- █ █ B A S I C S
█ NAME ▬ Daniel Dane Hind Hart
█ AGE ▬ 29
█ NICKNAME ▬ Many. Mostly unflattering.
█ GENDER ▬ Male.
█ RACE ▬ Incubus.
█ ORIENTATION ▬ Not a picky eater.
█ OCCUPATION ▬ Teen Idol.
█ PARTNER ▬ Patently impossible, it seems. Also bad for his image.
█ SLAVE ▬ Good help is so hard to find.
█ █ A P P E A R A N C E
█ HAIR ▬ Black.
█ EYES ▬ Blue.
█ BUILD ▬ 5'10" or so, with model-muscles.
█ TATTOOS ▬ An ill advised flock of silhouetted birds in flight at the back of one shoulder.
█ SCARS ▬ Not a one, thanks to caims and money.
█ BIRTHMARKS ▬ A little beauty mark at the corner of his left eye, which is cute as hell when he winks at a camera.
█ █ P E R S O N A L I T Y
█ THEME SONGS
█ ▬ AMERICAN GIRL
█ ▬ PIECE OF ME
█ ▬ AINT MY FAULT
█ ▬ SO GOOD
█ ▬ PRETTY GIRLS
█ ▬ YOUR BODY
█ ▬ DIE YOUNG
█ ▬ BOMBASTIC
█ ▬ CANT BE TAMED
█ ▬ ALL DAY LONG
█ ▬ MY OWN WORST ENEMY
█ ▬ WANT U BACK
█ ▬ NEW AMERICANA
█ LIKES
█ ▬ Positive attention. Respect for his art form.
█ ▬ Money. Fame. Status. All slowly dwindling, sadly.
█ ▬ Parties. Stimulant drugs. Good music.
█ ▬ Sex. Food. They're pretty much the same thing.
█ ▬ Driving. Usually fast. Doesn't matter what.
█ ▬ A certain amount of pain. A certain amount of risk.
█ ▬ Booty calls from his ex. Just, damnnh.
█ DISLIKES
█ ▬ The newer, younger talent. Obsolescence.
█ ▬ Having his older work made fun of. He was sixteen!
█ ▬ The changes in his appearance that came with age.
█ ▬ The paparazzi. Tabloid trash mags. Twitter.
█ ▬ Being told he needs to "act his age."
█ ▬ Being told he needs to "be a role model."
█ ▬ His producers, agents, and managers.
█ ▬ Also his choreographers, sound crew, and stylists.
█ ▬ In fact, ******** everyone, especially his ex.
█ PERSONALITY TRAITS
█ ▬ Vain ; Spoiled ; Superficial ; Hedonistic
█ ▬ Concerned with the trappings of success.
█ ▬ Concerned with his age and appearance.
█ ▬ Diva. He always wants it his way.
█ ▬ Loud-mouthed and opinionated. Sarcastic.
█ ▬ Flirtatious. The prince of no-personal-space.
█ ▬ Absolutely crass. Thinks he can get away with anything.
█ ▬ Never takes responsibility.
█ ▬ Ignores well thought out arguments if he doesn't agree.
█ ▬ Always planning his "comeback."
█ █ H I S T O R Y
█ BACKGROUND
Listen. I get it. You watched the stupid ******** documentary and read the shitty book and you think you know how it went, but you really don't.
My mom was a human, and dad wasn't in the picture. I'm just like a billion other kids that way, except the thing is that my mother remarried when I was about ten, and my stepdad had a job on some kids' network, where he did casting for a bunch of different wholesome-family-entertainment-bullshit. I got to be one of those kids that smiles really wide and vacant for the camera while we all go through our dance number. You know how it is-- All these kids who, in the real world, would be beating the s**t out of one another on the playground and yelling about whose mom sucked whose d**k.. Those same kids get put on television and told to act like the shining light of innocence. Today's episode: Why you should always accept your family for who they are, because quirky bullshit just makes your family unique. Oh, don't worry. This isn't the part where I tell you I got badtouched or something. It wasn't like that. I mean, it was a couple times, but any kid in the industry will tell you that that's pretty common. You get any number of half-famous assholes on a set, or in a car on the way to some kids award show, and they think they haven't done anything depraved in the last week or so, so why not?
Not the point.
I did a bunch of commercials, a bunch of bit parts, got on an ensemble show, and eventually I was in the main cast for what passed as a pre-teen drama. Think Lizzie McGuire. Think Clarissa Explains it All. .. ********, I'm getting old. All of this took up a lot of time. So you don't get a lot of opportunity to play or do homework or tell your mother to stop siphoning your assets when you're trying to memorize scripts. And this was before the big reveal, so I was still sleeping-- or trying to. I was fourteen or fifteen, taking a little something to keep myself awake, taking a little something else to get under on long flights. This is with the approval of my first manager-- dear old mom. I'm a cute kid, but I need more pep in my step. I need to smile more. I need to up my game, because there are new kids coming along all the time.
And then they give me the episode where I'm supposed to sing this stupid ******** song to the girl my character wants to take to prom.
And that's where I get my break, because acting I'm not so great at, but this singing s**t is a breeze, and it makes people get these big wet eyes like they just watched me shoot a puppy-- but in a good way. They make the singing thing my character's gimmick, and after he's killed off in a way that has several female fans calling in suicide threats, I've got a deal for an album, and then a tour, and suddenly the whole world knows me. I'm fifteen and I'm the king of the world and I can get whatever I want and ******** whoever I want and all I've gotta do is spend every other waking moment practicing dance moves and getting my hair done and doing interviews where I talk about the importance of staying humble, and how we have to protect the environment, and the utmost respect I have for all women. And that's not hard, because I'm sleeping less and less and less and--
Mom My manager is the one who explains it to me. She calls a meeting with my producers and they sit me down and I'm thinking this is an intervention. Which is stupid, because they know about the drugs, there's no way they don't, they're the ones who make sure there's always candy available. Instead, they talk past me, like I'm not in the room, about how this could effect my boy-next-door image, how this might play to the media if they get wind of it. This escalates into a screaming match, but I'm a little done up at the time, and I don't really get it. What? What's going to what now?
The fans don't know, the public doesn't know, and they don't have to, right? I mean, we can play it off. Make a little mystery out of it. Dane is so accessible right now, as a human ( The ******** do they mean as a human? I'm not a human? ) but we could have him represent everyone equally. A different face for each subsequent album. But isn't that cultural appropriation? God, no! It's just cute costuming! Nobody's going to be offended! It'd be a lot worse if we came clean and told everybody that America's sweetheart is some sex monster. ( A what? What the ********? )
An Incubus, Danny. I'll give you a pamphlet.
Changes were gradual. No sleep, for one. And my manager, who'd looked down her nose at all my groupies before, suddenly had me on a schedule, because now there were side effects, and if the media wasn't going to find out then there were certain concessions to be made. It was probably for the best, because between being a teenager and being an Incubus, I ******** just about anybody that looked at me for more than a second. And that was the thing-- they were looking at me even more than usual. People liked me hanging all over them. So it's not like I was doing anything wrong. And I was making a lot of money, year to year, album to album. Or, mom my manager was making a lot of money, since she was in charge of everything, but it was really important for her and my stepdad to get divorced right after I hit eighteen, so my assets didn't become his assets. I mean, it helped in court that he had charges against him for molesting kids from his studio. But then I had to make public statements disavowing any knowledge-- a lie-- and saying how he never touched me personally-- another lie, but who's counting at this point?-- so that my career wouldn't be damaged by the scandal.
If you ever think you know something real about a person who spends all their time on a stage, just let me tell you. You're a stupid, naive c**t and you need to grow up.
Which brings me to my biggest problem: I grew up.
My voice changed, which was a nightmare for the sound crew, but even more for me, because my manager had me chugging potions all the time trying to "mitigate the damage." I was taller, broader, no longer able to carry off the sweet-little-boy routine that was so integral to everything I used to do. But none of my producers wanted to admit that as late a bloomer as I'd been, I was finally doing that chrysalis-butterfly thing and pretty soon they'd be dealing with a grown man. They reacted like most entertainment companies would-- by trying to wring as much as they could out of me before inevitably having to rebrand.
At that point in my life, I could have been pulling from a dozen different sources and still not had energy for all the dance routines, award shows, magazine interviews, photo shoots.. But then, I'd also gotten in the habit of partying pretty hard. A lot of amphetamines, a lot of stupid stunts that had to be kept out of the papers with judicious applications of other paper. Money. I'm talking about money. One time, I carsurfed on the hood of some accountant's Lexus as it drove into the Saxon river. One time, I threw a fan's handcrafted bust of me down through a skylight, into the main chamber of a charity auction. The charity was for orphaned manatees or something. Who knows? I was pretty high. Which brings me to rehab and getting clean and making public penance and how my publicist thinks they can spin this to look like I'm sensitive. I'm relateable. Everybody has these kinds of problems.
Sure.
So I'm at every award show where I get nominated but don't win, and the camera pans to me with my seltzer water, and I smile this little half-embarrassed smile, like I'm ashamed of what I've done, and so humbled by the experience, and I'm just so happy to have so many people supporting me. It's the second wind of my career, this early-twenties period where I'm sober and singing about how everybody makes mistakes, and all we can do is say sorry and move on, try to better ourselves, try to love ourselves for who we are. Except this is the equivalent of my first job, where I'm smiling vacantly into the camera, because I don't buy into any of this bullshit, and I'm pretty sure it shows. But the die-hard fans are still all about it. These are the types I could spit on from a rooftop and still have their support.
So I'm twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, still getting invited to these stupid society gatherings where everybody says how good everyone else looks, and oh, I saw you in that thing, it was such a masterful piece of work. Oh, you mean that track where some kid sampled my work and I didn't even get a feature? ******** you, buddy. But nod. But smile. But get yourself to the bar and tell the guy there that you want seltzer, but half of it needs to be vodka, because ********, did anybody really think sobriety would stick? Yeah, maybe two weeks.
It's at a place like this, doing things like this, that I meet Lev. And if I thought my life was going to s**t before, I had no ******** clue how bad it could get.
█ ABILITIES
▬ MUSICALLY GIFTED
Believe it or not, he can sing without autotune. He can also play guitar and piano, although he hasn't had to do either in years, since he's constantly backed up by hired musicians or soundboards. A lot of Dane's talent has gone to waste, despite all of his fame.
▬ FAMILIAR FACE
A gift and a curse, Dane used to be a household name. Although his main fanbase has since grown up, he's constantly being stopped on the street for pictures.. or to have it pointed out that his "Bay at the Moon" album was terrible. He still has a certain amount of clout in celebrity circles, but it's running out as he gets older and the hits just.. don't seem to be coming like they used to.
▬ ATTRACTIVE
The fact of the matter is, even if he's not the babyfaced, angel-voiced teen of his early career, Dane is still really, really good-looking. It pays to have personal trainers and stylists, but part of it is certainly nature-- the same way pitcher plants evolved to draw in and trap their prey. He has a magnetic quality which makes him hard not to acknowledge-- although, it should be noted that his physical appearance alone can't overwhelm a person's natural preferences. Still, he's capable of being extremely charming when he's in pursuit of something-- or someone-- that he wants.
▬ THE TOUCH
When Dane is in physical contact with others, his body slightly alters its normal pheromones in order to produce ones that are more acceptable and pleasant to the person he's touching. This manifests as a sense of wellbeing or comfort, and may extend to attraction, arousal, or outright pleasure if the contact is prolonged.
▬ PROWESS
An incubus doesn't feed off of their own pleasure. As a result, Dane is-- without bragging-- quite gifted when it comes to pleasing others. Although, to be fair, some of his gifts to that end may be genetic.
▬ ADDICTIVE SECRETION
Dane's release is a fairly potent euphoric, which has the function of triggering additional spikes in the pleasure of his partner, even if they've previously reached climax. This is most effective when administered to a mucous membrane, but can also cause a pleasant sensation if it is otherwise applied to bare skin. Unfortunately, the recipient will pay for the relative high by going through withdrawals that can range from unpleasant to deadly, and will often try to repeat the experience just to alleviate their discomfort.
█ EXTRA
Face claim is d**k Grayson, aka Nightwing.
Voice claim is, appropriately enough, the Biebs.
As an Incubus, he doesn't sleep, subsiding instead on sexual energy. In lieu of that, he'll definitely take stimulants to get him through his day.
