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#Post#: 20463--------------------------------------------------
Exiles/New Orleans WIP: Joseph "Joe" Dovan
By: Raven Tepes Date: November 13, 2025, 10:28 pm
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“Being the youngest Dovan don’t mean I get pushed around—it just
means I’m the one who shows up last, cleans up the mess, and
makes sure nobody’s left breathing who shouldn’t be. My brothers
and sisters start the trouble. I finish it. Cold hands, clear
mind… that’s why they call me the clean-up man.”
~ Joseph "Joe" Dovan
“Riding’s the only time the world quits clawing at me. Wind in
my face, throttle under my hand… that’s freedom. No blood to mop
up, no bodies to bury, no family to drag outta the fire. Just
me, the bike, and the road that never asks for more than I’m
willing to give.”
~ Joe Dovan
“I don’t know what the hell that thing was, but it weren’t
human. One second he was a shadow, the next he was right behind
me—cold eyes, no breath, like death had learned how to ride. I
saw him take down three of my boys without even breaking stride.
I only lived ’cause he let me run… and I ain’t fool enough to
ask why.”
~ An enemy biker who barely survived an encounter with Joe
“I’ve dealt with bikers, killers, and monsters in this city, but
Joe Dovan… he’s something else. Quiet, controlled, like he’s
already counted all the ways he could end you before you finish
a sentence. Every time he shows up, crime scenes go cold and
witnesses go missing. I don’t chase him—I just pray he’s not
cleaning up something I’m supposed to 'overlook'.”
~ A corrupt New Orleans police officer about Joe
Erin: Joe! Joe! You would not believe the absolute circus I just
walked away from. There were six of ’em—maybe seven—one had a
crowbar, one had a machete, and one dude kept screaming about
his ex-wife—
Joe: Erin. Breathe.
Erin: …Oh. Right. In, out. Okay. So anyway, I might’ve started a
tiny, itsy-bitsy bar fight.
Joe: You say that like it’s new.
Erin: Well this one was special! There were tables flying,
glasses breaking, and this guy tried to grab my jacket—my
jacket, Joe! So I taught him about personal space. With his own
face.
Joe: …And now you’re here because?
Erin: Because the whole place is on fire and everyone’s
screaming, and I figured you might wanna… y’know… clean up a
little?
Joe: Erin.
Erin: …Yes?
Joe: You didn’t have to bring me a souvenir.
Erin: What souvenir?
Joe: Glances at the unconscious man slung over her shoulder.
…That one.
Erin: Oh! Right! Forgot he was there.
Joe: Of course you did. Put him down. I’ll handle it.
Erin: You’re the best big little brother ever.
Joe: And you’re the reason I never get a quiet night.
Erin: C’mon, you’d be bored without me.
Joe: …Unfortunately, you’re probably right.
Tim: Joe! Heard you cleaned up Erin’s mess again. You really
oughta let the girl face the music sometimes.
Joe: If I let Erin face the music, the whole damn bar would’ve
burned before the first verse.
Tim: Hah! That’s my baby sister—pure chaos with a side of
gasoline.
Joe: Funny. Nobody laughs when I’m scraping corpses off the
floor after your so-called ‘plans,’ either.
Tim: Hey now, those weren’t corpses—those were opportunities.
Joe: Tim, you set a warehouse on fire because the foreman looked
at you funny.
Tim: He did look at me funny. Besides, it was abandoned… mostly.
Joe: …You’re impossible.
Tim: Yeah, but you love me.
Joe: Love isn’t the word I’d use. More like ‘obligated to keep
you alive so the family doesn’t implode.'
Tim: Semantics.
Joe: You called me out here for a reason. What happened now?
Tim: Grins, wiping blood from his knuckles. Got into a
discussion with some rivals. They disagreed. Loudly. You know
how it goes.
Joe: How many?
Tim: Four.
Joe: Alive?
Tim: …Define alive.
Joe: Tim.
Tim: Alright, alright—one. Maybe two. Kinda depends how quickly
you wanna move.
Joe: Joe sighs. Every damn time.
Tim: That’s why you’re here, little brother. You’re the calm to
my storm.
Joe: More like the mop to your disaster.
Tim: And you do it beautifully.
Joe: Just point me to the bodies, Tim.
Tim: Atta boy.
Enemy Biker: You think you can take me, pretty boy? I’ve dropped
tougher punks than you.
Joe: You talk too much.
Enemy Biker: Oh, I’m gonna enjoy breaking your face—
Joe: (sidesteps the swing effortlessly) You telegraph every hit.
I saw that coming a mile away.
Enemy Biker: Stand still, damn you!
Joe: Why? So you can feel like you had a chance?
Enemy Biker: I ain’t scared of the Dovans!
Joe: Grabs him by the collar, voice low and icy. You should be.
Enemy Biker: W-wait—
Joe: Too late.
A single, precise strike sends the enemy collapsing to the
ground. Joe: Next time you pick a fight, make sure you know
which monster you’re calling out.
Enemy Biker: “Dovan! I knew you freaks would show up sooner or
later!” He swings a broken bottle.
Joe: He catches the biker’s wrist mid-swing. If you knew, you
should’ve run.
Enemy Biker: Run? From you? You’re just the clean-up boy!
Joe: He twists the wrist, bottle shattering to the floor. And
you’re making a mess I’ll enjoy cleaning.
Enemy Biker: Big talk! Let’s see you back it up— He lunges with
a chair.
Joe: He ducks, sweeps the enemy’s legs, sending him crashing
onto a table. Chairs don’t make you stronger. They just make you
predictable.
Enemy Biker: He spits blood. You think you’re better than us?
Joe: No. I know I am.
Enemy Biker: Cocky little— He tries to grab Joe’s jacket as
bottles fly and someone screams “TIM STARTED IT AGAIN!”
Joe: Slams the enemy’s hand onto the bar, pinning it. That’s
strike three.
Enemy Biker: Let go! Fight fair!
Joe: Leans in, voice cold. Fair ended when you swung glass at my
face.
Enemy Biker: Y—you don’t scare me.
Joe: He drives him back with a brutal punch, cracking the bar
rail. You should look around.
The enemy turns just in time to see Erin riding a toppled table
like a surfboard, screaming. Enemy Biker: …What the hell—
Joe: Told you. Joe finishes him with a precise, devastating blow
that sends the biker sliding across the floor just as Tim flips
a pool table for no reason. Joe: He exhales slowly. …Every damn
night with this family.
Name: Joseph Dovan
Nicknames: Joe, the Cleaner
Age: 237 years old
Species: Vampire
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 153 lbs
Clan: Brujah
~ Generation: 10th
Organization: Crimson Dogs Motorcycle Club
~ Rank: Member/High class
Family:
~ Father:
~ Mother:
~ Eldest Brother: Timothy "Tim" Dovan
~ Older Brother: Frederick "Freddy" Dovan
~ Eldest Sister: Ivara "Poison Ivy" Dovan
~ Older Sister: Cheryl "Blood Witch" Dovan
~ Younger Sister: Erin "Wild Child" Dovan
Abilities:
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