Larkspur

♧ PERSONALITY ♧

Larkspur is a miserable little excuse for a man who puts on a veneer of assholery in order to cover up his percieved weakness, as he'd rather not be taken advantage of or made fun of at the expense of actually being nice to people (he is soft when he gets close enough to someone, though). He's spiteful, stubborn, and refuses to get help, if he even recognizes that he needs it in the first place. He doesn't take much seriously, either- part of it is because he genuinely has his head far enough up his ass to think he can do anything, but it's also because he doesn't want to seem like a pussy. This constant insecurity of his leads to him being both entirely apathetic and overwhelmingly clingy in his relationships with others- he doesn't want to seem weak, but he also doesn't want to die alone, but he doesn't want to talk about it, but he still wants to spend every waking moment with his partner, but he doesn't want them to get turned off, but he's jealous, and repeat ad ininitum. Lark tends to be very impulsive as well, mainly because of his misplaced confidence in himself and his ability to fight his way out of any situtation he's in. Lark isn't all bad, though- he could be a good person if he got therapy.

♧ DETAILS ♧

♧ LIKES ♧

• cats
• poker
• pastel colors
• lil kids
• cooking

♧ DISLIKES ♧

• radio dramas
• beer
• early mornings
• people who make eyes at his partner
• getting close to people (but goddammit some people are worth it)

♧ TRIVIA ♧

• He speaks in a Cajun accent.
• He regularly fakes being shot in order to get attention from his boyfriend. He has a deal with the local soda fountain and everything- he'll pay the soda jerk a tip, and in return he'll just cover himself in cherry syrup so it looks like he's bleeding out.
• He indirectly caused the death of his own mother as she was blamed for a crime he committed. He doesn't talk about it.
• He failed 4th grade twice- he's quite good at English, but that's about the only subject.
• He's got dyscalculia.

♧ BACKGROUND ♧

Lark was the second kid out of five (seven, if you count the dead ones), born in the once-prosperous coastal town of Riverstone. Driven by both poverty and a need to prove himself, he began dabbling in crime. It started petty, but eventually devolved into full-on drug trafficking, first done under the eye of his older sibling's drug dealer but soon done within the head of his own organization after the initial drug dealer was killed by his own hand. His reach grew from his own small town to the cluster of towns in his home county to half of Pentestotal's east coast- too much turf for one high-school dropout to handle, as he was killed in a shootout at the age of 18.

And then he woke up, in the back of a car, covered in graveyard dirt and being rushed towards Specklehorn on the other end of the country.

Turns out, the Midnight Crew had heard of his exploits, and were interested in recruiting him and his drug-trafficking connections for themselves. They meant to talk to him outright, but once tragedy struck for him, they figured it'd be easier for them to send their necromancer over to resurrect him and send him over. Fortunately for Lark, though, the necromancer was sympathetic. Being telepathic, he could pick up on Lark's trepidation towards joining the big leagues, and stopped in the smaller farming town of Gingerroot to drop him off and claim to the Midnight Crew that Lark had simply been resurrected too late. Thus began Lark's new life- he was given paperwork for a new identity, and was unceremoniously ushered into a quiet existence as the local diner's dishwasher.

But he soon grew weary of this. He had grown used to the constant excitement and risk of his previous life, and this dairy-farming community did little else but make him wish he was drowning in the manure pit. So, despite common sense telling him otherwise, he packed up his bags, scrounged together what little change he made, and hitchhiked his way to the city to cram himself into an apartment and work his way up. And work his way up he did! With the help of a few, more level-headed roommates, he was able to kickstart a makeshift casino out of their kitchen for the other miscreants of the city, which soon blossomed into a legitimate operation- one of the most profitable in the city. This newfound wealth of his- and legitimate, at that!- got him enough clout to gain a date, then another one, then another one (though of course, they all fell through in the end), not to mention a shiny new apartment. Nothing comes without a price, though. The Midnight Crew caught wind of Lark's existance (not helped by his pretending to be part of the Crew anyway to get the fearful respect he'd grown used to as a teenager), and were pissed that he had robbed them of the wealth they should have had years ago- they sent a few of their members over to talk things over with him, and after a few new scars had been earned on both sides, Lark agreed to pay them a small fee every month in return for the members that were sent over keeping up the act of Lark having died, though the fee keeps increasing, and there's always the chance of those people dying and his cover being blown. But hey, what can you do about it? Just throw down another hand, sell some more furniture to make rent, and hope your current boyfriend doesn't find out about it all.

♧ CURRENT SITUATION ♧

Lark currently resides in a penthouse suite with his boyfriend of 3 years and his little cat Porkrind, maintaining the veil of stability as he rushes to pay an ever-increasing protection fee and keep people coming to his casino in a market filled with growing competition. He might lose the apartment, he might lose his boyfriend, he might lose his life, but there's fuckall he can do about it now without making something worse for himself, so whatever. He'll just hope he doesn't get too into debt at the next poker game, and maybe once he's done his workaholic boyfriend will be willing to go out somewhere nice tonight.