white blank page & swelling rage

"You've reached Graham Docherty of West Florence Library. How may I help you today?" Graham Docherty. Twenty. Werewolf. Ex-Hunter Dog & Current Loner. certified librarian.

[frostbite-rp]

Forever twenty years old, ex-werewolf, and is closed ❄

Backstory:

Graham never had the stereotypical, average life a child should growing up — to be able to live in a comfortable household, waking up to go to educational sessions every morning, or even having a pair of unconditional-loving parents. No, what he had since birth was completely different. Residing in a much more savage environment, he was born into a werewolf pack that was controlled by his father, the alpha. However, on the winter evening he was born, located in a forest in Northwestern Oregon, he was never able to meet the people that brought him into this world as he was forgotten when a hunter infiltrated their territory. Now, if it was a mere deer-hunter, no harm would have been caused, but due to the fact that it was a werewolf-hunter, specially trained and loaded to the brim with ammunition to kill off a gang of wolves, the pack dispersed in either confusion, fright, or rage, attempting to defend their brethren in vain, whilst in wolf-form.

After many, malicious growls and blood-shed, it was the hunter that reigned triumphantly as he stood amongst the dead bodies, only harming them out of spite and hatred of their kind. However, something caught his eye, and caused him to raise an eyebrow. He believed he had gotten rid of all those who remained, until he caught sight of a blatant newborn child, shifting uncontrollable between a mere pup and a human being as it cried in agony from the breaking of bones. Cocking his head, he loaded his gun with a single, silver bullet, as if he was about to kill the supernatural being, but came to a halt, sticking the weapon back into its holster as he began to pick up the helpless boy. It was then when an idea sparked into the hunters head. He would train the child to become the strongest, based on his years of experience of dealing with werewolves, and use him as his own, personal “attack-dog.” Strong and treacherous beings, up against a hunter was already task, but a hunter accompanied by one of their own kind? Utterly lethal.

And, so, that was what the hunter did for nineteen years, simply educating the boy on the art of warfare and fighting, in both his human, and werewolf form, until he became an impeccable fighter, who also believed he was doing the right thing all of that time to please his “father.” However, on the evening he was to go on his third “mission,” Graham’s thoughts were twisted when a werewolf he lounged at to deliver a coup de grace changed into his human form to croak, just before he was slaughtered by the naive wolf, “But, you are one of us.” That simple quote rang into his head, and in a heated confrontation with the hunter he grown to see as his guardian, Graham discovered the truth of his upbringing that he never truly questioned until that moment. In rage and in the feeling of betrayal, he pushed the elderly man against the wall. Although it was known he was strong, at the moment, the older boy had underestimated his abilities and killed the man due to the impact.

Perplexed and stunned, Graham was, well, alone in his grief. He had nothing to live for — no one to care for him, and simply remained living in the wood-cabin home for a year until he journeyed into Florence in search for something he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. For now, working at the local library for some stability will suffice.

 Personality:

Due to past events, Graham is closed off, protecting himself from being used and betrayed, yet again. Quite frankly, he’s not trusting, refusing to allow others pass the strong, and high wall he had built over the years since his accidental murder to his adopted father. He especially distances himself when it comes to others of his kind, as well, for he used to hunt them after lies were embedded into his thoughts. The possibility of being ridiculed or tortured for his actions were notions that continue to haunt him in his sleep, believing he’d never be able to be accepted after what he has done. However, while he may give sarcasm and minor, impudent remarks, he doesn’t mean to hurt others with his harsh, heavily indifferent actions.

When angered, though, a completely different side of the wolf is shown. His blood-thirsty, brutal, and savage natures are brought out of himself — turning back into the beast that showed no grace; no remorse. Undoubtedly intelligent whilst in combat, possessing a cruel, bestial cunning, to control him is a difficult task, for when he is enraged, almost nothing is able to halt his soulless actions. No matter, at the end of the day, he’s merely a wolf trying to survive in this world after much hurt, deeming everyone untrustworthy as he tries to make it on his own.

“Everyone has complicated pasts. Some more than others.”

Graham Docherty looks a lot like Zayn Malik

[oliveroththedeadgal]

gone, gone, gone

06/19/2013.

Read More

[lincxln]

Olive Roth & Graham Docherty,

[oliveroththedeadgal]

“Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound.”

[grahamdocherty]

Breathing | Graham & Troy.

Troy: Watched almost joyfully as the blood splattered out of him. He was correct, it had only grazed his heart. If it had hit squarely in such a vital part - he would have been dead within a matter of seconds. But he still had enough power in him to speak. Troy sat down at a rock opposite of the one the boy was now leaning against. He set his gun down and looked at him as he said that it hurt. Obviously. But that hadn't been what Troy was expecting at all. It was like this boy had given up the thought so quickly, he wasn't even going to fight his death. Just make casual talk with the stranger that had killed him. A stranger that would remain there until he was sure his job had been done and done correctly.

Troy: Stretched his arms and began, "I was born in Los Angeles. You know, when you're raised in the /bad/ parts of Los Angeles it's hard not to become attracted to a certain kind of...danger, if you will." He wasn't sure why he was telling him this. Perhaps it was because part of Troy was starting to loosen up, that hard exterior of the man who loved to bring pain to others was slowly diminishing and he hated it. "So a little of this and a little of that happened until I wound up in jail. Jail was where I met a man. He used to be the leader of the hunters. But he died. Before he died he educated me on all there was to know. I thought he was a lunatic, obviously. But life has a way of working out and eventually I found out he wasn't lying. He was telling nothing but the truth." Troy sighed, toying with the gun in his hand. "I don't just kill werewolves though. No. My hatred toward people goes a lot further than whether or not they're a bunch of filthy mutts."

Graham: Inhale. Exhale. As the man spoke his tale and reasoning for his line of duty, the werewolf thought back to what his father used to tell him, about how he always worked better when given instruction. Step one was always breathe. Step two would be to count to three. Step three would say his name aloud. It was a mechanism he connected with calming down for whenever he allowed his bestial instincts to take control during a crusade, but for now, he opted to use it as a way to survive, even if it was just for another moment to muster up his own story. He wasn't looking for forgiveness, any longer. No, once the bullet darted its way past his ribs, he knew he deserved this consequence. He merely wanted to release all that he had bent up within him for two years after he accidentally killed his father. If he was going to die, anyways, what the hell?

Graham: started roughly in a gruff tone. He sounded blatantly disembodied as he proceed to clutch his reddening clothing, leaning his head back against the base of the tree. "I was born into huntin'. 'm father found me while raidin' a pack o' wolves, and thought, y'aknow what? Why not raise a huntin' dog? Within fifteen years, I killed a hundred of m' own kind in the v-very least." He interrupted himself with a cough of clumped blood that he spit out by his tarnished converse shoe. Wiping his lip of any other speckles against his drying lips and pale, perspired cheek, he coughed, "'course, 'ya can't live a lie all 'yer life, right? Found out, accidentally killed 'im, and now, viola. I'm dyin' after I've already been /so/ broken by people, by werewolves, by fuckin' hunters. I-I'm not runnin', or fightin', though, 'cos I know I shouldn't.. I deserve this, don't I? I've lived long 'nough, haven't I? I know 'yer a h-hunter.. You're gonna say, 'Yes,' no matter what, but even if 'ya weren't." His eyes began to close, and he could practically feel his heart beating so fast that it'd most likely burst by the force of itself alone. "Tell me this.. can you deserve to be loved after committin' such a crime? Killin' so, /so/ many of 'yer own people? Can a murderer be forgiven?"

Graham: "I should say it's rhe-/rhetorical/, 'cos I already know the answer.. It's, 'No'." The brunette’s mind unintentionally drifted off onto his life prior to that moment. The scent of a soccer field’s freshly cut grass penetrated his thoughts. The sight of his father forcing him to eat breakfast when he was seven, his least favorite meal of the day, flashed into his mind, accompanied by the laughter of the elder Docherty when Graham got oatmeal on his nose. The mere idea of a thought regarding Olive Roth, the girl that inevitably confused him, caused his eyes to well up with a liquid he regretfully allowed to flow freely onto his tanned, stubbly cheek. With a crash of a wave from the nearby beach, he could vaguely see the silhouette of the girl in the moonlight, exactly where he left her when they shared their first and only kiss. And with that, followed silence.

[grahamdocherty]

Breathing | Graham & Troy.

Troy: He ignored the comments that were coming from the boy and simply stood there, casually rocking himself back and forth on his heels. When the boy started stuttering and trying to find a way out of the situation, Troy could sense it immediately. It was that faintest sense of fear that he thrived on. It was the fear that made him keep going. The one that gave him the thrill. Not the actual kill. But the anticipation. The fact that people knew they were going to die before it happened. Just a few seconds before or maybe minutes before. It didn't matter much. They knew. Those brief moments were his favorite. "What a pity, you have to leave so soon." He took a casual step toward him, knowing that at any given moment he could leap out. But he was accustomed to this. He preyed on people as if they were rats. But he didn't have much time for playing around at this moment. He had to get it over with, had to know that he still had it in him. Thus - in a solitary step, the gun was pointed at the young boy. Before he could have much time to react, Troy had fired. Hitting him square in a terribly vital organ; the heart. It had probably only been a graze but either way, it would kill him.

Graham: halted dead in his tracks, the bullet tore through his leather jacket, through his thermal t-shirt, and embedded itself right into the brunette's chest. He had been trained to withstand pain before He had been told to never give into the encumbering sensation of anguish; the sensation you're going to die, and you're going to die right now. No, he was practically born to be durable; to be the hunter rather than the hunted, and lived that way for nineteen years. However, at that moment, it was almost as if it was deserved -- quite possibly, the shedding of light to his confusion. Was this not what he had coming all along for the sins he had done? Was this not what he had coming for his mere existence? As he gasped, and clutched his chest, he felt the red liquid seep into the cracks between his fingers and trickle down his bare arm. With the cant of his head, his eyes grew hollow as he muttered, "That fuckin' hurt, ya'know? I can tell, though. Been watchin' a bit. /You/ must be apart of the notorious hunters.. and t-this is judgement day, huh?"

Graham: furrowed his brows as his vision developed into a haze and his balance began to crumble. Practically falling onto the nearest tree for support, he could hardly stand, much less move his legs that felt as if they were twigs that were supporting a house. The acute pain caused him to grit his teeth, and before he knew it, he slid onto the grass that began soaking in his blood. Sitting against the tree, he looked up towards the other male as his vision blurred and his muscle tightened. He didn't cower, or attempt to flee for he knew his efforts would've been futile. He couldn't deny the overwhelming feeling that he should simply accept his fate, prompting himself in a rigid, yet more comfortable position. For the time being -- for how ever many minutes the bleeding out and the broken arteries and veins to his heart would allow him to have, he inquired, "W-Were.. 'ya raised a hunter, or did 'ya chose 'ta become one? Humor me, or, if you'd rather, shoot me again."

[grahamdocherty]

Breathing | Graham & Troy.

Troy: He spied the young boy perched atop a rock. His senses were too hazy for him to know whether it was the fact that he hadn't watched someone take their last breath in a long time that made him act this way or the fact that he could somehow tell the boy before him was a werewolf. There was no knowing. No way that at the current state he was in he could have even reasoned what he was doing but Troy knew that he had a message to send. Loud and clear. Not only to the stupid mutts around town but also the rest of the hunters that thought they could make a fool out of him. He wasn't much for being in charge of anything, he simply liked getting a job done. But he knew people, his own people, were getting very angsty to test him.

Troy: The gun felt light as a feather in his pocket. Everything did now-a-days. His heart was empty, it had been for a very long time. He yearned for that feeling, that heat that came from murdering a wolf. Most people called it a darkness but darkness was what had been engulfing Troy for as long as he could remember. He wouldn't take the gun out. No, not yet. He'd have some fun with this. If only for a second. "Out past your bedtime, I see." He said, holding his arms behind him and stepping into view of the boy. Short, possibly ill tempered. A grin grew across Troy's face.

Graham: wanted to be alone as he processed his thoughts, so naturally when he was confronted by the older, blatantly eccentric man, he released an exasperated sigh. Agitated by the mere presence of the other, the brunette hissed, "Don't got one. Shouldn't /you/ be off to be, though? I heard it's better for the elderly 'ta wet in bed then in public at this hour, 'less 'ya got a diaper with 'ya, mate." Averting his gaze forward, leaning against the cool stone of the forest, he attempted to completely disregard the other and return to his search for serenity. He tried breathing in the evening's crisp air, and focusing his brown orbs towards the abundant stars in the universe above. However, his efforts appeared in vain when he could only glance at the taller, rigid being beside him.

Graham: There was something about him, as if he withheld a powerful aura, although he was merely a human by his scent. It made him uneasy -- it was unsettling, as if the man's presence was a bad omen. He displayed a tainted demeanor; one that he wouldn't typically associate himself with due to his own suspicions about humans. "Yeah, I'ma go now," the young adult tartly announced as he prompted himself up from his relaxed position. It wasn't until he was standing did he notice how the man was holding something behind his back. He parted his chapped lips, wandering if he should say more, but opted against it, merely arching a curious brow instead and taking a step forward to leave.

[grahamdocherty]

Breathing | Graham & Troy.

Troy: He slammed down the notebook that he'd been vigorously taking notes in. For days. Notes, what were meaningless words going to help with in a situation like this? That's not what he needed. He needed to take action. He needed to make his plans and have them take actual motion. So, grabbing his .32 he set out into the street. It was the instinct taking over him. The one that he had been hiding for so long. He didn't even know why he was holding back those feelings. He wanted to let them out, to scream them into the wind but he could do no such thing. Instead he walked. He walked a great distance until he found himself surrounded by miles and miles of nothing but trees. A forest. How adequate. He wasn't about to start shooting out at random animals, however. He had come to this miserable town to find one thing and one thing only; werewolves. Loathsome creatures that he couldn't even fathom how they existed. That was the hunter in him but there was a greater part to Troy, the part of Troy that had always irked for murder. Even before becoming a hunter. He was somewhat of a serial killer, yes, that was a suiting title. And his next victim was close by, he could /feel/ it.

Graham: needed a moment to breathe. He needed to step out into Florence's air; take in the aromas of the quaint town. Having so much penetrating his mind all at once, from Olive's kiss to him joining Wolfus, neither of which he ever imagined he'd do, he couldn't help but want to actually /breathe/. Everything was moving so fast; so rapidly he could barely process the week, thus far, and so the brunette found himself roaming the streets among the nameless faces to give himself a moment to catch himself before he was fully engulfed by his perplexity. Finding his spontaneous decisions encumbering, he wondered if it was out of his character, which was why he was so conflicted and pained by his emotions. Or, maybe, it was him avoiding his true self?

Graham: Had he always been so brash? Had he always been so isolated and distant from the world? It had been so long since he allowed himself to actually make a decision without thinking, that he didn't even recognize how he was reverting back to his originally roots right before his very eyes. He was acting on impulse, again, he thought, and allowing others to come into his life once more. He was taking in every moment and doing his best to refrain from regrets subconsciously, like in his past life before the realization of his hunting. Were those reasons, those embedded characteristics, the factors that led to him acting so.. abnormal? Do people ever really change for good, or do they come back to what they once were after they become comfortable? Was he letting go of his skeletons; his burdens, finally?

Graham: Furrowing his brow, he believed he need more time to think before jumping to such a conclusion, wandering into the depths of Florence's woods in the process. It was calming, and well, it seemed harmless enough, at that moment.

[wtfrcse]

[PRIVATE]

[wtfrcse]

I’ll allow you to join on a trial basis until James returns.  Upon his return, I’ll discuss the matter with him and whether or not you stay in the pack is ultimately up to him and how you fare during this trial. 

[grahamdocherty]

You're not the only that has a condition. I want you people 'ta treat me the same. I don't want all that family and nickname shit James' always pullin'. When I require aid, I will expect it. You help me, and I'll help you, but otherwise, we can consider this strictly like business, yeah?

[wtfrcse]

[PRIVATE]

[wtfrcse]

So you want to join Wolfus. Is that correct?

[grahamdocherty]

Yes..

[wtfrcse]

[PRIVATE]

[wtfrcse]

The answer is simple, Graham. We protect her and we give her a place. Just because we come off as always looking for a fight, it doesn’t mean we don’t take care of our own. I’ve done what I can to shelter Olive and see to it that she’s not entirely defenseless. She’s a good girl and a bit naive but overall, she’s also quite full of potential. Every pack has their faults and ours is no exception, so I won’t even try to tell you that we’re perfect or special by any stretch of the definition. 

[grahamdocherty]

Okay, well, you've got Olive. You've somehow convinced Simon. I guess what I'm sayin' is that 'round the time I first came to Florence, James came 'ta me, too. He wanted 'ta talk, but I naturally declined. He comes off as a bit of a psychopath, ya'know. But, uhm, that's why I'm 'ere. I wanted 'ta talk 'cause people are bein' stabbed, people are bein' killed, but what can I do? Nothin' alone. I wasn't always a lone wolf; I had a leader and a purpose. It's probably blatant to the world's Olive's my reasoning, but who's my shepherd? I just want 'ta ensure she's safe; always.

[annajacks-blog]

Oh well, thanks.

[grahamdocherty]

Okay.

[wtfrcse]

[PRIVATE]

[wtfrcse]

If I thought somebody was around, I wouldn’t be doling out general details, Graham. Any friend of James is a friend of mine, you needn’t worry. If you wish to discuss your offer, I will relay it to James and from there, we’ll set up a meeting to hammer out further details.

[grahamdocherty]

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Friend? Hah, I, uhm, well, whatever floats 'yer boat. I'm not much for official business like this, um, let's take this slow. Before I ask anythin', tell me 'bout Wolfus. What makes it so grand that Olive Roth became 'part of it?

[annajacks-blog]

Can any of you suggest me good books? Please? Thank you!

[grahamdocherty]

Check the library. Anythin' in the back.

[wtfrcse]

[PRIVATE]

[wtfrcse]

Contrary to what you may believe, my first priority has always been the pack and ensuring that the members of the pack are moderately comfortable. Part of being in a position of power is taking care of those that depend on you. Surely, you can share with me what you wanted to talk to my mate about.

[grahamdocherty]

Contrary 'ta what 'ya may believe, 'ya shouldn't talk so publicly of 'yer pack matters. Also, I'm hopin' 'ya mean takin' care of James, under the consideration of how I have no real connection 'ta 'ya apart from him -- I'm not 'yer pack, remember? I, uh, did want to speak to him 'bout an offer of sorts, though. I can't believe I'm comin' 'ere 'ta 'ya, but 'ya wouldn't happen to be able to help me.. would 'ya?

[wtfrcse]

Still away on business, unfortunately. Is there anything I can assist you with, Graham?

[grahamdocherty]

Since when did 'ya ever care?

[wtfrcse]

…

[grahamdocherty]

Where's James?

[grahamdocherty]

“It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know.”