about Fallon
R E B E L L I O N I S D U T Y
[+] Enthusiastic, Brave, Brave, Spirited, Strong-willed, dedicated, meticulous, (often) just.
[–] Smug, haughty, headstrong, indirect.
Fallon is a relatively small. Her skin is light and she has freckling over her face & body. Her hair is white, cut to upper collarbone length, and hangs relatively straight. Her eyes are a middle shade pink.
Fallon wears a sleeveless, medium-grey hood that covers her body as a kind of dress, ending at her upper thigh. On one thigh, she wears a series of buckles and straps. On both legs she wears knee-high black stockings and black combat boots. Frequently she can be found having wrapped her knuckles in a grey or black toned fabric, and other times she will lace a similar wrapping up to her elbow.
Her weapon of choice is a scythe. The blade itself is a dark metal, and inlaid with bronze and copper decor. This weapon has the ability to fold and be stored in a sheath that hangs at the back of her thighs horizontally.
Relative Stats: [compared to average human: 5]
Intellect: 7.5
Memory: 6
Strength (physical): 5
Strength (mental): 7
Speed: 7
Stamina: 6
Charm: 2?
Magic: 6
Weaponry: 8
Fucks Given: 2
Grim Reaper? I like that, thank you~
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Post by Fallon on Feb 12, 2017 0:34:00 GMT
 [attr="class","les"] ―purpose―
(n). the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. The cacaphony of the tavern was deafening, and Fallon loved it. The clinking of glasses, the roaring murmmer of conversations so overlaid with each other that one could never hope to single out just one to eavesdrop, the occasional shout that rose above the others as the serving girl was beckoned- then there was the laughter. It wasn't wholesome laughter, but it was heartier than hell. She lived for these places, places where people were just people. Fallon have a pleased little squeak at her own thoughts, and rose from the table where she had sat alone. Within moments she had shimmied up to the bar and was making friendly conversation with the barkeep who had grown to know her well. She chuckled, "Got anything fun for me today?" With an excited expression and a vague wave to hold on, he quickly moved off to a back room. As she waited, she tapped her fingers on the bar table, humming some song she had heard at the dance hall she had come from. The show had been entertaining, and just her style. It featured a number of elegantly dressed dancers, in black, leaping and twirling around to a somber version of a hymn. Black and ballerinas. Fallon loved elegant things, not that she had ever been overly elegant herself. She was a little too excitable and tended to rush and throw around what little weight she had. "Shut up, will ya?!" a voice beside her suddenly blasted in her ear. her pleased expression was dropped suddenly into a snarky glare. "What'd they put in your fucking ale? Geez. I can barely hear my own voice. Back off" The man returned her glare in kind. "I said..Shut. Up." A growl formed in Fallon's throat then. One thing was to be said for her, she might be friendly for many people, but her temper was easily triggered. Her words were spat like venom, "And I said Back. Off." You. Old. Smelly. Stupid. Lard."Probably not the best thing to say as within an instant she was being thrown to the floor. Woah. Fuck. He was taller than she thought. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh Fuck. Her hand grasped his arm. She imagined she was probably yelling a number of slurs and curses, but, that was normal enough that it was not conscious. "Say that again, bitch." the hulk of a man spat, quite literally, into her face. Because Fallon is clearly twelve, she spat right back, only, not for the purpose of saying anything. It took exactly one second while the man was wiping his face for Fallon to truly regret her decision. His fist raised and Fallon retaliated with a nice bunch of nails to his face. The rest of the world didn't melt away around her or anything like that. In fact, she was desperately aware of everyone else in the room. All she needed was to step on someone's toe and then have two massive men ready to beat her. She reached for her scythe, but there wasn't any time. Even while she was being dragged across towards the man, stumbling, she made desperate grasps for a glass on the bar. Shit. Shit. Shit. Her hand got ahold of the glass, even as he yanked back her hair. How dare he. This hair was well cared for. Fuck him. The glass made contact with his shoulder. Not exactly where she was aiming, but oh well. Her breath was forced out of her as she was then shoved, chest first into the bar, her arms pinned behind her. She snarled, followed by some comment that probably wasn't helping her case any. "Hah. Be careful, some girls are into this kind of thing." Her following snicker was cut off by her face being acquainted with the bar top. Ack![newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar]width:2px;background-color: #000;[/newclass][newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width: 2px; background-color: #a0bad8;[/newclass] |
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about Relin Basileus
Relin is a 35 year old male lycan that works as a Council Member for the Government.
He is seven feet and four inches [224 centimeters] tall, weighing four hundred pounds [182 kilograms]. His fur is solid black and his eyes are amber with crimson specks.
[+] Determined, Loyal, Courageous, Level-Headed, Protective, Ambitious
[-] Impulsive, Vengeful, Controlling, Possessive, Untrustworthy
A wolf does not concern himself over the opinion of sheep.
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Post by Relin Basileus on Feb 12, 2017 8:32:54 GMT
▼ you can't throw me to the wolves
THEY COME WHEN I CALL This is why he hated the city. Relin didn't hate things without reason, especially the place he lived, but the smell was repulsive. However, buried under the scent of garbage, vomit, and body odor, the alluring call of food and alcohol beckoned him. Despite his hatred for the location, it was one place for the lycan to go without fear of being recognized. To accompany the cover of the busy streets, Relin wore the cheapest clothing he could find, making him look like any other seven and a half feet tall resident of the city. Quickly reminding himself of what he was doing in the streets, Relin picked up the pace. Being the largest benefactor to The Order was certainly something he couldn't share with the public, nor could he risk being seen with any of its members. Which he was about to go do. In the very crowded tavern he was swiftly approaching. The canine readjusted the large trench coat he wore over his bland attire to cover himself up more before he pressed his hand against the door to swing it open. The sight before Relin was one to behold. It wasn't the first bar fight he had ever seen, but the poor state in which the woman was in and her compromised position was something he could easily pity. He drifted off to one side of the growing crowd and stood beside the wall, trying desperately to disappear while he took in the tavern's setting. The majority of the people within the building had congregated to the center to watch the fight. Relin silently thanked the gods for the distraction while he searched the crowd for the Disciple he was sent to meet with. No luck, however, as he noted that they hadn't arrived yet. 'Late? Disappointing...' The wolf snarled to himself, dreading the need to wait longer before he could leave. The abrupt sound of the woman in the fight being thrown into the bar drew the canine's attention back. Relin's fiery gaze shot down to the attacker who quickly silenced something the blonde had said by shoving her face into the bar's counter. He couldn't decide if he should stop the fight before the woman was beaten to death, or if he enjoyed watching the violence. It wasn't until he noticed a shine from the man's unoccupied hand that he made his decision. Too slow... Relin pushed through the crowd which determinedly pushed back at him, giving the woman's attacker just enough time to plunge the blade into her lower back. The wolf lunged at the man, claws digging into his shoulder before launching him into the crowd. With a snarl pulling his lips back, a dangerous growl was thrown in the direction that the man was sent. It was quickly silenced upon seeing him take a maddened swing with the dagger in the direction of the closest creature to him, a white lycan. Coming to the conclusion that the wolf could handle herself, he turned his attention back to the human. "Are you okay?" Relin's deep voice spoke loud enough for only the woman to hear, almost gentle if it didn't still carry the tinge of a growl from attacking the male. He bent over and offered a callused hand to the human, wanting to help her up. Fallon
Excuse the shittiness, please. |
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Post by Talania Brelin on Feb 12, 2017 8:58:57 GMT
 Silence is true wisdom's best reply
The night was alive, not uncommon for the working district of Pyre. People were still bustling about, some of them stumbling on weak legs, their breath rancid with drink. At this time of the evening, taverns gained the most customers, and it was where Tala liked to go looking for clients of her own. In fact, she had just left a pub, one of the classiest in town. She had gained work, and it had put her in a rather good mood.
In the moonlight, her pale fur shone almost silver, and her fiery eyes glowed in the darkening shadows. This day, Tala had gone without her usual cape, as the heat had been unbearable for her. But because some people found it odd that a Lycan not wear clothing, she had donned a light blue sleeveless shirt paired with her usual skirt. A long, thick tail swung behind her, sparkling jewels woven into the soft strands of fur. Her wild mane was free from its ties, and framed her lean face in luscious curls. A curvy body swayed as it moved along the cobbled streets, large paws picking the cleanest path to take.
Pricked ears swiveled back and forth, picking up random conversations and whispers that she wasn't supposed to hear. Couples headed to the red light district, gangsters discussing their next hits, and black market sales. If she had cared enough, maybe she would have stopped them. Snorting, the female Lycan halted to study her surroundings. The smell of food permeated the air, overpowering even the scent of bile and filth. Warm light poured out from open windows, carrying with it the sweet tinge of mead. Alcohol, perfect. Despite having just left a tavern, the female hadn't had anything to drink that night, and her brain pulled her in the direction of the bar's welcoming door. It was a losing battle. Giving in to her desires, the canine hurried up the cold steps, her mouth salivating at the thought of filling her stomach and quenching her thirst.
As she stepped inside, the screams and shouts of men and women alike assaulted her ears. There was no laughter, only growls and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Curses filled the air, ringing across the room and overpowering the din. Pushing her way past the crowd, Tala managed to get a glimpse of the fight. A large man, much bigger than his opponent, had the girl laid out on the floor. He loomed over her, obviously enjoying the sight of her weakened. A snarl resounded out of Tala's muzzle, her fangs bared as she rushed to help. She wasn't going to let some bastard assault someone that was obviously weaker than him. Suddenly, a crack could be heard. It was the sound of the girl's head slamming into the wooden bar. There was a flash of silver, and then a pained moan as blade sunk into skin and muscle. Before anyone could react, a powerful growl filled the room, and the attacker was thrown backwards. Right into her arms.
Fire and rage pumped through the wolf's blood, and luckily enough she managed to dodge his frenzied lashes. Not even thinking, the white lycan sank her teeth into the flesh of his arm. It was an instinctual reaction, but that didn't mean it would be understood. Blood filled her mouth, staining her tongue with a metallic taste. Hurriedly releasing him from her bite, Tala wrapped a hand around his beefy neck, momentarily cutting off the blood flow to his brain. With a roar that caused the crowd to step back, she slammed his body into a nearby wall, easily knocking him unconscious. Well, it wasn't what she had expected, but it had certainly got her adrenaline going. Shaking off the high, she turned, pushing her way over to the girl.
Notes go here! template by Margie @ Adoxography v2
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about Fallon
R E B E L L I O N I S D U T Y
[+] Enthusiastic, Brave, Brave, Spirited, Strong-willed, dedicated, meticulous, (often) just.
[–] Smug, haughty, headstrong, indirect.
Fallon is a relatively small. Her skin is light and she has freckling over her face & body. Her hair is white, cut to upper collarbone length, and hangs relatively straight. Her eyes are a middle shade pink.
Fallon wears a sleeveless, medium-grey hood that covers her body as a kind of dress, ending at her upper thigh. On one thigh, she wears a series of buckles and straps. On both legs she wears knee-high black stockings and black combat boots. Frequently she can be found having wrapped her knuckles in a grey or black toned fabric, and other times she will lace a similar wrapping up to her elbow.
Her weapon of choice is a scythe. The blade itself is a dark metal, and inlaid with bronze and copper decor. This weapon has the ability to fold and be stored in a sheath that hangs at the back of her thighs horizontally.
Relative Stats: [compared to average human: 5]
Intellect: 7.5
Memory: 6
Strength (physical): 5
Strength (mental): 7
Speed: 7
Stamina: 6
Charm: 2?
Magic: 6
Weaponry: 8
Fucks Given: 2
Grim Reaper? I like that, thank you~
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Post by Fallon on Feb 12, 2017 9:28:49 GMT
[attr="class","les"] ―purpose―
(n). the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. Hot breath bore down upon her neck as Fallon was pressed harder into the counter. She was dazed, skulls and bar tops did not mix. The alcohol she had consumed prior to this was not aiding her situation any. She felt the grip around her arm tighten; something was wrong, more wrong than usual. It only took a moment before she figured out just exactly what was wrong-a knife found itself sheathed in her lower back. Her teeth were bared and tightened in a pained expression accompanied by a shocked moan. This was the point where she realized that escape would be a good option. For some reason unknown to Fallon, the man's grip became loose as he seemed to back off. She took her chance, wildly turning and ducking away. With a step between her and her attacker, her vision someone warped by alcohol and dimmed by what was likely a concussion, she made a final swing at the man's face. Fur. Fur? Last she checked humans did not feel this furry. Fallon staggered back and slumped into a crouch on the ground. She rubbed her eyes with some annoyance before peering up at the thing she had hit. A massive a dark figure stood before her. A lycan? Her voice was notably slurred and clearly hindered by the heavy breathing caused from fighting. "Ah- thanks, or whatever..sorry. Ow..did he stab me? What an asshole. Ow!" She tried to reach her arm behind but the contorting of her body only made a sharp pain shock her. She hissed. It was then she noted another huge creature. Another lycan, but white. "You too- thanks." Her eyes looked at the bloodspatter on the white wolf's fur. "You're pretty." Fallon gave the woman a quick smile, almost fox like, as if to say, Guess I can't really fight my own battles when I pick them like this, huh?Being the stubborn thing she was, Fallon made a futile attempt to raise on her own without the help of the hand that was offered by the male lycan. Intoxication got the best of her and she squatted down again. "Fuck me." Begrudgingly she took the hand and hauled herself up, promptly finding the nearest seat and placing herself into it. She removed one of the wraps from her hand and shoved it into a ball in her fist, then forced pressure onto the luckily shallow wound at her back. "Fucking stabbed me? I didn't stab you, asshole...though. I mean, I would have so-- that's not a good argument.."Fallon rocked back in her chair, tiling her head to the ceiling and inhaling a deep breath. Ughhh... It was just then she caught sight of the barkeep. She tossed him a smug smile. He did not seem too pleased with her antics, but she had only broken one glass compared to the tabled and chairs that had occasionally been broken in brawls before, so, she thought he would forgive this one particular adventure. Fallon tapped the table with her fingers, "So, who might you two be?"[newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar]width:2px;background-color: #000;[/newclass][newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width: 2px; background-color: #a0bad8;[/newclass] |
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about Relin Basileus
Relin is a 35 year old male lycan that works as a Council Member for the Government.
He is seven feet and four inches [224 centimeters] tall, weighing four hundred pounds [182 kilograms]. His fur is solid black and his eyes are amber with crimson specks.
[+] Determined, Loyal, Courageous, Level-Headed, Protective, Ambitious
[-] Impulsive, Vengeful, Controlling, Possessive, Untrustworthy
A wolf does not concern himself over the opinion of sheep.
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Post by Relin Basileus on Feb 12, 2017 9:57:21 GMT
▼ you can't throw me to the wolves
THEY COME WHEN I CALL Thwack! A solid blow landed on Relin's nose, causing him to reel in pain. 'Why the nose?' The hand previously held out to help the human before him rubbed the soft spot on his face for a moment, the sharp pain overpowering the loud slam behind him. He quickly returned his hand to help her up. There was no point in retaliating, she was already injured. Relin watched the woman struggle to help herself when his attention was brought over to the white female whom he had tossed the large human at. Her ivory fur was stained with the crimson from within the man's arm, an interesting sight, almost beautiful. He locked eyes with the female for a moment, but the human's voice instinctively pulled his muzzle in its direction. One from a roaring audience was difficult to pick out, and missed what she'd said. Focusing more once the blonde finally used his hand, Relin chuckled quietly at her complaints. Bringing his hands into his pockets, he decided to sit down in a chair at the table the woman moved to. If his sudden appearance wasn't enough to draw attention to him, standing two feet over the tallest being in the bar wasn't going to help. He watched the human for a moment, eyeing her movements and taking in her appearance. Nothing fancy, but she did seem familiar. Disregarding the nagging feeling that he should know her, Relin decided to speak again, his voice much friendlier than it had been while the adrenaline of the fight put an edge in his tone. The rough voice replied, "My name is Re-- uhh, Ray. I'm just a passerby, thought I'd pop in for a meal." Considering he was still trying to stay hidden from the civilians in the tavern, he took on an alias and a more casual demeanor than his own. 'Best to keep from telling anybody here. The Disciple still hasn't arrived...'
short shit.
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Post by Talania Brelin on Feb 12, 2017 10:24:08 GMT
Silence is true wisdom's best reply
Once the fight was over, everyone quickly became disinterested in the beaten women, choosing to go over to the unconscious man instead. As she approached, Tala was finally able to see whom had hurled the weapon wielding man in her direction. It was a huge male lycan, his black fur parted with scars in some places. Quite handsome, though she managed to focus on the injured girl instead. The male's hand was outstretched, waiting patiently to help the blonde to her feet, but a sharp whack to the nose changed that momentarily. It was clear that the woman was inebriated, that combined with her head injuries made Tala worry for her. A frown pulled at the female's muzzle. Staying silent, the white lycan quickly sniffed at the girl's body, smelling for any sign of other injuries. There was a knife wound to her back, but it was shallow and would heal rather quickly, if not painfully.
Raising her head, Tala locked eyes with the huge brute, and for a second her breathing stopped and her heart quickened. Blushing at her reaction, she looked away, trying her best to forget what had just happened. She hadn't seen a male of her kind in quite awhile, and this one seemed... different. Slurred words left the blonde's mouth, most of them drowned out by the noise of the pub. She did catch some though, and was surprised at the comment to her beauty. Humans didn't usually appreciate the aesthetics of creatures such as she. Thoroughly flattered, but concealing it beneath a veil of carefully practiced calm, Tala followed the pair to a table. Complaints flowed out of the human's mouth, calming the unease Tala felt.
"You should be more careful picking fights." She reprimanded, her voice stern but gentle. If this girl had family, then they didn't need the extra panic that would ensue when she returned home bloodied and bruised. Sighing, Tala scooted closer, holding out her hand.
"Here, let me clean it for you." The words were kind, almost soothing, as she gestured to the still bleeding wound. Without proper medical care, it might become infected. But not if it was cleaned, there was no telling what had been on that man's knife. Muzzle wrinkling in disgust, Tala's attention was brought to the black lycan, his deep voice tickling her senses. She heard the hitch in his voice when he said his name, and she couldn't help but raise a disbelieving eyebrow in his direction.
Notes go here! template by Margie @ Adoxography v2
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about Fallon
R E B E L L I O N I S D U T Y
[+] Enthusiastic, Brave, Brave, Spirited, Strong-willed, dedicated, meticulous, (often) just.
[–] Smug, haughty, headstrong, indirect.
Fallon is a relatively small. Her skin is light and she has freckling over her face & body. Her hair is white, cut to upper collarbone length, and hangs relatively straight. Her eyes are a middle shade pink.
Fallon wears a sleeveless, medium-grey hood that covers her body as a kind of dress, ending at her upper thigh. On one thigh, she wears a series of buckles and straps. On both legs she wears knee-high black stockings and black combat boots. Frequently she can be found having wrapped her knuckles in a grey or black toned fabric, and other times she will lace a similar wrapping up to her elbow.
Her weapon of choice is a scythe. The blade itself is a dark metal, and inlaid with bronze and copper decor. This weapon has the ability to fold and be stored in a sheath that hangs at the back of her thighs horizontally.
Relative Stats: [compared to average human: 5]
Intellect: 7.5
Memory: 6
Strength (physical): 5
Strength (mental): 7
Speed: 7
Stamina: 6
Charm: 2?
Magic: 6
Weaponry: 8
Fucks Given: 2
Grim Reaper? I like that, thank you~
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Post by Fallon on Feb 12, 2017 19:16:35 GMT
[attr="class","les"]―purpose―
(n). the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. Fallon chuckled, "Ray, huh?" her pink eyes scanned the man as if she was looking for something, "You don't look like a Ray." Her lips pursed in thought, but she wasn't particularly bothered by this stammer when giving his name. After all, what would she say, 'Hi, I'm Altaira Carpetian, otherwise known as Soren's daughter and a noble.'? No, she would not.
Her voice rose a little bit out of her daze, "Fallon. Pleasure." Her smile was genuine even if it almost always tended towards a smirk. On the table, her finger traced the few designs here left by years of patrons. With a sigh, she shifted her weight forwards, resting her elbows now on the tabletop. "I haven't need help in a long while; guess that last drink was one too many." She chuckled a bit. She really could usually hold her liquor, and thus blamed most of her symptoms on the bashing she got.
When the female lycan looked at the male, there was a fun bit if interest there that amused Fallon enough to stifle a smirk. It only lasted a moment before she perked up at the woman's words. "If I were careful picking fights, I'd never get to pick fights." Fallon gestured to her small stature. However, even with her height, she was well muscled. Anyone with a brain could put together that she probably wasn't some housemaid; well, that and the fact that she was carrying a sheathed weapon.
When the lycan neared her with the intent to clean her wound, there was no complaint from Fallon. She was familiar to this situation, and had the lycan not done it, she would have simply scampered off the the doctor that the gang brought each other to-he knew how to keep his mouth shut, and Fallon thought he was pretty nice to boot. "Thanks, that would've been a bitch to do myself."
As the lycan aided, Fallon took to talking. "So, I know why I was here, what were you two doing. No offense but, you're not the type we usually get in here, and you are a great degree better put together." She tilted her head, "Hmmn?"
That was the best hint that Fallon would give. The man's clothes were cheap, but they weren't that cheap. And the woman, well, under the bloodspatter it was clear that she was well taken care of herself. This tavern was one frequented by the lowest drunk scum alive, which, due to the fact that the usual patrons were too drunk to ever remember their excursions here, made this tavern a haven for criminal doings as well. Fallon was guessing the latter for the man, but the woman, she didn't seem too befitting to either category.
Not to weight down the conversation, Fallon gave a shrug, the casual gesture that said, don't worry I am not going to make you tell me your life story here. Perhaps as a kind of gesture of solidarity, Fallon gave her's, "I was here because that man," she pointed to the barkeep, "That man is a saint and he knows how to serve- plus, there had supposed to have been a little gathering here, but, seems they changed their minds- not uncommon." [newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar]width:2px;background-color: #000;[/newclass][newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width: 2px; background-color: #a0bad8;[/newclass] |
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about Relin Basileus
Relin is a 35 year old male lycan that works as a Council Member for the Government.
He is seven feet and four inches [224 centimeters] tall, weighing four hundred pounds [182 kilograms]. His fur is solid black and his eyes are amber with crimson specks.
[+] Determined, Loyal, Courageous, Level-Headed, Protective, Ambitious
[-] Impulsive, Vengeful, Controlling, Possessive, Untrustworthy
A wolf does not concern himself over the opinion of sheep.
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Post by Relin Basileus on Feb 12, 2017 20:12:09 GMT
▼ you can't throw me to the wolves
THEY COME WHEN I CALL Relin's eyes narrowed at the woman's words. What could that have meant, "You don't look like a Ray." He scoffed to himself, the name wasn't entirely a lie, it was simply a different spelling of his childhood nickname. The canine rolled his eyes before allowing them to settle back on the two females sitting in front of him. Ears erect and expecting more, he was pleased to have the conversation continued. The wolf cared little for what the human's name was, names could be lies or completely irrelevant. However, he was glad to have something to refer to her as besides "the human." Relin continued watching as the lycan female busied herself with the huma- Fallon's wounds. He couldn't help but be impressed by her skills in both combat and the medical field. Relin noticed that his gaze had probably lingered for too long and swiftly shifted his sights to the words coming from the woman's lips once more. They were unsettling to say the least. Panicked thoughts sent the male's mind into turmoil while his trained expression gave no hint to it, only a barely noticeable change in his breath betrayed his unease. "As I said, I'm just passin' though." The husky voice spoke up in his uncharacteristically laid back tone. Despite the uncomfortable position it put Relin in, he was curious to know the answer for the lycan who disposed of the human male from earlier. Perhaps he'd seen her somewhere as well...
boy, am i tired...
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Post by Talania Brelin on Feb 12, 2017 23:01:30 GMT
Silence is true wisdom's best reply
"Well, if everyone is introducing themselves, my name is Tala." That was all she said, not wanting to give away too much of her personal information. Delving into her pockets, she pulled out a long string of silk. Breaking it into a shorter length with her teeth, the white furred she-wolf raised one hand, the sharp claws on the end gleaming in the low light. Grabbing an abandoned drink from the table, she dunked the sharp talons into the rippling golden liquid. Without much thought, Tala shook the excess droplets from her paw before beginning to gently push holes into the skin beside the stab wound. She didn't go too deep, only enough to get the string through to the other side. Blazing golden eyes focused intently on her work, barely hearing the conversation going on. Tying one end of the silk to her claw, she began to pull the edges of the shallow pit together. It didn't take her long to finish, the end result a clean suture.
"That should hold until you get to the doctor." Lucky for Fallon, Tala's days in the enforcers had taught her many things. Medical knowledge included. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up, only to see Ray look away. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, but she managed to keep it locked inside. Sitting back in her seat, long legs were crossed, and her tail swayed back and forth gracefully. A golden gaze landed on the blonde, the depths taking on an exasperated but amused expression.
"Perhaps getting into a fight before having a drink would be best. After all, a clear head allows for a better chance at winning." Not to say that the white wolf had never gotten into a bar fight, but that had been years ago, when her personality was more insecure and abrasive. Pushing back the memories, Tala returned her focus to the conversation. Ray's answer to the girl's question was shaky at best, but prying wasn't her job. If he wanted to keep his personal life a secret, then that was his choice.
Blood had begun to mat her fur, causing the usually pearly tresses to stick together and become uncomfortable. As a barmaid passed, Tala made it a point to steal the wet rag from her serving tray, giving the woman an apologetic smile before beginning to clean herself.
"I came to eat and drink. It's been a rather long day for me." The words were ripe with exhaustion. Once her fur was clean, the bloody rag was thrown onto the table. Without the blood spatter, her features could be seen more clearly. Slanted eyes fringed by long, thick lashes peered out from a lean face. Her fur seemed soft, the wisps of ivory curling down at her cheeks, creating a sort of cloud-like fluff on both sides of her face. That paired with her wild mane of white curls, made her dangerous beauty impossible to deny.
Sorry, tis short and shitty
template by Margie @ Adoxography v2
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about Fallon
R E B E L L I O N I S D U T Y
[+] Enthusiastic, Brave, Brave, Spirited, Strong-willed, dedicated, meticulous, (often) just.
[–] Smug, haughty, headstrong, indirect.
Fallon is a relatively small. Her skin is light and she has freckling over her face & body. Her hair is white, cut to upper collarbone length, and hangs relatively straight. Her eyes are a middle shade pink.
Fallon wears a sleeveless, medium-grey hood that covers her body as a kind of dress, ending at her upper thigh. On one thigh, she wears a series of buckles and straps. On both legs she wears knee-high black stockings and black combat boots. Frequently she can be found having wrapped her knuckles in a grey or black toned fabric, and other times she will lace a similar wrapping up to her elbow.
Her weapon of choice is a scythe. The blade itself is a dark metal, and inlaid with bronze and copper decor. This weapon has the ability to fold and be stored in a sheath that hangs at the back of her thighs horizontally.
Relative Stats: [compared to average human: 5]
Intellect: 7.5
Memory: 6
Strength (physical): 5
Strength (mental): 7
Speed: 7
Stamina: 6
Charm: 2?
Magic: 6
Weaponry: 8
Fucks Given: 2
Grim Reaper? I like that, thank you~
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Post by Fallon on Feb 13, 2017 16:19:28 GMT
[attr="class","les"]―purpose―
(n). the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. Well, at least the two were going along with her chatter. It'd been awkward otherwise. Though, she got the sense from the male that he was leaving out a few critical details. "Ah."The female who'd spoken became Fallon's focus then. "Pretty name too." As she said that, Fallon winced. She was used to the healing process, but it wasn't something one's body just stopped reacting too. if it were, Fallon would be a god of feeling nothing by now.Her dark brows furrowed in thought as she scrutinized both the situation and her newfound conversation partners. She figured it was easiest to carry conversation a little longer, but, she knew well enough there would come a point where it really was necessary she leave- that is, unless she wanted a particularly fun infection later on."That's too bad your day's been rough. Life's rough like that. But, hey, on the bright side, day's keep a' comin'" Fallon knew better than to pry, no matter how curious. Had these people not helped her, she might've.[Shit post is shit. Deal with it.] [newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar]width:2px;background-color: #000;[/newclass][newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width: 2px; background-color: #a0bad8;[/newclass] |
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about Fallon
R E B E L L I O N I S D U T Y
[+] Enthusiastic, Brave, Brave, Spirited, Strong-willed, dedicated, meticulous, (often) just.
[–] Smug, haughty, headstrong, indirect.
Fallon is a relatively small. Her skin is light and she has freckling over her face & body. Her hair is white, cut to upper collarbone length, and hangs relatively straight. Her eyes are a middle shade pink.
Fallon wears a sleeveless, medium-grey hood that covers her body as a kind of dress, ending at her upper thigh. On one thigh, she wears a series of buckles and straps. On both legs she wears knee-high black stockings and black combat boots. Frequently she can be found having wrapped her knuckles in a grey or black toned fabric, and other times she will lace a similar wrapping up to her elbow.
Her weapon of choice is a scythe. The blade itself is a dark metal, and inlaid with bronze and copper decor. This weapon has the ability to fold and be stored in a sheath that hangs at the back of her thighs horizontally.
Relative Stats: [compared to average human: 5]
Intellect: 7.5
Memory: 6
Strength (physical): 5
Strength (mental): 7
Speed: 7
Stamina: 6
Charm: 2?
Magic: 6
Weaponry: 8
Fucks Given: 2
Grim Reaper? I like that, thank you~
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Post by Fallon on Feb 18, 2017 16:00:18 GMT
[attr="class","les"]―purpose―
(n). the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. -exit Fallon- The bruises were just starting to appear purple against her ivory skin, when she rose from the table. "Pleasure talking to you all, but I think I should go find a doctor about now." Fallon made a flailing movement with her arms, clearly in a mocking gesture, "Oh no, the girl with no sense thinks she needs a doctor now???" She answered herself. "Yes. I know. But despite what this little adventure might say, I do actually have a brain in this pretty little head of mine." Her smile was cute and genuine as she bowed in a dramatic fashion two the two lycans. "Au revoir"
Her footsteps were brisk, but a bit stiff as she exited the tavern, turning at the entrance and heading down the street towards the gang territory where her healer resided. [newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar]width:2px;background-color: #000;[/newclass][newclass=.les::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]width: 2px; background-color: #a0bad8;[/newclass] |
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