This mah stuff.

[Aero Blue]

wip for pere:

There was the certain sense that, in an otherwise routine-enough post-drunk subway ride, anything could happen. Some cosmic order or celestial bureaucracy, or -perhaps- God, had set a precedent, and JP's mind was thusly expanded, forever more. The thought was as terrifying as it was subtly exhilarating, and Jean-Paul had done his utmost to prevent any particular betrayal of the latter perception from showing upon his face. It had occurred to him, sometime during the laborious walk to the subway, that Des had gotten it - whatever it happened to be - considerably worse than he had. She had been there 'longer', and according to her, not simply in the measure of seconds, minutes and moments the layman may have perceived. Jean-Paul wasn't precisely sure what he had perceived, save for the long strands of Des' hair that he had felt with his own two hands, grown out in the briefest span of not-just-minutes. Immutable evidence of Des' words, that could have been otherwise construed as the cryptic mutterings of the delirious.

He was the first of them off the subway, and had given his best effort at a reassuring farewell, though it had descended from vaguely comforting to unsure jumble in the span of a half-syllable. Past the unfolding doors of the carriage, and the steps of the station was another trek, this time to be embarked on his lonesome. Considering the prospect of successfully maneuvering his bicycle in his current state to be tenuous at best, he forewent it, thereby opting into at least a half-hour of walking (and, more crucially, sweating). Commercial zones deadened by nightfall transitioned into the diminutive institutes of twenty-four hour gas stations and convenience stores, before giving way to middling apartment complexes, aged and of complexion 'building-beige'. Suburban youth awake past curfew heralded his arrival with a poorly-affected Creole patois, passing by him on their longboards as he neared the complex that he - and many other forgotten big-city grinders - called home.

The maw of the building was rusted steel and smudged glass, and gave willingly with but the hint of a subdued click, the security system having been long-since neglected. At some point, the landlord had decided he had brought on enough hooligans and natural drunks as tenants that he may as well not have bothered concerning himself with the 'Mongols' and 'Visigoths' that roamed the night. The carpeting was less of a pattern then it was an assault, a frayed gradient of browns, greys, lesser greys, and coffee stains with no discernible rationale in its arrangement. He dodged the elevator and opted for the enveloping grey of the stairs.

His father had carved out a space in a complex just like this when Jean-Paul was young, only then he had found the questionable carpeting an endless puzzle to track along, and the (functional) security system to be something almost aspirational; permitting entrance into one's domicile with an obscene buzzer-noise was practically kingly. Now? The carpet induced migraines, the two-bedrooms had grown exorbitantly pricier, and no fucking buzzer.

Jean-Paul's apartment was 407, which was just about the time on the clock before he stumbled into the abode.

 

[Aero Blue]

character sheet wips btw if u read this ur creepy:

---

Name: Felipe Verdedaro Colina
Species: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 39
Nationality: Spanish
Occupation: Barber, Hunter, Man of Impeccable Hair

Appearance:
Stands at about 5'11" and is possessed of a slight build, his slender frame adorned with limbs lanky and long, but not particularly substantial. His gait and comportment are almost immaterial, and his movements appear to consist of him gliding from one step to the next. He has the olive skin of a Spaniard, and green eyes that seem to have dulled to a near-grey in his age. His hair is a dark, shiny black, and it oftens smells of an alchemical oil that seems to alternate between pleasantly fragrant and unfortunately medicinal.

Dresses in form-fitting shirt, vest and pants, with an over-the-shoulder cape of striped patterning to complete the outfit. Shuns hats.

Personality:
Felipe, despite his relatively older age, appears to be somewhat stunted in terms of emotional development. He speaks loudly, flaunts about with a showy elegance, and does battle with a certain passionate thirst, but these appear to be his only outlying characteristics. He is obtuse at best when it comes to interactions, with conversations that inevitably veer towards hunting or one's style, while appearing to be wholly inadequate when probed regarding anything else. He appears to struggle with attachment, and repeated human interaction, and when not assuming his flashy caricature, is prone to being sullen and moody.

Background:
The first Colina that ever came to the Americas was Luis Pacheco Colina, who had been a musketeer first; adept with rapier and bayonet, less so with the finer things in the world. As he came to retirement age (no small achievement, it must be said), he realized that he must assume a craft that was other than simply fighting, and pass it along to his children, so that they might be spared the visceral battles and terrors of the West. He remembered the pompous wigs and hairs and fashioning of the nobles, and - having realized that vanity was abundant in the Americas - became a barber. That, is the story of the first Colina in America.

Felipe Verdedaro Colina was born a day after the passing of Luis Pacheco, who had been his great-grandfather, and the timing was thusly considered to be an omen - a new day. The Colinas in America had won their fair share of successes, lending a helping hand to the personal image of many a fine Hunter, but the rise of fashionable headwear had rendered their services to be something of a chore, and thus doomed their business to be one of middling profits. Donning a hat, after all, is easy enough, but sitting in the barber's chair is an exercise in monkly patience.

Felipe was to be the foremost scion of their family, someone who could bring real fortune and glory to the family. This had been the decree of Valeria Sanchez Colina, mother and then matriarch of the clan, who had taken over when Felipe's father had become infirm. Valeria, you see, had done research on the long line of Colinas, tracing their history back through Imperial Spain, the Reconquest, and the earliest of the Iberians. She had arrived upon a singular conclusion: The Colinas had made their name in blood. Thus did she work to undo the efforts of Luis Pacheco; where he had sought for the family to be citizens of peace, Valeria wished to create a Hunter.

She began by recapturing the teachings of La Verdedera Destreza - 'the true skill', a universal method of fighting that the Colinas had exemplified for generations. Hiring a skilled Hunter - Jonah Fleck, the Swallow's Razor - with a large portion of the family savings, she tasked him to instill Felipe with the teachings of the Destreza, of dealing in combat while taking into consideration the most minute of calculations; of angles, of openings and of movement decisive.

Jonah Fleck, it must be said, was a brutal man, who was no less brutal to the son of his employer. Perhaps by sheer process of elimination, he nonetheless became Felipe's father figure, who won the boy's admiration despite his crude chastisements, who won his idolization despite the fact that he beat him down in excess of what was appropriate, and who Felipe loved despite the fact that, in truth, he was a bit of a fucking monster.

Valeria, however, had done her due diligence, and known precisely what sort of man Jonah Fleck was: A brutal Hunter, surrounded by heinous rumors, most of them true. During the years after he had been hired, he had continuously embezzled the Colina family funds, using them to fuel many an unsavory purchase and habit of his. Valeria had known this all the while, and allowed it.

When Felipe came of age, Valeria would conspire for her son to know the truth.

When Felipe learnt of it, he had flown into a rage, and descended upon Jonah with such furor that the Swallow's Razor had thought him a man possessed. Jonah, it must be said, had lived up to his contract; he had taught Felipe too well by far. When their duel had completed, Jonah had been skewered in what must have been every inch of his body, while Felipe had shed not a single drop of his own blood. It had been a final test of sorts, devised according to Valeria's design. He had passed with the flying colors of blood.

Over the next two decades, Felipe faithfully tended to the affairs of the Colina estate, cutting hair and hunting when called upon. There are those who wonder which of the two crafts holds firmer dominion over his soul, and even Felipe himself is unsure. Despite that, one Valeria Sanchez Colina, matriarch of the family, believes she knows the truth; he is everything she had desired out of her son, he is blood and glory.

Abilities & Skills:
The progeny of the Colina line have always had preternatural capability with a pair of scissors in their hand, and an almost otherworldly knack for deriving beauty out of follicular-situations as dire as receding hairlines, bald-spots, heinous cowlicks… any of the various faux-pas that rests upon one's scalp.

But Felipe is not just a barber; he is a dexterous, agile hand more than suited to handling himself in a dangerous world. He moves with a pantherine fluidity, a ballerina's grace and all the explosive burst of some iaido practitioner from Japan. His scissors, of which he possesses 108 to stab, slice, cut and throw, are tempered, treated and blessed with alchemical oils wrung from the hairs of the era's most beautiful Hunters. And while that may be nonsense, what is known is that in Felipe's hands, these scissors are possessed of some magic touch capable of wounding even the sturdiest of Yokai.

What Felipe is less known for is his trump card. Ever since having taken to treating (or, in some cases, forcibly taking) the hair of some supernatural specimens, Felipe has been able to weave remarkably powerful 'wigs'. The strands of hair that compose these wigs seem to have a will of their own, and it is an effort for Felipe to 'tame' them. An effort of some labor, these wigs can be trained to perform one singular function, which they accomplish by weaving their constituent hairs together to form a shape suitable to the task (for example: a wig that serves as a grappling hook will extend and retract, while a wig that serves a bludgeoning weapon may have its hairs clump together to form a 'fist'). A wig takes weeks to gain a grasp on its function, and months to be able to carry it out consistently.

As such, Felipe is currently only in possession of two special wigs. The aforementioned grappling-hook wig, which takes the form of a hi-top fade, and the aforementioned 'fist' wig, which takes the form of an incredibly large, poofy afro.