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The year is 2192.

The country is the United States.

The current regime, The Trust, has been in power for over one hundred years.

The Trust takes care of you from cradle to grave--they provide you with housing, education, jobs, vehicles--but, in exchange, they control everything about your life. What color car you will drive. Where you will live. And, most important of all: who you will marry and how many children you will have.

Do you fight them or favor them?



Sariel Crane
Played by  Gin  ➢ Offline
Spouse ➢ Melisandre Best
Play-by ➢ Phil Macaulay
 ➢ Maybe Sharing (send a PM)
 ➢PM me
57 Captain - Head of Infidelity Division, TPD Salt and pepper Blue


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Standing at 6'0", Sariel is in extremely good physical shape for his age; his build is athletic, though often hidden behind fine suits and collared shirts. He holds himself straight, with the exactly amount of authority you'd expect from a man in his position. His eyes are one of his more striking features, though they can be just as soft as they are often stern.


Sariel had always been good at following directions.

When he was young, his parents taught him how to make his bed with careful neatness. They didn't ask, the didn't scold. He did it, simply, because he had been taught, and found satisfaction in the perfect alignment of his blankets. Unsurprisingly, he was inconsolable the first time his brothers discovered there was something organized in the household.

Organization, direction, rules, and the tenderness shared between his parents. They continued to be important to the boy as he grew up, learning basic manners, and watching his parents partaking in one of the rarest affairs known to society--love.

Maybe it was never actually that. Maybe all the affectionate tones and nights pressed close together were just an illusion, self-sacrifice given willingly in the name of the three little children that watched them so closely. Maybe it was just another lesson in manners and etiquette. Regardless, Sariel never forgot the way his father would brush a lock of hair from his mother's face after a long day at the department, or the way she'd rub gently at his shoulders while he caught up on the morning news. To him, it was love.

Rules weren't really meant to be broken, but there was an excitement and buzz to standing outside of them, sitting tucked away in the woods not far from a friend's house mid-June, with eight other people and a bottle between them all. Spin the bottle was some game his grandmother had mentioned playing as a child and, eager to grab the attention of his friends, he had explained it.

Girls and boys, all crowded around, ready to risk something that might be against the law. Sariel, all nervous tension, wasn't the one to start. And he was thankful for that. They spun, laughed quietly, kissed with excitement, lost in youth and revelry. His turn.

He spun, and the verdict--more than he could hope for. His heart hammered as he caught Cole's eyes, a gesture he normally couldn't bring himself to do on a normal day. The other boy looked as nervous as he felt. Sariel imagined that it could only mean one thing.

Afterward, he swam in the phantom feeling of that bold and bright kiss still hot on his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cole wipe his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve, eyes anywhere but the expectant boy that sat across from him.

Love, he'd decided, was something he could never have.

The police academy was the only thing that made sense to Sariel. His teenage years were tumultuous; and to combat it all he had buried himself deep in his studies. What he did love, he excelled in. Most other subjects he performed with satisfaction, never at the bottom of the class, but it didn't bother him to know he wasn't ahead of the rest of his peers. When the apititude test came around, he did just as anyone would have expected of him. He shared his academy plans with his family and there was nothing but happiness. But for all that work, there was a dread he couldn't escape.

Sponsorship was the nightmare that woke him up, or the worry that kept him awake. What did you do? How did you....pretend? If there was only someone who could tell him better, but the thoughts about what he would do those days to reach his quota ate at his mind in silent torment. His father, try as he might, sought to comfort his lost son.But there was no comfort to be found there.

As it turned out, pretending was easier than Sariel had originally thought. There was nothing adventurous about him, no promiscuity to his likes or dislikes, but in a way he felt better about that. At least his future wife wouldn't have to bend over backwards to satisfy him. If he was lucky, he thought on more than one occasion, there would be time until he had to deal with that.

The academy was a safe haven for Sariel for all the years he was there. Learning to pull prints, all the criminal law classes...he was definitely his father's son, and there was no denial that anything he got from there on out he earned. Of course, the other officers were dubious, but Aaron was careful to be impartial where his son was involved. Oddly enough, Sariel never felt the need to prove anything to the man. He just did that anyway.

He was a newly promoted detective by the time the draft finally caught up to with him. His stomach was in knots just thinking about it, filled with ice on the day he met Laura at the allotted time. She was, he concluded, a very beautiful woman, if not in an unconventional way. Soft features, warm eyes, and seemingly fearless. He found reasons to admire her, and there was a fondness that lived out of the realm of the romantic. She was patient, and understanding. Perhaps, because she knew more than he would ever admit to, she could see his truths in a way that no one else could before. But whatever the reasons, things started out smoothly for them.

Sariel had always wanted children, there had ever been a doubt in his mind. It was the rest of it that he had never stopped to think of. Laura was eager, he could see that much, and he found himself dreading the idea of making her wait more than he dreaded the act itself.

Leah was born, and he knew absolute joy. Happiness, love, concepts that were both so familiar and so foreign, flooded his heart and his lungs and his eyes. A beautiful little girl, and she was his. And he made sure to be everything a father should be, giving his wife time to rest while he took care of her, coming home at nights to let Laura sleep. She teased of spoiling, but Sariel simply smiled. Nothing was too much for his little girl.

Greyson was a bit of a miracle child. Twice before him they had tried, reluctant as he was, and once had been a miscarry. That had broken Laura's heart, and it was for that reason that he agreed to try once more. It's not something he ever regret; he loved that child just as much as his two year old daughter. The love of his children filled up some of the unresolved emptiness in his heart, smoothed over some of the ache he felt. The ache that he knew would never leave. Having them to care for, everything started to feel balanced.

Sariel came home one day to the sound of his kids crying, and Laura on the bathroom floor. He called an ambulance at once.

The damage done was far beyond mild, and while Laura could still walk, however slowly, speech and memory had become difficult. The doctors warned them to take caution, gave her anti-seizure medicine and stressed what could happen were she to ever fall again. It was difficult, and he did everything in his power to help her. She had done him so many kindnesses, and she fought so hard to get through every day. Filed for a live-in mistress to help her through the day, while he worked. Sariel was beside himself with guilt; deeply dedicated to his job, wishing that he could take more time to care for his wife instead.

Despite all their efforts, despite the fact he held her arm, Laura slipped one night heading up the stairs. She didn't recover this time.

The live-in stayed, hit on him, he thought. He wasn't sure. There was a numbness to his life now. He came home late most days, caught up in his investigations, anything that kept him from his own life. He sat at the desk in his bedroom, fingers tracing absently over the smooth hilt of his gun.

He was drowning. The closest thing he'd had--would ever be able to have--to love, and he hadn't been able to take care of her. He couldn't imagine starting over, with a new wife, a woman who may never understand that he could never love her, never truly wanted to touch her. He was alone in this world, now more than ever. Sariel's fingers tightened around the hilt of his gun. And down the hallway, Greyson cried.

He wasn't living his life for himself. It was for those two beautiful children.

He went into Grey's room and took the ten year old into his arms, clinging onto him with his life. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly, "daddy's right here."

Getting a promotion had been no surprise. Sariel had spent years working diligently, solved some of the hardest cases, had worked as a detective supervisor and orchestrated everything with smooth precision. Heading a department was well within his ability. Part of him had hoped for homicide, but that space was still taken. Sariel took the position as the head of the infidelity department. In some strange way, he found it ironic. In a way, he figured he would always be guilty of that crime. At the end of the day, what he thought about it didn't matter so much; he was there to uphold the law.

The house grew lonely once the children left. Leah visited whenever she could, sometimes bringing her husband for dinner, while Greyson was still trying to get used to life on his own. Sariel had hoped he wouldn't take after him in some ways, but after a night of terrified questions, he had confessed. It had only been fair to do the same. He just wished he could have saved him more trouble. It was for his sake that he had started silently brooding against the draft. It had been years since he had been drafted, and he was getting comfortable with it. Living on his own was much easier than sharing a bed with a reminder of what he could never have. If the world had any ounce of grace left in it, he would die in this house alone.


No Information
Birthdate: April 25th
Bad Habits: Internalizing his emotions, trying to read without his glasses, playing the role of martyr
Turn-Ons: Kissing, having his hair combed through/tugged lightly, being spoken to in hushed or urgent tones, light touches, short hair
Turn-Offs: Pet names, age gaps of 25 years or more, public displays of affection, overbearing amounts of light
hair color preference: Honey blonde, auburn, lighter shades of brown
eye color preference: Blue or hazel
draft position: Against
premarriage y/n: No

Hard Limits

The really gross kinks (you know the ones), extreme BDSM

Player Notes

⇀  last seen Oct 24 2017, 08:44 PM
⇀   Last Post: Oct 24 2017, 08:44 PM
skinned exclusively for the draft by saramonster
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