Topics

1

The White Rabbit / The Conundrum

« on: February 16, 2020, 06:14:39 AM »

Following 'A Demon Walks into a Bar'. Reserved for Billy and Cedar.

Damien reeled, his expression finally faltering after the demon slipped into shadows. He lurched forward in his chair but he could do nothing to prevent the monster from leaving, the table creating a significant obstacle between them - just as they all had intended when this meeting first began. He could feel the desire to wrap his hands around the demon's neck pulse beneath the surface of his fingers and, as promised, a buzzing of warning followed in his chest.

No one could be harmed within the White Rabbit. Not even the scum of the earth.

So Laurent had Sam, Jake's kidnapped fledge. He shouldn't have been surprised, and yet he remained stiff in the chair with the comprehension of it all. When he had first heard of Sam's kidnapping the night prior, he naturally assumed that Laurent had done it to get access to Rachel. But it never added up. Why would Laurent, one of the most wanted demons in the city, go as far as to kidnap Jake's fledge, whom he presumably had no prior contact with? Damien had left Jake, feeling confused and leery about the lack of answers and encounters. Now Laurent had both women and dangled that knowledge before them in the most sadistic of ways.

When he felt the presence of Va'tamal finally leave the room - leaving behind a hideous, sulfurous odor - he sagged in his chair, another ache climbing out of his temples and the exhaustion of maintaining such an impassable mask in front of his enemy taking their toll. If Jake reacted or said anything, he didn't hear, his thoughts turned inward. As he finally stood and faced the District Leader, pushing the chair out of his way, Damien felt lightheaded with everything that had occurred in the last 24 hours.

He needed Pierre now. He needed Rachel. He needed his people close and safe, out of harm's way. Wishful thinking now.

Damien sighed and straightened himself out, putting his tiredness and fear on the back burner for the sake of his hunt.

"He either has no ability to psychically attack or knows enough not to challenge me," Damien answered as if Jake had asked a question. As he spoke, he made his way to the door of the conference room and crossed the threshold into a hallway in the Warrens, expecting Jake to follow. "I've never attempted to read a shadow demon before, but they feel much different than reading a human - harder, like a sheer rock wall. Had I tried just then, I wasn't fully convinced that I would be able to reemerge."

2

3106 Alcott Road / Safe

« on: February 02, 2020, 10:57:24 AM »

The search for Samantha Reede was frustrating and fruitless. For hours Jake and Damien tried to gather as much information as they possibly could about the occurrences just before and immediately after her kidnapping, questioning witnesses, following leads, and alerting the Ward. Zoheret, of course, was nowhere in sight, though several people could verify that she was, in fact, at the carnival that evening, what clothes she was wearing, and who she was speaking to. When reports had her speaking to the District Leaders Saraekiel and Chtahzus’aak, Damien frowned outwardly and sucked on his teeth, thinking.

He remained ever vigilant for any sign of a trap. From the moment he stepped out of the Lexus, Damien maintained a heavy auric presence, pressing the weight of his age onto those whom he approached and questioned on Jake’s behalf. He scanned the minds of those who came within a few feet of him or Jake, sussing out anything suspicious happening on the surface of the mind. Twice he had caught witnesses in lies, though he suspected that it had more to do with the weight that hung around Damien rather than any wrongdoings. Young ones found it difficult to maintain eye contact and some of the Anarchs eyed him with open contempt as he followed Jake. The District Leader, who wore the magic ring, had felt none of it for himself.

Despite his best efforts, continual redirectings, and self scoldings, Damien’s mind kept wandering back to Rachel and the White Rabbit and the resurfacing of Laurent. When frustration overtook him with all the dead ends that he and Jake examined, Damien found himself looking down at his cell phone, checking that the green dot of the locator beacon that he understood as Rachel hadn’t moved from the address that was the White Rabbit. Seeing that relieved one part of his anxious mind while niggling at another part - what if the reason the dot wasn’t moving was because Rachel was dead? He clicked his phone shut and returned to his duties helping Jake, trusting that he was being needlessly paranoid.

When he stepped to Jake’s side for the first time that night, they both felt thoroughly prepared and confident in their abilities to find Jake’s fledge. As the night progressed and details became more confusing and frustrating, that confidence began to waiver, slipping into a reluctant whirlpool of desperation and despair. With the approach of dawn, it was Damien tugging on Jake’s shoulder to remind him that they both needed to return to the protection of their homes for the day. There was a desperate grumble and a bright flash of his anger aimed in any direction that would bring his fledge back. Damien hardened himself against it, giving the District Leader a few moments to grasp the truth.

They wouldn’t find Sam tonight.

The realization of the situation sunk into both of them and slogged their shoulders. By the time he turned over the engine of the Lexus to head back to the Rabbit, he had a painful headache running down the side of his face and neck, his eyes momentarily blurring into blindness every few minutes. His jaw ached and his throat was dry; he needed blood badly. The only good thing to come from the night was that he would be returning safely back to Rachel and taking her home for the day.

The mixing of complicated emotions tired him immensely, adding to his heaviness. There was regret at not keeping his promise to Rachel and Jake that they would find Sam; he wasn’t accustomed to not keeping his word. That same regret was blended with a sense of relief that he would be returning home safely with Rachel, to lay in bed with her and hold her close and never let go. There was frustration, anger, annoyance at the situational dynamics of whoever the hell planned such a thing.

Most of all he felt confused. Nothing about this situation had Laurent written on it. So who had taken Sam and was he just supposed to believe that it was all a coincidence with the sighting of Laurent in the bathroom? Why would Laurent go through the trouble of kidnapping a District Leader’s fledge? Damien refused to believe that Laurent didn’t know he was a wanted person. Such a move would be too risky, especially with all eyes on Jake during the election process. And why wasn’t Rachel just taken in the mall while she was under less protection? What did Sam have to do with any of this?

When he stepped back into the White Rabbit, he scooped up into his arms a visibly exhausted, but very much alive and awake Rachel. She had indeed been kept safe from harm, and he felt like he had at least done something correctly that night by leaving her at the Rabbit. Had they been alone, he may not have let her go. Damien would have swept her from her feet and held her as close as he could. Despite his excitement, relief, and joy, decorum kept her feet on the floor and Damien settled with lacing his fingers together with hers. Before they said their goodbyes to the Pierre, Lisa-Joe, and Quinn, Damien had gulped down a couple pints of blood, cooling the throb in his face and the ache in his jaw.

Few words were spoken beyond a kind of reporting of the details of the actions of the night. Damien listened to whatever brief words Rachel gave him, finding a simple peace in the warmth of her hand as he drove. She was back with him and despite his failures of the night, she was unharmed.

Safe.

He kept his hand on the small of her back as they entered the house. Damien locked the door behind them and set the alarm for the upcoming day. With a gentle hand on her cheek and an arm around her back pulling her into a protective embrace, he looked at his human. “What do you need, Rachel?” And he would give her anything she asked.

3

Alternate Realities / ALTERNATIVE: Ruby Red Slippers

« on: January 27, 2020, 04:13:52 AM »

BACKSTORY:

We were getting overwhelmed by our own innate need to write the perfect story. For years we - Cedar and I - have been working on weaving our plotlines and characters together and working on how it needed to look and be. We have become too expectant of ourselves with writing High Drama^tm that we started losing a sense of fun. This alternative thread seeks to end that and help us find the fun in (mostly) unstructured plot, characters, and imperfect writing.

RULES:

• Each post takes NO LONGER than five minutes to type up.
• Each post has to be improvised - no pre-planning.
• Each post has to be reactionary to the post before it either through dialogue or action of characters.
• The plot can change and move away from the original intentions of this introductory post.
• No post can be edited for clarity, typing errors, or to cover any holes in the narrative.
• Authors cannot use each others' character.
• Multiple characters' perceptions can be used per post.
• There must be a new post at least every other day.
• If other authors would like to enter the story, please contact Cedar or myself for details and ideas.

THE PREMISE:
Chtahzus'aak has been transported into another dimension that resembles the world of Oz. Strange things happen and his goal is to get back to the Earthly plane. He meets some friends (and enemies) along the way.

4

Awelfor Manor / Searching for a Former Clarity

« on: December 12, 2019, 03:15:42 AM »

Reserved for Cedar

The black Cadillac Escalade sped through the city at a fatalist speed that, at any other time of the day, would have been the cause of several deaths. He flew as if nothing could hold him back from reaching the ocean, stopping only to pick up three packs of cigarettes that he intended to finish before the end of the night. His music was loud enough to drown out the voices in his head that it all just felt like static. He wasn't present anymore and he felt as if he were watching a movie of his actions rather than actually performing them. No attachment to a former self.

He knew the way by heart by now and despite the familiarity, Judas remained quiet in his head, the only part of him that was. He had been used up for the night and now rested, hopefully for the last time. Like a child put to bed. There was no attempt made to stop his actions and for once Nikolai and Judas understood the same thing and agreed on what needed to be done.

Ninety-seven years was long enough for anyone to live. He had always known that it was coming sooner rather than later, the boredom with time and repetitive behaviors progressing towards an end he himself had always said he'd do. The last sunrise he'd ever see.

Nikolai smoked as he drove, unconcerned with the fumes that built in the car and the tar it deposited in his lungs. Somewhere Laurent was still laughing behind the leeches that invaded him. Only a few more hours of the madness and control. He had waited for almost a century; he could waited a little more.

The pull towards Mitchelletto on the outside of the city was strong in his chest, unmanipulated now, but ever present now that his sire was close enough to feel. It put leadened weight into his foot that pressed the accelerator to the floor of the car as he steered the SUV towards Awelfor Manor. A weight began to settle in the pit of his stomach and he begin to feel giddy, laughing over the drums throbbing bass in the car. Soon, love.

But as he pulled into the driveway, everything inside of him slipped into another kind of chaotic mess.

The other Black Escalade was in the driveway in front of the house.

Nikolai pulled up behind it with apprehension gripping his gut and something else entirely filling his thoughts.

Her.

Perhaps. Maybe.

Laurent's words flickered through his head as Nikolai stopped the car and cautiously approached the door that he knew so well. If he had a working heart, it would have been pounding in his chest or caught in his throat.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled and groaned at the presence of a scent that he was too familiar with.

It was Her.

He opened himself and felt her heaviness, that blackened presence that he lov--

But it was different now, something changed. He didn't wait to be let into the house but opened the door to the foyer himself, searching through the house for Her room by room just like he had two years ago on the first night She was gone. He didn't have to go far, Her image on the deck walking towards him.

Nikolai Armani froze where he was.

5

John H. Wagner Heights / The Ruiner

« on: December 11, 2019, 01:42:31 PM »

Nikolai came to about forty-five minutes after Judas stepped into the basin of the tub and sat down on the floor under the spray. His skin was swelling, pruning, and the water had long since ran cold, pounding against his immortal skin as if it were trying to erode him. His muscles were tense and his knees were cramped from being pulled into his chest for who knew how long. His nose had begun to heal with the blood of a homeless junkie that Judas had found on his way back into the city, a memory that Nikolai almost remembered. The memory of his Sire fucking him dry in a Venom-induced haze, had left him squeezing his head until either he exploded from the pressure or the memory slipped out.

Unfortunately, neither had happened, and Nikolai could remember almost everything.

Judas' memories made in Nikolai's skin were dreamlike this time around, watercolors bleeding into one another, bodies blending and bending together as they fucked. He could still feel Mitch's pull in his chest, an annoying clench and ache for him that moved his thoughts to prioritize him.

Fuck Mitchelletto.

It was a few minutes before he realized that his skin was tender and painful from the water, his ass sore from the savage friction and lack of care that Judas had prompted. He saw his hand extend and grasp Mitch's cock, felt the soft skins as he stroked him into hardness. Nikolai wanted to take a knife to the palm of his hand and peel off the first layer of skin as if it would rid him of the sensation. He stood slowly, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, ignoring the alarms and pulses in his head that warned him of an oncoming migraine. The shadows that Laurent had planted in him stirred and slithered up to just within his ears, interested now in the darkening thoughts and the regretful return of Nikolai.

The elation that the heroin would have brought on was well gone now, his high spent stiffened like a corpse in the bottom of the tub.

The face in the mirror looked haggard, swollen with water like a bloated corpse, and crooked. Something black inside of him laughed. The suffocating waves of humiliation and remorse rocked his chest and he looked away from himself, sick at last of what he had allowed himself to become.

Junkie, the shadows whispered and made his stomach churn with withdrawal. Whore. Plaything. Slave. There was a pulling in his groin from the inside that made him grimace while the shadows laughed in his ear, pulling his face upwards and forcing him to look in the mirror again. Coward. Princess. Tar bubbled in his chest and the nausea came on in a flash, forcing his head by down into the sink as a spray of dark blood spattered the porcelain sink with a wracking cough. Somewhere, Laurent was laughing.

"I'm going to break your nose. Laurent might get wary if you exit on camera unharmed."

Nikolai grasped the edges of the sink and wrenched it sideways as hard as he could with as much fury as he could muster. The porcelain yielded to him and fell a few feet away with a loud grinding thunk, torn clean of some thin metal and plastic piping. The excitement and satisfaction that he wanted was missing, leaving him with a scorching rage aimed at his sire and his captor. Water burst from the exposed neck of the sink and sprayed out like a fountain all across the bathroom, soaking Nikolai again. Barefooted, he tried again to satisfy that rage with a swift kick to the pipe, the metal groaning and grunting with each kick that landed. He dented the wall next to where the sink was, his heel striking the plaster with enough force to damage the stud. One his last attempt, after managing to close off the mouth of the pipe so the water wasn't spewing forth, he missed and sliced open the side of his calf on the jagged piece of metal.

He went down instantly, his weight faltering and the pain riding sharp up his leg, catching himself, naked and ungracefully, on his knee, hip, and elbow of the opposite side, his weight forcing his body to sprawl out on the wet bathroom floor with a grunt. He lay there with his leg bleeding profusely and watched silently as the water on the floor ran red in gentle swirls. Again, Laurent's shadows watched and shook with glee. Perfect entertainment for a perfect evening.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed before he finally got up and examined the wound and he didn't care. It had stopped bleeding and remained as just two flaps of open meat waiting for something to synch them together. But the instant he put pressure on that leg there was a white flash of pain and something dripped down to his foot. More laughing accompanied by stomach cramps and little green men that licked the droplets of blood off the floor in his wake.

Nikolai reclined on the bed, ignoring the intense gaze of Her right next to him. Just another thing that didn't really exist. He flipped open his pack of cigarettes and smoked the rest of the pack while staring at the ceiling.

"Odessa Turkevich has been sighted in two places: Sticks and Stakes Pool Hall and the home of Damien Evans."

He thought of the nights he spent waiting in the surf to see Her again. How many nights? How many hours? He hated that he wondered about the truth behind Laurent's words, hated that he wanted to see Her again as badly as he did, hated that he needed to disappoint himself again, to spend one more night on that beach before he could let it all go.

All of it.

The wound closed finally - or enough so that he could ignore it amongst all the other tiring clashes and sensations in his head - and Nikolai had decided that it was time. There was no reason to stay anymore. He walked once around his condo coldly. There was no attachment to anything anymore - not even his artwork or coke. Let the cops find it all.

There were three hours to sunrise and it was a half hour drive across the city. From his closet, he pulled out an outfit to die for, one that complimented his form. Habit placed his phone and wallet into his two back pockets and the vampire snatched his keys from the counter. Nikolai Armani looked back once over the condo as he left, knowing it would be the last time he saw it, a weary expression lining his features and a migraine booming in his brow.

6

Oceanview Heights / Uncomfortable Conversations

« on: November 13, 2019, 01:56:33 PM »

For Cedar.

He had been able to make some convenient excuses to avoid Malakai while he figured his own shit out but after a few days of short texts and dead end conversations, Quinn decided to bite the bullet. And while he had figured out how he felt - more or less, anyway - he had no clue how he was going to breach the conversation at all with Mal. A large part of him wanted to just ignore the conversation with Jerry and just move forward past it, but the real possibility of not being able to advance the relationship into anything too physical clung to his every attempt to forget that conversation.

On the fourth day after talking to Jerry, Quinn dialed Mal's phone, his head in his hands and his voice tired. He did his best to not phrase it in a "we need to talk" kind of way, choosing instead to say that something that Jerry had said was bothering him and he needed to see him and talk about it. When there was a sigh and an impatient tone, apologies on behalf of Jeremiah Peterson, and a generous invitation to come and vent, Quinn knew that he had succeeded. For the millionth time, he wondered if what Jerry had said was true.

He took the train south and got off at a familiar stop a few blocks from the towering apartment building. He hadn't been to Malakai's place since they had started dating, and before that it had been months since their last social gathering together. Of course, Jerry and Zach lived in the same building - something Quinn had not forgotten upon asking to visit Mal. It was annoying to have so many reminders of Jerry when all he wanted to do was distance himself from the vampire.

Quinn was intimately familiar with the lobby of the building, being a familiar sight for almost two years, but somewhere he hadn't been in about six weeks. The familiarity of it was almost comforting. Almost. He stepped into the elevator and skipped the fifth floor in favor of the nineteenth, though his finger intuitively grazed the button lightly by habit.

Going to the nineteenth floor gave him too much time to think about things he didn't want to think about anymore, and Quinn spent the majority of his time in the elevator pushing the unpleasantness of his thoughts around on the plate of his thoughtfulness. When the doors of the cabin finally opened, Quinn thought about hesitating. The impulsive thought of returning to the lobby and sitting there for a time flickered through him and with difficulty he allowed it to pass. He left the cabin and knocked on the door to 1901.

7

Old Roleplays / A Minute of Your Time

« on: November 06, 2019, 09:07:32 AM »

Reserved for The Cedar Witch

It had taken him a few days of debate to make up his mind. In the end, he had picked up the phone and made the appointment. When he hung up the phone, there was still a lingering question about whether it was a good decision after all.

The night of the appointment, Damien had dressed himself cleanly in a neat and trim black suit, coiffed his hair appropriately and received a kiss from his human before heading out in his Lexus for the west end of the city. He kept his apprehension out of his expression but there was that unspoken thing that remained understood between them, tainting the pleasantness of their time together. Undercurrents of guilt, frustration, and fear that neither of them approached.

As he drove across the city, he tried to keep himself focused on the simplicity of the questions he needed to ask and the information he needed to offer. There was a sort of weight that hung about his shoulders now that he was Jake's campaign manager and he needed to make sure that that fact didn't obscure his objectives.

Not long after the Lexus crossed the border of into the West, something about the atmosphere changed. At first Damien thought he was imagining it, that he was just... apprehensive about the meeting with District Leader Chtahzus'aak. He tried to keep his eyes on the road but found himself wondering if he could trust that his eyes were telling him the truth about what he was seeing. Every so often, at every stop sign and red light, every darkened corner, there was a flicker of things almost unseen. As the frequency of the occurrences increased and shadowy trails lingered longer in his visual field, he understood what was happening.

He was being watched, followed.

The recognition made him furious - who would be following him? Could it be Laurent, hiding in the West under Zeus' new direction and jurisdiction? He hoped not, assumed not, but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, nor that Laurent could be the one doing the watching. His thoughts flew to Rachel, who of course was home with but Quinn and Pierre, a panic trying to take hold of him. Damien knew enough to not stop and chase after these shadows despite feeling the ache to finally confront and destroy Laurent.

But that was ridiculous, he had to remind himself, turning his attention away from darkening thoughts. Why would Zeus have anything to do with Laurent? He would never have been able to maintain such a powerful position in the city under as much criticism while dabbling in the abduction and trafficking. That was the hope, anyway.

Damien only stopped the car only after he had pulled into the Block, gave his name at the gate and was allowed inside. He parked and made his way in towards the front desk, ignoring the snickers from the demons nearby in the shadows. With purpose and a cool expression, Damien buttoned his jacket and said to the receptionist:

"Damien Evans here to see District Leader Chtahzus'aak, please." Damien gave the demon at the desk a pleasantly polite smile.

8

Xavier Lodge Apartments / Fine.

« on: November 04, 2019, 10:10:30 AM »

continued from Olive Branch.

Despite his brisk pace and the intermittent downpour, Quinn seethed the entire walk home from the Rabbit. There was a wash of spiralling emotion that prevented him from thinking clearly and making rational decisions as he made his way home by habit. More than once he walked into traffic a bit too late and tested the braking abilities of city drivers who then proceeded to honk their frustrations at him, receiving a flipped bird for their efforts.

Of course he thought about texting Malakai immediately, demanding of him whether what Jerry said was true, despite knowing better. He drafted text after text in his inbox and erased it everytime. None of his words made sense for how he felt, something he couldn't even figure out.

He rationalized and self-talked himself down from certain ledges that he was familiar climbing up with practiced self dialectic examination - thanks, Dr. Eliza Gonzales - circling the drain of his own pit of stubbornness. He wanted to drink and was shaking with rage, compulsively going over the conversation again and again as if it solved anything to revisit it. Quinn took out his pack of cigarettes and lit one hastily with quaking fingers, hoping the nicotine and the walk would calm him down.

It had been more than ten years since he had been kicked out of his mother's house for being himself. Somehow, news had trickled into the ear of Brian, Quinn's step-father, and the man took it upon himself to attempt to straighten the then-teenage Quinn out. He hated the fact that he could remember the night clearly still. Being outed to his parents was one of the worst things that had happened to him as a youth. Brian had cracked one of his ribs with a steel-toe boot and snapped his wrist after beating him so severely he couldn't go to school for the next week. When he had returned to school after a few nights of homelessness and couch surfing amongst friends, he was taunted relentlessly, asked who beat him in what the other kids assumed was a schoolyard throwdown and took bets as to who it was. A guidance counselor had pulled him aside and asked impatiently why he was in such a condition and Quinn only shrugged, lying smoothly that it was a skateboarding accident and that yes, he had been seen by a doctor. No one was there to return the call that was made home after school that day.

Now, as he stood in the rain ten plus years later, he still shook with rage that Jerry, Malakai's best friend, would just off-handedly out him to Quinn before they had even the opportunity to talk to Mal himself.

Everything was a mess and nothing seemed to be helping and all he wanted to do was put as much distance between himself and Jeremiah Peterson as possible. Of course Jerry didn't know about the reaction Quinn would have to the casual outing of Mal - it's not like Quinn was ever able to discuss deep things with Jerry, so unsurprisingly his tale of woe never made it to Jerry's ears. He wondered now whether telling him the story would have even changed anything about the interaction they had just had - probably not. Jerry was thick after all.

He wanted to kick something, to break something, to cut something, and he wished that it was just because of the frustration with Jeremiah. That would have made things significantly easier than this.

Selfishly Quinn wanted answers, and he hated himself for it. He wanted to know why he never knew, how he had possibly missed that fact in the years of knowing them. He wanted to know if it was even fucking true. He wanted to know how this was going to work out if he wanted to keep dating Mal. Did he want to keep dating Mal, knowing that their flirtations would always be limited? No, he didn't know if that was even true yet. How many other people did Jerry out Mal to? Was Quinn the only one in their group of friends who didn't know about Malakai? Was that why he had never seen any of Mal's partners - because they never stayed long?

He felt stupid and he hated himself. He had always been nonchalant about his sexuality around Mal, usually because Jerry was nearby and that sort of thing was acceptable in that circle. How uncomfortable had Quinn made Malakai, coming over to parties smelling of Jerry? Had he been repulsed? The idea made Quinn pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his face with his hands, the stub of a cigarette burning between his fingers. His mind was racing and for a split second, he considered abandoning all of them altogether.

But he liked Malakai. He was by far the most affectionate and romantic partner he had had in years, possibly ever. Had this ruined everything between them? Was it selfish to want to have that physical connection with a man who treated him better than any partner before? Was it worth the awkwardness?

Dread weighed down his bones as he climbed the stairs to his apartment and locked the world away. He was drenched and cold and apathetic to both. Logic and reason told him to undress and get warm, but habit took him to the kitchen instead where he poured himself a glass of cheap spiced rum and refilled it twice. The spinning of his thoughts slowed and dangled before him as his sobriety left. Quinn reached for the half blunt in the ashtray and smoked the rest, making himself a third refill before swaying his way to the bedroom to change.

Weed and alcohol took off the edge appropriately, but left him feeling cold and empty. He hated himself for the pathetic, obsessive reaction he was having and looked at the bottle on the counter, mentally counting sleeping pills in a bottle in the bathroom.

Don't be ridiculous, he scolded himself. It's nothing to kill yourself over, you idiot. Quinn changed into sweats and hoodie, angry that he was being so ridiculous about the whole thing. It was just some stupid thing Jerry did, and Freddy being his little bitchy self. And even the whole no-sex thing wasn't that deep.

But he couldn't figure out why it felt like one.

Before returning to the couch, Quinn nabbed a bottle of tequila from the cabinet by the sink and a short glass. He didn't bother with the salt rim or the lime, but decided it was time to forget his name for a little while.

As he sat, his phone buzzed and without thinking, he pulled it out of his pocket to find a fresh text from Malakai.

Hey, how's the talk going?

Great, Mal, Quinn thought angrily. Just fucking peachy. Jerry's a real fucking peach. Quinn put the phone and the drinking glass down on the table and filled his cup. He contemplated not responding to his... who was Mal to him now? Were they still lovers? Still dating? He contemplated not responding to Mal's text purposely, knowing he could break and spill the beans at any second during their text conversation, beans that he didn't know if he wanted to deal with right now, especially not via text.

Finw.

He pressed send before he could correct the word and cursed, lowering the phone and backing out to the home screen. A gorgeous picture of Malakai smirking up at him from the picnic blanket of their last date. Quinn stared at it for a while, all of the former emotions sluggish and lingering, though not as intense. He locked his phone and tossed it towards the other end of the couch and downed the contents of his glass.

9

The White Rabbit / Olive Branch

« on: October 31, 2019, 11:33:06 AM »

He sat at the bar with a glass of vanilla rum and Coke at his elbow, looking down at his phone. It was a cold and rainy Tuesday night that chased off all but the hardiest, most dedicated clientele of the White Rabbit. Down the bar were a few bearded regulars swapping work stories and drinking beers, their attentions focused on themselves except when it was time to order another round from the new kid tending bar. From time to time, he looked over and eyed them anxiously for something else to focus on.

The past few weeks had been some of the best he had had in a very long time. His first date with Malakai Pryce went off without a hitch. They had gone to the carnival, explored different foods, and played carnival games (avoiding most of the rides for fear of Quinn's untimely death by mechanical failure). That night Quinn had even managed to win his date the smallest stuffed turtle that the water-gun racing booth had to offer, despite protests from Mal, who had won Quinn a sizeable stuffed lobster by throwing darts. At the end of the night, Mal had walked him to his apartment building with the leftover food and stuffed animal shoved under his arm. When the time came to part at last, Malakai left him with a sweet, passionate kiss that made the human re-consider inviting him in for more. Instead of vocalizing his desire, Quinn bit the inside of his lip tightly. Yet neither of them approached the topic and Quinn went to bed alone that night with only a smile and a memory to warm him - as he had originally intended for himself.

Each week since there was at least one new adventure to be had with the vampire - a night picnic at the beach, a movie at the drive-in theatre in a town nearby, a night of improv comedy at a local human club. Somehow each night ended with a delicious kiss and a wave goodbye. Quinn was surprised by how much he enjoyed the ease of it all, including going home alone. Not once did he feel Malakai pressure him to step farther than kissing and tender hands. He enjoyed the lack of hunger from his date, the affection without strings of hot lust. It was something so unfamiliar to him that he found himself lost in the depth of each kiss, the feeling of the vampire's cool hands on his face, his shoulders, his waist. He could have melted in his entryway with just his touch.

Their kisses were simple and unexpectant, though more than once the pleasure of connecting with Mal in such a sensual way caused a stir in him that he had to resist giving into. Of course he wanted Mal, his daytime fantasies becoming more vivid and detailed now that he was his. Yet in the moments of being close to Malakai, he would step away, or find something else to engage his wondering desire in, uninterested in ruining their current connection with something as casual and potentially meaningless as sex.

The memory of his not-relationship with Jeremiah still clung to the back of his mind and Quinn couldn't help but judge himself for his strong desire to bed Malakai. There was still that lingering embarrassment that reminded him that the only reason he knew Malakai at all was because of having Jerry as a fuckfriend. And what a friend to have. A little voice in the back of his head reminded him of how it might look if he tried to seduce Malakai on their first, second, or even third date. And despite knowing that who Quinn had previously slept with was, in reality, none of Malakai's business (not that he ever attempted to make that knowledge his business at all,) Quinn couldn't stop that niggling voice reminding him of how hyper sexual he had been with Jerry, Mal's best friend. Something about the situation was still mildly weird for his own moral code.

Quinn had always made it a habit to not fall for or fuck any of his friend's exes or close friends - it brought things to an awkward place when things didn't last. Now he was in the very same situation he had always told himself to avoid with the desire to date and sleep with Malakai.

They would have to tell Jerry eventually, he had told Mal. Quinn had spent too many years of abuse in the closet to be anything but open with his people about who he was dating. The problem was that he hadn't spoken to Jerry really since that last argument after he had gone an slept with Quinn's boss... about six weeks ago. So far Quinn had managed to evade all questions and gossip about his dating life by keeping his dates with Mal silent (though he did tell Rachel because, well, he told Rachel everything). It appeared that Mal was doing the same thing; when To Ashes had played during one of Quinn's shifts, the only nagging that was done by someone was from Lisa-Joe when Malakai came up with a playful greeting and requested a drink, causing Quinn to flush quickly and get the vampire a disguised drink of tapped blood in an opaque cup. Upon questioning, he had quickly shrugged it off as him liking the way that Mal looked that night - a common observance from the people at the bar who had the privilege to lay eyes upon him all done up for a show. It helped that Mal's smoky looks always gave him that kind of reaction, though there was a sort of secret pride at knowing that Mal had chosen him to date.

But it was more than just keeping it from people for the sake of privacy - though telling Tommy would have definitely ensured that the gossip made its way around the bar to Freddy, a fact that Quinn was in no way ready to deal with. There was a part of Quinn that promised him that this whole thing with Mal wasn't going to last. Malakai was sweet, thoughtful, fun, responsible, and exciting to be around. He was almost perfect and perfect men didn't date Quinn. He was used to the assholes, the neurotics, the abusive douchebags who couldn't figure out their own emotions, or the bastards who couldn't figure out how to keep their dicks to themselves. Selfish men. Crazy, rude, loser men. If there was a type attracted to Quinn, that was it. He had long ago given up on finding the reason why this was the case - especially after Mike - and had just accepted the fact that hopefully one day, one of them might be tolerable enough to deal with for a while, men willing to grow into emotionally mature humans.

This whole thing with Malakai, however, felt so radically different from everything he was used to and so Quinn wasn't convinced that he was good enough for him yet. And before he announced his partner to the whole world and had it implode in his face, he wanted to wait to see where this was going. It all looked promising; Quinn still felt the flutteriness in his chest whenever there was a cute text or a phone call from him. The privateness of the whole thing was nice too, allowing him to feel out this one without anyone knowing any differently. Of course, he didn't want to keep it all quiet forever.

But one of the first obstacles to get over was Jeremiah Peterson.

He had texted Jerry earlier in the night and invited him to the Rabbit for a casual chat, though despite it being his idea, Quinn had a bit of that usual anxiety around confrontation. Not that they would burst out into a fight or anything. No, this was about peace keeping and boundary setting. Jerry was good at understanding that much anyway.

Quinn looked down at his phone, rereading the last conversation with Mal where they both discussed the best ways to let Jerry know what was up. After Quinn told Jerry, Mal would let Zach, Thor, and Kim know so as not to be surprised - not that Quinn was worried about any of their reactions. Hell, the only reason that Quinn had insisted on telling Jerry himself was their history together. Quinn figured it might be weird for Jerry to learn that his best friend was fucking his ex-fling - a courtesy that was not extended from Jerry in his case. Not that he and Mal were screwing yet anyway...

He sipped his drink and didn't look up from his phone, jiggling his leg against the foot bar of the stool he sat on. Everytime the door opened to let someone in, he lifted his eyes in the hopes of cutting off any awkwardness between Jerry and himself before it even happened. It wasn't like he hated Jerry after all. And now that he was dating Malakai, it was probably more than time for them all to play nice.

10

Approved Characters / Edgar Figueroa

« on: August 29, 2019, 09:07:16 AM »

Name: Edgar "Eddy" Figueroa
Age [appearance]: Late forties
Age [actual]: 52
Gender: Male
Species: Human

Permissions Given During Reasonable RP
Feeding: Yes
Wounding: Yes
Killing: Yes
 
Hair: Short, dark brown, thick and straight with no wave to it
Eyes: Muted brown with dazzlingly thick eyelashes, giving the impression he wears makeup
Frame: 5' 11", 135lbs (61 kg)
Tattoos/Distinguishing Marks: "Semper fidelis" with the Marine Corps logo on his upper left arm.
 
Personality: Highly manipulative. Public sees a very confident, charismatic, and family-oriented man who loves his country. Known to be ruthless, intelligent, and cunning in pursuit of his goals. Not boastful, but arrogant and stubborn to a fault. Violent temper, but usually contained well. Quiet - tends to watch a situation unfold before reacting. Plays by his own rules and is not afraid to get his hands dirty. Plays well with others as long as he can get what he wants first. Deceitful, a snake, two-faced. Easily turns to extreme measures (i.e. violence) to handle situations. People tend to like him because he's willing to say things that aren't supposed to be said. Good at using fear to sway people. Thinks very low of most people, but tends not to admit that out loud.
 
History: Has lived in the city his entire life. Son of Spanish immigrants, born on American soil. Father was a structural engineer, mother was a housewife. Raised Eddy and his brother in the suburbs, fairly well off. Edgar joined the Marines at 18. Participated in Operation: Just Cause (Panama, 1989), Operation: Desert Storm (Iraq, 1991), and the Kosovo Conflict (1999). Honorably discharged after he lost 90% hearing in one ear and suffered lingering brain damage from a building collapsing. Became an advocate for injured veterans for a few years before becoming a lobbyist. Developed a taste for politics and won his first campaign for elected city office in 2004, using his military history as a stepping stone. He kept moving upwards in the political scene, landing the position as the state representative in 2008.

Has been recently (during 18-month break) elected as the mayor of the city. Upon taking office, he was briefed by the outgoing mayor about the presence and history of the supernatural populations in the city. Since taking office he has made sure to surround himself with similarly minded "good ol' boys" who think similarly to him.
 
Awareness of Supernaturals: Cannot innately tell the differences between species unless it is glaringly obvious, but he knows about the existence of every type of supernatural that exists within city limits. Is intimately familiar with the current structure of the Districts and all the District Leaders.
Occupation/Job: Mayor of the city. Former state representative for the Republican party.
Domicile: The Majester
Interesting Facts / Quirks: Always carries a loaded handgun. Multilingual in Spanish, English, Portuguese, and Basque. Has three children, a pretty wife and a gorgeous mistress. Honestly believes that women have no place in male spaces. Socially dabbles with cocaine. Cannot hear out of his left ear.
Hobby/Hobbies: Going to the shooting range, playing American football, running, drinking covfefe
 
Likes: Politics, strip clubs, guns, cage fighting (watching only these days), drinking, cocaine,
Dislikes: liberals, protests, dealing with the supernaturals in the city.
 
Strength: Good with his gun. Intelligent. Charismatic, assertive, dauntless in all pursuits, discreet, punctual, professional at all public times, determined to not fail.
Weakness/Flaw: Physically abusive to partners. Very closed-minded with gender expectations and duties. Vain in politics - needs to have people blow smoke up his ass. Loves to gambl.e and solicit prostitution.  Self confident to the point of delusion. Has no truly close relationships with people, all business and superficial. Tends to act like he owns people, especially those closest to him (wife, kids, mistress).




Threads with Edgar Figueroa
http://www.roleplaycity.com/forum/index.php?topic=7492.0 In the Dirt - Ben and Edgar discuss the upcoming election

11

Alternate Realities / ALTERNATE: The Serving Boy

« on: August 18, 2019, 01:29:22 PM »

100 AD - Mykonos, Greece

The Aegean Sea in the distance sparkled a bright turquoise in the mid-morning sun as Zoheret descended the carriage. The day promised to be hot and dry, skies an irresistible blue without a cloud in sight that made her want to fly. She strolled down the stone thoroughfare, her hand resting comfortably on the arm of her lover, her cream chiton catching the breeze from the cliffs. Her blonde hair remained twisted in a dazzling chignon, held together with a white-gold ribbon, which allowed a few strands free around her face. Mingling with the humans of the city forced her to hide her wings beneath an invisible layer of glamour. Passing through town was simply more comfortable this way.

The agora was filled with humans of all walks of life today, their pockets jingling with coin to purchase their desperately needed cattle. The chatter was high as Zoheret led the other dark angel through the throng of bodies carefully, doing her best to not allow their dirt and sweat to stain her or touch her folded wings. There were men selling their livestock, Persians with their intricate rugs, grubby children with dirty hands asking for fruit. She ignored them all, her excitement saved for the beauties that had been brought in from Izmir. The slaver, a thin, ugly man from Alexandria, was known from bringing the prettiest, tamest stock and when she had heard that he would be bringing his goods to market.

True enough, as Zoheret stood gazing up at the six young men on the auction block, she could not have been more pleased. Each of them were young and with a good physique, though a bit dirty for her liking. Their chests and shoulders were being rubbed with oil as they were prepared to be sold to their new owners, members hard and erect beneath their blushing, nervous  faces. It was a beauty to behold.

She wanted the prettiest one for their new boy and getting there early with enough money was key to their success. The last serving boy that inhabited their villa had proven himself too untrustworthy to stay. On top of allowing the other men of the house to use him as practice, he smuggled food and some of Zoheret's jewelry out to some street urchin. Upon discovery, they learned that he had found the young urchin was some silly girl who became with child by him. Preposterous. As punishment, he was whipped twenty five times and had three fingers removed. His weak constitution left him vulnerable to sickness and after a mere four days, he succumbed to the festering wounds on his back.

A pity, really. He had such a lovely way to please her. The praise he paid her with his tongue and his cock had been exceptional, often leaving her in such rapturous states that had made her companion jealous. As a result, she had doted on him, allowing him to spend the night in her bed next to her, giving him extra food and opportunity to laze about. When it was her companion's turn to take his pleasure from the boy, she would kiss his soft lips and dry his crying eyes with the tenderest of care. But his indiscretions were too much to ignore, especially when she learned he was to father a child.

She turned to her companion and pressed herself to him, a hand on the exposed skin of his chest. An extraordinary creature he was, skin golden and firm, his hair dark and voluminous. Zoheret leaned her head against his shoulder and bit her lip gently, the excitement and arousal growing as she gazed upon her lover. "Here they are. Do you see one you want?"

12

Old Roleplays / Casual Politics

« on: August 10, 2019, 08:13:12 AM »

When Zoheret left the Luminary building, the black Jaguar she had arrived in was parked in the closest parking space out front, waiting for her. Her driver stepped out of the front seat with the beginnings of sleep in his beautiful amber eyes and circled around the outside of the car obediently.

"Jesús, darling, I need a drink," she told him with the slightest twinge of exhaustion breaking into her voice, massaging her temples with one finger from each hand.

"Anywhere in particular, Madam?" She caught a glimmer of his concern for her as his professional expression wavered. Any other night it would have bothered her to see a falter in such decorum and she would have considered saying something nasty to him about it. He opened the back door to the car for her and extended his hand for her to use should she need it upon stepping in. Instead of meeting him with scorn, she placed her hand in his proffered one and cast a last annoyed glance back at the building, her thoughts on the conversation with Ben.

She turned her attention back to the human and smiled wanly at his care. "Somewhere these vampires won't bother me for the rest of the night." Zoheret tucked herself into the backseat of the car, putting her bag on the leather next to her. She pulled out her phone, turned the ringer back on and began flicking through emails and messages that had come in during the meeting.

Typically she scheduled work for herself right up until about ten or eleven in the evening, knowing that the creatures who slept the day away in the Northwest needed access to her as well. One of the perks of being the Dark Angel Oligarch had been that her kind was prone to sleeping like humans, and so she could keep business hours at a more approachable time. Now that her constituents were all of different species to herself, she attempted to make herself more available to them all while still maintaining something resembling a normal sleep schedule. When she looked at the time, she noted that only a couple of hours had passed since she had first arrived at the building, her meeting with Ben taking less than twenty minutes as she expected it to. At almost twenty to ten, she considered her job done for the night. No doubt the staff at Attica Villa would be preparing their bags and filing the last of their reports before she arrived, ready for the night to be done.

"Just drive for now," she bade Jesús, locking her phone and leaning against the tinted window, her elbow on the top of the moulded panel where it met the glass, supporting her hand against her temple. A tension headache pulsed dully beneath her fingers, the muscles needlessly knotted despite how she rubbed at them.

The city passed darkly before her, the street lamps of Central pooling yellowly upon ugly gray buildings, graffitied brick, crumbling concrete walkways. She closed her eyes and thought about both meetings that had taken place with a renewed sense of frustration.

Ben Samson had started that joke of a meeting barring his soul and expecting them, the District Leaders, to follow him like they had once followed Kerr Galvin as the Luminary. He was demanding, emotional, and hasty in the pursuit of his goals and had come into the room hot, instructing them of their jobs and the topics they needed to discuss. While Zoheret had been expecting the young vampire to bring up the election, she had not expected such a bombardment of demands and expectations as Ben had proposed. And as if it had effected the air in the room, Saraekiel made an absolute fool of himself in front of all the others while McCloud had actually played his hand decently well. Sabrina had been the only one to act even semi-predictably and that was mostly because she was so unfamiliar with the witch that she had no idea what to expect besides some distasteful peacekeeping. Charon had even proved that he was not immune to the ridiculousness of that meeting, snatching McCloud's phone and crushing it. The message had been clear to her anyway; that McCloud had burned yet another potential ally. The Oligarchy had been much easier and she regretted its dissolution immensely, which only added to her bitterness. And then she had to go and coddle Ben Samson's hurt feelings, fueled by the the thought of Jake McCloud retaining his position as Central District Leader. She rolled her eyes at the memory of it all.

Her shoulders were heavy but her mind raced. She was could feel her goals slipping through her fingers, a sensation that too resembled the fall of the Oligarchy and the scrabbling land grab in the whirlpool of chaos accompanied it. This election was going to be a nightmare.

She remembered sitting in Chtahzus'aak's office discussing this very occurrence with masked disdain. Now that it had come to pass, she wondered vaguely what he actually thought about the whole event. He had spoken three sentences, choosing the smartest option of sitting and watching them all. She had noted his silence next to her - and was thankful it was between McCloud and herself the entire night - and meant to inquire about it before the idea of meeting with Ben had occurred to her.

So instead she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number for the Block. Surely, a shadow demon could travel quicker than a car at night, and he was already back in his fortress surrounded by his demon army. After two rings, the receptionist that had scheduled her prior appointment picked up, offering a canned greeting on Zeus' behalf.

"I'd like to talk directly with Chtahzus'aak, please."

"And who may I ask is calling?"

She smiled. "Zoheret."

"Oh." At her name there was an audible change in the girl's voice as she said, "Just one moment, please. I'll see if he's in."

As she waited on hold, she looked down at her nail polish, noticing a minute chip in the aubergine pigment of her index finger on her left hand. She frowned and examined it closer. Just one more disappointment for the night.

13

Riverfront Lofts / Sizing Up

« on: August 09, 2019, 12:42:57 PM »

Damien sat on a couch tucked in the corner across from the entry door to the function room, one leg crossed over his knee. He was statue-esque, watching everyone who entered the front of the building through the window from his place on the couch. Each human that passed by the window piqued his interest anew as he waited for the candidate to show up. So far, nothing.

The vampire was dressed in a pair of grey houndstooth trousers, his black socks showing over patent leather derbies, polished to a high shine. His black turtleneck was mostly hidden under an ebony jacket made of light-weight wool that reached his mid-thigh. Nearby, Rachel wandered through the room, looking at different pamphlets, ads posted on the community bulletin board, and whatever else she found interesting. When no one was entering the building or walking through the halls, his eyes fell intensely upon her.

Typically the room was locked until the space was reserved by one of the residents of the building or a paying member of the community at large. There was no fee to rent the space as long as it was reserved by someone paying for residence. Seeing as Pierre was technically an owner of the building - under another name, of course - all Damien had to do was ask for the keys for the night. The key ring had keys to the leasing office, the gym, all of the maintenance and electrical rooms, as well as the front door.

He had received a text message from an unknown number the night after speaking with Sonya. The sender had mentioned that 'Anna' had told him about the position. At first Damien had thought it strange to receive such a text - a call or an email would have been more appropriate. He passed over this thought when he realized that Sonya had given her human a fake name. It wasn't the first time that she had used a fake name with a human, but usually they came with the understanding that there would be no attachment. According to Odessa herself (though her own sense of decorum wouldn't allow her to say as much), she was becoming quite interested in this human. A curious thing to see indeed. Damien had responded after a few hours of consideration, realizing within seconds of reading the text that it must have been her human lover. 'Decker' she had called him without giving him a last name. He had told this 'Decker' to meet him at 8:30 PM here, today. To come prepared.

Damien chose not to elaborate on that last part, waiting to see what the human would do at the prompt.

Decker would only have to enter the front door of the building and turn right down a short stretch of hallway to see the open french double doors that made up the private function room. Despite the echo of the room, footfalls bouncing off the original hardwoods from when this was a textile mill, the walls themselves were newly constructed and therefore soundproof. Twelve-foot ceilings with characteristically old beams and exposed heating ducts made the space feel industrious, despite the juxtaposing warmth of the couches, tables, and arm chairs scattered about the room. Pendant lights with edison bulbs hung suspended from the ceiling in a sort of web, casting a warm glow on the darkly stained wood floor and counters. Damien thought the room was a satisfying mixture of modernity and nostalgia.

Looks down at his watch again, feeling the impatience sprouting in his chest again. He toyed with the buttons on his jacket, looking up as he heard the front door of the building open.

14

The Carnival & Caravan Park / An Optimistic Joy

« on: August 09, 2019, 08:03:28 AM »

Reserved for CK

He had gone home from An Tsi with an optimistic joy written deeply into his mood and his brain replaying his favorite parts of the night spent with Malakai. He texted the vampire to let him know he was home safe - as was their habit - and their conversation continued lightly throughout the evening, little pockets of flirtation appearing casually and easily. When he tucked himself into his bed early that morning, watching the deepening night sky out his bedroom window, he pulled the covers up over his shoulders, smiled and pressed a blush into his pillow and fell into a normal sleep.

The rest of the week had dragged by without much ado - although there was that outrageous sex toy bingo upstairs at the Rabbit one night (he had managed to catch the tail end of it before his shift, watching a bright red college aged girl walk out with an 18-inch dildo fatter than her wrist). On Thursday he and Tommy stopped by for a drink or two at the downstairs bar to watch To Ashes play, his chest aflutter with watching Malakai sing. He left without saying anything to the lead singer, thankful that no one in the band had noticed either of them at the bar, though LJ did a bit of playful teasing before buying him and Tommy a shot.

On Saturday, he and Freddy had almost gotten into an argument again when Freddy told him that he'd be barbacking instead of running shots, essentially stripping Quinn of the ability to double his tips. Quinn had walked away with the intention of talking to LJ, but decided that it was just one of Freddy's petty ways of getting under his skin after the whole Jerry situation. Coincidentally, he saw the two of them leave the bar together that night with a hot flare of anger. Two years down the fucking drain. Usually he dwelled on such things and took them to heart, but this time he was able to take it with a bit more stride, thinking instead of his upcoming date with Malakai.

When the day arrived for his first actual date with Mal, Quinn once again found himself lacking a proper amount of things to keep him distracted from himself. He went to the gym early in the morning for a little more than an hour before running some errands around town - grocery shopping for Mrs. Henderson, himself, paying a monthly bill of one of his store credit cards, and picking up his library books from Tommy's place. By the time he returned to his apartment, it was barely noon, still several hours before he needed to be ready for Malakai to pick him up. He sat down on the sagging couch for a couple hours of reading one of the library books, this one a story about a love affair with a woman where the narrator's gender was never given. He finished the story and made himself something to eat.

Self-doubt tried to creep in around mid-afternoon. It almost succeeded until Quinn had the wisdom to pack his favorite bowl with some Malibu Pie and chill the fuck out. As smoke filled his lungs and his demons leveled out, he got up and showered, once again refusing the opportunity to give himself a quick tug - stupid vampires and their impossible sense of smell, he thought to himself, knowing well enough that he must have been in Mal's presence smelling fresh of sex before considering who Jerry was - and a shave anywhere else but his face. After all, he was determined to be good and go home alone tonight.

In a very smart, but uncharacteristic move, Quinn had selected his clothes the night before, knowing that he was going to face a ridiculous amount of indecision as soon as he stepped out of the shower. After throwing on a pair of black stretch boxer-briefs from Calvin Klein - with a yellow band, of course - he stepped into a slim fitted pair of navy blue jeans. Past-Quinn had chosen a soft, thin, forest green V-neck that he no longer had confidence in, so Quinn tugged down a light gray scoop neck tee from the closet instead and topped it with a light-weight charcoal denim shirt that he kept open. He added a long necklace and forest green suede derby sneakers to finish off the look. In the mirror, he moved his hair around on the top of his head, trying to calm the drying strands that disobeyed any sense of gravity with some pomade. If Mal hadn't been some kind of damn fashion designer, Quinn would have probably felt more secure about his clothing decision. After looking in the mirror and criticizing himself for several minutes, he left the bathroom to polish off the rest of the blunt.

He was outside waiting for Malakai with a racing heart and irritating butterflies in his stomach easily ten minutes before their selected time. Quinn smoked two cigarettes as he waited, blowing the last bit of smoke from his second cig just as Malakai pulled up to the curb.

15

Approved Characters / Ethan Wells

« on: July 30, 2019, 10:20:05 AM »

Name: Ethan Ulysses Wells
Known as: Arizona
Age [appearance]: Mid thirties
Age [actual]: 36
Date of Birth: August 18th (1983)
Gender Expressed: Man
Gender Orientation: Cis Male
Sexuality: Bisexual - prefers (cis)women
Occupation: Bar Staff at Club Zero; Third Hand in the Bastards
Nationality: American
Race: Indigenous American/Pacific Islander - Kanaka Maoli of Hawai'i
Species: Werewolf - human
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Permissions
Feeding: Yes
Wounding/Cursing: Ask first
Killing: Yes
 
Hair: Rich brown with bleached blonde ends, slightly thinning. Natural crimped waves, usually worn long and wild or pulled back into a messy bun. Reaches mid-shoulders
Eyes: Angular and heavily lidded under a heavy, forward brow. Chocolate brown with varying rings of amber and espresso. Unkempt eyebrows. Extensive wrinkles in the corners when he smiles.
Frame: (include height and weight) 6'4'' and 235 lbs. Solidly built with extreme muscle tone all over. Broad chest but sloped shoulders. Slightly intimidating.
Tattoos/Distinguishing Marks: tohono o'odham tribal tattoo on left pectoral. Unkempt brown beard.
 
Personality: Party animal. Loves to joke. always up for a challenge. charismatic. Rough and crude. Not emotionally expressive.
 
History: Born in Tucson, Arizona to a teenage single mother who gave the baby up for adoption. Dr. Francis and Dr. Cynthia Wells promptly adopted the baby at 3 months old and named the boy Ethan. He was the fourth of six children, the only one adopted. The Wells' family was a prominent family in the city, Francis being a podiatrist and Cynthia being a OB/GYN. The family had a more-than comfortable wealth and spoiled their children to make up for their lack of presence. The Wells children spent much of their formative years being raised by a series of nannies.

Given everything by parents. Huge family of white ancestry. Dropped out of high school, got GED. Attempted one semester at a community college upon the insistence of his parents.
 
Awareness of Supernaturals: Knows about werewolves, vampires, demons (generally, shadow and smoke), and shifters. Knows a lot of other species exist, but couldn't recognize them instantly like he can with the others.
Occupation/Job: Bar Staff at Club Zero
Domicile: North District
Interesting Facts / Quirks: Loves Motley Crew, Black Sabbath, and Avenged Sevenfold. Very accustomed to working with a hangover. Always wears a colorful elastic as an accessory around his wrist.
Hobby/Hobbies: Fighting, drinking, partying, playing musical instruments (drums and guitar).
 
Emotion or Logic?: Leans more emotional
Introvert or Extrovert?: Extrovert
Generous or Stingy?: Generous
Polite or Rude?: Depends on the person

Likes: Women, men, blood, cannabis,
Dislikes: Hard drugs, arguments, overly emotional people.
 
Strength: Very physically strong, charismatic,
Weakness/Flaw: Peter pan complex - never wants to grow up. Often thinks he's more capable than he actually is.