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Location: New York
Born: 8 February 1988
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Joined: 08.19.17
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Last Seen: Dec 14, 2017 | 10:20 am
Local Time: Dec 14, 2017 | 11:47 am
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Lawrence Tarwick


My Content
Sep 28, 2017 | 3:14 pm
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It was midnight, the roads empty besides one lone beat up Chevy trundling down a road. The dull headlights lit up a sign for the town he was entering and the man driving barely seemed to register it as he rolled on by. The town was quiet, his trucks rumbling engine making it feel more isolated than it really was. Soon the flickering neon sign for the motel came into his vision he breathed a sigh of relief. Slowing down he flicked his turn signal on and rolled into the parking lot. Parking in front of the office he shifted into park and turned off his vehicle. The silence seemed to draw on as he opened his door, the hinges creaking in protest. As his booted feet hit ground he shut it behind him with a dull clunk. Groaning he stretched, back popping as he did, a few staggered steps and a yawn and he headed to the front door. Rubbing one eye he glanced at the desk owner, "Called about'a room? Name'a Tarwick?" The man behind the desk hardly even looked at him as he slapped the room key on the desk.

<p>"Thanks." Grabbing them up he headed out, grabbing his bag from the passenger side of his truck. Then off to the room, leaving his truck parked where it was for now. Once inside he dropped the bag in a chair and pulled the newspaper out of his bag, the very thing that had brought him here. A ghost. or ghosts plural, he wasn't sure yet. He was good with ghosts though, he'd gotten to know them well enough. The article he had used to get here was the first thing he looked over, pulling out a battered notebook from the same place he looked through his notes. In the morning he'd have to talk to the local leo's, victims family, coroner. For now he needed sleep, eighteen hour drives alone were brutal even for him. With a swipe of his eyes he got out of his travel clothes and then flopped back on the bed to get some sleep before the next day.

<p>The blaring alarm the next morning was nearly blaring and sent shock waves through the headache and grogginess as he fumbled for his phone to turn it off. Glaring one-eyed at the blaring digital 0700 stared at him. Groaning he forced himself to get up, started some coffee on his way to the shower and was quickly swept away in his day. In a nice suit with fake ID's like he was in a bad tv sitcom. The day was spent talking to witnesses, family, police and coroner. Turned out there had been a serial killer here back in the day, lived in an old place by a graveyard south of the main town. He knew enough by then to get by with and was soon back at his motel room, comfortable, and looking over any other instances of the what he presumed was the ghosts activities. A little strange, maybe, but something seemed strange about the behavior. By sundown he had shaken his feeling of bad vibes and made a decision. Yawning and blinking he made more coffee and once he had drank half the black liquid, chasing away fatigue, he headed back out. Time to go end a ghost or two.

<p>Luckily for him the place he was going was mostly in an abandoned area, the old house condemned. As he shifted his truck into park he peered out his windshield at the creepy building. It was rather large and he had to wonder at
whether the house was creepy because it was condemned, or because a serial killer had once lived here. Whichever it was he didn't want to stay out here any longer. Night only lasted so long and he'd really appreciated getting the hell out of this town after this. The hair on the back of his neck raised and he had a feeling he was being watched. Great. How was he supposed to find a body, that cops never had, and get rid of it while the ghost was breathing down his neck? Shaking it off he climbed out of his truck. Plucking a shovel from the back he hooked a small backpack with it so he could retrieve salt and lighter fluid.

<p>The house gave him the creeps as he swung the bag over one shoulder and held the shovel in the middle, intent on using its iron as a ghost deterrent. Taking a breath he then strode toward it, up the creaky and rotten stairs to the porch. The door knob was missing so he pushed the door open. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs. He didn't miss, however, the look of footprints on the floor. Odd. Local kids? Local police? Nothing he'd heard suggested anyone having come here. Maybe it was a squatter? Alarm bells were going off in his head though and he brought the shovel into both hands as his eyes scanned the room. No panicking, Tarwick, you got this. Nothing like a littler internal pep talk right? There were two doors to either side, a staircase in front and a hallway to the left of it. Nothing like clearing rooms on your own. Breathing out he chose to go left, pushing open a door and trying to monitor both behind and in front of him.

<p>What he wasn't ready for was the door, on swing hinges, to slam into him and send him reeling to the dusty floor. Winded he slammed the shovel up out of instinct as a body came at him. Could ghosts have solid form? No, right? At least they hadn't thus far. Sure they could technically touch but this was a little to animated. With a grunt of effort he jerked the shovel, slamming it to the right to force whatever, or whoever, it was off him. Rolled onto his right side now he blocked the attacker as it came again, slamming his back against the wall near the door. To strong. Dammit if he'd been wrong. There was no way this was a ghost. Getting a good look at it, however, it looked human. A squatter like he had thought? This posed new problems however. If it was human he couldn't kill him. It couldn't be a ghost. But the strength was surprising. Maybe he was on drugs? Whatever it was he had no time to worry about it as another figure made its presence known and Lawrence began to feel cold dread.

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@[Sam Winchester]
Aug 22, 2017 | 10:36 am
Lawrence Tarwick

Former Military. Current Hunter. Glass Half Empty Kinda Guy.

As a relatively new Hunter with only five years of guesswork and close calls Lawrence has been hip deep in trouble since he left the service and his normal life behind. The more knowledge he puts under his belt the more he wondered about others in this line of work. There had to be others, after all. So like the semi-curious person he was he had begun looking, following solved monster cases to try and meet someone, anyone, who might have more answers to his pressing questions. Anything that leads to less of him getting beaten up would be great.



[Name] ►►► [Do I know you?]
[Name] ►►► [Do I know you?]
[Name] ►►► [Do I know you?]
[Name] ►►► [Do I know you?]


[Name] ►►► [How they met]
[Name] ►►► [How they met]
[Name] ►►► [How they met]
[Name] ►►► [How they met]


[Name] ►►► [How they met + Why he hates you!]
[Name] ►►► [How they met + Why he hates you!]
[Name] ►►► [How they met + Why he hates you!]
[Name] ►►► [How they met + Why he hates you!]


[Name] ►►► [Relation - How close are we?]
[Name] ►►► [Relation - How close are we?]
[Name] ►►► [Relation - How close are we?]
[Name] ►►► [Relation - How close are we?]


[Name] ►►► [Remind me again...did we fool around/date/propose?]
[Name] ►►► [Remind me again...did we fool around/date/propose?]
[Name] ►►► [Remind me again...did we fool around/date/propose?]
[Name] ►►► [Remind me again...did we fool around/date/propose?]


I have no idea how to code pretty things, so post below if you want to plot with Lawrence!
Aug 20, 2017 | 12:42 am
[Um. Working on this =)]

Lawrence's number is


"Try again...or leave a message."


Mom »» 501-219-7643
Aug 19, 2017 | 3:17 am

Lawrence || Randall || Tarwick

"Everybody expects me to break,
But I'll never break down again,
Everybody expects me to give up,
But you'll never see me givin' in."

birth name :: Lawrence Randall Tarwick
alias :: Roy Ellis Perkins, Christopher Anthony Cobb, Dylan Lee Walker
nickname(s) :: Law, Wick
age :: 28
calling :: Hunter
sexuality :: Homosexual
status :: Single
occupation :: Full time Hunter
origins :: Original character

eyes :: Hazel
hair :: Brown
height :: 5'8"
build :: Medium, slim, not overly distinctive
distinguishing marks :: Has a puckered scar in his right forearm where he was shot once.
play-by :: Gaspard Ulliel

      - - - - [Lawrence] likes
      • Spicy foods
      • Warm weather
      • The hunt
      • Coffee, stronger the better
      • Kids
      - - - - [Lawrence] dislikes
      • Rainy days
      • Sour candy
      • Spiders, the bigger the worse they are
      • Cats, understandably
      • War movies
      - - - - powers
      • N/A
      - - - - strengths
      • Persistent
      • Military trained
      • Decisive
      - - - - weaknesses
      • Pessimistic, glass half full type.
      • No self-preservation, has a bad habit of unconsciously putting himself in danger.
      • Stubborn
      - - - - secret
      • Was in love with his best friend who died, he still lives with thinking it should have been him.
      - - - - dreams
      • To make a difference in the end, taking out monsters to save who he can.
      • To find a partner he can confide in and hunt with.
      - - - - fears
      • Drowning
      • Becoming a ghost, or ghoul, or some other creature he hunts
      - - - - things of note
      • Has a severe allergy to cats, symptoms start with red/watery/itchy eyes, sneezing and can develop into wheezing/coughing, red rash and hives.


In the hot summer days of June, three time parents Howard and Carolyn Tarwick welcomed into the world their fourth child. Lawrence was a healthy baby boy, his middle name given as tribute to his grandfather. With no complications and the blessing of the doctor, he went home with his parents to their ranch just Newport, Arkansas. His father was a steel mill worker while his mother and older siblings took care of their small, but effective farm. They only had one cow that was getting on in age, a handful of chickens, and one ornery goat each child tried a few times in their lives to ride. Growing up this spit of land was a haven for him. He loved the town and the wide open space. Through his teen years he got restless, wanting to see places other than his hometown. So, when he was eighteen, he enlisted.

Now his parents didn't know he had signed up and were greatly worried about him. Smaller than the rest of his siblings, including his only sister, they weren't sure if he'd be okay. This seemed to only like a fire under him, determined to prove something. The day after graduation he was sent to boot camp, where he met Kyle. They were bunked together thanks to their last names both starting with Ta, and the two became fast friends. Throughout the three months of grueling training Lawrence and his friend Kyle stuck together, and were relieved when their orders came that they were headed to the same unit. That last week on Parris Island was the happiest he'd been. His family had driven the entire way to see the ceremony and when they were allowed he had been introduced them to Kyle, and Kyle's parents.

A few months down the road and they were fully situated with their unit in North Carolina. They had the luck to have been named roommates. It wasn't long after that when Lawrence admitted he had feelings for his friend, and a few more after that until they were, quietly, dating. So when word came that their company was deploying to Iraq they were both giddy and afraid. The process to get them overseas took longer than he ever thought possible, and the endless hours on planes and hauling his gear was tedious at best. But when they touched down in Iraq no one had been more awake. The first few weeks were quiet, standing post, patrolling, going to the gym in the center of the compound, it was a lot more tame than he had imagined. Turned out the 'bad guys' had merely been watching them.

It wasn't long until the enemies were hitting convoys and taking poorly aimed, if they even tries at all, shots at their base, bringing about a lot of base lock-downs. Lawrence had his fair share of standing post, talking to interpreters to try and understand the people coming to their base, and blowing off steam with his buddies. Occasionally he and Kyle would sneak away for some time on their own, but only when they knew they wouldn't be caught together. The quiet days were over anyway, and there was always something going on. No one ever thought anything serious would happen. For the most part they had thus far gotten by without any trouble. Until he and Kyle were picked for a supply run that went way south.

The day had started perfectly normal, routine checks and rechecks, a brief of their mission and route , etc. Piling into the trucks they had started their way from the base and everything went well until they were closer to their objective. There were tracks from vehicles on either side of the road, but not any new ones on it. This slowed them down as a decision was come to. Pulling off toward the left hand side of the road was when it happened. Sand, smoke, dust and rocks erupted from the ground and covered all visible areas. The ringing in his ears had felt deafening at that point as he heard shouting from the front seat. Like a dream the day had gone from good to bad.

By the time the end of the day came about they had lost two men, and Lawrence himself had taken a bullet in the arm. The wound hadn't been terribly serious except for its very nature. He was patched up and given the time to physically heal, but he hadn't been able to forget the chaos of that day. The real kick in the teeth was that Kyle had died. And thus shaped the next three years of his life. While in he was able to get some rank under his belt, led some of his juniors. He never did deploy again, and when the question of re-enlistment came up he declined, leaving the service at twenty two. From there he seemed to disappear to everyone but his family. He sent postcards, but never was in touch completely.

War is what set him on the path of a Hunter. Ghosts, monsters, he knew they were real and as much as he'd loved the service he knew to make a real difference he had to follow a different calling. Most of his first year was learning lore, figuring out how to deal with supernatural creatures through sheer dumb luck and reading. It was a miracle he made it out alive against some of them. He'd started a simple journal to track what he knew, what worked and what didn't. The first time he ran into another Hunter he had pestered them near to death to gain any information he could. Who would have thought that some of these nightmare creatures actually existed? And so the years passed, him surviving and killing what he could.

r.o.l.e.p.l.a.y. s.a.m.p.l.e.

Harsh breathing pounded through his head as his feet slid from beneath him, barely missing the swipe of claws as they slashed where his chest used to be. Tucking his chin to his chest he hit the ground hard, a whuff of air forced from his lungs but no more hurt than he thought. Both legs swung up to slam into the werewolf's lower half while he reloaded his now empty pistol. It had been days of hunting down leads and questioning survivors before he'd gotten anywhere. The pack of werewolves was, thankfully, small, though proving incredibly exhausting to hunt down. Already he had three down and this, he had surmised, was the last of them. Unfortunately the thing's will to survive was incredible. Taking him down was becoming harder than he'd expected, causing quite a bit of a dip into last reserves of his energy. Really should have taken that nap.

Grunting with effort his booted feet made contact, shoving the werewolf away from him. The moments reprieve was all he was allotted. It was enough. With the new silver bullets inserted he slammed the clip in, brought it up, and shot the thing in the chest twice as it came at him. His aim true the hunt was finally over. The heavy monster falling on top of him, however, was a whole new level of 'what the hell'. For a moment he lay panting in the wet decaying leaves beneath him, his breath puffing out in little clouds as he did. With a final huff he wriggled out from beneath the corpse and picked himself up. Brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes was a wasted effort but he tried anyway, giving up after some of the dirt turned out to be embedded.

"Need a long hot shower and the biggest greasiest pizza." Lawrence muttered to himself, taking his gun into the thigh holster he had on. Luckily he hadn't lost the damnable thing this time. Tugging his jacket closer and casting a paranoid glance around the woods he started his trek back out to his truck. The job was done at least, the pack seemingly wiped out. Hopefully. If he had to come back here because he'd missed one or two he'd be really disappointed in himself. Shaking his head he walked the near three miles back to where he'd parked, glad to see his old Chevy Scottsdale sitting in one piece. Small wonders really. Once he'd shut the door behind him he started her up, glad for the radio to break up the silence as he backed out of where he was, cut the wheel, and got back onto the trail to the road.

Relaxing back against the old, greatly faded red leather bench seat he thought of all the times he'd ridden in this truck with hid dad. A slight smile tugged at his face and he shook his head. "Dad would kill me if he knew what I used it for." Reaching to toggle the radio for something to listen to. The motel he was staying in was a good five mile drive back so he settled on an old school rock channel and mouthed the words he knew of them as he drove. This gig might not pay anything, and it might take everything out of him some days, but it always felt good knowing he'd made a place a little bit safer. So by the time he rolled into the motel parking lot he had put out of his mind his worries and just got out of his truck. A few steps and he'd unlocked his motel door and on to ordering himself that pizza before his shower.

puppeteer :: Logan
age :: 29
facebook handle :: Logan Gabriel Nope
contact :: PM, e-mail
how did you find us :: Good old google search
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