Dazevane
A broken, colorful place where characters adapt to blend in, not by hiding, but by changing themselves to match their surroundings or others.
Billy
In Dazevane, everything shifts. Colors, patterns, even personalities, all bending to match the noise around them. Billy blends like the rest. He knows how to play the part, change his look, follow the rhythm. But he doesn’t like it.
There’s a fight in him. A need to stay loud, to leave a mark that’s actually his. His bat isn’t rebellion. It’s memory, a reminder of what he was before the colors told him who to be. Others here have found quieter ways to survive, adapting without question. But Billy? He crashes through like static, trying to prove he’s still something real underneath the blur.
He blends. But he never disappears.
Gato Endemoniado
Gato Endemoniado doesn’t follow. He evaluates. In Dazevane, where colors shift and roles are worn like costumes, Gato moves with clarity. He doesn’t adapt to disappear. He adapts to stay sharp. Where others blur at the edges, he moves with purpose, each shift calculated. His stillness cuts through the noise.
Some say he’s cold. He’d say he’s careful. In a realm that rewrites you, Gato writes back, one exact step at a time. He isn’t here to impress or belong. He’s here to hold the line, even if no one else sees it.
Nico
Nico’s been everything for everyone. In Dazevane, where identity is a costume you change by the hour, he learned early how to switch tones, shapes, moods. At first, it was easy. Then it was habit. Now it’s just noise.
He still plays along. Smiles when expected. Adapts like the rest. But underneath the shifting surface, he’s running on fumes. Nico fades gently into place, tired of pretending to care but still caring enough to keep moving.
He doesn’t push back. He outlasts. In a realm obsessed with change, Nico stays just steady enough to feel real, even if the world keeps trying to repaint him.