Posts by LOU

dictative eyes followed ransompaw and then settled on ignacio. had she not met him before? he recalled so, but it might have been a figment of her imagination.

the femme let ransom speak first, her expression a little blank. she was no fan of family drama, and was, quite frankly, tired of her own.[fancypost=background:#COLORHERE;height:1px;padding:0;width:450px;]

BASIC INFO

NAME: Lou

FORMER NAMES: Louise ( Does not go by this anymore. )

SURNAMES: Wolfgang-Kagamine-Pendragon-Harbringer-Pinecliff-Grimm-Nostri Maris

NICKNAMES: Lou-Lou ( Don't call her this if you want to live )

ALIASES: Sweetbriar Rose ( Mafia alias )

GENDER: Cisgender Female ( Exhibits genderfluid tendencies at times )

PRONOUNS: She, Her or They, Them

RANKS: n/a

FORMER RANKS: Member, Duskguard, Nightwatcher, Darkseeker (Shadow Veil), Duskreacher (Shadowclan) Second Tier (Bloodclan), and Member (The Rift) ( Note: Some of these ranks do not exist now and/or mean different things ).

TITLES: Sociable, Followthrough, Trailblazer (Shadow Veil)

PHYSICAL AGE: Indeterminate ( Immortal, appearing around 12 months old )

MENTAL AGE: Adult ( 20-30 years old )

SPIRITUAL AGE: Adult ( Around 36 months old )

- She has a mild French accent, specifically Parisian French. Her words are linked, smooth, a gentle, elegant river despite her vulgarity. Her voice is feminine (leaning towards androgynous) and deep.

- Building on the last fact, she will often pepper and dash in French words. The most common are swear words and expletives.

- She is fluent in French, but rarely uses it. However, she is more than willing to teach it to others and often brags about it.

- During the rebuild, her demonic heritage and some of her powers were stripped from her. However, she still retained her "hellhound" body, fire elemental and "infinitum" (a form of shapeshifting / immortality).

-

PRIMARY | "HELLHOUND" | REF | [100%]

Lou is a creature that most resembles a wolf or a hound, in stature and physique, although her ears resemble a bat's more than a canine's. She has dark-grey, ashen fur with lighter extremities. She possesses horns that are blue with bordering purple, and her nails and fangs are also the same color. She has vibrant blue eyes.

ACCESSORIES:

- n/a

POWERS:

[60%] - Fire Elemental. She has mastered this. Her flames come in a bright sky's blue, with fringes of wildflower violet at the edges. It is extremely hot and destructive.

[30%] - Shapeshifting. She has mastered this. She has a special form of shapeshifting called "infinitum," granted by her mother. This ensures that she cannot truly die, for she will always reincarnate into another body. However, her bodies can still be killed, and she can still experience pain.

D&D ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral / Evil

MBTI: ESTP ( The Entrepreneur )

DEADLY SIN: Pride / Wrath

ENNEAGRAM: 4 ( The Individualist ) / 8 ( The Challenger )

A creature who cares naught except for herself. She is a vulgar person, spitting obscenities like spittling fire. She doesn't care for interpersonal relationships, due to her skewed view of life and her upbringing. She views mortals as fickle and inherently lesser than her due to her own immortality. This also applies to many other things: basically, she looks down upon those who do not think like her. She isn't able to form connections or sympathy with just about anyone. However, this lack of empathy actually makes her more efficient at whatever job she needs to do.

PARENTS: Sango x Finch x Chardonnay x Joseph x Cainsmark

SIBLINGS: Hugo, Davet, Rary Ket, Midas, Phosphene, Hypokrisis, Mara, Jessamine, Abxinthe, Azazel, Varian Jay, Legion, Makoto, Evren, Icarus, Adalyn, Marscee, Kingsley, Ringleader

CHILDREN:

FRIENDS:

ENEMIES:

APPRENTICE(S): Nautilus

OTHER RELATIONS: Calina A.R.K., Xia A.R.K., Finnegan A.R.K. (Half-siblings), innumerable amount of other relations and connections to families.

SEXUALITY: Pansexual

CRUSHES:

LOVERS:

- Physically Hard | Mentally Hard | Spiritually Medium | Emotionally Hard

- Will start fights if she feels like it. Will most likely not end fights, unless in special circumstances.

- Do not murder, kill, maim, or torture without my permission.

- Please mention this user to engage in battle!

- Always IC opinions

- Can power play benevolent actions

- Penned by tempest

- VOICE CLAIM(s): Erica Harlacher (as Kurapika from Hunter x Hunter (2011))

- FACECLAIM(s): Jeanne d'Arc (Avenger Alter) from the Fate series, Demon King Nobunaga (Avenger) from the Fate series, (Shiny) Houndoom from Pokemon, Judgment from Helltaker.

- AESTHETICS: Tanzanite blues, wildflower purples, ashen & cinder greys, burning blacks, raging wildfire, empyrean in flames, tumultuous evenings of violet and blue, idle cigarettes, 3 AM-spun decisions, polished knives, bared & snarling fangs, glimmering gemstones of sapphire and tanzanite, monochrome city exhaling smoke, devil's mask & telltale horns, freshly spilled blood, unlit night, aftermath of the blaze.

- She used to have the power of telekinesis, but it was lost in the earth to Agrelos transfer.

- She hates heavy metal and any adjacent genre. She prefers soft rock.

- PINTEREST

LOU | LONER | BIO

Two years slipped by since she first set foot on these shadowed lands.

Lou drank in the forest's air, dragging at it like fine wine. The cold breezes danced at the back of her throat, mingling and brushing against the smoke and brimstone that lie within her. They neither invited nor shunned her - simply, the wind watched, relaxed, and simply allowed. Her gaze scanned the forest in an almost predatorial way, a quick-whipped radar. Her eyes narrowed and constricted, with all the rimed cruelty of a serpent's. And her features would remain unmoving for moments more, an untouched land, free from disparity. I don't recognize this damn place at all - what the hell happened here? The forest her eyes set upon bristled itself with more pines like arrow pointing heaven's way, as if to stand up to the very heavens themselves. To her, it seemed appropriate, considering the very act of change a rebellion against her memory. The Shadowclan she lived beneath had its differences. It had the matted, unruly coat of a jungle's trees, with a humid summer's atmosphere to match the beast's hulking form. It lie tamed only by the creatures that dared to traverse it, under the reckoning of those that held it so. These trees just stood upwards, eerily silent and still. Stoic, like statues, looking onwards, onwards, onwards, until the horizon slipped behind the lines.

She let her soles rest upon the peaty ground, softened and beaten by the rain and dew. She took another step, and another, and another, almost hesitant and shuddering. With each motion, more and more pieces of her childhood started gravitate together, fallen fragments of childish naivety, despite her life thus far. And fragments they always were. Her memory never served her well, as her days blended together, living as if tomorrow would never grace her - as if tomorrows existed as something finite to her. Age had also lost itself to her, for she had no definite answer to such a question if it were to blossom. But she remembered a clan who stood upon pillars of scarred and marble skin, with crowns of thistle and ivory. A clan that carved their names into the flesh of all who dared incur their wrath, into all who knew them. A clan fearless and immovable, the bright stars dipping and painting and clawing their way onto the night's body. They fought their wars, and they won. But again, time had made its passage through all that the sun touched. Shadowclan couldn't have changed that much. But if I come back to a bunch of pissbaby wimps, I think I'd shit myself. That hypothetical would never see the daylight if Sango or any of her brood still lie on the throne. But it had been long, so, so long.

As if the borderline persisted as an invisible bastion, she halted at the edges of the territory. A rush of strong scent, of almost-mire and earthly tones, flooded her nostrils. Even as she huffed and gusted, the smell lingered on, and she found it almost putrid. Her cranium shook, a light movement, and a simple protest to new. Unfamiliar it was, in its veiled ways, its one-tone trees and nimbus fog almost mocking her. And yet, despite the it all, the land seemed to call Shadowclan, Shadowclan, home to wayward ghosts, whistling rhapsody between the branches. Two years can really do a number on you, huh. A snort punctuated that internal note, a quick period's end to her astuteness. And yet a certain sadness swept the area, a sort of emotion that she scorned and cast away with one swift cold shoulder. No, it was more than sadness - regret. The memories of revelation and power, thrones gilded and jeweled, a high of regality... Those sorts of raw emotion never passed easy. The memories of her parents and siblings, all bundled together, nestled in warmth and security, until they all unraveled, ribbons of blood leading onwards to an oblivion. They were they only living beings she could ever consider close to her, or care about. Despite their differences and her continual chastising of such, she did miss them. Where she had ventured, the clans existed as just a lofty dream, mists of wars and loyalty drudging far beneath her thoughts, like a lake unrippling. I hope at least one of them are still around. I wonder if they still remember me? She admitted, she was not a recognizable figure. ( It was better that way, anyhow. )

"Hey Shadowclan! It's not nice of you to keep a lady waiting!" She yelled, a sneer dipping at her tongue, sharp-edged as the hellhound's arched bite. Her voice boomed and crackled through the forest, roaring thunder slipping through the branches and foliage. She was a loud woman, commanding and strong, with iron fists and steel words. Though, a humorous sort of irony daggered itself even through the envenomed tone. She was barely a prim little princess sitting on top a high chair made of cupcakes and sprinkles. She possessed a body of a beastly hound, with fangs that reached outwards, daring anyone to get close enough to find out. Her horns sprouted upwards from her forehead, like twisted mountains of tanzanite. Her stature loomed above many, matching that of a dire wolf's - muscular and lean, smoothened and chiseled as if an ethereal creation. Most of what she did or said abetted to her own chaos, much like her "hellhound" status reputed itself for. Niceties and friendship, truly, wasted her time - her wants came over anyone else's, and that was how her world worked. Boredom would have overtaken everyone if people just played nice and sat still. Life had to be fun to be worthwhile. She would get her fun, at the expense of others or not, here or elsewhere.

LOU | SHADOW VEIL MEMBER | BIO

What is life if not to burn, if not to ravage? Life without destruction wroughts an ice unable to melt - or a fire unable to douse. To exist without the other half, to exist incomplete. She revels in her own destruction, the ashes shower and comfort her. The fire speaks more clarently than the wood it burns.

Many moons past, Shadow Veil accepted a creature it had inhabited before, under the same loose-threaded binding though not the same name nor home. Lou never imagined herself back, back to where she had bloomed and flourished under petals of brimstone. The life of a loner had grown upon her very bones like coiling English ivy, she knew there existed a world so expansive, oblivion beyond the horizon, and she wished naught to stay sedentary but to explore all the fruits it had to offer. And yet, her rest now lie in the presence of other Shadow Veilers - most of whom she saw no resemblance in, none of the savagery of the older days etched and scratched upon angel's soft flesh. She gravitated towards her home clan, and though she could barely recognize it, it seemed to beckon to her with the same rasping, calamitous voice she found in the eras of the jungle. A phantom she seemed, orbiting and walking amongst the newer generations - to be considered 'old' alienated her, perhaps as a ghost would. That didn't mean she would actually participate within the clan - her presence had not been felt when it came down to important discussions and such. She truly just found Shadow Veil to be a reliable place of rest, her own cozy little nest, twined with moss and pine needles and the archaic whittlings of home - it didn't feel the same without her immediate family, though perhaps she missed gazing upon her own reflection among her kin, those same wicked maws and twisting ram-horns. Drifting about like jetsam tired her, and though she still wandered away from Shadow Veil from time to time (a nomad's soul could never truly tie itself down, it would be as if asking a bird to soar nevermore), her heart yearned to stay here, among the too-straight, bristling pine trees. She couldn't leave, there existed a sort of duty, an obligation. She never wanted to - or perhaps she did? A stranger feeling than any of the hellfire brewing and whipping at her soul, sentiment and longing was.

But now, a pull, like the gravity of the starry sky to the star-struck spirit, towards the clan's activities and such, as if instinct. The same hoarse voice, as if a slow hearse of stinging memory, of the jungle whistled in her ears once more, dancing about the wind in only snatches and whispers. Such a drastic change compared what her mind deemed as home sent a numbing sadness like still waters rippling beneath her skin, and she couldn't truly accept it still - but she could take it, for now. Being an itinerant did bore her almost to the grave at times, traveling did wear down and sully her paws and fur. Never truly to the point of pure agony, screaming bloody murder, but she desired a change of gait. Perhaps old ambitions creeped up like grape vines upon a dilapidated fence, though ghostly and insignificant in nature, they bound her down nevertheless. The promises and dreams rang like an uncertain, slow bell's toll inside, the muddled memories like brackish water's rumination of days passed she always circled back to. A goal so enflamed and kindled, to become a good heir, a good successor of her own will - she realized quick that such ambition mattered not in the end, and the stroke of nihilism had found her easy, much easier than those well into the world. She shook those feelings off as if they were burrs and prickles on her pelt, she cared not to address them, to feed the fire. She cared not about such fleeting, arbitrary titles. At least she didn't believe she did - those aspirations damned themselves to her, and only refused to let go as time would march onward.

An open, yawning clearing scarring the shadowed pines would hold Lou's presence for the moment, the afternoon sunlight raining down to glitter upon her wildfire-ash greys and tanzanite horns. A knotted, gnarled stick lie in her paws, clasped around the rough-hewn edges. Her hands fumbled with it for heartbeats more, as if toying with prey, with her eyes following each startled yet predicted movement. And, with one azure-blue breath, the wood bathed upon flames of firmament, engulfing and swallowing whole. It resembled a torch, almost, with one end burning and spitting, a greedy mouthpiece of ignominy. The fire caught her gaze, grasping at her attention - she paid naught to anything around her. She shuffled the limb about as to not allow any sparks to drift onto the ground. They would wrought destruction to the entire pine forest with an infectious - to her, at least - glee. And yet she held and monitored the burning stick with an alertness and precision that had almost never occurred to such a beast of frenzy and spittle. She didn't care if this whole forest did drown itself upon blue fire as if the sky itself had terrorized the lands - it'd get a laugh out of her, for certain. She cared not for the creatures shrieking or the possible consequences to tail behind. To watch things burn gave her a sense of home, an anchor to an ever-changing world - it was a part of her that would never change. That sapphire-blue light, framed with a fading wildflower-purple, had been as emblematic to her as her entire identity.