dampened by the also equally new exposure to seeing his Maker interact with others; showing smiles and warm words that Wesley had always just assumed were his to have alone. He grew resentful when he was still held to strict standards of behavior, but remained obedient when and where ordered to stay put or when he was to keep quiet, and talk to no-one. He laid awake many nights in the inns and cabins they stayed in, staring up at a ceiling wondering where his Maker was. What he was doing. Who he was with.
Jealousy was a new feeling that came to the surface around that time, much like his flares of envy. Defiance was an ugly look on him, he was told, and the criticism from his Maker kept him timid at first. He was made to feel remorseful for having these flared emotions because they were dangerous in his Maker's eyes - they made him unpredictable, they presented a challenge. However when times were good, when he was alongside his Maker and felt the center of his attention - Wesley simply felt happy. When times were good, his Maker admired Wesley as a true accomplishment before his eyes, praising his beauty and intelligence. When times were bad, however, he was made to feel small for his too-differing opinions, his boldly expressed desires and insistent and repetitive questions.
It wasn't a precise moment, or incident, that changed things. More of a gradual tide and slow creeping realization. If it'd been one single occurrence, perhaps it could've been undone. Perhaps the damage would've been correctable. But at some point during one of their many travels, far from the cottage he first called home - Wesley's Maker had decided that he'd failed with his creation. More specifically, Wesley had failed him. He had created Wesley's life with his own hands, spilling blood and doing the unthinkable in the process, and yet he didn't get what he wanted. Who he wanted. Life was not something you could replicate that way, with nature and nurture battling inside the ash licked bones of the boy before him. He would never be him.
He would always be different. New. Flawed.
Wesley knew something had changed, he was intelligent enough to pick up the signs. To see the way his Maker's expressions changed, the way he began to avoid looking at him or spending the same amount of time with him that he used to. Foolishly, Wesley tried to pursue him still, to turn back the clock somehow - tried to appeal to him, to be appealing but nothing worked. He started to feel his world slip through his fingers like sand, and he had no way to stop it. Meanwhile, his creator had a new dilemma. What do you do with your creation when you regret its existence? There are really only three options. First, you fix it. Second, you destroy it. Third, you abandon it. And those are the three options Wesley's creator mulled over before one night before the hearth, he offered Wesley the latter two as choices. Did he want to be destroyed, or did he want to be abandoned. It wasn't a fair set of options, but he was beyond repair.
Wesley didn't want to die, so he made a forced choice instead.
He was left to survive with a satchel of belongings, the coat on his back and a handful of money. And for a year, he managed as much - working his way back to the cottage his life started in over the months, scraping by and doing what he needed to do to get by. At first he was gutted about losing his purpose of existing for his Maker, for their false love, but once he unraveled the why as to his abandonment that distress turned to a simmering sense of resentment. And he was going to do something with that.
He just needed to figure out what.
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