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Daimon's Bio for Club_Anakim

This bio is for the game club_anakim.

Daimon was born in Whitechapel, the son of a "woman of questionable morals" and a powerful Rakshasa, who had come to London to retaliate against the English. Daimon was born with backward-facing hands and orange-yellow eyes; a charity organization paid for corrective surgery, but his hands are very scarred and he wears gloves. He wears brown contact lenses most of the time.

Daimon became a petty criminal early on to survive, and discovered he was unusually good at reading people. He was a talented con artist by the age of sixteen, when he was discovered by the powerful Anak known as Lilith. He remained her lover and favorite servant for most of his life, eventually moving to San Francisco with her. But a nasty falling-out led to her dumping him, both as servant and lover, a few years ago. He still works for her father, Ezra, and helps protect the Lilim, but is still somewhat recovering from the emotional blow.

Daimon's Anakim blood has made him telepathic, with a specialty in creating illusions and entering people's dreams. He is absolutely secretive about his powers until he knows someone or is in an environment where supernatural abilities are common and accepted; then, he's rather a show-off.
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RP Post For Rebelle_Elle: Getting A Room

It wasn’t a bad hotel room—a double, two big beds, one with a suitcase spilling out over it. He grabbed a wad of white silk and a small case out from among his clothes and tossed them on the other bed, then quickly stripped out of his shirt. Underneath his skin was smooth, save for a raised knife scar across one bicep. He smiled at her invitingly as he stepped out of his shoes, and then drew her in again for another deep kiss.

He was more relaxed than she, but not by much; hungry, but not too impatient. As they headed for the free bed he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from its loops, setting it beside the packet of silk. “Here we go. So sorry for the wait, but I’ll make it worth it for you.”

RP Post: Illusions

Daimon just spent the night watching over a complete stranger. Well, not a complete stranger; they'd shared a conversation and a possibly life-or-death car chase, and they knew each other were empowered. Daimon always felt a little protective over other empowered, unless they were complete jackholes. She wasn't; she was just stressed, paranoid and a little hardcore. He could do hardcore; his usual partner was as deadly as they came.

But he himself had what Miriam insisted on calling his "soft and melty caramel center"--too damn big-hearted for his own good sometimes. His spiritual practice called this a virtue, but sometimes it took him down some damn strange roads.

He gave her ten full hours of sleep, only altering her dreams when she gave any hint that they were growing stressful. When that time ran out, he had had several restoring naps himself, and was quietly humming away in the shower. His plan: food, conversation, and getting the hell onto the road in a new car.

On his perch, lined now with a newspaper, Beanie was chomping his way through a seed and dried fruit mix.
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    Beanie's random chatter
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