What has come over me
What madness taken hold of my heart
player name/alias» Caligula
age» 22
contact info» YIM/AIM: cryinpoet; EMAIL: cryinpoet@gmail.com
other characters» none
The source of my recovery
Sweet shadow taking hold of the light
full name» Nix
nickname/alias» Atrata, Rat
birthdate» January 16, 1984
age» 24
occupation» street urchin
sexuality» pansexual
race» vampire
affiliation» rogue
born/converted» converted
For saving me from all they’ve taken
Letting my armor fall again
likes» dislikes»fears» - being alone (not in some romantic sense, but more the utter silence of being the only being in a given area);
- lycanthropes, vampires, dhampirs, and hunters;
- the frenzy for blood;
- hurting others; and
- disapproval.
habits»- always developing a new nervous tick (the current is picking at the hair of her left eyebrow);
- stares at people's lips as they speak;
- prone to picking up items and walking off with them;
- rambles in Latin; and
- often renames people she meets.
psychological description» Nix is, simply put, mad. The world around her is rarely the world she perceives. Her senses lie to her to the point that she can meet a person and not recognize them thirty seconds later. Her madness encases a fragile psyche often on the brink of collapse. Despite often putting her in great physical danger, her madness has saved her from having to deal with
skills/abilities» (everyone can do something; one nicely detailed paragraph at least; third person)
This self discovery
Redemption taking hold of my mind
play-by» Summer Phoenix
picture» (optional; no bigger than 500x300; try keeping it around avatar size (160x250) but as long as it’s no big than 500x300, it’s good)
physical description» (go all out on this but we require no less than two detailed paragraphs; third person!)
Dark maiden take ahold of my hand
Lead me away from hibernation
family» none known.
homeland» Muertan (found in Clairmont Park)
history»
She does not remember who converted her or why. Of the actual event, only the vaguest memories remain, filtered through layers of psychosis into a strange vision of darkness, cold, pain, and then the warm intoxication of her sire's blood. While some degree of madness rattled around in her brain before her becoming, it was only after that the madness overcame her completely. This leads, of course, to the logical conclusion that her conversion was fair from pleasant or consensual.
Stare into the night
Power beyond containing
other»
custom member title» Looking at the world through a maddening shroud
rp sample» Her pain and weeping had drawn him to her. It was difficult enough for him to resist a woman crying, but a prostitute, one of his favored flock? Well, he had to answer her call, even if she was not calling for him specifically. Thick tears made black by her heavy eye makeup left dark trails down the smooth curves of her face and dripped off the rounded tip of her chin. Her green eyes were already swollen and red from crying, but her left eye was noticeably more swollen and red than the other. The tell-tale purple of a bruise inverted the sunken socket and puffed the already heavy bag under it. What little clothing she was wearing was dirty, wet, and torn, and the pale skin of her legs and arms were scrapped and dark with the grime of concrete. Shivers rocked her thin frame, not so much from cold as there was none here, but more from emotion. She was the very picture of fragile beauty, and she had to do nothing more than sit there, look as she did, and long for some sort of miracle to summon up the young Olympian.
He assumed a mortal shape some distance away so that he could approach without startling her. His clothing was his typical attire—jeans, white tee, dark blazer, tennis shoes. Walking up to her, he paused a polite distance from her. As his shadow fell over her, she lifted her eyes, so haunting in her pain, and then dropped them again. She obviously expected him to keep walking, to go on to another girl offering her wares along that street, but when his shadow did not move, she looked up at him again. Her brows drew down and together to form the slightest crinkle of a frown up the center of her fair forehead. She said nothing, only continued to shiver there on the stoop. He took a step toward her, and she flinched back from him. "Not sellin' right now, man," she drawled, surprisingly surly. "Lots of other girls who can give you what you're lookin' fer." She jerked her head in the general direction indictating the rest of the street.
He crouched down and rested his weight on the balls of his feet, his thighs on his heels, his hands on his knees. From this angle, he was able to look up at her and she down at him. "No, they can't," he said simply. His blue eyes, dark with intensity, studied her face. "Who blackened your eye? The same asshole who busted your lip and ripped your clothes?"
She stared back, obviously unphased by his stare, and her expression dimmed to blank apathy. At his question, however, her eyes moved to the shadows beyond and away from him. Again, she said nothing. She wiped at her face with the backs of her hands. Doing so flashed him with scrapped palms and bruised wrists. Assholes, then. His stomach hardened at the thought. "No woman deserves to be taken advantage of," he told her with a slight edge to his words, "no matter what her profession happens to be."
She glanced back over to him and then away as the crinkle of a frown returned. "Whateva' you say, man. Ain't fishin' fer pity, so take it some wheres else."
"I have no pity for you, girl. You chose this line of work. For whatever reason. Couldn't have been a good one... never is. So, I only have the deepest respect of you." He paused and waited for her to look at him again. This time his gaze managed to snare hers for good. "There is a pain in you, beyond the obvious physical pain, but here you are—night after night—selling bits of yourself for another's pleasure. And why? Just so you can eat, have a place to rest your head, and keep trying to find some measure of happiness. There is nothing romantic or sexy about it. It's the facts—it's your life."
Still frowning, she glanced him over. "Just what're you playin' at?"
He shrugged. "Sorry. Not making much sense am I?" Grinning slightly, he settled back to sit on the ground. "Sometimes I just like to hear myself talk, I guess. I know you said you weren't selling, but maybe I could pay you to listen?"
She gave a soft grunt which was almost a chuckle. "Talk is cheap, man." But she paused, as if considering his offer, before shaking her head. "Got enough goin' on in my head without you addin' to it."
"That's fair enough. Think you could just one question for me, then?"
"Sure," she replied and then, without missing a beat, added, "and that was it."
His grin broadened to reveal his teeth as he chuckled, "Clever girl." In one swift motion, he leaped back to his feet. He reached into his back pocket to pull out a thick wallet and thumbed it open to tug out a stack of bills. "In that case, this will just have to do." He handed them out to her.
Her eyes flicked between the cash and his face a few times before finally settling on this face. "This some kind of sick joke?"
"No," he replied with a shake of his head, "this is only what it seems."
She snatched the bills from his hand, quickly folded them, and then tucked them into her bra. "Well... thanks, mister. I don't really understand why you're doing this, but thanks." Without waiting for his response, she stood and began to limp off as fast as she could.
Hermes smiled softly and waved at her back. With a soft sigh, he muttered, "Such a pretty thing..." He was reminded, only vaguely, of the last mortal woman he had taken as a lover. A beautiful Italian woman, older than the little one he had helped today, with the dark curls, deep brown eyes, and the perfect olive skin of the region, she was also a prostitute. She had been particularly dear to Hermes as she had given him a son, and he was still fond of visiting her whenever he found himself near the Elysian Fields. But that was nearly a century ago now that he had first bedded her. The young God considered taking another mortal lover for a moment... but then remembered how painful it had been to leave Gloria when his duties called him away, how it hurt when she died during his absence. No, not another lover. But, perhaps, a friend?
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he let his feet carry him out of the alley and back into the bustling street. His eyes scanned the crowds as he wandered, aimless. It was a good feeling. A warm grin curled his lips without his notice, and absently he began to whistle an old tune. As he took in the faces of those passing him, he quietly sang the words, "How does it feel—how does it feel to be without a home like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone?" An older business man caught his eye and frowned slightly at him. The young God only smiled brightly and nodded. For a moment, the man's expression softened, but then Hermes lost sight of him in the crowd. He paused there, with people swarming all around him, and closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath. Somewhere in this city, there was someone else who needed a friend, someone else who would appreciate a bit of company. He would just be patient and, eventually, stumble into them. He was sure of it. 
