Post by argent on Jun 21, 2012 17:09:57 GMT -5
[/li][li]~My Name is bananaface (ankh)
Argent
PB: Marion Cotillard
[/li][li]~I am many years old.
[/li][li]~I found the site through the internets
[/li][li]~If you wish to talk to me, the best way to reach me is through my telepathic abilities
[/li][li]~I have been role playing for dunno how many years and I am amazing. obvs.
• • • • • • • • •
~*Full Name: Unknown
~*Alias: Argent
~*Age: 350, appears late 20's
~*Race: Vampire
~*Gender: Female
*Appearance: Dark chocolate hair curls down her face, hanging just above her shoulders. Usualy plaited up in elegant hairstyles, she usualy sticks close to the fashion of the 1700s as she is cofortable in that attire, though does wear more 'normal' clothes when walking the streets. A fan of fur, she usualy is seen with a white fox scarf drapped over her shoulders. Pale white flesh is marked by few flaws, only a few dark freckles mark her snow white body. Thin and standing at 5''5, she is neither tall nor short, but is not overly curvy. Her eyes are her most striking feature - ice blue iris' with a slightly darker ring marking them with thick eyeliner over her lids. Her lips are usualy painted dark red or black depending on her mood.
~*Personality: Argent is the silent type. Cold and quiet, she prefers to follow than to lead. An extremly loyal follower once her trust and respect is earned, Argent would kill or die for those who give her orders. Quiet and mysterious, Argent does tend to stand out in a crowd of normal people, so she does try and act 'normal', which often results in forced smiles and awkward, odd conversations. She is not very socialised or familiar with human customs at all. She can become easily obssesed with things, usualy obects, for example fur. She fucking loves fur. Non of her obssesions, though, are nearly as powerful as that for her master. Argent would do literally anything for him, the one man she considers truley powerful; the Vampire leader. She is possesive of him, though her quiet nature usualy hides this well. If anyone was to threaten him, she would lash out violently. Despite being outwardly calm, almost serene a lot of the time, she is prone to extreme violence and sadism.
~*History: Born as a vampire 350 years ago, she was raised away from human hands. Her family was wealthy and were rarely seen outside he confines of their mansion. The townsfolk found their presence unsettling, but the master of the house was mayor of the small town, so they were powerless to run the family out. The town was not small, but it was certianly not huge. Everyone knew everyone, and it was not hard to miss the posters that often popped up in the streets. 'Missing person' posters, desperate attempts to find loved ones they knew would never return. No one ever did. No one ever asked why.
Argent loved it when the feast came. Weekly meals were caught, picked from the wide selection of townfolk. The human would be fed upon but kept very much alive for the week. Argent often toyed with them, testing their limits like a cat toyed with a canary. Over the years she practiced her art, finding their weaknesses, the painful spots that would not end their lives. Many failed ad she was punished for ruining the feast, but she did not care. Her games were her own, and no one would stop her.
It was when she reached one hundred that the town finaly snapped. Accused of witchery, the townsfolk attacked the family, pitchforks and fire at the ready. The vampires fled, unable to take on so many, but in the flames that engulfed their house, her mother was lost. Her father, overwhelmed by the loss of his mate, turned back ad fight and to die at the hands of the humans, but not without taking many lives. Argent had never been close to either of them, nor the servants of the household. She simply turned, wordless, and left.
Perfecting her torture and killing skills, she became an assasin for the rich humans who overlooked her pale flesh and odd nature. Earning money by taking lives, she made no effort to blend into humanity, but instead got paid by them to feed. The perfect plan. But over the years, assasins were no longer needed, so her jobs began to dwindle. Now, joining with the vampires, her pure blood gaining her respect, she soon found herself idolising her master. Over her years of taking jobs she had found herself - she was a servant to be used and she loved being controlled. This is her rightful place. Fighting for her kin, and playing her sweet, sadistic games.
~*RP Sample:
The moon was but a sliver of white, a dazzling blade upon the dark canvas of sky. Dark rain clouds were gathering fast, slowly blurring the horizon and enveloping the moon in its tumbling curves and caressing the skies with its cold embrace. Blue eyes stared upwards, silently witnessing the skies transformation. She wished her own was just as graceful. The fluidity of it was awe inspiring and was a warning for the storm to come. Eagerly awaiting the rain and wind, the woman found herself wandering aimlessly through the streets. Dots of color marked the otherwise grey landscape, the stone buildings dull beside the vivid hues of umbrellas and clothing as the first raindrops began to make their decent. Her own red trench coat and blood red lips stood out among the crowd, and despite the wind and the quickly emptying streets, she persisted, heading onward toward the moon.
It was not long before she was alone. Her long legs had carried her toward the cemetery and through the cracked, dusted gravestones she ambled. Weaving in and out of the long grass, she felt the long strands lash out at her bare legs. She was cold, but she ignored the bitter sting of the weather. Blue eyes, contrasting her mocha skin, drifted over the wave of headstones as she glided through them. The names meant nothing to her. The faceless dead did nothing to disturb her, yet she felt uneasy. Did her mother have a grave still? Had she been given one at all? A sigh escaped her lips, emerging as a dull wisp of steam. There were few people who she gave much thought too anymore. Her lovers and her companions through the long years meant nothing to her. But her mother? She could never forget how the woman had been treated. Her hatred had burned over the years, the flame never ceasing, ever growing into the wildfire she was today. Yet this evening, she was calm. She had no reason to burn.
How long had she been alone, now? How long had she wandered aimlessly through the many cities with each year, decade, century dragging by, clawing at her loneliness? Often, she would look at the hideous scar upon her shoulder and grimace, seeing only the mark of a curse. Others, she would wander the streets as a feral beast, reveling in the blood lust, each face taking that of the man who wronged her mother. Kanika tried not to be bitter, she tried to be happy, but she had no reason to be. Still, she had her mask - her facade of contentment and joy. She smiled to herself. Kanika had survived alone with no help from her kind, nor had she ever sought it - the idea of a pack was foreign to her. Yet this place - this place smelt like wild dog. Perhaps...
Perhaps she could be tamed?
The idea was almost laughable. How often had she submitted herself to those who deemed themselves higher than her? Would she submit to an alpha now? Born into slavery those centuries ago, the woman fought against her upbringing and evolved into a dominant person. Yet to survive, she knew she needed others. Over the years she had come across the vampires, of course, and was sneered at, called a dog, a mangy bitch, and nothing more. They saw themselves as higher beings, and she hated that more than anything. Yet alone she could never fight them, she could only flee. Sticking to the shadows, or hiding in plain sight - she was always evading, never hunting. She needed it to change, for her own sanity. But would taking the orders of a fellow Lycan really help her? Or would she only turn upon her master and bite the hand that fed her, as it were?
In recent years, humans began realizing their fears and, instead of turning on their heel like she did, they fought. They were nothing next to the Lycans or Vampires, yet they persisted. In a way she could not help but respect their bravery. She almost pitied their weaknesses and envied their mortality - yet she hatred them, too. Hated their culture, hated their racism, their hatred toward anyone and everyone that was different. Too long had that been burned into her. They were not wounds to be healed but scars etched literally into her flesh. Even if she could respect the hunters, she could not stop herself from hating humanity as a whole. But she wished, more than anything, to return to them. Then, she would no longer be alone. right?
Kanika wanted to howl, but she settled for her silent stare aimed upward toward the moon. It was only a glimmer, now, bound by the clouds. Was she the moon? Alone and so far from the stars she could not hope to rejoin them? Lowering herself, she sat in the long grass, mud smearing her jacket and bare legs. Uncaring, she closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the rain tumbling over her face.
It was not long before she was alone. Her long legs had carried her toward the cemetery and through the cracked, dusted gravestones she ambled. Weaving in and out of the long grass, she felt the long strands lash out at her bare legs. She was cold, but she ignored the bitter sting of the weather. Blue eyes, contrasting her mocha skin, drifted over the wave of headstones as she glided through them. The names meant nothing to her. The faceless dead did nothing to disturb her, yet she felt uneasy. Did her mother have a grave still? Had she been given one at all? A sigh escaped her lips, emerging as a dull wisp of steam. There were few people who she gave much thought too anymore. Her lovers and her companions through the long years meant nothing to her. But her mother? She could never forget how the woman had been treated. Her hatred had burned over the years, the flame never ceasing, ever growing into the wildfire she was today. Yet this evening, she was calm. She had no reason to burn.
How long had she been alone, now? How long had she wandered aimlessly through the many cities with each year, decade, century dragging by, clawing at her loneliness? Often, she would look at the hideous scar upon her shoulder and grimace, seeing only the mark of a curse. Others, she would wander the streets as a feral beast, reveling in the blood lust, each face taking that of the man who wronged her mother. Kanika tried not to be bitter, she tried to be happy, but she had no reason to be. Still, she had her mask - her facade of contentment and joy. She smiled to herself. Kanika had survived alone with no help from her kind, nor had she ever sought it - the idea of a pack was foreign to her. Yet this place - this place smelt like wild dog. Perhaps...
Perhaps she could be tamed?
The idea was almost laughable. How often had she submitted herself to those who deemed themselves higher than her? Would she submit to an alpha now? Born into slavery those centuries ago, the woman fought against her upbringing and evolved into a dominant person. Yet to survive, she knew she needed others. Over the years she had come across the vampires, of course, and was sneered at, called a dog, a mangy bitch, and nothing more. They saw themselves as higher beings, and she hated that more than anything. Yet alone she could never fight them, she could only flee. Sticking to the shadows, or hiding in plain sight - she was always evading, never hunting. She needed it to change, for her own sanity. But would taking the orders of a fellow Lycan really help her? Or would she only turn upon her master and bite the hand that fed her, as it were?
In recent years, humans began realizing their fears and, instead of turning on their heel like she did, they fought. They were nothing next to the Lycans or Vampires, yet they persisted. In a way she could not help but respect their bravery. She almost pitied their weaknesses and envied their mortality - yet she hatred them, too. Hated their culture, hated their racism, their hatred toward anyone and everyone that was different. Too long had that been burned into her. They were not wounds to be healed but scars etched literally into her flesh. Even if she could respect the hunters, she could not stop herself from hating humanity as a whole. But she wished, more than anything, to return to them. Then, she would no longer be alone. right?
Kanika wanted to howl, but she settled for her silent stare aimed upward toward the moon. It was only a glimmer, now, bound by the clouds. Was she the moon? Alone and so far from the stars she could not hope to rejoin them? Lowering herself, she sat in the long grass, mud smearing her jacket and bare legs. Uncaring, she closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the rain tumbling over her face.
Optional
*Likes: Blood, spiders, cats, dolls, stuffed bears, pears
*Dislikes: Dogs, the sun (duh), people in general
*What you want to see happen to your character: Who knows? Maybe she makes the worlds biggest plushie bear collection?
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