how does this thing work?

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Spectre of the Fade

Nerd
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
  3. Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy, Sci-fi, Modern, Apocalypse, Action and adventure, Steampunk, Dieselpunk, People with Powers, some historical eras, lots and lots of other things. Feel free to ask.
Spectre's wreck of a Test Thread
WELCOME
Hello! My name is Spectre (Or Sam, if you're feeling familiar) and welcome to my code dump. Now featuring less blindingly white text boxes! I mostly make the bbcodes for shits and giggles, though I've gotten quite good at it over the months and months and months I've been working on doing so. Kind of a calming practice for me, at this point. Feel free to look around, though I make no promises on organization. I'd love credit/notification if you're planning on using something of mine.

If you're looking for my good and/or completed codes, this thread here has that in a far more neat and orderly fashion. c:

A couple of requests:
1.) Don't post, unless you've asked permission or I said to.
2.) Please don't be afraid to ask me to explain things in PMs.

A couple of warnings:
1.) Lots and lots of gifs, images, videos. Especially on the latter pages.
2.) Lots and lots of cursing. I am an unapologetic pottymouth.

Gonna drop some interesting links:
Iwaku Color Guide
Div Shit
Color Picker
Filler Text Generator
Photo Editor 1 - Collage edition
Photo Editor 2 - Filter edition
This post about writing accents
Text replacer!! - literally saves my live on a weekly basis
Room Sketcher
FREE Image background remover
Imgur - my current image storer
Google Font List
Flex boxes? Flex boxes.
Useful Tumblr blog - Clothes and Historical Shit
Useful Tumblr post - big ass list of mythical creatures

FACECLAIMS
I made an alphabetized FC list! Fuck yeah. Fuck, that was a massive pain in my ass. The people are sorted by gender then surname, and the symbols are my own ranking system. More * means I like their face more, and a ☆ means I've used them as an FC in the past or am currently using them as an FC.
also pls tell me if I made a mistake. pls, for realsies.
BOIS
name surname - Image search -

David Agbodji - **
Johan Akan - ***
Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje - **
Dawid Auguscik - ***
Pedro Aurelian - *
Braeden Baade - *
Daniel Bamdad - ☆ ***
Ben Barnes - **
Daniel Bederov - ☆ **
Brandon P. Bell - ***
Matthew Bell - **
Don Benjamin - ☆ ***
Jon Bernthal - ☆ ***
Gijs Blom - *
Tim Borrmann - **
Alex Bouchard - *
Ryan Bowden - **
David Brandt - Gallery Site - **
Matthew Brue - **
Caleb Callahan - **
Mario Casas - *
Cristian Codrin - **
Joe Collier - **
Andrew Cooper - **
Alejandro Corzo - **
Jai Courtney - ☆ **
Ben Dahlhaus - **
Arthur Daniyarov - *
Craig David - *
Casey Deidrick - ***
Andrea Denver - **
Benjamin Eidem - *
Boy Epic - **
Ben Feldman - **
Alexander Ferrario - **
Daniel Feuerriegel - **
Diego Fragoso - **
Dave Franco - **
Adam Gallagher - ☆ **
Dan Garland - ***
Daniel Garofali - **
Anthony Gastelier - ☆ ***
Dean Geyer - *
Baptiste Giabiconi - **
Artjom Gilz - **
David Giuntoli - **
Arthur Gosse - **
Frank Grillo - **
Adam Gurr - *
Quim Gutierrez - *
Armie Hammer - ☆ **
Thorbjorn Harr - ☆ **
Anders Hayward - *
Daniel Henney - **
Alfonso Herrera - **
Aldis Hodge - **
Craig Horner - **
Michiel Huisman - *
Billy Huxley - ☆ ***
Allan Hyde - *
Cheyanne Jackson - **
Stephen James - **
Erko Jun - *
Julien Kang - ***
Harshvardhan Kapoor - ***
Marwan Kenzari - **
Boris Kodjoe - *
Rahul Kohli - **
Francisco Lachowski - ☆ *
Miles Langford - *
Toby Leonard - ☆ **
Leandro Lima - ☆ **
Anton Lisin - *
Franco Lo Presti (? uncertain) - **
Alexander Ludwig - *
Daniel Madison - **
Rami Malek - ☆ **
Sasha Marini - **
Callan Mulvey - ☆ **
Sergio Muniz - *
Hideo Muraoka - ***
Cillian Murphy - **
Antonio Navas - **
Victor Norlander - **
Sean O'Pry - *
Alexis Papas - *
James Quaintance (Jimmy Q) - ☆ ***
Felix Rahmer - **
Matt Raimo - **
Edgar Ramirez - **
Blair Redford - **
Trevante Rhodes - ***
Drew Roy - **
Jesse Rutherford - ***
Benjamin Sadler - **
Adrien Sahores - **
AJ Saudin - ***
Adam Senn - *
Arran Sly - *
Clement Stevenant - *
Johnny Stevens - *
Levi Stocke - ☆ **
Chay Suede - **
Rajiv Surendra - ***
Alexander Uloom - **
Casper Van Dien - **
Bastiaan Van Gaalen - **
Simon Van Meervenne - **
Mateus Verdelho - ☆ **
Adam Von Rothfelder - ☆ ***
Hannes Wengle - ***
Edward Wilding - **
Finn Wittrock - **
GRILS
name surname - Image search -

Amy Acker - **
Clara Alonso - **
Angela Bassett - ☆ **
Valentina Belleza - ☆ ***
Alana Bunte - ☆ **
Amra Cerkezovic - **
Benthe De Vries - **
Alice Francis - **
Ashley Frangipane (Halsey) - **
Noni Gasa - ☆ ***
Beck Holladay - ☆ ***
Ellen Hollman - **
Alyosha Kovalyova - **
Katrina Law - **
Noemie Lenoir - **
Aiyana Lewis - ***
Gugu Mbatha-Raw - ***
Thandie Newton - **
Lupita Nyong'o - ***
Oluchi Onweagba - **
Felicia Porter - ☆ ***
Hilary Rhoda - **
Isabella Rossellini - **
Emily Rudd - **
Scarlett Simoneit - ☆ ***
Antonia Thomas - ***
Antje Traue - ☆ ***
Denise Vasi - ☆ **
Alek Wek - **
Michelle Yeoh - **
Elodie Yung - ☆ ***
Amelia Zadro - **
Ziyi Zhang - **
 
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✯ HALVARD de SAUVETERRE ✯
Original Vampire ✯ Allied: Humans, Eros, Himself ✯ Mood: Vaguely alarmed ✯ Tagged: @♦Justin T. Jones♦™ @BladeX @DustBunny
"The voice of compassion! Somehow. Who the fuck decides these things?"
Were cops going to be involved in whatever Eros got up to once he got on the road? Maybe. Would there be damage to the bike or its simple-but-elegant paint job? Probably. Was Hal going to regret this decision in the morning? Most likely. Was it worth it? Definitely. It was worth repair costs and pride costs and bribes and whatever else for the look on Eros' face alone.

Hal accepted the top hat and returned the kiss with a smile, hands settling on Eros' sides, but that was more for the simple pleasure of physical contact than to hold on. He could crush the bike with his thighs alone, after all. Wait, could he? It wasn't like he'd tested it...Now that could be an interesting thing to find out for sure. Not with his own bike, but some junkyard piece, maybe. Hm. He entertained these thoughts until Eros got out of the parking complex, then they were fucking flying down the streets of New Orleans. Hal was stuck for a moment or two, wide eyed with wind whipping though what little hair he had, but the shocked expression soon gave way to a wicked grin and the hands on Eros' sides turned into long arms wrapped around his waist. With how often Hal had to correct the bike's course so they didn't clip other cars, it was no relaxing drive, that was for sure...but, Hal was having fun anyways. Eros was one of maybe two people Hal trusted enough to drive like this and not kill them both. Which was weird, given his boyfriend's insane driving, but hey. Love.

Then Hal closed his eyes for a moment, just for a moment, to appreciate the feeling of wind on his face and was quite rudely interrupted when Eros raised a hand to wave at his witch friend and crashed into a hybrid. An actual hybrid, one of his lovely brother's ilk.

Hal felt the impact and snapped his eyes open, flicking over the scene and the dog-turned-man laid out on the ground before them then looking over Eros for signs of injury. None were found, so he tucked his keys back into his pocket and put out the kickstand and got off the bike. "Kinky is using a feather, kid," he responded as he walked over to Luca, the term "kid" sounding odd from someone who barely passed for twenty one. Hal's eyes stuck to Luca's injuries, watching his injuries heal with vague interest. "Motorcycle crashes are using the whole chicken. I'd ask if anything's broken, but it looks like you got it well in hand." He then turned his attention to Alex, eyebrows twitching up in a show of concern. This was Eros' best friend, he felt obligated to be a little concerned for the poor witch's health. "You alright?"





✯ HALVARD de SAUVETERRE ✯
Original Vampire ✯ Allied: Humans, Eros, Himself ✯ Mood: Complicated ✯ Tagged: @♦Justin T. Jones♦™ @BladeX @Tyche
"The voice of compassion! Somehow. Who the fuck decides these things?"
Sweet? Not exactly a word Hal would ever use to describe himself. Why he wouldn't ascribe such a pleasant word to himself was a deceptively difficult question, its answer all wrapped up in the details of his motivations and machinations. The shit he didn't talk about, the shit that sunk to the bottom and stayed there. He couldn't really remember ever letting someone in that deep. Too many monsters lurked in the depths of a soul that was far too old, and the prospect of letting someone in so thoroughly in was as scary as what they might find within him. Fuck, it was complicated in his head sometimes. Complicated enough he felt like drowning in it, when it was all noise and too strong emotions.

Overlooking the veritable ocean of emotions and half finished thoughts that filled the orderly chaos of his headspace for the moment, Hal kept his focus on the present. Eros was too bright and too lively, someone who required Hal's full attention or nothing at all. Hal was very inclined towards the former.

"My valiant protector," Hal murmured with a laugh at the other man's antics, sliding broad palms up Eros' biceps and grinning like he hadn't a care in the world. "Think I could get a rain check on that call, assuming I don't end up a damsel in distress at this wonderful family reunion? There's always a few things around my apartment I could use some help breaking in." His tone was flirty, but under that, he worried. Would he make it back? Would he get to see Eros again? Calling the beautiful, delusional werewolf was off the table as an option, unless he could guarantee Eros' safety. Hal couldn't afford to lose him. Not with his family around. Not with Esteban back in his life for the first time in nine hundred and eighty something years.
 
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⌘ GABRIEL EMSWORTH ⌘
Human (mostly) ⌘ Location: Some local cafe ⌘ Mood: Energetic ⌘ Tagged: @espoir but open for interaction
It was the sun streaming in the east facing window (the massive one closest to the couch) that woke Gabe up at some ungodly hour of the morning. His mouth was as dry as the Sahara, his left eye was doing this weird thing where it was tearing up for no reason, his neck was definitely not liking the bent angle he'd had it at all night, and he'd definitely slept in his clothes. Gross.

Gabe promptly let himself fall over, laying down on the couch and curling up with one of the pillows over his head so the sun wasn't in his eyes. Mere minutes later, he was breathing deeply and nearly asleep again, hopeful that he'd get a better roll to "wake up feeling like an actual human" the second try. But then there was a broken meow from the floor. Gabe was wide awake immediately and let out a whining noise, lifting his head up to give his cat a soft glare. Booples sat on the floor near the end of the couch he'd chosen to curl up on, tail flicking. The yellow eyes that stared at him were filled with hope and longing...or maybe something more like "fucking human, not getting my fucking food, get the fuck up and feed me". It was hard to tell with cats.

A loud groan and no small amount of grumbling later, Gabe was up. Officially up, seeing as he was bad at falling asleep again after actually getting up no matter how insane the hour he rose. He fed the cat first, filling up her food dish and cleaning her water dish with the slow pace of a tired man. The dishes were tacky looking things, both of them metal and glittery with the food dish a bright pink and the water dish an equally bright purple. He was fond of them, though. They'd been a gift from his mother that was perhaps too enthusiastic about things that sparkled and he didn't quite want to replace them.

His daily duty to his cat fulfilled, Gabe trudged into the kitchen and rifled through his cupboards for a bowl of his own. Then...then he noticed the movie next to his keys and his phone and his wallet and his headphones laid out on the counter closest to the front door.

"Shit," he mumbled, picking the case up and tapping it against his opposite palm a few times before setting it back down. His heart sunk down in his chest, shoulders slumping with it, the pout on his face directed at one of the cabinets as there was no one here he could beg. He'd forgotten about Addy. Fallen asleep when he was supposed to be cheering her up. Probably made her shitty day worse.

He proceeded to have a pity party for himself for the next ten minutes, too guilt ridden to continue with his morning routine. Finally, though, he rose, and set about doing morning stuff, albeit with a bit more unhappy noises and his "Sad Days" playlist providing the soundtrack. Vacuuming his apartment had to take highest priority, unfortunately, since it was a weekend cleaning tradition he was loathe to break. Then he made a small breakfast for himself, skipping coffee for once because he had plans. Then the entire getting ready ritual he'd done the previous night, repeated because sleeping in his clothes was gross, with the noteworthy addition of ten minutes of meditation. It was a relaxing practice. Helped him focus, and he liked to think it helped with the snappy temper he'd had since he was too young to be so angry.

Once that was all done, Gabe flopped onto his couch before pulling out his phone. He sent a few texts, thumbs moving fast across the keyboard of the fancy thing, then he set his phone down on the couch beside him.

To Addy the Magnificent: Hey
To Addy the Magnificent: You should let me buy you coffee and like a dozen cheese danishes
To Addy the Magnificent: Unless it's a muffin morning?


There. That was good, right? Food was the fastest way to buy his affection, so he figured it was the same with other people, and he definitely needed to make up for the night previous. Even though staying in and having a pity party sounded like a good way to waste the day... No. Nope, he was going out. To get coffee, at least. He wanted to see people and no one wanted to go to pity parties. Gabe managed to wait all of two minutes for Addy to respond before he elected to head to the cafe by himself. It was just a short walk away. And he wasn't going to blow her off or anything, he was going to tell her to meet him there if she was down for coffee and baked goods. And he'd go to Addy's place if she wasn't in the mood for people. Okay, maybe he just really wanted his morning coffee. He made sure to give Booples pets before he left his apartment, locking the door behind him, and walked towards the cute little cafe near his apartment building with a brisk pace.

He arrived at the place a few minutes later, joining the line of people waiting for their morning caffeine fix. His phone was out as soon as he felt he'd staked his claim on his spot in line, and he spent the waiting period til he got to counter checking for texts and scrolling through various social media.

"Okay. If we're superheroes, I'm claiming the 'playboy billionaire' position."
 
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AESON - AN INNOCENT ARTIST
"rate yourself and rake yourself,
take all the courage you have left​"
  • BASICS:
    Aeson Henry Gallagher
    (EY-sun HEHN-rie Gaal-uh-guher)
    "Name's Aeson. Just Aeson. Or, er, Ace, if that's difficult to pronounce."
    Aeson, Ace

    Nationality:
    Irish, as far as he knows

    Languages:
    English (F); Irish (F); French (C); Latin (P)

    Species:
    Human

    Born:
    Born Sept 21st, 1991; 26 years old; Virgo

    Sexuality:
    Bisexual

    Alignment:
    Lawful Neutral

    Faceclaim:
    Jimmy Q
  • Appearance:
    If one has a bias against tattoos or piercings, Aeson is certainly an intimidating or infuriating individual, what with the piercings in his face and ears and the tattoos that cover his arms and chest and back. If not, however, he's fairly normal. He stands at an average 5'11" and weighs 163lbs, lean and lanky but in the kind of shape that shows how well he takes care of himself. His constant accessory is a pair of black rimmed glasses, necessary but not unusual to see these days. The only really distinguishing characteristic he has (other than the tattoos and the piercings, of course) is his unfortunate case of resting bitch face. He tends to scowl at the best of times, and that is helped none by his generally stoic personality. His hair is dark and always neatly slicked back, as the only time you'll see his hair without product is when he's at home. His pale blue eyes are pretty but not special until one looks closely at his left one; he has sectoral heterochromia, with a small patch of golden brown at the top of its iris.

    Blacks, blues and reds are the colors he tends to go for when picking out clothing. His favorite shirt pattern is stripes and his favorite shirt styles are button ups and three quarter sleeves, though it's not uncommon to see him in the nerdy or sarcastic graphic tee shirts his brother likes to give him. He tends to layer, usually with an undershirt of come sort and a button up overshirt, though he'll add a jacket on particularly cold days, and it's rare to see him in pants that aren't jeans. His shoes are typically sneakers, converse, or - oddly enough - well made and well worn hiking boots. In general, his clothes are neat, clean, and well maintained, same as the man himself.
    Tats and Stuff:
    ~ this from neck down to base of his spine
    ~ this on right forearm
    ~ this covering left arm
    ~ this on chest with his and his brother's names
    ~ this over his left ribs
    ~ this on neck and this around ear
    ~ Numerous other, smaller tattoos dotting his skin from ankles to jaw
    ~ Two sub-dermals in left cheek
    ~ Stud in left nostril, ring in right nostril
    ~ 1/2 inch gauge in each earlobe, stud in both upper lobes, two studs in helix of left ear
    ~ Old snakebite holes in lower lip
  • Personality & Brief Background:
    First impressions of Aeson are quite the mixed bag. At work, he's professional, dedicated, considerate, and especially good at keeping up a conversation with someone in his chair; in any other social situation, he turns into an awkward individual who's as bad at approaching people as he is at keeping up a conversation. Why, one might ask. Well, his workplace and his apartment are spaces that are his, with clearly defined rules of conduct. He knows what's acceptable and what's unacceptable, feels comfortable enough to establish what he'll take from a customer or from a visitor, and feels confident enough to enforce those boundaries. Outside of those personal spaces, however, rules and standards aren't dictated by what he's comfortable with, and that leaves him nervous and unsure. His lonely and isolated upbringing is mostly to blame for this approach he takes, though he's surprisingly not introverted in the least. He likes people and enjoys being around them, he's just uncertain of how to interact with them.

    His outer personality is shy but dedicated. He tends to come off as a know-it-all or even an asshole as his impulses to correct wrong information he overhears - even in the conversations of complete strangers - tend to be stronger than his social anxiety. He's also got a witty and dry sense of humor, understated and occasionally dark. He's also frequently sarcastic, though he's disturbingly good at making it sound genuine. Another product of his upbringing. His inner personality, on the other hand, is surprisingly extroverted and decidedly realistic. He doesn't lie to himself or to others (though he'd likely be good at it if he tried) and prefers to think through things before he acts. His dedication is driven by a strong sense of duty and a preference for order and neatness. Being an extrovert with a low self-esteem fueled by his social inadequacy, Aeson's also caught in something of a self-destructive cycle he's struggled with since he was far too young to have such heavy concerns.

    He currently lives in New Orleans, Louisiana, and most who know him would know him from work: he owns and operates the Black Rose Tattoo Parlour just a couple blocks off Bourbon Street and employs a couple of other artists and a body piercer. The shop's reputation is good, and its popularity is on the rise. Especially amongst tourists.

    Aspirations & Regrets:
    Aeson's only real goals are to achieve financial stability and keep making beautiful art for people. He is the type who plans ahead, yes. He has all his business plans laid out for the next year or more; he budgets for each month with dedication and care; he probably has a portfolio somewhere with every receipt he's ever received. Plans are not goals, however, and Aeson has achieved his goals for the most part. A personal one that might be tacked on ties in with one of his regrets is how his relationship with his younger brother has gone. He wishes they were closer and he regrets the distance between them when they were young and he regrets what that's done to Oran as a person. His goal with that? Make up for the mistakes.
  • ~ Color code is #00FFFF
    ~ Nearsighted; prefers to wear his glasses (reference pic) usually though he does have contacts
    ~ The cello is his favorite instrument and one he can actually play, not that he often does so in front of other people
    ~ His brother (Oran | 24 | FC: Ryley Lanteigne) once jokingly set his phone's ringtone to The Baddest by Krispy Kreme and he's been unable to work up the will to change it, instead keeping it on silent whenever he's around Oran
    ~ Lyrics around text are from Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

"and waste it on fixing all the problems​
that you made in your own head​"

Playlist: One Two Three Four


Code:
[div=margin-left: 6%;margin-right: 6%;background-color:black;padding:5px;][div=background:url(http://wallpapercave.com/wp/0W0M2F3.jpg); background-repeat: repeat; background-attachment: fixed; background-position: 26% 50%; text-align: center;border:4px white solid;color: white;padding:10px;font-family:georgia;][size=6]AESON - AN INNOCENT ARTIST[/size]
[div=background:url(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4c/c5/47/4cc547a74606031e88556d602505ba37.jpg); height: 400px; background-size: 170%; background-position: 50% 10%; width: 30%; display:inline-block; border: transparent;border-radius:5%;margin-left: 1%; margin-right: 1%;][/div][div=background:url(http://i41.tinypic.com/2rco4e8.jpg); height: 400px; background-size: 200%; background-position: 68% 0%; width: 30%; display:inline-block; border: transparent;border-radius:5%;margin-left: 1%; margin-right: 1%;][/div][div=background:url(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/e6/44/63/e64463ca569814f499c689235986191e.gif); height: 400px; background-size: 180%; background-position: 50% 30%; width: 30%; display:inline-block; border: transparent;border-radius:5%;margin-left: 1%; margin-right: 1%;][/div][div=margin-left: 4%;margin-right: 4%;background: black; opacity: 0.8;color:white;padding:15px;font-family:georgia;border-radius: 10%;][div=font-size:xx-large; font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: .5px;opacity: 1.0;][left][color=aqua]"[/color][sub][sub]rate yourself and rake yourself[color=aqua],[/color][/sub][/sub][/left]
[right][sub][sub]take all the courage you have left[/sub][/sub][color=aqua]"[/color][/right][/div]
[tabs][tab=New Game][div=overflow-y:auto;height:400px;][color=aqua][b][size=5]BASICS:[/size][/b][/color]
[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Aeson Henry Gallagher [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
(EY-sun HEHN-rie Gaal-uh-guher)
"[color=aqua]Name's Aeson. Just Aeson. Or, er, Ace, if that's difficult to pronounce.[/color]"
Aeson, Ace

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Nationality: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Irish, as far as he knows

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Languages: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
English (F); Irish (F); French (C); Latin (P)

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Species: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Human

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Born: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Born Sept 21st, 1991; 26 years old; Virgo

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Sexuality: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Bisexual

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Alignment: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Lawful Neutral

[color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color] Faceclaim: [color=aqua][size=5]♠[/size][/color]
Jimmy Q[/div][/tab]
[tab=Character Customization][div=overflow-y:auto;height:400px;][color=aqua][b]Appearance:[/b][/color]
If one has a bias against tattoos or piercings, Aeson is certainly an intimidating or infuriating individual, what with the piercings in his face and ears and the tattoos that cover his arms and chest and back. If not, however, he's fairly normal. He stands at an average 5'11" and weighs 163lbs, lean and lanky but in the kind of shape that shows how well he takes care of himself. His constant accessory is a pair of black rimmed glasses, necessary but not unusual to see these days. The only really distinguishing characteristic he has (other than the tattoos and the piercings, of course) is his unfortunate case of resting bitch face. He tends to scowl at the best of times, and that is helped none by his generally stoic personality. His hair is dark and always neatly slicked back, as the only time you'll see his hair without product is when he's at home. His pale blue eyes are pretty but not special until one looks closely at his left one; he has sectoral heterochromia, with a small patch of golden brown at the top of its iris.

Blacks, blues and reds are the colors he tends to go for when picking out clothing. His favorite shirt pattern is stripes and his favorite shirt styles are button ups and three quarter sleeves, though it's not uncommon to see him in the nerdy or sarcastic graphic tee shirts his brother likes to give him. He tends to layer, usually with an undershirt of come sort and a button up overshirt, though he'll add a jacket on particularly cold days, and it's rare to see him in pants that aren't jeans. His shoes are typically sneakers, converse, or - oddly enough - well made and well worn hiking boots. In general, his clothes are neat, clean, and well maintained, same as the man himself.
[color=aqua]Tats and Stuff:[/color]
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='http://40.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5n52h6cJX1ruw3ndo1_500.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] from neck down to base of his spine
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='http://nextluxury.com/wp-content/uploads/creative-guys-gladiator-tattoos.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] on right forearm
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='https://www.askideas.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Black-And-Red-Dragon-With-Lotus-Flower-Tattoo-On-Man-Left-Full-Sleeve.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] covering left arm
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3674/19408028493_bb01f97bc5_b.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] on chest with his and his brother's names
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='http://nextluxury.com/wp-content/uploads/tattoo-skulls-on-ribcage-for-men.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] over his left ribs
[color=aqua]~[/color] [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cd/3c/c0/cd3cc0fd8c666226fe22ba071f58e8ce.jpg'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] on neck and [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='http://stockholmsgruppen.s3.amazonaws.com/images/f069cd15-d454-470d-a39b-1fe6cef48bbd'][COLOR=darkturquoise]this[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR] around ear
[color=aqua]~[/color] Numerous other, smaller tattoos dotting his skin from ankles to jaw
[color=aqua]~[/color] Two sub-dermals in left cheek
[color=aqua]~[/color] Stud in left nostril, ring in right nostril
[color=aqua]~[/color] 1/2 inch gauge in each earlobe, stud in both upper lobes, two studs in helix of left ear
[color=aqua]~[/color] Old snakebite holes in lower lip[/div][/tab]
[tab=Origin Story][div=overflow-y:auto;height:400px;][color=aqua][b]Personality & Brief Background:[/b][/color]
First impressions of Aeson are quite the mixed bag. At work, he's professional, dedicated, considerate, and especially good at keeping up a conversation with someone in his chair; in any other social situation, he turns into an awkward individual who's as bad at approaching people as he is at keeping up a conversation. Why, one might ask. Well, his workplace and his apartment are spaces that are his, with clearly defined rules of conduct. He knows what's acceptable and what's unacceptable, feels comfortable enough to establish what he'll take from a customer or from a visitor, and feels confident enough to enforce those boundaries. Outside of those personal spaces, however, rules and standards aren't dictated by what he's comfortable with, and that leaves him nervous and unsure. His lonely and isolated upbringing is mostly to blame for this approach he takes, though he's surprisingly not introverted in the least. He likes people and enjoys being around them, he's just uncertain of how to interact with them. 

His outer personality is shy but dedicated. He tends to come off as a know-it-all or even an asshole as his impulses to correct wrong information he overhears - even in the conversations of complete strangers - tend to be stronger than his social anxiety. He's also got a witty and dry sense of humor, understated and occasionally dark. He's also frequently sarcastic, though he's disturbingly good at making it sound genuine. Another product of his upbringing. His inner personality, on the other hand, is surprisingly extroverted and decidedly realistic. He doesn't lie to himself or to others (though he'd likely be good at it if he tried) and prefers to think through things before he acts. His dedication is driven by a strong sense of duty and a preference for order and neatness. Being an extrovert with a low self-esteem fueled by his social inadequacy, Aeson's also caught in something of a self-destructive cycle he's struggled with since he was far too young to have such heavy concerns.

He currently lives in New Orleans, Louisiana, and most who know him would know him from work: he owns and operates the Black Rose Tattoo Parlour just a couple blocks off Bourbon Street and employs a couple of other artists and a body piercer. The shop's reputation is good, and its popularity is on the rise. Especially amongst tourists.

[color=aqua][b]Aspirations & Regrets:[/b][/color]
Aeson's only real goals are to achieve financial stability and keep making beautiful art for people. He is the type who plans ahead, yes. He has all his business plans laid out for the next year or more; he budgets for each month with dedication and care; he probably has a portfolio somewhere with every receipt he's ever received. Plans are not goals, however, and Aeson has achieved his goals for the most part. A personal one that might be tacked on ties in with one of his regrets is how his relationship with his younger brother has gone. He wishes they were closer and he regrets the distance between them when they were young and he regrets what that's done to Oran as a person. His goal with that? Make up for the mistakes.[/div][/tab]
[tab=Bonus Levels][div=overflow-y:auto;height:400px;][color=aqua]~[/color] Color code is [color=#00ffff]#00FFFF[/color]
[color=aqua]~[/color] Nearsighted; prefers to wear his glasses ([url=https://blackboxblue.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/redlight-king_old-man_27.jpg?w=584&h=329][color=darkturquoise]reference pic[/color][/url]) usually though he does have contacts
[color=aqua]~[/color] The cello is his favorite instrument and one he can actually play, not that he often does so in front of other people
[color=aqua]~[/color] His brother (Oran | 24 | FC: [url=http://0169acf2b41053510793-a17828a56d1fe6987c3860aa718002a9.r21.cf3.rackcdn.com/6217_6be87bc3-3b51-4ed9-96de-38cf7662a5b7.jpg][color=darkturquoise]Ryley Lanteigne[/color][/url]) once jokingly set his phone's ringtone to [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I16UsL72Ztk][color=darkturquoise]The Baddest by Krispy Kreme[/color][/url] and he's been unable to work up the will to change it, instead keeping it on silent whenever he's around Oran
[color=aqua]~[/color] Lyrics around text are from [COLOR=darkturquoise][URL='https://youtu.be/znHtGpCAfGY'][COLOR=darkturquoise]Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons[/COLOR][/URL][/COLOR][/div][/tab][/tab][/tabs]
[div=font-size:xx-large; font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: .5px;opacity: 1.0;][left][color=aqua]"[/color][sub][sub]and waste it on fixing all the problems[/sub][/sub][/left]
[right][sub][sub]that you made in your own head[/sub][/sub][color=aqua]"[/color][/right][/div][/div]
[div=width:20%;display:inline-block;][div=background:url(http://i.imgur.com/NROC2gQ.gif); background-size: 100%; background-position: center; height: 150px; border: transparent;][/div][/div][div=width:35%;display:inline-block;margin-left: 4%;margin-right: 4%;][div=background:url(http://i.imgur.com/t2QKl1P.gif); background-size: 130%; background-position: center; height: 150px; border: transparent;][/div][/div][div=width:20%;display:inline-block;][div=background:url(https://68.media.tumblr.com/dce438d80bd104063575bf01fe012b21/tumblr_nvf9hxiKhz1u7gnm9o1_500.gif); background-size: 225%; background-position: 75% 0%; height: 150px; border: transparent;][/div][/div]
[color=darkturquoise]Playlist:[/color] [url=https://youtu.be/lX44CAz-JhU][color=white]One[/color][/url] [color=darkturquoise]↟[/color] [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlEb3L1PIco][color=white]Two[/color][/url] [color=darkturquoise]↟[/color] [url=https://youtu.be/52Gg9CqhbP8][color=white]Three[/color][/url] [color=darkturquoise]↟[/color] [url=https://youtu.be/H3g0d6Cgqyg][color=white]Four[/color][/url]
[/div][/div]
 
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COLLABORATIVE POST
Archer Hendricks and Aeson Gallagher ♠ Black Rose Tattoo Parlour
The section of street that Black Rose Tattoo Parlour called home was uncharacteristically silent this evening, most of the businesses taking advantage of the rainy Monday night and closing up early. Black Rose, however, still had its lights on, the luminescence blazing out onto the street through the shop's wide windows that were painted with creative designs for the fall. The owner's distinctive navy blue pickup was even parked outside, though the man himself was in the back of the shop.

Aeson Gallagher pushed through the soft black curtain that separated the front area from the back, steaming cup of tea in hand, and checked his watch as he made his way over to the shop's neat front desk. Fifteen minutes early for his appointment, even after turning on all the lights and brewing a new pot of tea. Good. He set the cup - dark blue with the TARDIS on the side of it, a gift from Aeson's Whovian brother - down on a coaster, then settled into the tall, wheeled chair that had been designated for the front desk. His book, some space scifi novel Oran couldn't stop talking about, was already laid out in a position that made for comfortable reading. His tools were being sanitized as he sat, paper had been laid out, his chair had been cleaned and readied...The checklist was done.

Allowing himself a congratulatory sip of his tea - Irish breakfast, steeped for a bit longer than usual with a little less cream and a lot more sugar than most liked it - Aeson settled in and started reading. People who made appointments at these sorts of times tended to be late, in his experience, so he was ready to wait however long it'd take. This was somewhat better than reading the same book in the noise of his apartment building, after all.



The day seemed endless and the night even longer. The light pitter-patter of rain rapping at every window in that house seemed to echo louder and louder with each minute that passed. Archer wasn't one for being left alone with his thoughts for hours on end, but it looked as though that was inevitable; at least for that day. Earlier that morning, he had made a trip down to the precinct expecting to turn in all of his required transfer documents and commencement files before picking up his issued gear and badge. Unfortunately, the sheriff was out on duty and couldn't clear his status. Professional my ass. Don't they have other staffers verified for this kinda work? To back that shit news, the rest of his belongings from his sister's place still haven't shown up and it started raining pretty bad not too long ago.

It took a lot to unnerve the practically stoic brune. Still, considering he had to exhaust himself before going to sleep every night for the last 3 years, you could assume that whatever thoughts he was trying to avoid were pretty dark. Having said that, he was quite desperate to distract himself from falling into that fathomless spiral of melancholy. Which explains why he spent the day unpacking whatever luggage he brought with him and had somehow been talked into doing random chores for Ms. Reynaud (his temporary landlady). She was an older woman, in her mid-fifties maybe, who had a proclivity of being very nosy. She was a loud little thing who spoke to you in only a way a sharp-tongued snake would, but her southern charm would make you question just how mean she truly was.

Either way, he decided not to get on her bad side seeing as she lived in New Orleans her entire life and her prying nature will probably come in handy if he ever needs information. Due to his teetering attention, it took him a good 30 minutes to finish dusting the bookshelves and busts in the foyer. Had it not been for Whitney's amazing vocals hitting him with the holy spirit through his headphones, he probably would've finished earlier. As soon as he put his cleaning supplies back in the kitchen cabinets, he dashed for the kitchen sink to rinse his hands when he heard the clacking of her loud heels descending the winding staircase.

Oh, you fucking idiot! Snapping his head over toward the large grandfather clock sat at the end of the hallway, Archer realised that it was 15 past his scheduled appointment at the tattoo parlour. Bearing in mind that the weather was absolute shit that night, he wondered if it was even open. Even so, he was willing to check it out anyway; anything to get out of that house and away from Ms. Reynaud's never-ending list of chores. Quickly yet quietly veering around the staircase toward the hall leading toward the front entrance, Archibald snatched his grey sweatshirt from one of the ottomans and picked up the umbrella he bought that morning from behind the the coat rack.

"Archibald, sweetie! Where are you g--", "Out! I have some...errands to run. I'll be back late, don't wait up!" Although getting a tattoo wasn't a big deal to Archer, he knew it would bother the old lady. She wasn't his mother so he honestly couldn't be fucked to care about what she thought, however he nearly lost her favour in renting her guest room when she peeked his neck tattoo sticking out from his collar and the ink on his hands. Archer grew up in a pretty religious household, but his father never really cared much whether he got tattoos or not, so he found it pretty ridiculous that she was so bothered. Just the same, he didn't have the time nor the patience to argue with her so he left it at that and stepped out the door before she could ask any further questions.

Rifling through his pockets, he made sure he didn't leave his keys back in the house. Letting out a huff of relief when he pulled them out, Archer opened up his umbrella and scuttled down the stairs toward his black 1967 Shelby GT500 (don't judge him, his paycheck hasn't come in yet). The car was pretty decent considering how many miles it went through between his father and himself; it ran as well as it could. Unlocking the door, Archer closed up his umbrella and slipped into the driver's seat. After giving her a moment to heat up, he curved around the fountain centered in the driveway and made his way out the gates.

The drive wasn't long, but then again, the streets were nearly void of cars that night. Didn't mean there wasn't a party happening in every corner of each street. Okay, maybe he was overstating things a bit, but it was a rather lively night considering the weather. It was things like this that put the differences between home and New Orleans into perspective. Pulling up to the parlour, he plopped his head against the head of his seat and deeply exhaled. Thank god it's still open! After parking behind a blue pickup in front the shop, Archer stepped out and decided to leave his umbrella, the walk wasn't anything more than 7 feet. Pulling the door open, he was greeted with the sound of faint radio music and fluorescent lighting. He briefly took in the empty room and all of its orderly glory before spying the artist sitting behind the front desk, sipping tea. He had half the mind to ask if that was a TARDIS mug he had in his hand but then he'd likely be greeted with a confused sneer followed by a, "who the fuck are you?" Clearing his throat as he approached the front desk, Archer combed his fingers through his dewed hair. "Hey, uh...Gallagher, right? Archer Hendricks." He introduced himself before holding out his hand to shake.

Aeson had settled in quite comfortably by the time Archer arrived, his head resting on the fingers of one hand and the other turning pages or lifting his tea cup to his lips. Blue Oyster Cult came on the radio as headlights flashed in the street, and he'd just started fondly humming the first part of "Don't Fear the Reaper" when he heard the engine noise. That was enough to draw Aeson's attention upwards and away from his book, but it was the location the car stopped at that had him finishing his page, marking his place, and shutting it entirely.

The car looked like one of those old American cars, but fuck if he knew which one it was. They all looked the same, anyways. The driver - Archer, if his memory served, which it did - was tall, dark, and fifteen minutes late, somehow managing to be what Aeson had expected as well as defy all his expectations. Interesting. He stood up when the man entered the shop, self-consciously brushing at the wrinkles in his striped button up and adjusting his glasses as he did.

"I recall," Aeson responded with a polite smile, shaking the offered hand. He'd spent seven years in the States by now, but his Irish accent hadn't dulled all that much over time. The blame for that rested firmly on his brother...or, at least, that's who Aeson blamed it on. "Please, call me Aeson. Gallagher's a bit of a mouthful. Here for a leg piece, yeah?"


COLLABORATIVE POST
Archer Hendricks and Aeson Gallagher ♠ Black Rose Tattoo Parlour



The section of street that Black Rose Tattoo Parlour called home was uncharacteristically silent this evening, most of the businesses taking advantage of the rainy Monday night and closing up early. Black Rose, however, still had its lights on, the luminescence blazing out onto the street through the shop's wide windows that were painted with creative designs for the fall. The owner's distinctive navy blue pickup was even parked outside, though the man himself was in the back of the shop.

Aeson Gallagher pushed through the soft black curtain that separated the front area from the back, steaming cup of tea in hand, and checked his watch as he made his way over to the shop's neat front desk. Fifteen minutes early for his appointment, even after turning on all the lights and brewing a new pot of tea. Good. He set the cup - dark blue with the TARDIS on the side of it, a gift from Aeson's Whovian brother - down on a coaster, then settled into the tall, wheeled chair that had been designated for the front desk. His book, some space scifi novel Oran couldn't stop talking about, was already laid out in a position that made for comfortable reading. His tools were being sanitized as he sat, paper had been laid out, his chair had been cleaned and readied...The checklist was done.

Allowing himself a congratulatory sip of his tea - Irish breakfast, steeped for a bit longer than usual with a little less cream and a lot more sugar than most liked it - Aeson settled in and started reading. People who made appointments at these sorts of times tended to be late, in his experience, so he was ready to wait however long it'd take. This was somewhat better than reading the same book in the noise of his apartment building, after all.



The day seemed endless and the night even longer. The light pitter-patter of rain rapping at every window in that house seemed to echo louder and louder with each minute that passed. Archer wasn't one for being left alone with his thoughts for hours on end, but it looked as though that was inevitable; at least for that day. Earlier that morning, he had made a trip down to the precinct expecting to turn in all of his required transfer documents and commencement files before picking up his issued gear and badge. Unfortunately, the sheriff was out on duty and couldn't clear his status. Professional my ass. Don't they have other staffers verified for this kinda work? To back that shit news, the rest of his belongings from his sister's place still haven't shown up and it started raining pretty bad not too long ago.

It took a lot to unnerve the practically stoic brune. Still, considering he had to exhaust himself before going to sleep every night for the last 3 years, you could assume that whatever thoughts he was trying to avoid were pretty dark. Having said that, he was quite desperate to distract himself from falling into that fathomless spiral of melancholy. Which explains why he spent the day unpacking whatever luggage he brought with him and had somehow been talked into doing random chores for Ms. Reynaud (his temporary landlady). She was an older woman, in her mid-fifties maybe, who had a proclivity of being very nosy. She was a loud little thing who spoke to you in only a way a sharp-tongued snake would, but her southern charm would make you question just how mean she truly was.

Either way, he decided not to get on her bad side seeing as she lived in New Orleans her entire life and her prying nature will probably come in handy if he ever needs information. Due to his teetering attention, it took him a good 30 minutes to finish dusting the bookshelves and busts in the foyer. Had it not been for Whitney's amazing vocals hitting him with the holy spirit through his headphones, he probably would've finished earlier. As soon as he put his cleaning supplies back in the kitchen cabinets, he dashed for the kitchen sink to rinse his hands when he heard the clacking of her loud heels descending the winding staircase.

Oh, you fucking idiot! Snapping his head over toward the large grandfather clock sat at the end of the hallway, Archer realised that it was 15 past his scheduled appointment at the tattoo parlour. Bearing in mind that the weather was absolute shit that night, he wondered if it was even open. Even so, he was willing to check it out anyway; anything to get out of that house and away from Ms. Reynaud's never-ending list of chores. Quickly yet quietly veering around the staircase toward the hall leading toward the front entrance, Archibald snatched his grey sweatshirt from one of the ottomans and picked up the umbrella he bought that morning from behind the the coat rack.

"Archibald, sweetie! Where are you g--", "Out! I have some...errands to run. I'll be back late, don't wait up!" Although getting a tattoo wasn't a big deal to Archer, he knew it would bother the old lady. She wasn't his mother so he honestly couldn't be fucked to care about what she thought, however he nearly lost her favour in renting her guest room when she peeked his neck tattoo sticking out from his collar and the ink on his hands. Archer grew up in a pretty religious household, but his father never really cared much whether he got tattoos or not, so he found it pretty ridiculous that she was so bothered. Just the same, he didn't have the time nor the patience to argue with her so he left it at that and stepped out the door before she could ask any further questions.

Rifling through his pockets, he made sure he didn't leave his keys back in the house. Letting out a huff of relief when he pulled them out, Archer opened up his umbrella and scuttled down the stairs toward his black 1967 Shelby GT500 (don't judge him, his paycheck hasn't come in yet). The car was pretty decent considering how many miles it went through between his father and himself; it ran as well as it could. Unlocking the door, Archer closed up his umbrella and slipped into the driver's seat. After giving her a moment to heat up, he curved around the fountain centered in the driveway and made his way out the gates.

The drive wasn't long, but then again, the streets were nearly void of cars that night. Didn't mean there wasn't a party happening in every corner of each street. Okay, maybe he was overstating things a bit, but it was a rather lively night considering the weather. It was things like this that put the differences between home and New Orleans into perspective. Pulling up to the parlour, he plopped his head against the head of his seat and deeply exhaled. Thank god it's still open! After parking behind a blue pickup in front the shop, Archer stepped out and decided to leave his umbrella, the walk wasn't anything more than 7 feet. Pulling the door open, he was greeted with the sound of faint radio music and fluorescent lighting. He briefly took in the empty room and all of its orderly glory before spying the artist sitting behind the front desk, sipping tea. He had half the mind to ask if that was a TARDIS mug he had in his hand but then he'd likely be greeted with a confused sneer followed by a, "who the fuck are you?" Clearing his throat as he approached the front desk, Archer combed his fingers through his dewed hair. "Hey, uh...Gallagher, right? Archer Hendricks." He introduced himself before holding out his hand to shake.

Aeson had settled in quite comfortably by the time Archer arrived, his head resting on the fingers of one hand and the other turning pages or lifting his tea cup to his lips. Blue Oyster Cult came on the radio as headlights flashed in the street, and he'd just started fondly humming the first part of "Don't Fear the Reaper" when he heard the engine noise. That was enough to draw Aeson's attention upwards and away from his book, but it was the location the car stopped at that had him finishing his page, marking his place, and shutting it entirely.

The car looked like one of those old American cars, but fuck if he knew which one it was. They all looked the same, anyways. The driver - Archer, if his memory served, which it did - was tall, dark, and fifteen minutes late, somehow managing to be what Aeson had expected as well as defy all his expectations. Interesting. He stood up when the man entered the shop, self-consciously brushing at the wrinkles in his striped button up and adjusting his glasses as he did.

"I recall," Aeson responded with a polite smile, shaking the offered hand. He'd spent seven years in the States by now, but his Irish accent hadn't dulled all that much over time. The blame for that rested firmly on his brother...or, at least, that's who Aeson blamed it on. "Please, call me Aeson. Gallagher's a bit of a mouthful. Here for a leg piece, yeah?"
 
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♠ AESON GALLAGHER ♠
Human ♠ Alignment: Lawful Neutral ♠ Mood: Amused ♠ Tagged: @Tyche, open for interaction
"I quite like people, actually. I'm just...bad at them."
Sudden indecision froze Aeson before he'd even taken a step to follow Archer into the back. What was he going to do with the remainder of his tea? Leaving it out to get cold and collect germs was deplorable...but taking the tea into his booth to occupy valuable work space was equally so. He stood for a few seconds, paralyzed in his hesitation and internally cursing himself and his tea drinking habits, before downing the rest of his tea in one smooth motion. Not the most elegant of solutions, but it served. Then he let out a soft breath and followed after Archer into the back room and then into his booth.

Said booth was as neat and well-kempt as the rest of the shop, its black tiled floors clean and shiny. Cabinets that likely contained inks and supplies of all sorts occupied the back wall, and the wall facing the tattoo chair had a collection of pictures of finished pieces and sketches, but it was a pair of articles that had been carefully cut from tattoo magazines that had pride of place. Short articles, the both of them, but they were about Aeson. One even featured a few pictures of one of the pieces he did back in LA.

Aeson nodded along to Archer's comment about running out of space, completely empathizing with it. He'd nearly run out of space, as well. There was a decent portion of his back that was blank. Some spots on his legs. His arse, too. Well, part of his arse. ...Yeah, he'd just keep that comment to himself. "It's all right," he murmured after Archer finished, waving dismissively while he got to work pulling out the correct inks and gathering his tools. The lateness genuinely wasn't a problem. The lateness did, however, prevent Aeson from feeling too bad about poking fun at Archer. He busied himself with pulling on his gloves and assembling his gun, shifting his expression into one that was as serious as it was hard to read, before adding, "I'll just charge you for an extra hour, and we'll be right as rain." He waited a moment, just long enough to watch Archer's reaction, before cracking into a smile. A soft smile, compared to the smiles of other people, but it was still far brighter than his neutral expression. "Kidding. I'm kidding, I swear."

"Aeson," the artist corrected automatically, though he seemed more amused than irritated at the slight mispronunciation. His eyes narrowed while he looked over the needles and inks he'd pulled out, then flicked to Archer when he continued speaking. "Like Jason, without the 'J'. Ace works too, I suppose, but it makes me sound far more badass than I am. And, er. Been in the United States for seven years," he began, pulling off the plastic covering a new razor. "New Orleans for a year and a half. This shop, though? Just eight months. Well, nine, if you count renovations." With that, he set about sanitizing and shaving Archer's leg, then applied the sketch with a speed he'd earned through practice. He went ahead and skipped the "Tell me if you have problems, we can stop at any time, I've got medical training, blah blah blah" speech. Judging by the bits of ink he could see, given Archer's attire, Aeson would assume he'd heard it at least once or twice.

"What drew you to this design?" he asked instead, more to keep the conversation flowing than out of actual interest, his eyes flicking up to Archer's face then back down to his leg before he began laying the first few lines of black.


♠ AESON GALLAGHER ♠
Human ♠ Alignment: Lawful Neutral ♠ Mood: Amused ♠ Tagged: @▼ ᵖ ʳ ᵉ ᵗ ᵗ ʸ ᵇ ᵒ ʸ ▼
"I quite like people, actually. I'm just...bad at them."



Sudden indecision froze Aeson before he'd even taken a step to follow Archer into the back. What was he going to do with the remainder of his tea? Leaving it out to get cold and collect germs was deplorable...but taking the tea into his booth to occupy valuable work space was equally so. He stood for a few seconds, paralyzed in his hesitation and internally cursing himself and his tea drinking habits, before downing the rest of his tea in one smooth motion. Not the most elegant of solutions, but it served. Then he let out a soft breath and followed after Archer into the back room and then into his booth.

Said booth was as neat and well-kempt as the rest of the shop, its black tiled floors clean and shiny. Cabinets that likely contained inks and supplies of all sorts occupied the back wall, and the wall facing the tattoo chair had a collection of pictures of finished pieces and sketches, but it was a pair of articles that had been carefully cut from tattoo magazines that had pride of place. Short articles, the both of them, but they were about Aeson. One even featured a few pictures of one of the pieces he did back in LA.

Aeson nodded along to Archer's comment about running out of space, completely empathizing with it. He'd nearly run out of space, as well. There was a decent portion of his back that was blank. Some spots on his legs. His arse, too. Well, part of his arse. ...Yeah, he'd just keep that comment to himself. "It's all right," he murmured after Archer finished, waving dismissively while he got to work pulling out the correct inks and gathering his tools. The lateness genuinely wasn't a problem. The lateness did, however, prevent Aeson from feeling too bad about poking fun at Archer. He busied himself with pulling on his gloves and assembling his gun, shifting his expression into one that was as serious as it was hard to read, before adding, "I'll just charge you for an extra hour, and we'll be right as rain." He waited a moment, just long enough to watch Archer's reaction, before cracking into a smile. A soft smile, compared to the smiles of other people, but it was still far brighter than his neutral expression. "Kidding. I'm kidding, I swear."

"Aeson," the artist corrected automatically, though he seemed more amused than irritated at the slight mispronunciation. His eyes narrowed while he looked over the needles and inks he'd pulled out, then flicked to Archer when he continued speaking. "Like Jason, without the 'J'. Ace works too, I suppose, but it makes me sound far more badass than I am. And, er. Been in the United States for seven years," he began, pulling off the plastic covering a new razor. "New Orleans for a year and a half. This shop, though? Just eight months. Well, nine, if you count renovations." With that, he set about sanitizing and shaving Archer's leg, then applied the sketch with a speed he'd earned through practice. He went ahead and skipped the "Tell me if you have problems, we can stop at any time, I've got medical training, blah blah blah" speech. Judging by the bits of ink he could see, given Archer's attire, Aeson would assume he'd heard it at least once or twice.

"What drew you to this design?" he asked instead, more to keep the conversation flowing than out of actual interest, his eyes flicking up to Archer's face then back down to his leg before he began laying the first few lines of black.​
 
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TY - THE LONER
Intelligent Creative Loyal Kind Cynical
"please don't go, please don't go​
i love you so, i love you so​"

  • NAME:
    Thijmen van der Bijl
    thay-mon van dehr bill

    NICKNAMES:
    Ty, but he'll respond to most anything

    AGE:
    19

    GENDER:
    Male

    SEXUALITY:
    Demisexual

    ETHNICITY:
    paternally 50% Dutch maternally 25% Dutch, 12.5% French, 12.5% German

    ACCENT:
    Faintly Dutch

    ROLE:
    The Loner
  • HEIGHT:
    5'8" 172 cm

    WEIGHT:
    133 lbs 60 kg

    HAIR:
    Medium brown, thin and straight with lots of volume

    EYES:
    Pale blue, flecked with green and bits of gold

    BODY:
    Average in build, but skinnier than he should be

    ATTIRE:
    As self-conscious about his scars and his sickness as he is, Ty tends to wear shirts that are a size or two too large for him to disguise most of the evidence of either. Dark wash jeans are his preferred pants, though on warmer days he'll switch them out for cargo shorts, but he usually picks pants for pocket size rather than appeal. You'll hardly catch him in any shoes that aren't sneakers or converse. He has a high preference for dark blues and blacks, usually picks tee shirts with abstract or interesting designs on them, and hardly goes anywhere without this navy blue hooded jacket he's had since he was twelve and is big enough that its sleeves hang off the ends of his fingers when they're fully unrolled.

    DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:
    Oversized clothes Resting sad face Hair that somehow always looks fantastic A mess of scars from the accident and two surgeries that followed it along his belly and sides

    HEALTH AILMENTS:
    Acute Pancreatitis: episodes of swelling in the pancreas; causes significant pain in lower back (especially after eating), fever, nausea, and disrupts digestive processes. The episodes have been becoming more frequent and more severe.
    General digestive issues: Given the surgeries and the accident, there is quite a bit of scar tissue built up in Ty's belly and around his intestines. He suffers frequent bouts of constipation or diarrhea, in addition to the issues his pancreatitis causes.
    Mild pet dander allergy
  • PERSONALITY:
    As one might expect, Ty is a polite and quiet individual. He's bad at initiating conversations and he doesn't like to even try to grab someone's attention; he tends to expect he'll be ignored in social situations. Still, he has a great set of manners, and he's the sort who can be counted on to give up his seat or hold a door open for someone else. When people who aren't required to chat with him (doctors, nurses, his parents) do so, it's the sort of thing that can make his whole day and he's always very receptive, if a bit awkward. He tends to apologize too much, tends to dismiss his personal issues as less important than those of the people around him, and tends to sit in corners or otherwise distance himself from others.

    Inwardly, Ty is a sad and lonely person who feels as if he's too much of a burden for people to want to be friends with him. He's left in awe of people who actually converse with him, but he has trouble believing they lack an ulterior motive. He doesn't voice his opinions because he assumes they'll be ignored anyways and he doesn't correct others because he figures they're probably right anyways and he doesn't initiate conversations because he doesn't want to be annoying.

    Kindness and empathy are words that apply to Ty, as well, though they aren't usually obvious traits. The knit hat left in your room with no note and no obvious source? Probably Ty. The Jello that appeared on your tray while you were looking away for a few moments? Probably Ty. He'll pick up trash after other people, he'll share what he can't eat, he'll give gifts or buy things without expecting anything in return. He doesn't like to be called out on these actions, doesn't like being the center of attention and doesn't like making a scene, but he's awfully stealthy and that lets him do these things in anonymity. Most of the time.

    VICES:
    Cynical Passive Sensitive Timid Quiet Hesitant to trust

    VIRTUES:
    Considerate Intelligent Creative Empathetic Loyal Sweet

    LIKES:
    British rock Electronics Rainy days Cold weather Cuddles Animals Reading Confident people Movies Savory food

    DISLIKES:
    Hot weather Spicy food Being ignored Horror movies Plain water Yellows and greens Needles Being underground Insects Being the center of attention

    HABITS:
    Chews his nails Chews on writing utensils and styluses Doesn't often make eye contact Fiddles with his devices, even if he's paying attention Unintentionally sad resting expression

    TALENTS:
    Knitting Computer programming Fast reader Observing people and things

    FEARS:
    Deep water Tight spaces Insects Loneliness

    MENTAL AILMENTS:
    Anxiety Depression
  • BIO:
    Ty was born in the Netherlands, though he was only raised there until he was eight. His father was offered a high paying position with a company based out of the US, and he promptly moved his entire family there to accept it. Getting used to a new school full of new people, using a language he didn't know nearly as well as the other students, and even getting used to a different system...It was difficult, but he managed well enough. He never achieved popularity by anyone's definition, but by sixth grade he had collected a few friends and life was going well enough that Ty was content.

    Then the accident. A car accident, to be specific. He was in a car with his mother, an uncle, and one of his cousins, and the car went off the road and clipped a tree at nearly sixty five miles per hour. None of the car's occupants died. His mother was in the ICU for a time, but recovered. His cousin was mostly undamaged, just whiplash and a minor concussion. His uncle also had a concussion and no small amount of bruising, along with a couple of fractures. Ty, however, slammed into one of the passenger doors with enough force to break two ribs and damage several of his organs. He was in the hospital for a number of days with a concussion and blunt abdominal trauma, eventually receiving surgery to stem internal bleeding. By the time he was well enough to go back to school, rumors had spread through his school like wildfire. The police had said the accident was intentional, caused by someone in the car, and his classmates gossiped about who did it in the wake of his return. Someone joked that it might have been Ty himself at lunch; that turned into the most popular theory and eventually turned into Ty's ostratization. No one wanted to eat lunch with the psycho who tried to kill his family, after all. Ty stopped trying to correct people before eighth grade, unwilling to tell the truth about the accident and unwilling to keep fighting a losing battle. He accepted and adapted to his role as the school loner and the reputation stuck with him all through high school.

    With all that, he had episodes of pancreatitis all through those years; the first was a few months after the accident and they reoccurred most every year...then every six months...now every month or two. His doctor is concerned enough that Ty's hospital stay will be extended while tests and such are done.

    SECRETS:
    He worries that college is just going to be a repeat of high school
    He worries that he'll never be normal again
    His mother is the one who caused the car accident, and she did it quite intentionally, but he's never expressed this to anyone besides the police. She got two years in jail and ended up diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and recently committed herself to a mental institution

    FAMILY:
    Matthijs van der Bijl Father Alive
    Anneke van der Bijl Mother Alive

    FRIENDS:
    Open

    EXES:
    Open

    ENEMIES:
    Open

    LOVE INTERESTS:
    The Thespian
"please break my heart​"
Playlist: One Two Three Four

 
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ORAN - THE PROTECTIVE BROTHER

"tell me, tell me, baby, honestly...
do you think there's something wrong with me?"
  • BASICS:
    Oran Nicholas Gallagher
    (OR-ahn Nick-OH-laas Gaal-uh-guher)
    "Name's Oran! Go ahead 'n' try to shorten it, I dare you."
    Oran, Shithead

    Nationality:
    Irish, by birth and ethnically; confirmed via research

    Languages:
    English (F); Irish (F); Spanish (F); German (C)

    Species:
    Witch

    Born:
    Born April 4th, 1993; 24 years old; Aries

    Sexuality:
    Heterosexual

    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good

    Allied:
    His brother, his friends, the Balance of Nature

    Faceclaim:
    Toby Leonard
  • Powers and Abilities:
    Spell Casting: Mastered. As many witches tend to be, Oran is quite good at spell casting. He even has a good enough memory that he can cast many of his spells without referencing a book or a grimoire.

    Channeling: Intermediate. Oran prefers to power his spells with his own energy (it's a pride thing) but he's worked at this ability enough to use it well.

    Potion Brewing: Beginner. Oran is honestly and un-apologetically shitty at making potions, as he lacks the patience to ever really develop the skill.

    Telekinesis: Mastered. Seeing as he utilizes telekinesis to entertain himself whenever he's feeling particularly fidgety, Oran is excellent with this and even capable of precise manipulations, lifting multiple objects, or even himself and others....when he can actually concentrate well enough to do it.

    Projection: Mastered...sort of. Projecting his mind to another place is an ability Oran has taken the time to get good at, even with its difficulty; he even managed to teleport himself, once, but that incident nearly ended with an incident between Aeson and Oran's parents so he hasn't tried that again.

    Transmogrification: Beginner. Oran has this ability, and he's accomplished its use on a few occasions, but his control over it is questionable at best.

    Plant Manipulation: Mastered. Thanks to the methods of magic Oran grew up learning, Oran is good with plants and good at manipulating them with spells. He also gains limited insight on their health and such by touching them.

    Enchanting and Transcription: Mastered. Oran is particularly adept at creating powerful symbols representing his spells and imbuing items with magical power. This is what he uses to make money.

    Hand to Hand Combat: Advanced. As Oran's father was a small time MMA fighter before retiring to Ireland with his magically-gifted wife, self defense was a mandatory part of his education. The only martial art he's studied on an official basis is Krav Maga, however.
  • Appearance:
    Oran is, suffice to say, an odd one. He dresses like he can't decide whether or not he's a bad boy, a fuckboy, or actually fashionable, but his outfits are coordinated enough that it's almost like the look is intentional. He doesn't lean towards any style of clothing, but he does have a preference for cooler colors. Regardless, he's awful at picking clothes for the weather. He also wears his tattoos proudly, choosing bracelets and rings that compliment and contrast them. He smokes in public, curses as he pleases, and quite willingly helps complete strangers carry in their groceries. Certainly an odd one.

    Physically, he stands at a reasonable 5'10" and weighs a muscular 174 lbs, as he's the sort who works out for fun and for vanity in equal measure. His eyes are a pale and pretty blue, golden brown threaded throughout; his hair is dark brown with a wavy texture and he usually takes the time to style it. He's also the sort that gives off an impression of restlessness as soon as you look at him. He twiddles his thumbs and shifts positions and taps on nearby surfaces, he hums and plays with his bracelets and carefully makes tiny paper airplanes to throw at people nearby. He'll stop these annoying habits if someone asks, but sitting still is obviously an uncomfortable struggle for the young witch.
    Tats and Stuff:
    Ref One Ref Two Ref Three
    ~ This on back with his and his brother's names
    ~ This on his back, around the previous
    ~ This on right leg
    ~ Both ears pierced - he usually puts in enchanted studs
  • Personality & Brief Background:
    Oran is best described as an onion. He's got layers on layers on layers, he's fantastic according to some people and disgusting to others, too much of him can ruin a meal, and trying to cut him will most likely end with you crying. He's bright and energetic, a good person to be around if that kind of energy isn't grating and definitely a great person to invite to a party of any kind. He gives not a single fuck what anyone thinks of him, and that confidence tends to be infectious. Still, he's got deep set issues, buried under layers of impulsiveness and charm and self-destruction and confidence.

    His outward personality is all easygoing confidence and flirtatiousness, usually leaving a good impression simply because he's easy to talk to and adept at keeping a conversation going. His energy level is almost always high, and that can be either annoying or endearing depending on one's preference. It's easy to miss his snappy temper or his impulsive nature, and it's easy to miss exactly how rebellious he can be. The exact degree to which he's an adrenaline junkie doesn't usually come across, either, until he pulls out his phone and starts showing off selfies taken during his insane adventures. Bungee jumping, cliff diving, free climbing up dauntingly high rock walls, sky diving, hang gliding. Et cetera. If it's crazy and stupid, Oran's probably done it at least once. His inner personality is a darker picture. He doesn't like to be alone (though he'd never admit such a thing til his dying day and probably not even then) and he's stubborn to the point of childishness and he really hates being in his own headspace. His seemingly endless optimism is mostly directed at others, not himself, because even though he tries so hard to improve himself, his temper, his ego, his impulsiveness, his self-destruction, he can't seem to make much progress. Good luck squeezing details about these things out of the obstinate and emotionally constipated witch, though.

    Oran has been making a name for himself as a maker and seller of enchanted artifacts over the last few years, and he does it well; it seems some of his brother's business sense has rubbed off. He isn't picky about his clientele, he's happy to go anywhere if his client pays travel expenses, and he's always good about contacting local witches and elders to inform them when he's in town. His only official residence is in Dublin, a tiny flat he barely visits, and he usually stays on Aeson's couch whenever he's in the Louisiana area.

    Aspirations & Regrets:
    Most of Oran's goals are simple and common. He wants wealth and a bit of fame to go with it, so he makes a name for himself as an enchanter and creator of magical artifacts. He wants to be considered attractive, so he works out to try and ensure that he is such. He doesn't want to die til he's eighty and living on some private island in the Caribbean, so he generally tries to eat well and practices self defense. His last goal, however, is highly specific: protect his older brother from the crazy world of the supernatural. He doesn't believe Aeson could handle the truth of it, and he's arrived in New Orleans to make sure his brother isn't some victim of the Originals and their fucking infighting.
  • ~ Color code is #009900
    ~ Was raised as a druid, which means his magic is ritual based (with the notable exception of his telekinesis) and the strength of his spells is strongly based around his connection to nature
    ~ His "cover profession" is a freelance concept artist, and he's mostly done work on mobile games and other small projects
    ~ His brother is Aeson Gallagher
    ~ Lyrics around text are from Bad Blood - Welshly Arms
    ~ Background image is here, if it didn't show properly
"do you wanna stick around and see...
how bad a boy can be?"


Playlist: One Two Three Four


Playlist: One Two Three Four

"tell me, tell me, baby, honestly...
do you think there's something wrong with me?"
CkH6bGYWsAAVijm.jpg

"do you wanna stick around and see...
how bad a boy can be?"

BASICS:
Oran Nicholas Gallagher
(OR-ahn Nick-OH-laas Gaal-uh-guher)
"Name's Oran! Go ahead 'n' try to shorten it, I dare you."
Oran, Shithead

Nationality:
Irish, by birth and ethnically; confirmed via research

Languages:
English (F); Irish (F); Spanish (F); German (C)

Species:
Witch

Born:
Born April 4th, 1993; 24 years old; Aries

Sexuality:
Heterosexual

Alignment:
Chaotic Good

Allied:
His brother, his friends, the Balance of Nature

Faceclaim:
Toby Leonard



Powers and Abilities:
[spoili]
Spell Casting: Mastered. As many witches tend to be, Oran is quite good at spell casting. He even has a good enough memory that he can cast many of his spells without referencing a book or a grimoire.

Channeling: Intermediate. Oran prefers to power his spells with his own energy (it's a pride thing) but he's worked at this ability enough to use it well.

Potion Brewing: Beginner. Oran is honestly and un-apologetically shitty at making potions, as he lacks the patience to ever really develop the skill.

Telekinesis: Mastered. Seeing as he utilizes telekinesis to entertain himself whenever he's feeling particularly fidgety, Oran is excellent with this and even capable of precise manipulations, lifting multiple objects, or even himself and others....when he can actually concentrate well enough to do it.

Projection: Mastered...sort of. Projecting his mind to another place is an ability Oran has taken the time to get good at, even with its difficulty; he even managed to teleport himself, once, but that incident nearly ended with an incident between Aeson and Oran's parents so he hasn't tried that again.

Transmogrification: Beginner. Oran has this ability, and he's accomplished its use on a few occasions, but his control over it is questionable at best.

Plant Manipulation: Mastered. Thanks to the methods of magic Oran grew up learning, Oran is good with plants and good at manipulating them with spells. He also gains limited insight on their health and such by touching them.

Enchanting and Transcription: Mastered. Oran is particularly adept at creating powerful symbols representing his spells and imbuing items with magical power. This is what he uses to make money.

Hand to Hand Combat: Advanced. As Oran's father was a small time MMA fighter before retiring to Ireland with his magically-gifted wife, self defense was a mandatory part of his education. The only martial art he's studied on an official basis is Krav Maga, however.[/spoili]

Appearance:
Oran is, suffice to say, an odd one. He dresses like he can't decide whether or not he's a bad boy, a fuckboy, or actually fashionable, but his outfits are coordinated enough that it's almost like the look is intentional. He doesn't lean towards any style of clothing, but he does have a preference for cooler colors. Regardless, he's awful at picking clothes for the weather. He also wears his tattoos proudly, choosing bracelets and rings that compliment and contrast them. He smokes in public, curses as he pleases, and quite willingly helps complete strangers carry in their groceries. Certainly an odd one.

Physically, he stands at a reasonable 5'10" and weighs a muscular 174 lbs, as he's the sort who works out for fun and for vanity in equal measure. His eyes are a pale and pretty blue, golden brown threaded throughout; his hair is dark brown with a wavy texture and he usually takes the time to style it. He's also the sort that gives off an impression of restlessness as soon as you look at him. He twiddles his thumbs and shifts positions and taps on nearby surfaces, he hums and plays with his bracelets and carefully makes tiny paper airplanes to throw at people nearby. He'll stop these annoying habits if someone asks, but sitting still is obviously an uncomfortable struggle for the young witch.
Tats and Stuff:
Ref One Ref Two Ref Three
~ This on back with his and his brother's names
~ This on his back, around the previous
~ This on right leg
~ Both ears pierced - he usually puts in enchanted studs

Personality & Brief Background:
Oran is best described as an onion. He's got layers on layers on layers, he's fantastic according to some people and disgusting to others, too much of him can ruin a meal, and trying to cut him will most likely end with you crying. He's bright and energetic, a good person to be around if that kind of energy isn't grating and definitely a great person to invite to a party of any kind. He gives not a single fuck what anyone thinks of him, and that confidence tends to be infectious. Still, he's got deep set issues, buried under layers of impulsiveness and charm and self-destruction and confidence.

His outward personality is all easygoing confidence and flirtatiousness, usually leaving a good impression simply because he's easy to talk to and adept at keeping a conversation going. His energy level is almost always high, and that can be either annoying or endearing depending on one's preference. It's easy to miss his snappy temper or his impulsive nature, and it's easy to miss exactly how rebellious he can be. The exact degree to which he's an adrenaline junkie doesn't usually come across, either, until he pulls out his phone and starts showing off selfies taken during his insane adventures. Bungee jumping, cliff diving, free climbing up dauntingly high rock walls, sky diving, hang gliding. Et cetera. If it's crazy and stupid, Oran's probably done it at least once. His inner personality is a darker picture. He doesn't like to be alone (though he'd never admit such a thing til his dying day and probably not even then) and he's stubborn to the point of childishness and he really hates being in his own headspace. His seemingly endless optimism is mostly directed at others, not himself, because even though he tries so hard to improve himself, his temper, his ego, his impulsiveness, his self-destruction, he can't seem to make much progress. Good luck squeezing details about these things out of the obstinate and emotionally constipated witch, though.

Oran has been making a name for himself as a maker and seller of enchanted artifacts over the last few years, and he does it well; it seems some of his brother's business sense has rubbed off. He isn't picky about his clientele, he's happy to go anywhere if his client pays travel expenses, and he's always good about contacting local witches and elders to inform them when he's in town. His only official residence is in Dublin, a tiny flat he barely visits, and he usually stays on Aeson's couch whenever he's in the Louisiana area.

Aspirations & Regrets:
Most of Oran's goals are simple and common. He wants wealth and a bit of fame to go with it, so he makes a name for himself as an enchanter and creator of magical artifacts. He wants to be considered attractive, so he works out to try and ensure that he is such. He doesn't want to die til he's eighty and living on some private island in the Caribbean, so he generally tries to eat well and practices self defense. His last goal, however, is highly specific: protect his older brother from the crazy world of the supernatural. He doesn't believe Aeson could handle the truth of it, and he's arrived in New Orleans to make sure his brother isn't some victim of the Originals and their fucking infighting.

Other:
~ Color code is #009900
~ Was raised as a druid, which means his magic is ritual based (with the notable exception of his telekinesis) and the strength of his spells is strongly based around his connection to nature
~ His "cover profession" is a freelance concept artist, and he's mostly done work on mobile games and other small projects
~ His brother is Aeson Gallagher
~ Lyrics around text are from Bad Blood - Welshly Arms
~ Background image is here, if it didn't show properly​
 
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The unique vibration pattern he used for texts - "F-U-C-K" in Morse code, because his sense of humor had never quite left grade eight and he had way too much time on his hands - startled Oran out of his thoughts. Good thing, too, they'd begun to take a turn towards the dark. He put out the end of his cigarette and picked the device up, opening it to find a new message from Monroe.

From ~Flower Queen~: You know it. Half Moon Bar?

He smiled at the screen for a few seconds, expression soft enough to make an easy target for teasing, before he pulled up the keyboard to respond.

To ~Flower Queen~: Sure thing. <3 Might be a bit, still at the airport. Got plans for later if I miss you?
❖ ORAN GALLAGHER ❖
Witch ❖ Allied: His brother, his friends, the Balance of Nature ❖ Mood: Bored ❖ Tagged: @DustBunny @Mundane Monster
"Honestly, if it's idiotic or crazy, I've probably done it. Twice."
 
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CANDICE - THE CRIME LORD
Intelligent Passionate Loyal Calculating Dangerous

"I am a fever, I am a fever,"

  • BASICS:
    Candice Anastasia de Leon
    (CAN-diss Annuh-stais-shuh dey Leeohn)
    "My name is Candice. Call me Candy again and I'll cut off something you will miss."
    Candice, the Wolf of Miami

    Nationality:
    Spanish by birth, Spanish and Italian ethnically

    Languages:
    English (F); Spanish (F)

    Species:
    Werewolf

    Born:
    Born December 26th, 1981; 36 years old; Capricorn

    Sexuality:
    Homosexual

    Alignment:
    Neutral Evil

    Allied:
    Herself, profit

    Faceclaim:
    Maggie Q
  • Appearance:
    Standing at a tall 5'7" without the aid of the stiletto heels she's so fond of wearing and weighing a muscular 144 lbs, Candice is as classically beautiful as she is dangerous. Pretty hazel eyes stare out from beneath well-manicured brows, soft brown blending into green around the pupil, with the look in them usually as sharp as the heels she tends to favor. Her hair is long and dark and well cared for, wavy in texture and pulled back into a neat bun if she's doing anything business related. Studs usually adorn her pierced ears, though she avoids putting in anything too flashy. Her makeup is fairly consistent; dark smokey eyeshadow and bright red lipstick, no blush but a well blended foundation.

    As for how she dresses...She is built like a runner with long legs and long arms, and she tends to dress to suit but also maintains some level of practicality. Her most common outfits involve pencil skirts and button ups, or dresses and fashionable jackets. Heels are her most frequent choice of shoe, though she'll discard them without a second thought if she needs to be more mobile for any reason. She'll also switch them for flats around the full moon or if she knows she'll be doing some running. Pants are uncommon to see her wear in public, as she usually only wears them while she works out and she never exercises in public. She doesn't wear anything overtly revealing, she doesn't wear anything even a step down from formal, she doesn't wear flats, and the only bright color she ever bothers with is red.
    Scars and Stuff:
    ~ Pierced ears
    ~ Four long and straight scars scattered haphazardly across her back
    ~ Bite marks from a canine on her right shoulder, plus a set of claw marks across her belly

    Powers and Abilities:
    Candice has the typical werewolf set of abilities, of course, though her greatest asset by far is her durability. She's taken enough damage over the course of her life to have a higher than normal resistance to pain and a remarkable ability to function when injured, even when compared to other members of her own species.
    Wolf Form
  • Personality & Brief Background:
    Candice's background is shrouded in mystery. That isn't entirely due to her efforts to cover it up; no paperwork existed for her, no birth certificate or anything, until she was five and enrolled in a kindergarten with the surname Lambkin. There's little else in the way of official papers and such to be found, but everyone who's familiar with the gossip about her knows three things:
    1.) Her first kill, and the one that triggered her werewolf gene, was when she was ten. Circumstances are unknown, but a quick google search of "Lambkin 1992" will pull up half a dozen articles on the tragic disappearance of her family's youngest child in that year.
    2.) She arrived in Miami at the tender age of nineteen and wasted no time in seeking out the worst kinds of company. It was only a few months before she'd gotten a reputation for being tough as nails - reliability and cunning were traits that were tacked on as she gained power in the city's seedy underworld.
    3.) The seeds that would bloom into her criminal empire were planted when she killed a well-connected drug supplier and proceeded to take control of his business. There's no official evidence connecting her to the case, and given her craftiness, there likely never will be. Still, everyone in the know knows it was her doing.

    The first impression that Candice tends to make is that of a businesswoman. She's polite and professional, obviously smart and usually smiling, though many who interact with her have little doubt that she has a temper. Jokes aren't her strong suit, but otherwise she's quite good at small talk and socializing. A fantastic liar, as well, but that isn't an immediately apparent trait. If one first meets her in some way relating to her work, she makes decidedly different first impression. Her employees often find her strict and demanding, but she is fair when dealing with them and tends to treat them well and with kindness. What passes for kindness, anyways. People who make deals with her or her people usually find her to be intimidating; she'll quiet intentionally act erratically, violent one moment and restrained the next. Her enemies, however? Her enemies see the true depths of her cold and ruthless nature. She does not forget, she does not forgive, and she can wait years for the right moment to exact revenge.

    Her inner thoughts are difficult to discern, but they are no doubt as dark as her deeds. The core of her personality, however, is her iron self control and her ambition. She has rage and she is vicious, due to her past as much as her werewolf nature, but she refuses to let either control her. Instead, she is driven by that ambition, that desire to be better than those she was raised by and that want for influence, power, wealth.

    Candice has lead an impressively successful criminal enterprise based in Miami for more than six years, dealing in any manner of illegal or forbidden item. Drugs and guns in the human markets, for the most part, though she's sure to cater to the needs of the supernatural by supplying more...exotic materials for dark magics and all manner of other things. She's arrived in New Orleans quite recently, her excuse for the trip being that she needed a vacation. Given the recent gathering of power there, however, it's doubtful she's merely on holiday.

    Aspirations & Regrets:
    All Candice really cares about is making money and accumulating power; anything less isn't good enough and anything more is a bonus for her hard work. She would lie, cheat, steal, and kill for either and she has done so on multiple occasions. She is a werewolf, yes, and she feels the same compulsion to protect and cherish her own kind as any other, but she has yet to feel a connection strong enough to another werewolf that she couldn't overcome it with self-control and her incredibly practical nature.

    Her regrets are numerous and are primarily from when she was a child; she regrets the incident that activated her werewolf genes the most. It didn't go as one might expect it did, given her reputation, but she refuses to discuss whatever happened in any detail.
  • ~ Color code is #DC143C
    ~ Likes animals, surprisingly, and keeps a pitbull rescue (who is far sweeter than Candice will ever be) named Bianca
    ~ Doesn't curse, as she feels it would tarnish her reputation
    ~ Lyrics around text are from U R A Fever - The Kills
    ~ Background image is here and character image is here, if they didn't show properly
"I ain't born typical."
Playlist: One Two Three Four Five

 
Last edited:
♛ CANDICE DE LEON ♛
Werewolf ♛ Allied: Herself, Profit ♛ Mood: Neutral ♛ Tagged: People
"I make this look easy."
 
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♚ CANDICE DE LEON AND LILITH STREISCH ♚
Collaborative Post ♚ Tagged: @Spectre of the Fade @MisterGrumpyLoli
Bare feet made little noise as they walked across the cemetery's broken pavement, their owner taking her sweet time approaching the man she'd chased all the way from the French Quarter. Her prey was panting. The chase was not a short one, and he had run far too fast at all the wrong moments. No conservation of energy, no dirty tricks, no attempts to escape her line of sight and get away. He'd simply run, right into the jaws of the wolf that chased him. For Candice did not tire easily and she could herd prey as well as any sheepdog.

Now they were here.

Candice drew closer to her prey. He retreated in a feeble attempt to keep distance between them, too tired to run but still struggling to get away. He was a coward, but he was a dedicated one, and she could admire that. It wouldn't save him from his fate, though.

"Sweetheart, your instructions were simple," Candice murmured as she drew closer. She was aided in the effort when her prey stepped wrong and overbalanced, toppling to the ground. The heels that dangled from her left hand clacked together when she placed a bare foot on his chest. "Follow the Original. Track her movements, and report back to me." He made some pitiful sounds that may have been words, but she didn't grant him the courtesy of listening. "This is not the first time you've lost track of a target, Mason, nor the first time you've failed to obey my instructions. The punishment must be as severe as the offense."

Her prey made more noises, but still Candice paid no attention. She crouched carefully so as to not dirty her dress, her knee replacing her foot on his chest. He was struggling, now, knowing what was coming, but he wouldn't be able to prevent it. She took the item of his atonement from his face with her own bare hand. There was no ado, no fuss or hesitation, and she made sure to pluck his eye out in one whip-quick motion. More for her own sake than his. There was mess, however, and her prey certainly did not bear the pain well. At least none of it got on her dress.

"Gray, Miles? Clean this up," Candice ordered over her prey's shocked yelps as she stood, allowing the miserable man to roll about on the ground with his hands pressed to his face. The orders were directed at the pair who appeared during the gruesome scene like ghosts in the night. They were her loyal cleaners, an odd pair that worked together nearly as well as they did their work. She trusted them with her reputation, trusted them to dispose of everything cleanly, and she was lucky they'd deigned to follow her to New Orleans. She was equally lucky she'd had the forethought to instruct them to follow her tonight.

"I'm not fixing that up," Gray declared with a wave at the man on the ground, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she pulled on her gloves.

"It's your turn, darlin," Miles responded, setting down a duffle bag that contained the tools of their profession, then offered a wet wipe and an umbrella to Candice with a polite smile on his face.

"It is not! I patched up that last human."

"That last human was six weeks ago. It's your turn."

Candice smiled softly then left the pair to their bickering and their work, cleaning her hand with the wipe before leaving the cemetery. She waited until she was on a decent street before putting her heels back on. Twas a nice night to roam the streets, what with the smell of rain in the air.



She'd made it all the way into the French Quarter when a sudden scream tore through the air. It was nearby, close enough that Candice only had to spend a handful of seconds searching before she found the source in an alley.

The scene within was enough to force her to stop dead, eyes roving over the creatures, their victim, then finally the source of the madness. A vampire, it seemed. Candice let the woman finish her feeding and complete the macabre display she made of the corpse, undisturbed by the lot of it. She'd seen things just as terrible, and done some that approached it. Nothing quite so messy, however.

"Good evening," Candice said by way of greeting when it seemed the other woman was quite done. "Your illusions are impressive."

Lilith turned around upon hearing a voice behind her. Her eye was a deep red as she licked the last bits of blood off her lips. She was about to charge at the person behind her but calmed down when she saw who they were.

Lilith's eye returned to it's normal color as she saw the beauty of the woman behind her that praised her illusions. She giggled cutely and twisted a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Why thank you. I love using them as a hunting method. It makes people suffer badly, and I love suffering. Improves the tastes of a puny human's blood after an adrenaline rush"

Lilith smiled and took the bottom part of her dress lifting it up slightly as she made a bow before the woman.

"Anyhow. My name is Lilith Schtreisz. I'm from Germany. My age is around 400 now and I am proud to be who I am."

Candice let out a breath when the vampire relaxed, the only hint she gave that she'd been concerned at all. She was fast, and she was good, but this was no full moon and she wasn't strong enough to stop a vampire that wished to tear out her throat.

"I wouldn't know about the taste," she admitted with a soft smile, adjusting her grip on her umbrella. "I don't have much need to taste the blood after I make my kills." Besides, she preferred a more organic hunt, A proper chase. To each their own, however. She mimicked the bow that Lilith had done, using the hand that wasn't occupied with the umbrella. "I do know that it's a pleasure to meet you, Lilith. I am Candice de Leon. I'm from Oregon. Thirty six years old. I'm in an acceptable position, though..." Candice paused for effect before adding, "You could help me get into a better one. What would it take to get such a powerful illusionist on my side, hm?"

Lilith smiled a bit and began thinking. No one had ever offered her to be at their side before. This definitely was something new for her. SHe looked at Candice and gave a small nod.

"I'd say lots of love. No one has ever liked me before. Back in Germany people in my town, including my family thought I was a demon. I have multiple personality disorder but also had multicolored eyes. And with had I mean this."

Lilith stepped closer towards Candice, almost against her. She looked up to her eyes as Lilith's right eye would be very noticeable. She took off her eye patch to reveal the empty eye socket before putting the patch back over it.

"Some thieves attacked me one night. They stabbed out this eye and stabbed me in my spine which caused me to develop walking problems. Therefore I have this cane"

A look of surprise crossed Candice's face before she could stamp it down, but it was gone as fast as it appeared. The lack of expression didn't mean she was no longer surprised, however. The request was a surprising one. She was in a business where people wanted simple things. Drugs. Money. Wealth. Influence. "Love" was a strange thing to hear. "Love" was also a simple thing to give, according to someone who didn't understand the meaning of the word.

Candice didn't flinch at Lilith's approach nor the empty eye socket, the story resonating with her on an odd level. She knew what it was like to be hated by the family that was supposed to love you, after all. "I think we'll get along well, you and I," she murmured, leaning just a bit closer to Lilith as she spoke. Then she offered her hand to the vampire, a soft smile gracing her lips. "My hotel isn't very far. We can talk over drinks."

Lilith blushed a bit and would take a gentle grip of Candice's hand. Lilith's hands were kinda small but also very soft. She would hug Candice's arm and licked her lips.

"I haven't drank any alcohol in about threehundred years. But I guess it's time for me to drink something again. I'm excited to see what there is around these days"
 
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ISAAC - THE ELDEST
♚ "What's the saying...'Out of the frying pan, into the fire'? I am the fire." ♚

"but my peace has always depended​"
♚ Name ♚
Wulfric Isaac Rawlinson

♚ Nickname{s} ♚
Tends to go by Isaac in the current day and age

♚ Age • Birthday ♚
Forever 28 • Actually more than 1000, exact age TBD • April 22nd

♚ Gender • Sexuality ♚
Male • Bisexual

♚ Race ♚
Original Vampire

♚ Power{s} ♚
Pyrokinesis - control over and manipulation of fire The typical vampire set of abilities Daylight Amulet

♚ Health Ailments ♚
None

♚ Occupation ♚
Magistrate of Louisiana Investor

♚ Physical Appearance ♚
6'0" • 187 lbs • Brown hair, cut short and neat, though it's not uncommon to see it colored • Warm brown eyes, spattered with green • Septum ring, bar through tongue, bar through left nipple, both ears pierced • Tattoo Refs: OneTwoThreeFour

♚ Personality ♚
Protective Dependable Organized Realistic Introverted Obstinate Short-tempered Apathetic

♚ Likes ♚
Warm weather Yellow, orange, red, black Bitter drinks Savory food Tattoos Rebelliousness Longboarding Proper hunting, humans or otherwise Guns

♚ Dislikes ♚
Unnecessary noise Cold weather, rain, snow Plain water Avoiding problems Dishonesty Sweet foods, especially chocolate Cowardice Disorganization Anyone or anything that goes after his family

♚ Weakness{es} ♚
Quick to anger Slow to forgive Daredevil Stubborn to a fault Applicable vampire weaknesses

♚ Family ♚
The other Originals, deets to come

♚ Significant Other ♚
TBD

♚ Other ♚
Speaks English, Portuguese, French, and Farsi fluently, and Latin conversationally
Face Claim is Mateus Verdelho
Alignment is True Neutral
Drives an outrageously expensive orange sports car, the McLaren F1, when he bothers to drive
Theme Song - Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier, plus the playlist
"on all the ashes in my wake​"
Playlist: One Two Three Four Five



ISAAC - THE ELDEST
♚ "What's the saying...'Out of the frying pan, into the fire'? I am the fire." ♚
tcasTBP.jpg
ef5e2b129be582a54dc65a9577dc921a--mateus-verdelho-male-models.jpg
mateusverdelhomv.jpg

Playlist: One Two Three Four Five

♚ Name ♚
Wulfric Isaac Rawlinson

♚ Nickname{s} ♚
Tends to go by Isaac in the current day and age

♚ Age • Birthday ♚
Forever 28 • Actually more than 1000, exact age TBD • April 22nd

♚ Gender • Sexuality ♚
Male • Bisexual

♚ Race ♚
Original Vampire

♚ Power{s} ♚
Pyrokinesis - control over and manipulation of fire The typical vampire set of abilities Daylight Amulet

♚ Health Ailments ♚
None

♚ Occupation ♚
Magistrate of Louisiana Investor

♚ Physical Appearance ♚
6'0" • 187 lbs • Brown hair, cut short and neat, though it's not uncommon to see it colored • Warm brown eyes, spattered with green • Septum ring, bar through tongue, bar through left nipple, both ears pierced • Tattoo Refs: OneTwoThreeFour

♚ Personality ♚
Protective Dependable Organized Realistic Introverted Obstinate Short-tempered Apathetic

♚ Likes ♚
Warm weather Yellow, orange, red, black Bitter drinks Savory food Tattoos Rebelliousness Longboarding Proper hunting, humans or otherwise Guns

♚ Dislikes ♚
Unnecessary noise Cold weather, rain, snow Plain water Avoiding problems Dishonesty Sweet foods, especially chocolate Cowardice Disorganization Anyone or anything that goes after his family

♚ Weakness{es} ♚
Quick to anger Slow to forgive Daredevil Stubborn to a fault Applicable vampire weaknesses

♚ Family ♚
The other Originals, deets to come

♚ Significant Other ♚
TBD

♚ Other ♚
Speaks English, Portuguese, French, and Farsi fluently, and Latin conversationally
Face Claim is Mateus Verdelho
Alignment is True Neutral
Drives an outrageously expensive orange sports car, the McLaren F1, when he bothers to drive
Theme Song - Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier, plus the playlist
 
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holy fuck this is such an old sheet

Aeson Gallagher
[Spoili]
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[/spoili]
27 at start | Male | Pansexual | Black hair | Hazel eyes | 6'0" | Lawful Neutral

"I watched a fuckin' officer of the fuckin' Crown put a bullet in my little brother's head! Everyone I was close to is either dead, like him, or in hidin', like me! Of course I'm not all right! Fuckin' stupid question."

BASICS
Full Name:
Aeson Henry Gallagher
DOB: August 29th, 1887
Build: Six feet flat, well built, perhaps a bit too skinny despite his musculature
Hair: Dark brown/black hair; wavy in texture though he doesn't let it grow long enough to show that; thick strands; thick density
Eyes: Lightly colored hazel, some striking combination of green and blue
Ethnic Background: Irish, as far as he knows


APPEARANCE
Aeson has the unfortunate condition we refer to in modern times as "resting bitchface". An "I murder puppies" scowl seems permanently stuck on his face, and the fact he really only uses his eyebrows when making expressions, the rest of his face remaining motionless, helps exactly none. That makes it so he can be quite intimidating when one first meets him, and that isn't even factoring in his height, or the tattoos on skin that is commonly visible. All in all, he is someone people tend to stare at for one reason or another.
The natural stoicism in his face tends to apply to his body language as well. It's not that he lacks tells; they're just subtle. His hands are almost always in or around his pockets, his eyes are usually downcast, he walks and stands and sits with excellent posture. Occasionally you'll see him try to make a gesture while he's speaking, but the gesture is always cut off with a flinch before it even really got started.
Aeson doesn't dress in any particular unusual fashion. He's usually in a cheap white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with suspenders, a neat pair of darkly colored trousers, and good working shoes. A plain newsboy cap has been a recent addition; he acquired a taste for wearing them after coming to America.
Tattoo List: (all are in blue and done as accurately to Celtic methods as he could manage)
~Celtic cross covering the left side of his neck
~Knot pattern covering the entire underside of his right forearm
~Tree of life covering much of his back (thinking a design a bit like this)

PERSONALITY
Diligent (+) | If Aeson decides to take on a task, he completes it to the very best of his ability, neither skipping corners nor slacking off. His focus tends to be intense and single-minded, and he applies it to everything he does: from important paperwork to doing dishes to listening to someone tell a story.
Efficient (+) | Procrastination is easily one of Aeson's biggest pet peeves and he has little toleration for it in others, let alone himself. Any task he's given will be done as quickly as he is able. He also tends toward being organized and clean, for the sake of maintaining that efficiency.
Extroverted (+) | Despite his awkwardness with people, Aeson genuinely loves to be around them. His favorite moments are those where he is surrounded by people he knows, people he cares for, listening to them interact without feeling pressured to insert himself into the conversation.
Realistic (=) | Aeson is a true realist at heart. If asked the infamous "glass" question, he would politely ask what exactly is in it.
Analytical (=) | Aeson's approach to life and its problems involves breaking the issue down into pieces and focusing on each part individually. He's good at solving logical problems and things based in reason, but can be somewhat obtuse when it comes to less than reasonable things.
Cautious (=) | "Better safe than sorry" is a saying Aeson strongly prefers to live by, and being forced to make a decision quickly or without considering all the options/outcomes makes him extremely uncomfortable.
Critical (-) | It's easy to call Aeson a know it all, and that isn't necessarily an incorrect label. He's the sort who likes things to be correct and to make sense, and this desire often wins out over his social awkwardness, so it's not unusual for him to interject himself into strangers' conversations to correct some small bit of information or to comment on a flaw in logic.
Stoic (-) | Frankly, Aeson is shit at expressing his emotions. He's a difficult person to read and that is rarely to his benefit, especially when it comes to personal relationships. At best, he comes off as cold; at worst, he comes off as heartless.
Socially Awkward (-) | A complete lack of social skills and a tendency to overthink/worry too much about even the simplest action he makes combine to make him just a generally awkward individual around other people in an unprofessional environment. There are no set rules to socialization, and that makes him uncomfortable.


HISTORY
Aeson's origins and history are unknown, for the most part. He and his younger brother, Oran (FC: Ryley Lanteigne), were left at a Catholic orphanage outside Dublin when they were both old enough for legal names but too young to have solid memories of their parents, and anything previous to that is a mystery. The orphanage was no nice place for a couple of boys to grow up, really; the nuns were strict and rigorously tried to put the "fear of God" into the children. They were both adopted eventually, though it would not be the blessing either had hoped it would be.


Aeson was fifteen when he was taken from the orphanage, along with his brother and several other orphans. The official story was that a kindly individual had decided to adopt the lot together, but the truth was more along the lines of a company paying off the orphanage's staff and taking the children for the purposes of experimentation. The company was, of course, Schultz and Co., and the experiments were a precursor to those done during the War. Most subjects in this batch were considered failures, due to a lack of manifested ability, a lack of useful ability, or an ability with far too many drawbacks to be efficient. The only subject considered a success killed herself in June of 1909.

Aeson himself was one given an ability with too many drawbacks; Oran himself was one given an ability determined useless. As rejects, they were both dumped out onto the streets of Dublin almost a full three years after they'd been taken. Killing them would be a further waste, after all, and it wasn't as if they had proof of who had done the experiments.

The two stuck together after the trauma of the experiments, with Oran ending up falling in with the Irish Republican Brotherhood and Aeson quickly following suit. Between Oran's charisma and Aeson's grasp of tactics and strategy, the two rose up through the ranks quickly and were both in high-ranking officer positions by the time of the Easter Rising in 1916. Both played crucial roles in the Rising, but only Oran ended up arrested by the end. Aeson bore witness to his execution at Kilmainham Prison on the 8th of May, 1916.


The next few months passed in a blur. He was "recruited" by the Clan na Gael and smuggled into America, where he was placed under their protection then into hiding in the slums of Boston by the end of the year.

OTHER
1. Face Claim is Tyler Hoechlin.
2. Theme is Bartholomew by The Silent Comedy and Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons.
3. His accent would fall under the label of East Coast Irish, and leans toward "working class Irish", but he tries to speak in an understandable manner for the Americans he is now surrounded by.
4. He is fluent in English, Irish Gaelic (AKA Irish, Gaeilge), and surprisingly Latin.
5. Publicly identifies as Irish Catholic and knows all the proper rites to back up the claim, but privately identifies far more with druidry and the nature based religion of the Celts, from whom he believes he hails.
6. A perhaps surprisingly good brawler, but tends not to rely on that skill much after what happened with his brother. Instead he takes advantage of the fact he's also a fantastic liar/actor to get himself out of troublesome situations.


RELATED TROPES
Lawful Neutral; Socially-Awkward Hero; Badass Bookworm; Nerves of Steel
 
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ISAAC - THE DEVOTED HUSBAND
♚ "Life is too long to be uncomfortable." ♚

"Don't have to worry, 'cause I'm here​,"
Isaac Costa
(EYE-zic cost-uh)
[spoili]
Born João Luis Paulo Francisco de Sousa de Correia[/spoili]
"Isaac, these days. You don't want to hear my whole name."
Isaac, John, Amorzinho (Isabela only)

Species:
Vampire

Born:
Born April 22nd, 1790; Forever 28; 227 years old; Taurus

Sexuality:
Bisexual

Alignment:
True Neutral

Faceclaim:
Mateus Verdelho

Nationality:
Portuguese-American

Languages:
(F) Portuguese; (F) English; (F) Latin; (F) Italian; (F) Farsi; (C) French

Allied:
Isabella

Powers & Ability:
Isaac possesses the typical set of vampire abilities, their levels appropriate to his age. He has an aptitude for compulsion but dislikes using it; he considers it to be in the same vein as lying. Thus, the ability isn't nearly as well developed as it could be.

Appearance:
For his day and age, Isaac was an alarmingly tall specimen, standing around 6'0" barefoot and weighing a good 187 lbs. In the modern day and age, he's just an inch or two above average, and watching that transition was a fascinating process for the vampire. His eyes are a pretty golden brown, flecked with green towards the pupil, and tend to have a warm look to them. His hair is naturally brown, soft and straight in texture and usually trimmed neat and short, but it's not uncommon to see him color it in more recent times. Thus far, he's done dark blue, light blue, white, and pink. His ears are pierced and typically adorned with simple studs. The septum of his nose usually has a gold ring in it, though one would have to ask him if it's real gold. He also has a stud through his left nipple, and he's surprisingly willing to show it off.

Isaac, when left to his own devices, dresses for comfort. He couldn't care less about looks or fit or color or matching so long as his clothes are comfortable when he puts them on. Sure, he prefers oranges and reds and yellows, and sure, he prefers tee shirts and fun sayings and something of a grunge-y style, but these preferences are secondary to comfort. If Isabella would let him get away with it, he would wear hoodies and sweatpants in anything remotely resembling cold weather and nothing but his boxers in warmer temperatures. But he can't get away with it, so he typically dresses with something resembling sense.
Tattoo stuff: OneTwoThreeFourFive

Personality & Brief Background:
Given his upbringing as an attendant to his ever so important father in the noble court of Portugal, Isaac was raised to be a specific sort of individual. Loyal. Dependable. A fine liar. Smart enough to be of use, but stupid enough to not ask questions. Isaac would like to think he's changed over the last couple of centuries, and he certainly has. He's still a loyal individual, committed to his friends and committed to his love with a protective kind of fervor, but he's gotten much wiser about who he chooses to follow. He's still dependable, still the sort who always meets deadlines and tends to fall into routines far too easily, and that has changed little over the years. Lying, however, lying is something he's almost completely stopped. He's become an honest person, approaching blunt with the degree of it, and only chooses the lie when there are no other reasonable options. It was one of the things he liked least about the court; lies on top of lies over facades and masks. As for his intelligence, he's gotten over his hesitancy to ask questions and he's working on getting rid of his assumption that his opinion is worth less due to his heritage.

When dealing with others, Isaac is easy to label as an introvert. That said, he's not antisocial by any definition. He merely prefers solitude and silence or the company of his wife to the loud hustle and bustle of crowds. He tends to come across as a relaxed personality, well grounded and easy going, but there's no doubt that he has a temper. The easiest way to reveal it? Go after Isabella or their family. He's got a rebellious streak, too, what with all his tattoos and the piercings he shows off with no small amount of pride, but that's difficult to discern from personality alone.

Internally, Isaac is surprisingly well balanced for a vampire. He has the anger issues that tend to come with the bloodlust, but he tends to keep both those in check with self control and a healthy feeding schedule. He's got a stubborn streak as wide as the Grand Canyon, but he can usually convince himself to bend before he breaks - if one has the determination necessary to push it all the way to that point. His protective tendencies often lean towards "over-protective", but he tries to be aware of what is reasonable caution and what is going too far. He's easily caught up in endless cycles of trying and failing and trying and failing, but he's working on recognizing these cycles before they drive him crazy with the assistance of his wife. The flaw he doesn't have any countermeasures for, useful or otherwise, is his apathy; it's difficult for him to care about issues that don't directly involve himself, his wife, or his family, which makes gauging the direction of his moral compass difficult.

Aspirations & Regrets:
Keep Isabella and their family safe, and hopefully follow her around for the rest of his elongated life. He has his own short term goals (keep their puppies safe and love them as much as is physically possible, visit Iran again, pet every single dog in the world, continue to be successful in commercial construction) but his long term goals are Isabella's long term goals. Which might be an unhealthy practice, but he honestly couldn't care less. Sure, he'd leave if she wished him to, but he's hopeful that won't happen.

Other:
~ Color code is #FF4500
~ Has been in love with Isabella Costa since they were teenagers
~ Has a masters in Business Administration and owns a company that does commercial construction all over the southern half of the US
~ Has two adorable miniature pinschers, Roxy and Millie
~ It's been so many years, but he still thinks about the one son he and Isabella had, André Ramirez, most every day, and he would love to meet his descendants
~ Drives an outrageously expensive orange sports car, the McLaren F1, when he bothers to drive
~ His Daylight Amulet is a tongue stud with a lapis lazuli stone
~ Lyrics around text are from Hold On I'm Coming - Sam and Dave
"No need to suffer, baby, cause I'm near​."
Playlist: One Two Three Four

 
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⚕ LEO - THE LOYAL BETA ⚕
"I am a werewolf, of all things...but this pack has become my purpose."

"my mind has changed my body's frame, but, God, i like it..."
⚕ Name ⚕
David Leonardo Valencia
Born:
[spoili]
David Leonardo Almeida Ferriera Valencia dos Santos[/spoili]

⚕ Nickname{s} ⚕
Leo, usually, also David or Davi

⚕ Age • Birthday ⚕
33 • Turned at age 24 • July 1st

⚕ Gender • Sexuality ⚕
Male • Pansexual

⚕ Race ⚕
Werewolf

⚕ Power{s} ⚕
Typical werewolf abilities Good at close range combat...in human form

⚕ Health Ailments ⚕
Pet dander allergy - mild, but still a pain Nut allergy - moderate

⚕ Occupation ⚕
Beta Werewolf General medical practitioner

⚕ Physical Appearance ⚕
6'2" • 174 lbs • Dark brown hair, wavy and usually a mess • Hazel eyes, a ring of green around the outside, blending to gold then brown around the pupil • No piercings • No noteworthy scars
Tattoos: One - back of right shoulder ♥ Two - left breast
Wolf Form: Iberian Wolf. As long and lanky as the human version, and unfortunately bears the same allergies.

⚕ Personality ⚕
Warmhearted Intelligent Energetic Accepting Intuitive Loyal Sentimental Self-depreciative Trusting Gullible Worrywart Insecure Works too hard

⚕ Likes ⚕
The ocean Greens, blues, pastels Spicy food Confident people Animals, especially dogs and cats Coffee Helping others Exercise Honesty Gift giving

⚕ Dislikes ⚕
Loneliness Being underestimated Reds and yellows Sweet teas Forcing conflict Being ignored His allergies Public speaking Feeling like a burden

⚕ Weakness{es} ⚕
Sensitive Gullible and trusting, though not as bad as he used to be Hard on himself His allergies Typical werewolf weaknesses Lacks a moonlight amulet

⚕ Bio ⚕
In Progress

⚕ Family ⚕
David dos Santos - Father - Deceased
Elisa dos Santos - Mother - alive; 51

⚕ Significant Other ⚕
TBD

⚕ Other ⚕
Speaks Portuguese, English, and German fluently
Face Claim is Leandro Lima
Alignment is Neutral Good
Drives an old Chevy truck for the purposes of driving around equipment or a bed full of sleepy wolves
Speaks with a slight accent
Wants pets, but won't get one - his allergies are bad enough with the werewolf thing, he cannot handle adding a pet too
Scared of failing the pack (or his Alpha) and flying insects
Is romantic trash and wants little more than to find the person who is the Veritas to his Equitas
Theme Song - Wolf Like Me by TV On the Radio plus the playlist
"my heart's aflame, my body's strained, but, God, i like it..."
Playlist: One Two Three Four Five



LEO - THE LOYAL BETA
⚕ "I am a werewolf, of all things...but this pack has become my purpose." ⚕
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Playlist: One Two Three Four Five

⚕ Name ⚕
David Leonardo Valencia
Born:
[spoili]
David Leonardo Almeida Ferriera Valencia dos Santos[/spoili]

⚕ Nickname{s} ⚕
Leo, usually, also David or Davi

⚕ Age • Birthday ⚕
33 • Turned at age 24 • July 1st

⚕ Gender • Sexuality ⚕
Male • Pansexual

⚕ Race ⚕
Werewolf

⚕ Power{s} ⚕
Typical werewolf abilities Good at close range combat...in human form

⚕ Health Ailments ⚕
Pet dander allergy - mild, but still a pain Nut allergy - moderate

⚕ Occupation ⚕
Beta Werewolf General medical practitioner

⚕ Physical Appearance ⚕
6'2" • 174 lbs • Dark brown hair, wavy and usually a mess • Hazel eyes, a ring of green around the outside, blending to gold then brown around the pupil • No piercings • No noteworthy scars
Tattoos: One - back of right shoulder ♥ Two - left breast
Wolf Form: Iberian Wolf. As long and lanky as the human version, and unfortunately bears the same allergies.

⚕ Personality ⚕
Warmhearted Intelligent Energetic Accepting Intuitive Loyal Sentimental Self-depreciative Trusting Gullible Worrywart Insecure Works too hard

⚕ Likes ⚕
The ocean Greens, blues, pastels Spicy food Confident people Animals, especially dogs and cats Coffee Helping others Exercise Honesty Gift giving

⚕ Dislikes ⚕
Loneliness Being underestimated Reds and yellows Sweet teas Forcing conflict Being ignored His allergies Public speaking Feeling like a burden

⚕ Weakness{es} ⚕
Sensitive Gullible and trusting, though not as bad as he used to be Hard on himself His allergies Typical werewolf weaknesses Lacks a moonlight amulet

⚕ Bio ⚕
In Progress

⚕ Family ⚕
David dos Santos - Father - Deceased
Elisa dos Santos - Mother - alive; 51

⚕ Significant Other ⚕
TBD

⚕ Other ⚕
Speaks Portuguese, English, and German fluently
Face Claim is Leandro Lima
Alignment is Neutral Good
Drives an old Chevy truck for the purposes of driving around equipment or a bed full of sleepy wolves
Speaks with a slight accent
Wants pets, but won't get one - his allergies are bad enough with the werewolf thing, he cannot handle adding a pet too
Scared of failing the pack (or his Alpha) and flying insects
Is romantic trash and wants little more than to find the person who is the Veritas to his Equitas
Theme Song - Wolf Like Me by TV On the Radio plus the playlist
 
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NOT MY CODE NOT MY CODE NOT MY CODE

Character Name
Age | Sex | Affiliation (exRepublic/Ins/None)



About

Name: NAME
Age: (16-90) AGE
Sex: SEX
Orientation: ORIENTATION
Birthplace: BIRTHPLACE - SEE INFORMATION ON NETIMA
Rank: RANK (most of you will be Captain or lower, in training, etc - this line is not required)

(Anything else you want to add if necessary)


Description

(A short paragraph describing what your character looks like beyond the picture)

Identifying Features: IF(anything else you'd like to add like scars, tattoos, etc)
Height: HEIGHT, METRIC OR US IS FINE
Weight: WEIGHT


Personal

Personality: PERSONALITY(A short paragraph on your character's personality)

History: HISTORY(A short paragraph on your character's history, as well as how they ended up on board the Nerissa looking for the three Sources)


Combat

Affinity:
AFFINITY(Please keep in mind Bio is the most difficult and is not common for younger characters, you also do not have to have an affinity at all)
Skills: SKILLS(Any useful skills outside of Alchemy)
Preferred Weapon: PREFERRED WEAPON IF ANY(Sword, gun, saber, etc)

 
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HALVARD de SAUVETERRE
Original Vampire ✯ Allied: Humans, Eros, Himself ✯ Mood: Complicated ✯ Tagged: @Hollywood™

[spoili]
✯ HALVARD de SAUVETERRE ✯
Original Vampire ✯ Allied: Humans, Eros, Himself ✯ Mood: Complicated ✯ Tagged: @Hollywood™
"The voice of compassion! Somehow. Who the fuck decides these things?"
"I love you," were the first words that came tumbling out of Hal's mouth after Eros' question, the vampire lifting his gaze from the bed to meet the eyes of the delusional werewolf. To say the look in his face was intense was to make an understatement of massive proportions, but those pretty eyes were as difficult to read as they ever were. "I don't say that nearly often enough, you know. To anyone." To Matty, to Francesca, to Astrid, to Fleur. To Eros in more recent days. He snorted after a second, making some sort of half finished gesture with his hand. Putting his feelings into words had never been easy for him, so he learned to turn to sarcasm. Eventually. After a couple hundred years of trial and error. "Sorta clashes with all the leather and the whole 'tough guy' image, and you know how attached I am to those. But I do. I love you, Eros James Bentley, and you are one of the most beautiful individuals I've met in a very long time."

He paused after that confession. There was more on his mind, words stuck in his throat and in his head because he couldn't quite bear the weight of them on his tongue. Like how the leather jacket - worn and weathered and so very Hal from the pattern of its old patches all the way down to the smell of it - draped across one of the chairs in the dining room was Eros', now, if this reunion went the way Hal expected it to. Hell, the apartment, the bank accounts, the credit cards, the furniture and all the photos he'd hoarded, those were Eros' too. The ship, though, the one safe in dry dock in some secluded town up north, too old to be seaworthy anymore with "The Devil's Fortune" across her bow? That was Matty's, if the first vampire he ever dared sire was clever enough to find it. There were other words stuck, too, a speech about humanity and a speech about love and a rant about family and a rant about the temporary nature of existence. He wanted to wax poetic and really talk about how he saw the world and why he'd become so dearly attached to the short-lived people that occupied it. He wanted to share about his family, talk through the shit he locked away behind an emotionless mask for far too long then was forced to confront them when the mask fell away. He wanted toshare.

None of that quite made it past his lips, though.

Hal made a quiet noise of frustration, instead, and gently took Eros' face in his cold hands to give his boyfriend a proper kiss. Passionate but not heated, he tried to express something of what he was feeling with that press of lips. Hard to gauge how successful he was, though, whether he'd conveyed too much or not enough. It wasn't until Hal pulled away - only as far as he needed to speak - that he answered Eros' original question.

"He called together a family reunion, it seems. Should be a real blast." Was it a family reunion? Hal was uncertain. Perhaps it was just his brother calling him out to isolate him and kill him. Family reunion sounded more positive though and Hal didn't want to weigh Eros down with the depressing weight of his suspicions and paranoia.
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GABRIEL EMSWORTH
Human (mostly) ⌘ Alignment: Neutral Good ⌘ Mood: Energetic ⌘ Tagged: @DustBunny

[spoili]
⌘ GABRIEL EMSWORTH ⌘
Human (mostly) ⌘ Alignment: Neutral Good ⌘ Mood: Energetic ⌘ Tagged: @DustBunny
Nothing too interesting, as far as his newsfeed went. A couple of political posts, a whole lot of dog and cat pictures, one snapchat from one of his gaming friends he was looking at as soon as he wasn't in public, a couple notifications from tinder, and a metric shitload of messages on discord. He scrolled through most of it all but didn't really bother with responding to anything except the last. The last, since his intention was to spend as long as humanly possible after successfully acquiring caffeine, required actual attention. He even made a halfhearted attempt to get on one of the discussions - a talk about scheduling some game time in one of his favorite MMOs - but the person leading said discussion was one of his least favorite people on the server. They were a bad DPS with a superior attitude, and the combination was just grating. Gabe closed the app before he bothered responding, sighing in an annoyed fashion while he looked around.

Something caught his eye pretty quickly. The guy in front of him in line, to be specific. He was short, had a cute butt, and Gabe had a hunch he was adorable...The guy was confirmed to be adorable when he walked over to a table with one incredibly pumpkin-y latte and a muffin. He watched the guy go, eyebrows raised, and ended up moderately startled when the cashier asked him what he wanted to drink.

"Uh." He turned back to the cashier, as eloquent as could be while he tried to remember his order. "A low fat mocha cappuccino with soy milk, two shots of espresso, a shot of vanilla, and whipped cream? And an apple fritter." He waited quite patiently for his drink and fritter, frowning down at the counter for the majority of the wait. Gabe was more susceptible than most to social embarrassment and getting caught staring at someone's butt? Socially embarrassing. Well, one way to fix that. Go over and flirt, obviously.

After paying and collecting his coffee and treat, he approached the table the guy had chosen to sit at. His drink was in one hand, his fritter was in the other, his expression still carried traces of his embarrassment that the cashier had caught him staring, and he actually didn't like sitting by himself...he could do this. "Hey." No ums, no uhs, keep it together Gabe... "I hate sitting by myself, but I don't want to impose on a couple or something," he said quietly, the sheepish smile on his lips wide enough to show off the dimple on his right cheek. He internally congratulated himself on selling the delivery. "Mind if I snag a seat at your table?"

"Okay. If we're superheroes, I'm claiming the 'playboy billionaire' position."
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The Bogatyr and the Son of Ipswich

Collab between @Spectre of the Fade and @Victor Markov
Vladislav shifted in his seat, uncertain of what to think about the harness he was strapped into. He was uncertain what to think of the entire contraption, to be perfectly honest, a noisy flying machine that created wind like he'd only felt in the worst of storms. It was markedly more successful than any flying machine he'd seen before, however. Perhaps it harnessed the power of the storm, or the wind? Some sort of complicated magic the Templars of his day had yet to create? Hm.

He entertained himself by contemplating the workings of the machine that bore them while he sat in silence, watching the others in the transport with an expression that approached pleasant but saying nothing. His night had been uneventful; he'd slept as well as could be expected, he had no unusual dreams, and the only thing weighing on his mind was the words his ally had given him the previous day. Contemplations of peace and of laying down his weapon, once and for all. That would be after, however, after he was no longer needed to fight whatever evils still haunted the world.

Edward's removal of the chains that bound his ally and the woman he'd met in the library was an interesting action, and he looked the Inquisitor over with new interest before settling back to watch the newest arrival, a man who seemed to have gotten on the wrong transport. One of Pendragon's people.

Lander was looking around as he pulled out a simple deck of playing cards and began shuffling them with one hand, thinking of something to break the tension in the confines of the Chinook. "Anyone want to see a simple card trick?" He asked as he subtly looked at the top card while he shuffled one last time. He felt many eyes on him and knew he wasn't exactly a welcomed sight even with the alliance they all shared. He figured this would break the tension in the place and maybe make some new friends. Heavens knew things could be worse and he hoped to make the ride a little less tense.

"It's nothing dangerous. I'm going to show you a card and then tell you what that card is. Mind you, I have no clue what that card is. So, it's going to be very interesting." The knight continued trying to sell the idea of the trick.

Slava gave the knight a contemplative look when he spoke, glancing around at the others - eyes landing on Henrietta last - before he shrugged and leaned forward. A trick. A card trick, to be precise. He spent a minute considering whether or not he should speak, then decided that he would. What could the man do in such a confined space? ...Well, he could do quite a bit, but Slava would bet he wouldn't try anything that would kill them all. Him included. Besides, he wanted a read on this new man who was to join him in battle. "I will bite," he said, propping his elbows on his knees and folding his hands. "What is your trick?"

"Ah, thank you, kind sir." Lander said as he drew the top card from the deck and said I want you to memorize this card and whatever you do, don't tell me what it is." He said as he shown the man the ace of diamonds. "Please tell me when you've committed this card to memory."

Slava frowned at the card for a moment, learning it as well as he could. The card was like none he'd seen before, red with a few diamonds and latin letters in an odd arrangement, but that didn't matter too much. "Done," he said after a moment, brown eyes lifting from the card to the man who held it.

"Alright." Lander said as he put the card back in place, making sure he didn't see the card, "now I'll cut the deck." Lander said as he did so, also with one hand, "and tell you your card." He added before he held the deck for a moment. "Well, this is rich. But on a scale of one to ten, I have to give it a one. But, there can only be one ace of diamonds. And it takes an ace to know one. Which makes you one of a kind. Your card, is the ace of diamonds and those who know you are richer for it."

Ace of diamonds...hm. Slava allowed a rare smile to appear on his face, the expression small but certainly impressed. His brows furrowed down moments later as he tried to figure out how exactly the knight had known the card he'd seen, but he didn't make much progress. Perhaps the cards were marked in some way? No, that was far too obvious to others. Hm. "Good trick. Fine showmanship," he said after giving up on the prospect for the moment, offering a hand to the knight. "My name is Vladislav. You are with Pendragon and his lot, yes?"

"Well met, Vladislav. I am. My name is Lander Stormwind of Ipswich. Some know me as the true son of Ipswich. Heaven knows I'm the only one who was left after a necromancer came through while I was away and swearing my fealty to king Arthur himself. Good man with a love for those he ruled and a love for God. Kind and just too." Lander said as he clapped Slava's forearm in a friendly manner. An old habit of his from an age long past and one he found hard to break.

Lander was an odd name, but Slava felt it suited the friendly giant in front of him. "Well met, as well," he responded with a nod, unsure of how to respond to the casual gesture of camaraderie and settling for patting the man's opposite shoulder. "Never met your Arthur. Never met any of your folk before, either." Were they from a different time? A different place than where he had walked all those centuries before? Likely. Slava had traveled, but he had not experienced the world. Which was an awful lot larger, these days, and filled with strange contraptions like translators and flying machines.

"Ah, I wish you could've met the, greatest king England has ever known. King Richard the lionheart was a close second, but none compare to Arthur Pendragon. My old comrades are out there somewhere. One of which has been reincarnated. And my oath to king Arthur extends to his lineage." Lander said as he released Slava's forearm. "Wonder how the others are. I hope the black knight, who I have a suspicion I once knew long ago, has not violated their resting places."

Slava raised his eyebrows, still listening to Lander wax poetic about days past as he leaned back. "The black knight?" he probed, prompting Lander to continue.

"I heard tale of a knight that wore armor as black as a patch of midnight sky on a stormy night wandering the lands. Some accounts say he has smoke drifting off him. Like some spectral entity. Others say he traveled with a pack of hellhound that would not vanish when cut down. Nothing more than rumors, but I can't shake the feeling I might have knew such a knight from the old days." Lander said.

Slava made a thoughtful noise, shaking his head a bit. "I shall hope we don't discover if the rumors are true," he responded, considering the information. A spectral entity with a hellhound for a companion, hm? Odd. Doubtful, but Slava honestly wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility. He was sitting in a flying machine, and just earlier this morning he'd watched one just like it pick up the horse that belonged to the green knight. Little was out of the realm of possibility.

"Agreed. Let's hope both rumors are false and that we don't have to face that monster." Lander said with a nod.

The pair continued their amiable chatter over much of the flight, discussing times past and times present. Slava ended up with a positive impression of Lander, though battle would sure test that impression.
 
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ISAAC - THE ELDEST
♚ "Motherfucker, I've been inking my skin since before it was 'cool'. Or popular." ♚
Opitim run ra ierapin lat ipahoso, yehomo gire nane vepadel evo ekicier lo! Imutup buv orare ipa sunegid urocebay! Ha coduces tobudi balos butolo labe owal niye; enutesig alacoseb tu axilos dilihu rehep gareha denore ratat. Tie atet wigiy erimiv se sodis yito. Taf bu mir cadem sebecu owe serut miv; resen rimedir radas icete nedoh yeta nam. Cado ye ratisad hoxiq. Ma era le agesare letelu! Rutotip limo lew? Ker rig dat. Cibeho rabafo mohifib sacuwa re asahaco meri, ra gipod ocat odido calic adienil.

Tunih vegin anosehil; lo rel mesepic vuni teziyar wu hebac rupale. Eriheto ametile tasibat sagetu. Geleq ogegem get numifin gapola riro itotu ikecami epinierar odeci. Sa oco farusa tona vinetot meya toriti lugad. Ha ielo tolenil.

Ieyocieg tefalor dutepuh irieholo nicer icil toliebef icaruja sidedac cenet. Ebiyiey le ogeta rerenes age pad palocun lieworo se. Ve menipe elene anomi etedus edasoco sie! Teha sepam seyep pino he cete hixaq! Sulena inub ririeyo.

Lito desuci rune net top risoh. Morita nitis kamasat inekiefer: Yetati sikob erace bil anihi mari tere. Nib naturo esecitet egatep coguh! Bo atas banielun re tot pitogit ico onevale. Ipare ra udolo etatedo? Cuped etu votegu ekowo: Hinipag he ta tecen: Lenoy alalilem terece was ta dosaso iriheba arota vako. Ro nena teren pe; eni lieb naf wogesep, foha otilad maci pidaji qefe cetefoc tep eda mopiem. Ca bebe orurose iepumases sen lise. Solal ise atorora. Nedile rapor repako ecien ufataso tase ho titocie roneric doh. Fetosot tebefe ocen, ero iepo re nehar. To eqecie ore alo, anutamam bamepa dufie.

Xopur heti ned lo gip omono puro mep. Motag tenip nemer ayie agehep. Cageday itibeg neciho paset puso! Odi lieladon pib awonat natot cilanos nesin he cofacen hiec, te gefile otesemiy secafi ejuf ri nuhil vefien dele fiemeb: Odaneje je roreni age bitan ce lusis ro ribuvot asivil, fegi cetir degope etibira ri tik. Laren ricuri sil ipamedat nikile! Ohos sur nego pecac locola lace piecane cener paziey tec. Emaroni lebemam cemo alipe. Gafit giel rib taloro ieco. Itabovar yope uhie binavag manie gecason. Re sira rieretar liete atabe, veri inie lociy los uminica fohut rev ila. Taxora ridesum come aru mod erejo.
Original Vampire Mood: Neutral Location: Place Tagged: People

 
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✣ LEO - THE LOYAL BETA ✣
"I am a werewolf. It is still crazy to say that truthfully, but...I like it."

Opitim run ra ierapin lat ipahoso, yehomo gire nane vepadel evo ekicier lo! Imutup buv orare ipa sunegid urocebay! Ha coduces tobudi balos butolo labe owal niye; enutesig alacoseb tu axilos dilihu rehep gareha denore ratat. Tie atet wigiy erimiv se sodis yito. Taf bu mir cadem sebecu owe serut miv; resen rimedir radas icete nedoh yeta nam. Cado ye ratisad hoxiq. Ma era le agesare letelu! Rutotip limo lew? Ker rig dat. Cibeho rabafo mohifib sacuwa re asahaco meri, ra gipod ocat odido calic adienil.

Tunih vegin anosehil; lo rel mesepic vuni teziyar wu hebac rupale. Eriheto ametile tasibat sagetu. Geleq ogegem get numifin gapola riro itotu ikecami epinierar odeci. Sa oco farusa tona vinetot meya toriti lugad. Ha ielo tolenil.

Ieyocieg tefalor dutepuh irieholo nicer icil toliebef icaruja sidedac cenet. Ebiyiey le ogeta rerenes age pad palocun lieworo se. Ve menipe elene anomi etedus edasoco sie! Teha sepam seyep pino he cete hixaq! Sulena inub ririeyo.

Lito desuci rune net top risoh. Morita nitis kamasat inekiefer: Yetati sikob erace bil anihi mari tere. Nib naturo esecitet egatep coguh! Bo atas banielun re tot pitogit ico onevale. Ipare ra udolo etatedo? Cuped etu votegu ekowo: Hinipag he ta tecen: Lenoy alalilem terece was ta dosaso iriheba arota vako. Ro nena teren pe; eni lieb naf wogesep, foha otilad maci pidaji qefe cetefoc tep eda mopiem. Ca bebe orurose iepumases sen lise. Solal ise atorora. Nedile rapor repako ecien ufataso tase ho titocie roneric doh. Fetosot tebefe ocen, ero iepo re nehar. To eqecie ore alo, anutamam bamepa dufie.

Xopur heti ned lo gip omono puro mep. Motag tenip nemer ayie agehep. Cageday itibeg neciho paset puso! Odi lieladon pib awonat natot cilanos nesin he cofacen hiec, te gefile otesemiy secafi ejuf ri nuhil vefien dele fiemeb: Odaneje je roreni age bitan ce lusis ro ribuvot asivil, fegi cetir degope etibira ri tik. Laren ricuri sil ipamedat nikile! Ohos sur nego pecac locola lace piecane cener paziey tec. Emaroni lebemam cemo alipe. Gafit giel rib taloro ieco. Itabovar yope uhie binavag manie gecason. Re sira rieretar liete atabe, veri inie lociy los uminica fohut rev ila. Taxora ridesum come aru mod erejo.
Beta Werewolf Mood: Happy Location: Place Tagged: People

 
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