Post by Alan on Nov 8, 2006 1:30:08 GMT
Name: Alan J. Davenport
Nicknames: Is often called ‘Chief’ or ‘The Chief’ at work. He also answers to Boss-Man and God. Behind his back, he is sometimes called The Red Pen for his love of editing.
Race: Human.
Occupation: Editor-In-Chief at ‘The L.A. Sun’.
Gender: Male.
Skin Color: Caucasian with an even tan.
Age: 56.
Clothing: Alan likes his employees to dress smartly and as such, he tends to lead by example. At work he normally wears suits, complete with crisp white shirts and a subtle coloured tie. Outside of work, he still tends to dress smartly, although he does make an effort to look semi causal. Alan would never dream of wearing jeans, sticking to lightly coloured cargo pants and shirts. On his feet he wears either black shiny shoes if in the office or black boots if on the very rare occasions he goes out into the field.
Height: 6’1 ½”
Weight: 179lbs
Tattoos: None.
Piercings: None.
Jewellery: A single white gold wedding band.
Body Modifications: A few scars over his body, nothing major except for a scar that runs along the underside of his right arm – a reminder of a teenage accident with farming equipment.
Hair[/u]
Length: Cropped short.
Style: Even all over his head. The locks know better than to fall out of place.
Color: Pepper grey.
Facial Hair[/u]
Length: None.
Style: None.
Eyes[/u]
Color: Brown
Oddities: None
Personality: Alan is a workaholic, completely dedicated to his job. He all but lives for the paper now, throwing all his energy into making sure every edition is perfect. Very much a perfectionist, Alan can spend longer than he should, going over articles, sometimes picking at it too much. He is realistic, knowing that the world is an unpleasant place, where bad things happen to good people. Alan will protect his paper and his employees to the end, defending its reputation. He refuses to bow down to pressure or allow himself to be intimidated in any way. He is proud of the way that his paper just tells the fact, trying to avoid spin on either side. Alan believes that his readers have the intelligence to decide either way for themselves.
He is charismatic, with a powerful, almost larger than life personality, able to put his ideas and thoughts across very clearly, showing exactly what he means in few words. Alan has built his career up from his determination and pig headiness. He has a dry sense of humour, using sarcasm to show approval or disapproval.
A Superman fanatic, Alan loves the Christopher Reeve movies most of all. Lois and Clark, he considers being humour more than anything else. He owns every movie with every actor, every T.V series and every episode of every cartoon. Alan often quotes Superman lines to his employees, as well as naming them after characters. More often than not he will use Perry White and the way he runs the Daily Planet as an example of how not to run a paper. Because of his Superman love, he hates Batman.
He dislikes animals in general, finding them to be nasty, smelly, dumb creatures. Out of all the animals however, the one he actually hates is the dog – a throwback to his summer spend on his uncle’s farm. He refuses to let them into his home or his newspaper offices. Guide dogs are grudgingly allowed but they cannot enter his personal office.
Weaknesses: Being completely human, Alan is mortal and a fatal wound would kill him. He has a very low tolerance to alcohol and can only have one or two units before acting extremely drunk. While Alan does know a few basic fighting moves, he is no fighter and is no longer in the prime of his life. He has a weak left knee due to the cartilage ripping and never healing properly, which can sometimes hurt, more so in cold weather. Hates Dogs.
Abilities: Very good at his job, Alan knows how the business works and can play the game well; using politics and the people to get what he wants or needs. He knows how every aspect of his paper is run. Can quote almost every line of dialogue from all the Superman franchises. Sometimes likes to paint, in an abstract fashion.
Weapons: None.
Prized Possessions: The wedding ring he still wears despite his wife being dead for six years. A framed photo of his family in happier times that he keeps on his desk at work. A signed photo of Christopher Reeve from his Superman days, and one of the actual capes used in Superman One. Collection of Superman Marvel comics.
Home(s): Alan lives in a modest apartment over in Rayne’s side of L.A.
History: Alan was born in 1950, to a family living in a small town in Minnesota, and even for 1950 it was a backwards, out of the way place. His father was the editor of the local paper and so Alan grew up in the newspaper industry. He was helping out at his father’s workplace by the age of eleven, learning all the tricks of the trade. Even at that young age, Alan knew he wanted to work in a newspaper, wanted to be an editor, but at a paper that was more important that a small weekly local. While his father supported this dream, his mother wanted better for her son, believing that he would never be able to make it in the big cities with his small town history. When he was sixteen, she managed to convince him to spend the summer working on her brothers – his uncles – farm. She knew that her brother had no children of his own and hoped that he would want to leave the farm to him. The visit was a disaster, Alan hating every moment of every day. He was not cut out to work in the fields or with animals, finding that the cows and sheep seemed to hate him, making the time spent with them a real life hell. His uncle had two large dogs on the farm, supposedly to herd sheep, although they were the wrong breed. Instead, they were guard dogs, to keep everyone off the farm, the uncle hating everyone and anyone. Unfortunately for Alan, the guard dogs did not know that he was an exception to this rule and one day late in his visit, he walked past their kennels, alone. They promptly gave chase, forcing the young man to run and try to climb a disused, rusting piece of farm equipment to try and escape from them. Alan slipped, falling from the machinery, cutting himself badly on his right arm and hitting his head, knocking himself out. Things would have gone badly for the young man, except his uncle came upon the scene before he could be mauled. Alan woke up three weeks later, with a hatred of dogs that would last his whole life and an even greater desire to make his name in the newspaper world. Anything to escape the fate his mother wanted for him.
As soon as he could, Alan left the small town where he had grown up, heading south-east, ending up in Chicago. At first he worked on small papers, little more than rags. Determined however to make a name for himself, Alan managed to trick his way into the editor’s office at the Daily Chicago Times. Impressed with the young man’s attitude and determination, the editor gave him a chance and was even more impressed by the results, and so gave him a full time position on the staff – albeit a very low one. On one of his first assignments, he had to run to escape from dogs that had been set on him, ripping the cartilage in his knee.
It was during his time working at the Daily Chicago Times that he met, wooed and married Eleanor Todd, when they were both twenty-three. For the first fifteen or so years of their marriage, the two were very happy, although she would occasionally joke that Alan loved his job more than his wife and child – a daughter, Kelly, born after five years together. He worked steadily through the ranks, never loosing sight of his dream to be an editor of a large paper. At around the age of forty, he managed to secure the job of Editor-In-Chief at the L.A. Sun – a post he has held to this day. The family promptly moved to L.A, Alan so proud.
However, after getting this job, Alan’s marriage to Eleanor paid the price of his obsession to work, and the two began to drift apart, although the possibility of devoice was never mentioned – Eleanor didn’t believe in devoice and so suffered in silence, a frosty chill descending over their home. This in turn led to Alan spending more and more time at work, to escape the suffocating presence at home. It was a vicious cycle, both miserable and neither knowing how to fix it. Their daughter, Kelly, left home at the age of sixteen, unable to deal with the situation either. She refused to speak to either parent, angry at them both for the tense last few years.
At the age of fifty Eleanor suffered a heart attack, and was rushed to hospital. Alan immediately dropped everything and rushed to her side, staying in the hospital with her. The two slowly re-connected during her week long stay in the ward, and she forgave him his obsession about work. Alan was unable to contact Kelly however and by the time she finally replied to his attempts, Eleanor had suffered a second heart attack and a stroke, killing her.
Since the day of Eleanor’s funeral, six years ago, Alan has not seen his daughter, the young woman refusing to answer his calls or letters, still blaming him for her mother’s death and refusing to believe that the two had healed the rift between them – in her eyes, he had betrayed them both, by not being there when needed.
Alan threw himself back into his work, devoting his life to the paper, letting what little of his personal life slip away.