Post by ichabod on Jul 9, 2009 1:26:03 GMT -7
†Ichabod-DeSoto-Birmington†
†Itchy†
[/center]†General Information†
Full Name: Birmington, Ichabod D.
Nicknames: Itchy, Ichy ("Icky")
Gender: Male
Age: 94 years
Age they appear: mid-20s - say about 26? years, of course.
Race: Werewolf
Orientation: Heterosexual. A touch metro at moments.
Health Problems: a bit obsessive compulsive; though undiagnosed - and a nasty habit of shedding when nervous.
†Personality†
Basic Personality: Itchy was brought up to be a God-fearing and respectful man; born into wolfdom along with three sisters. He can be unknowingly abrasive; his curiosity sending him to great lengths, his who-gives-a-damn attitude borderline obnoxious to some. Due to his sisters, he is fiercely protective of any and all women in his life and tends to go a little bananas over safety matters; lending to his Obsessive Compulsive behaviors. He tends to attract some rather.. strange.. individuals; some which he'd much rather avoid but reluctantly puts up with. That aside, he can be a rather jovial character, quick to laugh but quicker to pick at an argument until it turns to blows, true to his roots in that respect. He enjoys the drink - a bit too much, even considering his quick metabolism - and the smoke, and is dead set in his ways. He enjoys being with crowds, finding it easier to blend right in and go unnoticed. Though he is rather outgoing; he tends to leave tufts of hair everywhere at times, an embarrassing and highly unavoidable consequence of nerves.
Likes:
† humans. They're fun to bother.
† houseplants
† thunderstorms
† antique weapons
† salt
Hates:
† jam/jelly. y'know. it's sticky.
† cats.
† self-righteous types
† ants
† unions is there any point in today's workforce?
Talents:
† conning the truth out of nearly anyone
† guessing every gift under the holiday tree
† restoring antique items (namely weapons)
† identifying & mimicking bird calls
† easily picks up foreign languages
Habits:
† picks his teeth with scraps of paper
† fidgets incessantly, never still
† shameless flirt
† MUST, positively MUST, pet every horse and dog he sees.
† touches everything purple in grocery stores.
†Appearance:†
Skin Color: white; faintly bronzed by the sun
Hair Color: dishwater blond
Eye Color: green
Build: athletic, bordering on bulky as he ages
Piercing/Scars/Tattoos: several dozen scars on his abdomen (thanks to cacti and rumpus with sisters) - no other markings to speak of
Choice of Clothing: nearly always simple; dockers or jeans, t-shirts, fedora, the occasional blazer.
Wolf Appearance: ranging just above 3 foot, cinnamon with black points, in the mid 180s on weight.
Other: n/a
†History:†
History: Itchy was born and raised on the Viejas Indian Reservation in Southern California nearly 95 years ago; his mother being half Kumeyaay and 100% werewolf; and his father the man dumb enough to fall in love with her (oh, he was Irish; thus Itchy's pale skin and light hair/eyes). He, along with 3 sisters, was raised knowing the family secret - that at some point in their lives, they would experience 'the change' and suddenly sprout some hairy backs and learn to howl. As a middle child, Itchy was expected to be nestled between his sister's morphing; instead, he surprised them all by being the first to suffer the change. It came easily to him, despite the sheering and God-awful pain that was inflicted at every morph, and he quickly mastered the Ins and Outs of being wolf. At the age of 20, he moved away from his pack; at 40, his father had met his untimely but inevitable end at the ripe human age of 72; and by 65, his mother had passed away as well.. pneumonia, believe it or not. His sisters - Veronica, elder by 3 years; Eliana, younger by 4 years; Vilma, younger by 10 years - were all adventurous young women, and Itchy found it up to him to round them up and take care of them. This was ill-received by all but the baby, Vilma. She continues to remain close to Itchy.. the other two have made a point to avoid their brother. He has moved several dozen times, traveling from California to Canada where he briefly worked as a bartender, from there into Australia, where he opened his own Antique business; and from Australia into Europe, where he's been backpacking, mostly posing as a Naturalist. Makes the Natives a little more comfortable. He absolutely adores Humans, having a soft spot for them somehow - and finds it positively delightful to toy with them.
Mother/Father: Vivika Reynolds-Birmington/Kumeyaay Werewolf/Deceased - Joseph Edward Birmington/Irishman, blacksmith/Deceased
Siblings: Veronica, Eliana, Vilma - Vilma here in Europe, Eliana and Veronica last seen in North America
Offspring: none
Other: n/a
†RP example:†
Ichabod stared sedately at the wall of his flat; left thumb flicking, repeatedly, the flint of an ancient (okay, circa mid-1990s) BIC lighter. It sparked but never lit, the light sflick, sflick, sflick echoing off the furniture - or lackthereof - in his modest abode. He lived simply; that much was the sullen truth. He had been here nearly two years and yet had acquired less than what most Hospice patients bring with them to die. A bookshelf; stocked with various journals on birdwatching and weaponry - a small round table and mis-matched chairs - a threadbare sofa.. and this. His pride and joy, that which his rear end currently occupied; his overstuffed and delightfully comfortable Laz-E-Boy recliner. Indeed. This was Heaven. His right hand snaked over the edge of the chair arm to pull the lever and within seconds a loud clunk resounded from the bottom of the recliner and his feet launched skyward, flipping to land flat on his back; and now his view was that of the ceiling. Ah, relaxation. sflick, sflick, sflick.
The phone rang - three times, four times; voicemail. "Hi Icky! It's Vilma! Pick up, I know you're home!" His darling little sister chirped in her petite, musical voice; and he pictured her face, a charming smile lighting his features as he reached for the telephone. The handset was to his ear in seconds, thick, smoker's voice reminiscent of his wolf voice as he growled into the handset. "Well, hello, Villy-willy. How's my favorite sister?" She was, truth be told; his opposite.. ten years his junior and looked every bit like their mother had, with black hair to her slender waist, standing hardly 5'0 even; and not even 100lbs soaking wet. Itchy had gotten their father's side of the bloodline; dishwater blond, green eyes, fair skinned; and whilst he towered over their dear departed dad at 6'5 [to the piddly human's 5'10], he was basically a carbon copy, right down to the funky mole on his right cheek. He rubbed that mole now as he listened to his sister chatter on about her day. She was approaching 85 years of age and yet never seemed a day over 20. Ichabod laughed out loud at that thought. Of course she didn't. None of them aged past their mid-twenties - good ol' wolfy blood.
"So, Icky, I was considering coming to see you..." Vilma was saying, and Itchy tuned back in, in a hurry. "I dunno, Sis; do you think that's such a good idea. London is.. well, London is different. It's not really seen the best of times, ya know." His heart was in his throat.. oh, he desperately wanted to see his sister again; he was at heart very much in love with his family ties.. but the rational obsessive side of him was screaming about how unsafe it would be for her. She was small. Fragile. Sure, she was Werewolf; but she was still such a little girl in many ways. Villy had changed the subject and was chattering on about her newest endeavor - apparently she was learning to quilt - and Ichabod sighed, that small, pleased smile tattooed on his face somewhat permanently. After a few moments of surveying the possibilities; he interrupted her mid-sentence; stating simply: "Well... Come if you feel you need to, Villy-bean. But I promise you, London is no picnic."
He had to jerk the phone from his ear to avoid blowing his eardrums out at her delighted scream - apparently she had been waiting on his approval. "I've got to go pack! Bai!" She yelped and in a flash the line was dead, and he hung up the phone, laughing to himself. Pulling a tobacco cigarette from behind his ear, he cupped the lighter and flicked it to life, breathing deeply and inhaling a long, woody gasp of nicotine. It was beginning to darken, his living room shadows growing long and unkept. It would be time to either order take-out or go hunt soon.. either would do.. although take-out would be easier and slightly less painful. Only slightly. Half the time he ended up with that delivery guy (or gal) who couldn't shut up about their Vampy friends or Wolfy love interest. They always guessed he was one or the other - only a third of them ever got it right, judging him based on his skin alone - he longed for the days when humans were still mostly oblivious and he could pretend to be normal for the most part. Oh, but they were so fun to watch. Massive amounts of fun, hours of endless entertainment; they were so unique.. so fragile.. so damned stubborn. He adored them. The way one adores a sore tooth.
Standing, he snuffed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, kicking the boots off and shucking off his t-shirt. Crossing to the apartment's door; he unlocked it and swung it open - preparation for that to come - and carefully removed and folded his jeans and underwear. Stepping to the edge of the door, he glanced out into the hallway and surveyed the layout - most were asleep or not yet home - safe running. Ichabod closed his eyes. He could feel it in his bones already, lengthening, strengthening, stretching and tearing. Snaps, crackles and hideous popping noises erupted from beneath his skin as he dropped to all fours, his back distorting into a wicked, razor like hunch before smoothing out, face elongating and growing fur. Within moments, the morph was complete. A pained, troubled howl tore out of his throat before he could help it and he backed into the hallway; the large cinnamon wolf that once was Ichabod grabbing the tie hanging from the doorknob and jerking the apartment door shut behind him.
Time for a romp.. time for a hunt.
†Let's talk about you:†
Name: Janny
Other Characters: none
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