User Profile

[Not real. For childeof_cain.]

Name: Ryan Adams
Known For: Being Ryan Adams, alt-country singer.
Clan: Malkavian
Live Journal: ryanaintright
Screen Name: ryan aint right
Character Photo:
Brief Character Summary: At first glance, Ryan might seem fairly well-adjusted for a Malkavian. Turned at the grand old age of 27, Ryan was heavily involved in the Beat movement of the mid-to-late 1940s and 50s. Disillusioned in New York City, he's hung out with everyone from Kerouac to Ginsberg and tried every drug from pot to dilaudid.

Already having a slight touch of multiple personality disorder when he met the man who turned him, another member of the original Beat generation, it was no surprise when the Malkavian blood made him that much madder. He's numbered the different sides of his personality (though Two is also named Dean, after Dean Moriarty in Jack Kerouac's On the Road). He has a tendency to obsess over and fixate romantically and sexually on one or two people, sometimes for years, though sometimes his personalities will fall in love with different people.

He's spent the better part of the last 60 years roaming, playing music and working odd jobs under the table. Occasionally, he'll steal or (more often) deal drugs to get the cash to pay his rent. Right now, he plays every few weeks at a local cafe to earn some extra cash.
Sample Role-Play: Ryan scanned he crowd as he tuned his guitar between songs, mumbling into the mic and talking up the crowd. Two, Dean, was the dominant part of him right now, and it was all he could do to just keep himself on stage. "You know, uh," he started, laughing quietly at the thought that no one was going to recognize the reference, "I think a song is just a song, and it's not gonna change anything."

The kids these days, the drugs they were into, the things he was going to be offered after the show, it was amusing. Some of them thought they were tough, smoking pot, and others were into scary amounts of things. Still, all he wanted was some good dilaudid, and that had gone out of fashion with the death of Rockets Red Glare, way back when.

He looked over the audience, trying to spot the pretty little thing he'd been seeing around lately. He wanted to take him - or maybe her, he wasn't quite sure yet - home, have a good time after the sun came up. He'd been lacking in that, the past little while. "Uh, this song, it's. It's my last tonight and, um. It's called 'Shakedown on 9th Street', and I wrote it a while back. It's, uh, it's about sticking up for your gal. I hope you dig it," he said, before starting to play, the song raucous and loud, and very much old-fashioned rock 'n' roll. No one played that shit anymore, he thought, getting to the refrain.

He spotted the kid, then, that dark-haired pale thing that had caught his eyes a few nights before. He made eye contact, drawling the next line of the song.

Friends (17):

Friend of (15):