Post by alvan on Jul 9, 2009 12:27:15 GMT -7
†Alvan-Gregory-Kimber†
†Al†
[/center]†General Information†
Full Name: Kimber, Alvan Gregory
Nicknames: Al
Gender: Male
Age: 89 Years
Age they appear: Late 20's
Race: Werewolf
Orentation: Heterosexual
Health Problems: Dissociative Disorder, Sociopath
†Personality†
Basic Personality: Everyone's new best friend, that's what Alvan is and always will be. His charisma is intoxicating and unavoidable, his toothy grin bearing resemblence to an eery charm that would make any homicidal clown blush. Alvan is intrigued by species behaivor, their mannerisms, body language, and modes of operation. If nothing else, he loves to just "people watch," in a sense. It's his insatiable need to get inside other's heads, to own their spirit and leave them twirling like ballerinas beneath a well manicured finger. Chatty, to say the least, he usually always has a question or five, and holds nothing against "personal issues." To him, everything his fair game, nothing is sacred or taboo. If he offends another, though it seems to be rare, it doesn't phase him nor does it discourage him from continuing a conversation. He rarely sways from a topic until he's satisfied with enough information and he has enough underhanded ways of getting it out of anyone. Alvan feels drawn to the adage - "some were born in the wrong century." As a result, he has a penchant for the late Victorian era and as such dresses in that manner. A self-taught tailor, he spends his free time mending clothese found in vintage clothing perveyors or stitching things together himself. Surprisingly, he loves small children and does quite well with them, however his intentions are one of the same for the reason he's everyone's best friend. Manipulation is the name of the game, and kids these days are increased suckers with each generation to follow.
Likes:
† ornate walking canes (all the better - sword canes)
† pocket watches
† little children
† hail
† rain drops on roses, whiskers on kittens
Hates:
† pay phones
† humidity
† television
† psychology majors
† alcohol
Talents:
† can sew just about anything
† unexplainable knack with children
† silver-tongued
† always a winner at crane games
† throws his voice
Habits:
† smokes more than a chimney
† working on his own time
† swaggers
† combs his hair frequently
† when bored, he occasionally starts tussles between strangers by throwing his voice around
†Appearance:†
Skin Color: Fair
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Build: Tall and slender
Piercing/Scars/Tattoos: Scars are evident and in wide selection
Choice of Clothing: Three-piece-something, of a late-Victorian taste
Wolf Appearance: Black and tan, piercing blue eyes the only reminder of his human form. He weighs in at a clean 200 pounds a lot of it is hair. He crests at roughly three and a half feet at the shoulder.
Other: His tail, long and low, is broken and crooked in three places, akin to a zigzag when noticed. Remnants of battles long passed.
†History:†
History: The get of a Russian were-sire and an uncooperative Russian mother, Alvan was the only one of her "litter" though suffice it to say she was nowhere near ready for motherhood. She abandoned him immediately at the point of birth, and was not seen nor heard from again. A passing vagrant heard something akin to a child screaming and an animal howling and upon following it for nearly an hour, by that time had come across the nude and oddly overly hairy infant that was apparently otherwise completely human. The vagrant was more concerned with monetary gain and having scooped the child up in a burlap sack, with the assistance of a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, the child was sold for a few hundred rubles (roughly twenty American dollars.) The buyer happened to be a charsimatic traveling salesman who saw the opportunity for a companion and sales partner and with his ability to sling ice to an eskimo, Alvan soon adopted these traits for his own. Coursing through the Russian countryside during one of the many police-state-militarized-lockdowns left Alvan's adopted father murdered sixteen years later at the hands of military police when he staggeringly and drunkenly insulted various females of their family for not allowing him to pass through a militarized zone. From there, Alvan took to the streets for himself and immediately following the death of his adopted father, the process of change took place and he soon found himself facing this daunting and painful transition on his own with no explanation as to why.
Mother/Father: Unknown Werewolf / Unknown Human
Siblings: None
Offspring: None
Other: N/A
†RP example:†
Massive pads coursed silently over the forest floor, a blur of black soaring amidst the trees as the oversized canine continued after its target. Nothing more than a small pack of bachelor bucks, but one would do if nothing else. Lengthy strides ate the ground beneath him and a surge of adrenaline swelled in his veins as a tiring buck lost his feet and staggered only momentarily. It was then and there that the beast leapt through the night air and collided with the smaller victim, both tumbling to the ground. It was merely seconds for the wolf to gather his senses and immediately he was upon his prey. Massive teeth tore through the soft flesh that encased the writhing buck's throat and blood immediately began to pour freely from the open wounds. For a short moment, the deer gasped and gurgled, kicking and flailing violently before the fluid ran dry and pooled around the two of them. Placing careful paws on the shoulders of his meal, the animal proceeded to devour his catch with insistent fervor, swallowing each warm bit just as he moved for the next. Once it was well clear the buck had moved from this life to the next, the giant aggressor leaned to almost lay on his meal as he settled in for the rest. A bit picky about his preferences, he made quick work of the shoulders and haunches, careful to not puncture the stomach for any foul-smelling acidic residual left in its guts.
Appetite now sated, the predator made slow, dragged steps away from the kill, savoring the feeling of a fully belly. A long, black tongue lapped around his jowels, slurping up any residue left as a souvenir. The scents of the town were drawing stronger and he knew he was nearing civilization again. A bright, nearly icy-white began darting around the tree-line until he found what he sought. A grove of thicket would suffice and taking refuge behind it, his head dropped to nearly his knees as his whole frame shuddered at the start of transition. Over the years, he had learned to stifle any painful wailing, for it truely was not a pleasant experience, but there was nothing to keep him from growling through it all. And growl he did, a rumble so based and gutteral, it would put most tracking hunters at a stand still for it was nothing natural to hear. Long, black coat began to fall away in patches at his feet as his pale skin emerged beneath it. His shoulders rolled back into one another, causing a painful cracking sound as the joints began to link together. The elongated and rounded muzzle slowly pushed back towards his face, though left a strikingly broad nose nonetheless. Within a few minutes, a nude and sweating male was posed in a braced position, hands and knees to the ground, halo'd by a ring of black and tan hair that piled around his body. He shuddered a moment, a chill breeze wrapping around his bare frame and sending his senses on high. He took a long, deep breath inward and held it, then exhaled slowly as he craned his neck around to let it crack where it needed.
Satisfied he had come to his senses, the now tall and naked individual found his feet. He stretched for a long moment, arms outstretched over his head as he stepped out in a few lunging motions to loosen his hamstrings and calves. It was then he spoke, but only to himself and muttered under his breath. "Ain't that a peach." Nothing else. Black hair tumbled down his shoulders and his long fingers reached up to sweep it back over his skull in something a bit more kempt. He then strode out from the edge of the trees, arms swaying at his side as he approached the town once more. He had only recently arrived in London and was intrigued to say the least. The journey had left him starved to say the least, and he made it his first perrogative to quell the aching hunger that drove him nearly mad on the trip over. His direction now slightly off, he wrinkled his nose as he looked around for something familiar. He was far from his clothes now, but had walked through towns naked well enough to be quite comfortable with the arrangement. The want for his clothes was not to cover up, but in actuality it was where he had left his recent pack of Sobraine cigarettes. He just ate, of course he wanted a smoke. And he seriously doubted London carried such a high-brand of Russian smoke, so he made it a point to pack as many cartons as a suitcase could hold.
Bare feet now hit pavement and soon he was gaining his bearings again. Unfortunately, tracking and chasing his lunch had now left him clear on the opposite side of town, and how many cabbies will pick up a naked passenger? Not many places to leave a cab fare when you have no pockets and the only natural pocket, well...no cabby would take money from that pocket. Nor would Alvan ever utilize it. So, he set down the main road and found a brisk pace that would lead him back to his hotel. Adjacent to the dwelling, he had left his clothes behind the dumpster of the corner bistro and with minimal risk of sighting, had made an obstacle course of the rooftops leading to the woods. Any imbedded prints on tin roofs, well...apologies would only go so far. Best to not bother with a note. Besides, it brought character to some of the more drab establishments.
†Let's talk about you:†
Name: Niczda
Other Characters: None (as of yet)
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