danvir-anand

[danvir-anand]

Not often he actually gets some time to himself. To truly and completely be alone without any appointments or sit downs or anything that’s assigned by his job. Freeing as it is, Danvir can’t deny how lonely it is — within an outstandingly short period of time, at that. Thus, extreme measures are taken to sift away the discomfort. Which in this case meant aimless wandering. Let his feet guide the rest of his body and see what sort of circumstance he might land in.

Or… Nearly crash into.

“Whoa—“ Hands jut up to aid in balance, whether that be the other person or himself. “No harm done, man so it’s all good.” Danvir smiles in reassurance as he glances from man to building and back again. “Wasn’t plannin’ on anything, really. But I could— why?”

status: open

He was a bit exhausted, that much was obvious by the circles under his eyes and bloodshot sclera. In his hands he held a too big coffee, and he was pacing back and forth in front of the library - so much so that his legs were starting to ache in a way that reminded him he really should get more exercise instead of holing up somewhere.

He turned once more, too sharp only to come face to face with someone, unfortunately right in their way. "Oh. Sh-shit, my bad." He sidestepped and then tried to grab their attention once more, "Actually, uhm, we-were you going up to the library? Or j-just heading on by?"

[danvir-anand]

status: closed — @elizabeaufort

Two gas station exclusive taquitos, two extremely crispy danger dogs, and, of course, two frosty slushies ( grape and peach ). Having forgone the help of a basket, Leslie carefully arranges everything securely within the cradle of both arms. Crinkly plastic towards the crook and flimsy boxes firm in the clamp of each hand hand.

Strategic, haphazard – good enough to last him a trip to the cashier. Well, that was the intention, at least. Any sort of thought vanishes when he rounds an aisle and sees a vaguely familiar face.

"Elizabeth?” Leslie asks, surprise quickly melting away when recognition flickers to life. “Ah— it is you! Hey, miss ma'am, been a while. How’ve you been?”

[danvir-anand]

It’s suffocating, really. Not the event or the livened community, no — rather the style he's been confined to. It's not about him so dress the part, or whatever nonsense he's been told several times.

"Dressed like I'm at a funeral. A funeral for my incredible lack of self and style." That's not to say his current outfit didn't fit the bill of fashion. It simply didn't fit him as his own person. "I don't think I have, but Janice looked just as pink in the face as the new fusia suit I had my eyes on. So, black it was.. But you look stunnin' as usual. Glad one of us could still stay true."

where: the auction

who: @3-first-names

The one thing about large events was that Kristen was more likely to see people she had met before, which could be good and bad. There were definitely people she tried to avoid -- or was her fake self with. But not Leslie. At least, not really.

"Look at you, dressed in all black." Kristen smirked as she approached the other actor. Her fingers lifted to brush against the chain necklace that dangled around his neck. "I expected something... more." She admitted before dropping her hand, her eyes lifting up to meet his. "Did you change your wardrobe recently?"

[danvir-anand]

"Nah, probs not." And boy, is he stuck in a similar mood. A long, airy sigh's blown over the lip of his glass. A sip's taken and his face scrunches again. Never liked the taste of alcohol as a whole. Yet here he is again, taking another sip just to make the same disgusted face.

"Then again— most of the fun doesn't happen 'till after. Have to keep up appearances in the daylight, y'know?"

where: The Cloisters

who: open to all!

Alex tipped the third glass of wine against her lips, finishing it off before setting it down with a sigh. She hadn't wanted to come to this event, but she felt like she had to. She had hoped that someone would ask her to be their date, but that didn't happen. Though, it wasn't like she had any potential suitors anyway.

"Do you think something exciting is going to happen soon?" She asked the person nearest her. "I thought that by the time I drank three glasses of wine, I'd be having a better time."

[danvir-anand]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓

Quirky as his personality may be, Leslie's outfit is anything but. Simple, sharp, cohesive, and so painfully boring ( to him ). Everything's black from dress shoes to dress shirt ( at least 2 buttons undone, of course ). The only hint of personality is the chunky chain he was allowed to settle as a personal piece.

[danvir-anand]

The rush of expressions could make any court jester weep. Almost has him seeing stars just by the emotional whiplash alone. “So I would, but you also would too?” Concentrate any harder and he just might bust the last working braincell rattling in his skull. “Hey— I’ve only burned water a handful of times.” To never have done so would be the optimal answer, but he’s always quick to volley any answer back when prickling with discomfort. And to make matters worse, he’s still so confused about which way the conversation’s headed.

“Sorry— come again?”

Leslie hadn't changed; other than getting prettier really, but still so dramatic about everything. It was endearing, really. He snorted. "Yes you would impose. But also, yes, I would. I don't make it a habit to lie like that." That was both the truth and a lie really. "Don't push it! And you're not touching anything in my kitchen. I'm scared you set fire to water or something." He teased while keeping a straight face.

Then he grinned. "I usually prefer being stuffed, but stuffing can happen too." That had been a horrible play of words, but it was out of jest, not anything serious. Not for now at least.

[danvir-anand]

She's an angel. Has to be when any attempt to play along with this ridiculous monologue is made. Most usually tell him to shut up or ask him if this was a preview to his next big role. Which, while Leslie might have busted bulbs for brains, he's not that stupid to leak such confidentiality. Not unless he wants his agent to darken his doorway at some ungodly hour again; eyes all black and hellfire wisping from the mouth. Even if this person doesn't believe this silly plight to be true, he appreciates the effort. Let another fat tear drop down the cut of his cheek and hobble at the chin.

"Fresno Nightcrawler playing a heated match of discus... It's like Rocky Balboa's truly with us." Leslie lets another shuddering breath in and goes to take her hand into his own. "Thank you for the kind words— no, the soul revitalizing speech. I know it's silly and totally an issue that shouldn't even be an issue to begin with, but you truly moved me. Next two rounds are on me, I insist."

At no point — in the last five minutes, has there been a single moment to get a word in — to cut this short. To drink fast enough to slow the flow of words. Izara's sure she's opened and closed her mouth a few times, tilted her head to side eye the stranger more than once.

She just has to ride this out.

And with such a painted visual, how could she not think about what she was saying; a nightmare; a dream; the other end of the spectrum.

She's unable to tell if this man is joking, or if he's dead serious.

What's worse?

"Uh," pause, a frown, a painful level of cringe offered back: "Chin up, king, just 'cause your fav meal in existence doesn't exist anymore... doesn't mean you can't still thrive..." Like that?

Maybe she should have put more emphasis on it.

Another swig of her beer, she swallows — mentally tells herself to get invested in this. Fuck the oddity of it all.

"Wait, let me try again." She lifts her head, nodding — building up the air of her best attempt. She doesn't have this at all. Draws on inspiration... "— The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place—" Something like that — anyways, "—it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard you hit—" In this case, the stranger's been hit with the discontinued food products "It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward—"

Kit cannot remember the rest. But, point across...

She reaches across, pats his shoulder encouragingly — tries not to make it too faux: "I believe you can move past this."

[danvir-anand]

Halfway through a pitiful sniffle and he nearly drops his head on the countertop in full defeat. "That just won't do! Me cookin's like a rhino trying to build a tent from sticks and leaves. I've burnt water so many times— too many to count! Once had some linguine boiling and the pasta end caught on fire! Tried to do some eggs over easy, but the darn thing got stuck to the pot lid instead of the skillet! I could go on till the cows, pigs, sheep, donkeys, and geese come home— it's a miracle and divine intervention that I haven't blown a home to cinders from a grease fire!" Oh, wait, that's still a touchy subject, but Leslie still presses on besides the subtle discomfort.

"If there is a recipe out there— if— then maybe I'll have to ask around and see who'd be willing to help me."

Being in a bar was literal torture for him. And in his case being close to your emotions when you had once been able to compartmentalise them with ease was the bane of his life. This whole new life was Hell more often than not, but he still kept on pushing, just like Churchill's saying. Maybe one day, he'd see the end of it.

But for now, he was doing his weekly self-testing by sitting in a bar; seeing how long he'd last before running out the door. Surprisingly, his current neighbour at the bar was helping. Some might have been offended about living through hell while someone complained about Taco Bell's menu. But Suho found it relaxing and he was almost envious. To be able to have such a good life that you'd get troubled by a restaurant menu. Then again, maybe it was something else and he'd do great than judge or pass a comment.

Sometimes, the little things had the greatest impact on us. So if that item had been a source of light in a dark day, maybe it truly was a tragic event for the stranger. A pick me up line...

"I'm sure someone posted the recipe online and you can make it at home?" That was the best he could do.

[danvir-anand]

"But you know I can't stop. The Cheez-Its... They call to me." Okay, now he promises to stop the spontaneous practice. Besides, he's tossed some genuinely interesting news half a second later anyways.

"Oh-ho, that is pretty dang fantastic. Bet it felt extra legendary when the Chiefs won, huh?" He's not that wrapped up in the hype concerning that one ball sport, but couldn't deny that keeping tabs on matches happens from time to time. "What kinda couch we talkin' about? Like a love seat situation or a killer sectional?" Clearly, he has a personal favorite among the two by emphasis alone.

"Evacuating— oh, come on! It's not that bad! I mean, yeah, you get fried over easy by a ton of sunshine and deal with wildfires that reach the highways. But the people there are... Hm. Really not that much to redeem them, actually. It's not terrible, though— sort of. Anyways, if you're not runnin' around trying to prevent the world from collapsing then I think it's about time we get some grub to eat. Or at least get some midday drinks in, or-or maybe find the nearest arcade so I can demonstrate how absurdly mediocre I've gotten at pinball."

"And I told you to stop eating crackers in bed or it's never gonna work between us." Jesus a million years ago being talked into an intro to improve class with this idiot. The bear hugs with the pounding a drum beat on the other's back punctuating the moment.

"Cool slash new huh? Oh! Got to go to Superbowl which was pretty fucking fantastic. And also very exciting I bought a new couch. I know, I know, I am living on the edge." He shook his head, it hadn't been forever, just felt like it sometimes. But he knew that Leslie had to go do the acting thing. "Are you evacuating California for good finally? Get sick of all that gross sunshine?" He shook his head, looking down at his phone, "Oh it's a normal day - only at DEFCON level 4."

[danvir-anand]

Wallow any longer and a pitiful sniffling might occur. The lower lip does wobble, though. Set in a full on pout before those watery blues look at the extremely kind fellow.

"Oh, I don't wanna impose..." Yet the way he trails off has an unspoken but linger. "You'd really do that, though? Honest?” Leslie’s staring at him with saucers for eyes. Near about clings to Caleb like the man’s his saving grace. “You’re an angel, you know that? A saint. Even back when I tried to help make that Minestrone soup and added way too many tomatoes. Basically made bisque with a burnt bottom— but here you are… Still helpin’ others get stuffed.”

The eponym of a himbo was sitting beside him and Caleb was fascinated to say the least. Was he truly a himbo, maybe time would tell him differently, but for now, the woes is me over Taco Bell wasn't helping him seeing things differently. But he had to give it to the guy, he was entertaining.

The tear though. Was he real?! "You poor thing. You could coma back home with me and I'll make some for you. Won't taste like junkfood, but he'll be just as good. Giving you something worth crying over." That was his offer, cause that was easy food for him to make.

[danvir-anand]

status: open to anyone | location: neutral grounds at some bar???

To be one with his emotions can be seen as a somewhat coveted skill. No inhibitions, nothing to stave the roller coaster ride of rawness that comes with feeling what strikes true at any given moment. Truly, it's a blessing to know steps can be taken to soothe the soul. And.. secretly a bane — specifically upon his wallet. But even then, money can only buy so much and he finds himself waxing his woes to his unfortunate neighbor at the bar top... loudly.

"You won't believe the shittiest dream I've been cursed with last night. Been thinking about it ever since. Image having an endless spread of your fav meal— which is naturally the Nacho Crunch Grilled Stuft Burrito combo with a Chalupa Deluxe, crunchiest taco, cinnamon knots, and Baja Blast.. Only to wake up with the ghost of that heavenly taste not in your mouth. Even worse is the exact moment you remember that Taco Bell discontinued the Nacho Crunch Grilled Stuft Burrito!" An overexaggerated, dramatic intake of air is sucked in with a trembling lip.

"Ugh, it's almost too much to bear. Gonna cry all over again." And he does, a little bit. An overdone mistiness comes to his eyes before he rubs both hands over his face. "I.. need a pick me up. Something that'll come across as an uplifting message like, 'chin up, king— just 'cause your fav meal in existence doesn't exist anymore.. doesn't mean you can't still thrive."

[danvir-anand]

"Money, you say! And what've I said every single time? Keep your blasted cash, all I want is your heart." And.. end scene. A dazzling grin comes alight and he almost giggles from the whole bit. The hug's returned with just as much ferocity — if not more. He's hanging onto his friend like a damn lifeline on top of a few hearty pats to Archer's back.

"Hey, takes one to know one, right? But seriously— how's it been goin? Anything cool, new, and-slash-or exciting happen since I've been gone.." Cheeks puff up with air as he tries to recount the time spent everywhere but here. "I guess forever. We gotta catch up— y'know, in case I'm stoppin' you from some big wig meeting 'cause you're always so busy all the dang time."

status: closed — @archer-brooks

“Hey!” Hands cupping around his mouth, Leslie hardly flinches from the way his voice booms across the street. A little drama never hurt ( to him ), but most of all — this man lacks any shame. Thus, he skitters across the street ( almost gets love tapped by a stopping taxi ) and quickly comes to a sudden halt once close enough.

“Seriously, every night I say good night to you, and every night you never say it back. What’s the deal? Do you not want me to have a good night?” Every night as in just yesterday. Miss one and he’s forced to take on the personality of an ailing widower. 

[danvir-anand]

Another horribly late night when things should've wrapped hours ago. It feels as if he's still walking like the creature feature recently casted. Upper half still at a slump, arms dangling like reeds in a slow breeze, and feet that might as well be dragging through liquified concrete. Soon, he'd be home soon. Then he can rest this weary head and.. do it all over again tomorrow. Just thinking about it nearly makes him tear up. Yet before he could, a sudden plea for help cuts through the fog of exhaustion.

Leslie practically gallops over without a lick of hesitation. Should he have thought about the potential danger of rushing towards a darkened alleyway? Always. Does he ever, though? Absolutely not. "Hello? What happened?" Any shred of fatigue falls away when he sees the pair. One hunched down and the other... "Saint George skiing on the Alps—" He's fumbling to yank his phone out. Fumbles even harder to get the flashlight going, but not without blinding himself first before turning it around. "Should I call 911? Feel like this's the perfect time to call 911."

Night time, anywhere in the city.

It had been a particularly bad day at work, having lost one of her favourite patients, one she had been caring for since she moved to New York City. It happened, she knew that. She also knew that it was out of her control but that didn't stop Isabelle from feeling sad about it. On her way home, she could've sworn she heard something in one of the alleyways. The woman knew New York could be dangerous, but it sounded like someone needed help and she couldn't just walk away from that. "Are you okay?" Isabelle asked, lowering herself quickly to the ground to try and access for injuries. "What happened?" A pause, and the familiar wetness of blood was felt on her hands. God, this lighting was so shit. "Help, somebody! I need a little light over here!"

[danvir-anand]

From Archer: ( ✉ → sms ) i dropped my pzziza o nt eh floror im fuckgin pissed

@archer-brooks

( ✉ → sms ): dude?????? bro?????????

( ✉ → sms ): that's the saddest thing you've ever told me wtf????????

( ✉ → sms ): you gonna get another one? i can bring one over and so not drop it

[danvir-anand]

[dev patel — 33 — he/him] Introducing DANVIR ANAND. Word on the street is they are a ACTOR/PODCASTER, having been around for TWO MONTHS. Though they are TRUSTING and NON-CONFONTATIONAL, they can also be CHARISMATIC and CHEERY. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.]

✉ FUN FACT: book smart but dumb as rocks. loves to silver smith!

CONNECTIONS

MISC. INFO .

while he doesn't mind big crowds, he does get antsy when there's the smell of heavy smoke and/or a large fire nearby.

was selectively mute for a good portion of his teens. knows how asl and sometimes reverts back to being nonverbal in extremely tense situations.

sustained some burn scars that he's mostly not conscious about. sometimes, he does fall prone of some insecurity.

BIOGRAPHY .

Danvir’s always had a bright personality and an even brighter outlook on life. Ever the social butterfly, everyone adored him. Everything was fine and dandy until his home went up in flames due to faulty wiring. His family pet, Luke, and he were the only ones to survive the disaster. Only thirteen at the time, his aunt and uncle were first to step in and raise him in their sea swept side of Long Island. 

The move took some getting used to, but his relatives were patient and endlessly kind. As souls that were deeply engaged in theater and ot her forms of performance, Danvir took to the craft like a moth to a lit flame; highly astute and eager to learn. Even if the passion didn't surface until later on.

During high school, he was fortunate enough to make a few good friends. Ones that didn’t single him out about being a bit non-social. They also didn’t pry too much about his past and unfortunate circumstances that caused his relocation. One of those said friends, Derek, had taken a keen interest in him the year before graduation. So they dated on the down low. While Derek attended Columbia University, he got a partial ride to Harvard. At first things were a little difficult between differing schedules, but the two of them stuck together close as ever. Some might say that they stuck together a bit too much, and, well, they weren’t wrong. 

They dated for a course of three years, and Derek's penchant for control began to rouse it’s ugly head around year one. He had a bit of a god complex and thought that he could be the only one Danvir would ever need ( see: isolation ). One by one, he had whittled down his friends from a large group to only a mere handful. The threat of being estranged from his own aunt and uncle would’ve been next in line if one final argument hadn’t taken place. When the subject of stopping therapy came to light, he snapped. Any ties between them were cut. Danvir doubled his efforts with coursework and rekindled interest in performance art, nearly burying himself in it, but he never dipped too far beneath the surface due to the remaining support.

Since then, he's been fairly successful in his endeavors. He's gotten a few critically acclaimed films under his belt, recently started his own podcast, and stays mostly on top of maintaining his mental health.

[danvir-anand]

status: closed

For a man that prided himself in being well put together, odd circumstances certainly has its way with interfering. Both hands are braced against his hips as Leslie peers upwards. There, barely seen between the dulling leaves, sits his cellphone. How the device manages to stay put in such a precarious position remains unknown to him. What mattered is a way getting it down.

“Please don’t laugh.” Yet even he has a hard time keeping his voice even. The situation's just too, well, funny to be anything other than bewildered and amused. “I don’t do well with loud noises.” Sudden, loud noises to be precise. “So when I was sent some cheap jump scare, well, I jumped.” Rather, his hands had done all the moving. “And now my phone’s stuck in a tree and ideally.. I’d like to get it down without breakin' the screen.”

[danvir-anand]

status: closed

An entire cart stacked full of groceries and it’s no wonder a few ingredients go rogue. One misjudged bump and some potatoes fling themselves to freedom; from flimsy plastic confines to the gravel covered parking lot. “My tots!” Cart temporarily forgotten, Leslie gives chase to the handful without regarding where the wheels were angled. Nearly got his own hip clipped and a few fingers rolled over in the frenzy.

“Hey! Got a tater on the fritz! Could you grab it for me?” He hollers at the nearest person, hoping the wayward potato will be stopped before rolling onto the street.