Eris London

Sheut Nation
  • Content count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

119 One of Our All Stars

1 Follower

About Eris London

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Olga Kurylenko
  • RACE
    Sheut (Khered)
  • JOB
    EAA Viceroy, Former DEA Special Agent-Aviations Div; Pilot
  • 'SHIP:
    New York, New York
    Sheut Nation
    Eris is tiny, curvaceous and powerful. Possessing the physical prowess to do dangerous work before the Resonance, her appearance now is quite deceptive to the casual observer. Standing barely 5’5”, she has a medium long length mane of slightly curly, thick chestnut hair. Eyes are large and dark, face cherub-like and seemingly innocent. When the darkly lined lashes narrow, it’s best to back the hell away or risk something much worse.

    She prefers elegant suits and sharp formal wear, everything she puts on whether it utilitarian or dressy is high end and polished. She can often be seen sucking on a mint of some kind and never touches anything in public.

    Her entire personality can be summed up in one word. Eris didn’t always have a penchant for arrogance, the cutting personality trait developed over time and a long series of unfortunately linked events. Before the Resonance and subsequent infection, she already held abhorrence for the social aspects of life. Relentlessly tortured as a youth by peers that couldn’t fathom the depth of her genius level intellect, it pushed her away from society in a negative light- perceiving interactions with others more of a nuisance in the way of her goals. A business-like demeanor reigned in her communications with others as she grew older, making her prime for difficult and heartless work. Shortly before the Event, devastating news toppled her from her solitary Ivory Towers. Terminally ill, the end of the world and infection was regarded as a blessing since it gave her a second chance at life and the physical prowess to match her mental capabilities.

    Now, she is dangerously cunning, quiet, straight talking and ruthless. She keeps a drawn up list of transgressions and revenge appropriate for those that have wronged her, and plans to deal with each of them on the time she has been given by the Resonance. She has no friends, only people she deems as useful or irrelevant and has an unshakable need for justice- though she is not above heartless nastiness out of spite.

    Eris is best kept on your side of the table- which unfortunately is very hard to do.
    Eris lives in a large warehouse on a former small airstrip near the harbor she has commandeered from the Resonance. Formerly a DEA location and her point of assignment, it contains a small personal jet, a helicopter, and a non-working single engine plane. She has an exclusive list of clientele she ferries for when she is in the mood, the bankroll allowing her to live the lifestyle she has become accustomed to and keep the engines running.

    Surrounded by razor wire, the large complex is a place of business, hiding a rather lavish loft above her aircraft prized possessions.

    NPC's- access to mechanics, etc. to care for her property.


    Sun sensitivity, frequency of feeding, speed, strength, senses, and regeneration - all the typical strengths and weaknesses of the N-infected.

    Shapeshifting- Eris has the lingering ability from post-Resonance magus mutation to take on other human forms that she is familiar with; the Event originally producing a burgeoning shape altering magus, but the assault producing a N-infected, cancer-free Sheut stripped of nearly all the previous affinity. Most effectively, she is able to shift into the form of her late fiance'; the only person she let through her arrogant shell. The more familiar she is with their form, the better the transformation. Often during her brief encounters in public she will take on another face to assist in self protection, able to hold it in place for up to six hours. It isn't without consequences, doubling the frequency in which she needs to feed and almost completely draining her N-infected physical prowess. If unrequited, the frenzy is terrible and weakness lingering. She retains no magus ability to increase the range or scope of the shifting, it is what it is... and has no hope of ever becoming more.
    Gifted Pilot

    Basic combat, firearm and interrogation/questioning

    Extensive knowledge of drugs and drug related activities

    Multiple degrees from various universities (chemistry and aerodynamics), high IQ, genius level
    A native of Albany, Eris was considered a child virtuoso. Blessed with a genius level intellect that reared its head very early in life, the brace-faced tiny girl was tortured in school by her peers- human interaction aspects of her education particularly excruciating. Instead of enduring the constant torment of a hopeless social life, she buried herself in pursuance of her education and becoming a pilot. She earned her basic pilot’s license at 14 and continued to refine her abilities while chewing through grade school requirements and into college credits, completely indifferent to any aspects of normal social interaction. Finishing her Bachelor’s degree by 20, she had also already been employed by the DEA as a generic special agent in pursuance of piloting as a career. Two more degrees and numerous years under her belt doing the dirty work, she landed her job in the sky.

    Shortly before the Resonance, Eris was diagnosed with terminal cancer- which she hid from her employer. Devastated, the crack in her shining future allowed someone in; the self-assured, business-like woman feeling the hammer of mortality for the first time. Recusing himself from her care when there was nothing more he could do, her oncologist became closer than anyone ever had before as she spiraled further into sickness. Missing and presumed dead after the Resonance, Eris struggled with powers from a burgeoning magus status and did whatever she could to find him... making herself a target for the new predators, and becoming one herself.

    She now has embraced her role as the predator, finding it an ironic twist of fate that someone who had been marked for death now has forever to confront all those that wronged her- and make them regret their brutality.

Profile Fields

  • Primary
    Bodhan Marin
  • All My Characters
    See Primary Character
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since the beginning of time
  • Role Play Sample
    Soft breath moved between her lips, drawn in and out methodically before darkness was allowed to penetrate her lids. She’d been crouched for a long time in the shadows, waiting till the sun fell to scale the building, scenting the bastard... The ledge was a perfect one, just along the side of the building to shift her into nothing, hiding her until the morning; content at the moment to just watch, learn, roll plans over in her brain, make decisions.

    It would be so easy.

    Eyes reflected the meager light, swollen dark opal glowing with iridescent gleams, watching the particularly dashing elf wander across the room to select something from his bookshelf and then seat himself near the fire to read as fingers drew absently along the bough of his cello. It literally burned against her skin, lips pressing to a thin line as she watched the calm relaxation with a vivid hatred. Fingers that lingered over her knees twitched unconsciously, going through the motions as they remembered the last time she skinned an elf. The screaming, whimpering blond hadn’t been particularly dead yet at the time; a passion she’d developed when she mostly fancied the promises they would make her if she left them alive. Her own lips always asked where there were more elves, sometimes obliged, sometimes not. The last had been particularly loose lipped.. which had led her... here.

    Dark eyelashes lingered together, the deep smirk lighting up the glitter of her eyes. It had been too long. Tthe world had driven too many into hiding, her own prowess having to hunt more. Further away to places of the world she loathed going. This elf of particular interest, willing to cross the entire world to find him; and kill him. Her tribe eagerly awaited the silver braid that she would bring back on her belt.

    Fox fur swirled, tickling the edges of her cheeks from the hood drawn over her features. Now she knew where, she needed the how and when. The more she watched the angrier she became, flirting with self control, playing with her ability to bide her time, to wait. She knew the city, rather well and hated it distinctly. A memorable failure still bristled under her skin, the life she still could see in the goliath buildings something she could use and perhaps even tend again.

    In the meantime, she had decisions to make.

    Slipping from her perch, she slid a dainty pair of gray leather gloves on, wisping down the fire escape to the alley below, stepping over a slumped figure that reeked of alcohol. Taking a moment to smooth her appearance, she began her trek, short legs making fast work of the distance to her office, leather binder in one hand, sliding on her glasses. The glint of silver from the delicate chain that held them around her neck caught the light, stark against the dove gray turtle neck at her tiny throat. Footsteps behind her were heard even before they were audible. The vibration.. the scent of alcohol..

    She did look quite the target; tiny, bookwormy, barely a hundred pounds soaking wet and dressed impeccably in black slacks and boots, the silver chain at her waist over her thigh length sweater turtleneck swanky. Grey fox fur swirled as she turned, head cocked slightly at the shadow under a rusted awning. Fingers were nowhere near her hip, black eyes blinked quietly, pale pink lips calm without a smile. She shook her head slowly, the light catching the peak of her ears, finally sliding her coat back slightly to reveal a holster of some kind at her hip, the alcohol laden shadow moving back within them before she turned and finished her way.

    The steps were light, trotting up the stairs to the office and surveying the bustle, eyes lifting upward to the glass railing to scent something before spotting a seat near a conspicuously placed office door. Sitting quietly, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap demurely as she watched the workers, eternally patient.
  • How did you hear about us?


  • Are you over 18+?

Recent Profile Visitors

5,340 profile views
  1. Building a Mystery

    Large pupils widened slightly as he stared, her comment about the moon a well-placed one apparently. If he was observant enough, he could see straight through her. What an interesting challenge for once. It was like watching whether or not an elegant predator was going to rip something’s throat out, or walk away. When he grinned, her lips turned up slightly. He could walk away when provoked. Curious. So tightly coiled she could almost feel it across the table. “The sun has always controlled life on Earth. In light of the events of the past few years…the moon gets to play with me too.” “I’m truly jealous.” It was the truth. The sun still had total control over her at least most of the time. As daredevil as she was, her Mouse was an innovator that allowed her to conquer it sometimes when she flew. Special glass, visors. Still, she hated when something had a hold on her. It was as if on cue, he toasted to her charges. “Mouse is one of the best techies still alive. If you need anything retrofitted on your new doors, she’s your girl.” She did fail to mention the girl was also a magus tech whisperer, but if it became relevant it would be no secret. It was a development that she could perhaps actually trust the man, but she still trusted her people more. It wasn’t just a ‘if you need some help’ suggestion. Mouse could also pull anything, out of anything. Useful, if needed. “Fear and prudence are often mistaken for one another. You don’t pet a viper, nor swim with sharks…not because of fear. You avoid these things because it would not be prudent to do so.” That brought a laugh, the glitter of it so rare it was questionable the world had ever heard it. Indeed it often hadn’t. It was quiet, melodic, face following suit to create an expression that truly lit up her features. “I pet vipers and swim with sharks Thomas. I rather like it.” Lip curled up in a Grinch-like smirk as she took another drink. “You might too.” She watched the momentary meditation, wishing she could feel the vibration under his skin that was so carefully contained. The smile faded to a contemplating expression, waiting for more. “Everyone is afraid of something.” “Are they now…” “That is a lie you tell yourself.” Again the laugh, he was brilliant. Really. He was so eager to be careful, and proper, and in control. “Not letting fear control you doesn’t dismiss the presence of that fear.” She let it hang a moment. He seemed to truly believe it. “I kill things I should fear.” the confession was dark, voice rum rich as her thumb lingered on her lower lip before taking another drink. The silence was long, pupils shifting larger again. It gave the illusion her irises were black. “Being fearless is accepting the fact that you can’t control anything. Control is an illusion we tell ourselves so we can ignore the fact we’re monsters.” Again the silence, she was watching him closely. She liked him. “What about you allows you to rip steel doors from their hinges and saunter into a Bakkhos stronghold proclaiming from within the walls that ‘You fear nothing’?” There was that inevitable banking on Bakkhos reputation to silence a thunderstorm. An icy stillness brought the air around her to a halt, almost if she didn’t have to breathe, or blink. Voice lowered to an almost inaudible level. “Ever wonder what it feels like to live without walls Thomas? Rules? A façade? To truly do what your impulses tell you to instead of being trapped in your skin… not afraid of hurting anyone or anything. When you allow yourself to have that, I want to meet that part of Thomas Gallo too.” Last drink from her glass was enjoyed. “I’m the thing that won’t run," lips pursed, blink slow. "That appreciates what you are at face value, that the vipers and sharks don't have to be afraid of hurting." It was vague, and telling. Something the general public didn’t know existed, but deep circles in Bakkhos probably did. She wanted to know how deep, and was pretty sure it ran deeper than him. He would have to ask the right questions, to the right people for that answer. He needed to work harder than a glass of XO to get it from her. She took the audacity to pour herself one more. There was still more business to cover. Brow quirked slightly, she was bemusedly insulted at the other facet of his question. “In all fairness it was a car. I threw a car.” Finger tapped the glass as it lifted, “buckled the doors. Then ripped them off. Almost hit Mr. Carducci, I must apologize to him for that when I get a chance.” Glass clinked on the counter softly and she rolled her lower lip through her teeth, pulling off the lingering taste. “That’s all you’re going to get I’m afraid. Maybe we can meet again over dinner in a few weeks… and you can see the rest for yourself.” Brow quirked, then relaxed. She knew exactly when that would fall in the lunar cycle. There were other ways to get her to talk too, a good lead on a vintage pair of oxblood red t-strap Louboutins was one of them, but a good old fashioned close to the full moon encounter would suffice. Time for business. “My turn. Why would Bakkhos be interested in casing the blocks around my airstrip? Sent several on their way a few days ago. Perhaps you could point me in the direction of who I should talk to about that.” It was to the point, and suddenly clear who owned the sharply cared for compound surrounded in razor wire on the shore south of Manhattan. "Last time I checked, there were no Bakkhos in my compound for someone to come in and save."
  2. Building a Mystery

    Shit. Damn that tick. It was the tick she didn’t want to see. The tell. The brow furl. The big frackin’ neon sign that the brute knew something was off. Well, the big pups did have master snoots, but damn if it wasn’t an adorable snoot. Bully for him. Pure caged rage wrapped in Borgioli tastes. It was intoxicating. Another plus. She’d put off investigating Bakkhos for too long. She didn’t take the paper right away… the petite Viceroy didn’t do paper reports, her brain could hold everything verbally. Hand slid from her pocket to acquire it, placing it onto the counter without a second glance before returning to her pocket. Attention was on the glass he poured, blink slow. Last time a man poured her a glass of this, of anything for that matter, was a helluva long time ago. He’d touched it, which by all means gave her no interest in taking it, but it was Zacapa- and she wanted it. Not many had something she wanted. Just as she went to reach for it, he started rattling on. The heel of her hand set itself on the counter. Buzzkill. Hammers didn’t always hit the nail even if they had a lot of force, and he seemed to be a hammer. He was a damn spirits connoisseur for Pete’s sake, even he should understand what it meant to appreciate it for a moment. Attention stayed on the glass, disappointed, as she listened... somewhat. Maybe she’d misread him. “You are overpaying your crew by about 30%. The foreman for the masons is skimming about 10% to put into his own pockets. Friday afternoons appear to be holidays for the welders. Also, apparently, they only need two out of every three workers, as the rest appear to be idle at any given time.” The smell of rum was enough to keep her interested. She wanted it. She wasn’t Gaspari and didn’t need a mechanical report spouted to her… well she did, but timing. Timing was everything. Christ, this was like smoking the cigarette before sex. She wanted that damn glass, a second, a moment to breathe it in and enjoy it. Fingers reached up from their stationary hand and touched the glass gently. Just drink it, and all will be better… slow intake of air preceded just that, eyes watching him a moment over the rim of the glass. Tasted just like she remembered, low lashes for a moment and a soft exhale to swirl it over her senses. The Sheut looked at it and nodded slightly in approval of the bottle. It was what it said it was. “Despite the inefficiencies and thievery, construction appears to be going quite well, if a bit slower than I had hoped. Now that we have finally met, I’d like to thank you personally for contributing to the rebuild. Many would have taken advantage of the chaos of the Blood Moon and vanished into the night.” Her brain was a steel trap, the two words she needed snatched from the other things that had interrupted her drink. She’d heard what was required. Made up for disturbing her drink in a way. All about honesty. Trust. A perpetually coiled cobra beneath the cool façade turned their large chocolate irises back to him. The sound of Toby’s hushed footsteps moved toward her, her attention shifting effortlessly from the brute to her charge, nodding once. Toby handed her a thin leather executive portfolio, moving off to find Roderick. Leather was set silently on the counter on top of his paper. Nothing he’d said needed an answer. She gave people the courtesy of speaking their mind, most of the time. “Do the full moons frighten you, Thomas?” Voice was almost inaudible, casting aside the Mr. and Ms. crap. She picked up the glass again; swallow slow with the last slide of the amber liquid as she watched him. Nostrils flared slightly as she breathed in his delicious crazy… she loved coiled rage, the single act of nonverbal communication enough for him to catch. She knew what he was, she was aware he had ferreted out her unusual blood, and she wanted him to know that. Toby’s presence was also intentional, he smelled like her; more of the same unknown beastie that could intelligently rip doors from hinges during even a Blood Moon- together in one place. Either the tasty brute knew what her flavor of beastie was, or he didn’t, but her silent admittance that she wasn’t going to blow smoke up anyone’s ass cast aside any shreds of formality that were left. She could, and would speak plainly. “Steel doors. Panic rooms,” she contemplated quietly, looking at the light refraction in her glass. “Weres never terrified me. Never. I don’t have steel doors. Mouse called and said she was trapped. It wasn’t the Weres that scared her, it was being trapped. They very thing that was supposed to make her feel safe, didn’t. I didn’t save her to save her life, I saved her because she deserved to make a choice when, how and if she died. She refused to cower in a corner, and they trust me to give them the opportunity to find that strength. It makes them fearless, they cannot control their circumstances, but they have total control of their fate.” Glass lifted so she could scent it one last time. THIS was what one spoke of over liquid memories. “Once you cast aside the fear of death, you find everything in this lifetime becomes enjoyable, every minutia the opportunity to give you a sensation or an emotion you’ve never experienced before.” She even welcomed annoyance and anger; it forced people in split seconds to decide whether or not they gave a shit about someone. “Most people would have taken advantage of the Blood Moon chaos for a free pass to escape the wrath of Bakkhos because they fear you.” There was so much more, she was such a complicated beast. “I fear nothing, let alone taking responsibility for my actions.” Empty glass clinked softly on the counter, gaze resting on the leather with a subtle cue it was his to take before shifting her eyes back to him. His report, paper, her folder. That’s what she used to do for a living. Lived, breathed. She couldn’t get away from it. Learning ways that everyone she was after manipulated and stole from each other, it even permeating into the ranks of the DEA themselves. All for one purpose, to make more money than the other guy, or shut them down completely. It was a constant chess game of power, betrayal, plotting, planning for one end alone. To find who you could trust. He’d caught the money, but she was still curious why he hadn’t fired them himself when he discovered the bullshit. She was not in charge, or a contributor. That was his position. It was his business. That was her end game. Could she trust him when she handed over the money to not squeeze her for more. She found him to be sharp, gracious. “Thank you for not taking advantage of my responsibilities, that cash will take care of all your concerns. The other annoyances are your purview. It’s your money, not mine. It ceased being mine the moment I chose to destroy your property,” warm rum rich hum of her voice was still below conversational level. “But you’re too kind, I hope not for the sake of offending me. I don't get offended. If they displease you, fire them.” Toby’s footsteps out the door lit up her face as she watched him leave. If anything, that was her tell. She truly thought of her people as family. They made her happy. She was proud of their strength, the progress from where she'd found them. Toby, hunted by the Sheut for being an orphan. Mouse, cowering in a flop house in what was left of Detroit. Ahanu, almost on her deathbed. She contemplated taking the next step she’d saved for another day. Addressing the Bakkhos sniffing around her compound like they owned the lot. “I now know I can trust you. I could learn to like you. You're interesting when so few people are.” That was the closest she ever got to a compliment. “Pour me another drink and we can talk about the weather, and who does your tailoring.”
  3. Building a Mystery

    “Ron Zacapa XO…yes, the rum is over here.” The keen doe-eyes found the bottles Roderick gestured to, closing the distance with barely a whisper of fabric. “Any particular bottle catch your fancy, Ms. London?” She was quiet a moment, the sound of the elevator interrupting her special time. Fingers lingered on a bottle, just the hint of a mischievous smile on her lip. She hadn't seen this brand in years. Seems the elevator had delivered Mr. Gallo… scent warmed on her palate as he approached. Well well... wasn’t that a daisy… Now she was almost as intrigued as when she’d found that dragon several years ago. Almost. A Were? Well then. Had she killed one of these mother fuckers? Yes. Actually had a conversation with one? No. There was a first time for everything, anxious to find out if the odd little feeling of –you look human but you ain’t quite right- was mutual. The doors she’d had to rip through to retrieve Mouse suddenly made more sense. “I’ll take them all,” she said to Roderick and glanced up at Mr. Gallo finally. Phone flipped out from an inside pocket to send Toby a quick message. She was going to keep most, but the rest would be stocked into her planes. “Mr. Lavoie will settle the account shortly. Ahanu will pick them up at your leisure Roderick.” “Ms. London, I take it you have come to check on the reconstruction progress?” Phone disappeared swiftly, hands sliding elegantly into her pockets. Dark lashes parted a bit more to focus on the giant, no qualms in the world about studying him in detail, or taking her time to do so. Hell, everyone in this world was a giant to her really. Even with the vintage designer heels on, she barely crossed five feet. Somehow, she still made looking eye to eye with someone that towered over her seem effortless- probably because she didn’t give two shits if they lived another second or had a bullet between their eyes… but effortless nonetheless. Intimidated also didn't exist in her vocabulary. She'd punched the big moose of a Sheut Executioner in the arm before for pissing her off, everything else on Earth seemed to pale in comparison after you'd slugged the one person that could smite your ass. “I haven’t heard the click of Borgioli’s in years,” voice was quiet, head cocking slightly. "Truly well dressed men are rare these days." She didn’t offer her hand, she hated shaking hands. She hated touching anything in public if she could avoid it, a lingering habit from the front edge of the Resonance. Eyes blinked softly, satisfied with the visual she had added to the name, taking a breath to almost regretfully get on with her business. Why couldn't they just... drink? “No,” she finally answered his question, looking across the rest of the shop. “I don’t need to check up on anyone’s progress, least of all yours. I'm not anyone's mother.” It was a compliment, it really was. She didn’t dance around the fact that he was going to do whatever the fuck he wanted with her money and she didn’t give a shit. “I came to ask you personally if you needed anything else to make the inconvenience of this rebuild more palatable.” …and to put a face to one of the names that kept getting spat out when her people caught Bakkhos ants crawling into her corner of the world. “...and apparently to accidentally find something to stock my Cessna for the next decade,” the million dollar smile that really could light up her face did exactly that, fading to a more relaxed expression. Time to see if Mr. Borgioli the beastie was half as articulate as her favorite dragon, and somewhat competent to boot. "Family" organizations many times didn't put the brightest crayon in the box on top of the pile. Ball was in his court. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
  4. Building a Mystery

    Lashes lowered at him through a side glance, the brief tautness of her lower lids akin to ears sliding back on an attack dog. Something had clicked the momentary expression trickling across his face at her name, and it spurred the need to speak with Ahanu when she returned to her airstrip. What exactly Ahanu had been conversing about with –Roderick- while she was here representing the Viceroy? Ahanu wasn’t one to speak of anything but business, curious. Secrecy was how the Sheut stayed alive. It had been less than a second, features returning to their neutral. Senses were always perked, but even more so now, her casual, slow perusal of their wares hiding her ‘hunt’ for silent information. He had her undivided veiled attention when so few others in this world did. Most would admit that was either a bad thing, or a horrible thing. “I appreciate her endorsement. I hope I manage to live up to it.” He was adorable, sincere, but he was stalling… or maybe just being a good host. For as charming as he was, she didn’t come here to speak with him. She was about to lick out a ‘get on it then’ when he did it for her. “I let him know that you are here. Can I offer you a drink in the mean time?” Of course he had. Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky little nibblet. “Ron Zacapa XO,” she said rather absently, squinting at a bottle of rum on the shelf. The color always reminded her of gasoline. Fun stories from another life and time. “If you have it I’ll buy the bottle. My driver will settle the account… if you have it.” It was a hard one to find, and she bought it whenever it popped up somewhere. Central and South America were nearly obliterated, and there was next to no chance in the foreseeable future they would ever make it again. Fond memories, or at the very least exciting ones.
  5. Building a Mystery

    “I am Roderick. Mr. Gallo is downstairs…who should I say is asking for him?” Head tilted slightly, studying the man, drawing the scents swirling around him quietly through her nose to linger on her palate. He was tasty. Eyes narrowed slightly as she swallowed, the construction dust was not. It was not overly dusty, but she didn’t have the dulled senses of most people either. Chest rose and fell with a relaxed sigh and a nod. “Seems Roderick is already here.” Smile did seem genuine. Ahanu had spoken well of him, and she trusted Ahanu’s judgement, about to put it to the test. “That saves some time and some bullshitting with chain of command ceremony.” She really wanted to just walk downstairs. Working through a buffer like Roderick was not something she wanted to do, but again she HAD destroyed the place so it was really their turf to manage. “Eris London,” smile lingered on her lips briefly and then turned back into business. Eris, tiny destroyer of other people’s shit in this case. The tiny Tasmanian Devil, Toby had said to her once. If she didn't love him like a brother she would have killed him for that. She had no idea if Roderick knew it was actually her that threw the car, but she wasn’t going to offer that information either way. “He’s not expecting me. Ahanu sends her regards, she speaks highly of you.” Something else though was bugging her, on the edge of her senses, darkly lined elegant eyes wandering over the shop. “That’s a good place to be with me.” Why lie? She smiled again at him, more cat-that-ate-the-canary than anything as she moved away from the counter and continued to peruse with her hands casually in her pockets.
  6. Building a Mystery

    January 19th, 2020 6:30pm Thyrsus Dark lashes were narrow as small hands flipped elegantly through the financial report. Legs crossed demurely in her pale gray silk crepe business suit, vintage Vince Camuto Naveena heel bobbing quietly up and down in the back of the sleek S 350. Opalescent russet irises glanced up and out of the tinted window, resting her forehead on her fingers. This rebuild was costing a fortune. She really didn’t give a shit, truly. Her resources were substantial. The price of her people could not be measured in dollars and cents, but if someone was rebuilding her facility she sure as hell would have been at the forefront. This man was either a dick that didn’t give two shits, or lazy enough to make someone else take care of it for him. Ahanu seemed to speak well of the liaison at least, Roderick, which would probably be the first fragile ego she would shatter within moments of stepping out of the vehicle. Maybe her assistant had a hard-on for the guy, maybe he was just doing his job well enough that his boss felt he didn't need to be involved. With the exception of her own people, and that big ass moose brother of hers from L.A., not one person on this planet made her cock a brow in appreciation. Not even Ausar. Old fart. An absent Bakkhos boss trusting everything to an 'underling'? There was a reason she didn’t deal with Bakkhos. They spent to much time stroking their egos in the mirror. This trip was going to be as pleasant as drinking broken glass in shitty bourbon. They annoyed her, more than the general population annoyed her. She was a faceless enterprise that slid easily through 'their' world, and she was content watching from a distance. There were no Sheut that she was aware of in their folds, so they were only something to be watched and not interfered with. Her own actions had given her a reason to interact. It would either be a smooth relationship, where she could in no uncertain terms tell them to fuck off in their encroaching "possession" of her airfield compound, or she could make it worse. She'd been watching the dogs try to piss on her fence. Ahanu had been given the OK to shoot them the next time she saw them sniffing around. The car slid to a stop, report set on the seat as the door opened. It was deep into dusk, the buildings' shadows helped, but the sky was still light enough to annoy her eyes. Sunglasses slid on, she smoothed her effortless updo and the tiny vampire volcano stepped out. “Wait in the car, take a nap,” a smile quirked one side of her lip, purposeful steps toward the suave liquor store. Sunglasses slid off and into her inner pocket. Hm. They really weren’t doing a bad job. Last time she saw it she was ripping it apart to the smell of burning buildings and crushed glass mixed with booze, gas and radiator fluid. Door opened, hands rested casually in her suitpant pockets as she perused the aisles briefly. Satisfied, she approached what she could assume was the front counter. “Your big boss please. If you bring me Roderick I’ll send you back for his boss. I’ll wait,” terse expression paused, then a taught smile flicked up the corners of her lips only to disappear as she went back to browsing. She really didn't want to go to their 'headquarters' to drag people from their comfort zones, but she would if she had to. That would definitely expedite a business relationship of some kind.
  7. Locked in Time

    Inspection took a long time. Every part, piece, scratch and scorch. The imposing figure crouched and tilted a scrap of metal backwards to peer under it. It was fractured. High altitude impact. Of course it was a lot to ask to find clean parts, even if the world was half dead. Technology had rotted in the misuse of what once turned the world. Metal was of the earth, and it would return to it given enough time. These guys seemed to just be selling parts, not any reason for him to decimate the damn place for doing stupid crap. Not in his domain. Shame, hadn’t seen her brute adopted L.A. brother in a while. No need or reason to call him now. Might as well try to get something useable, at least make the trip worth it. “You said they were flight worthy.” Voice was calm, grimy fingers running along it again. The voice was never something she had been able to master. On the outside, yes, it was a coating. Inside, was more difficult. She’d only managed not to sound feminine even after all these years. There was no response as dark eyes flicked up at them through annoyed brows and he stood. Hands moved to his hips, fingers tapping there a moment as he thought and scanned the derelict bunker. Everything seemed to NOT be what he was told. It was a weigh station of sorts for black market mechanical needs. Eyes squinted up at the flood light, then cooled on the dark sky. Helluva lot of parts. The smells in the hyped up senses weren’t just parts. There was something else. Chemical maybe? “Pass. I can’t use broken shit,” he gestured to the outline of a chopper he could see in the darkness. “What about that?” *npc* Koala. Recently flown, stripped to bones but it flies. Not for sale though. Hm. Hands slid off his hips to rest quietly at his sides. Koala’s were hard to find. Stripped ones were unique. The only place they were being used that he knew of at the moment was in the police fleet of New York. He’d seen them in the air, and the hangar where they were stored. Of course they could have gotten them from somewhere else… but he knew there weren’t many somewhere else’s with useable parts. Why would they have a working police chopper? To blend in? Blend into what? What were they ferrying back and forth? Just parts? Koala’s weren’t a cargo chopper. Eyes narrowed, then slid back to the man after regarding the other two. Tickle in his ear brought eyes to scan the darkness beyond the flood light. It was the hiss of static. Click of equipment. There were sights trained on them, him at the very least. Normal. They were protecting the merch. “Maybe next time, take care now.” Ahanu began to fire up the engine, the popping of glass bringing a violent snarl and face twisting toward his chopper. Flashes erupted from the darkness into the windshield. Whine had become powerful, the stumble of Toby from the co-pilot seat allowing him to lean out and cover the wheeling and dealing Aussie that was caught in the open. The windshield was shattered, he couldn’t see a clean shot otherwise. Blood. They’d hit him. They’d tried to snipe his pilots through the windshield??! Was Ahanu hit too??! “GO!” the camouflaged vampire snarled. There was no question of the order, the peppering of bullets plinking into places that weren’t plated… harmless for the most part. The specialized beast lifted off the ground, straight up as fast as it would carry itself. The air suddenly seethed. More gunfire. He was hit, he knew it, hands slapping a gun from his face to grab the closest body and break bones. Gun was pulled, every one of the bastards’ foreheads rupturing with a keen shot, stumbling forward slightly as a bullet ripped through his shoulder from behind. The fuckers in the bushes were no longer shooting at his chopper, the weight of the churning air still pulsing the trees. Growl wasn’t defeated, it was purely homicidal, walking into the darkness and shooting at the Koala’s tank repeatedly. Fuel spilled. Contrary to shitty movies, gas tanks didn’t blow when you shot them. Sparking the fuel did. The crap piece of Cessna they tried to peddle was spun through the air, snapping, scraping and sparking across everything as it went into the darkness of the garage. Small glow seethed into a fury, then… boom. Nobody. Hurt. Her. People. She would burn this thing to the fucking ground. Whatever it was. Whoever it was. They would be decimated simply for hurting her family.
  8. Something Wicked This Way Comes....

    Starting at Eris' Airport Compound. Finishing at the Bakkhos Liquor Warehouse. She felt the air quiver before a thundered rage hit the fence several hundred yards out from her window, partially from force, partially from the thousands of volts that were always throbbing through it on the full moon. They were testing the fence. Large eyes narrowed, peeling away from the entertaining melee on the news to her phone that began to rattle on the marble side table. Frown tickled her brows for only a split second, listening to the garbled voice. It was pure will that the message was even getting through at all. “I’m coming.” The rest of her brandy was downed. The tiny form seemed to slice through the room with purpose, silk cami rippling over the light skin. Designer business suit was off in stride through her apartments, replaced with leather flight pants, boots, thigh holsters of all sorts of fun toys. Flight gloves, shoulder holster and flight jacket in hand, she merely leapt over the side of the stairwell to land several stories down into the hangar, dark ponytail in a sharp whip. She slammed a short machete into the side sheath of her boot. Girl had rough and tumble clothes, made by the best craftsman of course. Ahanu had already started the engines as the irritated Sheut stuffed in her earpiece. “Toby, fluff the cocks and get in,” she quipped through the com. “People are breaking my shit.” In a furl of dark hair from the updraft, Ahanu changed positions to co-pilot, Toby snapping the side door open to take point with more firepower than a vampire would rightly need. By shit? She meant booze. By booze…. she meant, well… booze, and also Mouse. Mouse went out every so often, and was due back. Apparently, back meant hunkered down in the liquor depot with her driver. “We’re going sightseeing.” *npc* Mouse? Toby waited for an answer. She was silent. Nobody broke her shit. More importantly, nobody threatened her people. She had ripped people limb from limb for less. Jacket pulled on and earpiece replaced with the headset, furl set her brow as the chopper left the ground in only the sharp ‘cutting it close’ fashion that the expert pilot could get away with. The Sheut ruled the air in this city. Sure, there were others that had smaller operations, but she had the choppers and the planes, and the runway. Everything else a busted up nightmare... Fires, smoke, accidents, sections of the already fragile electric infrastructures flickering and taking out city blocks. It was the moon. Early, odd, and full of the whispers she had her finger on lately with all the magus problems. This was definitely Sheut business. Everyone’s business was Sheut business. Since this was her side of the world, she was responsible for figuring out this mess. First. Mouse. *npc* Christ, they’re everywhere. It was Ahanu this time, lifting the rifle to take a shot at one on a nearby rooftop. The blades would chop the thing to bits if it took a leap at the low flying chopper, but not before mangling them and taking the whole craft down with it. The Sheut Viceroy angled around a building, the glass thundering in percussive rattles as the craft’s vibration echoed from the brick, nodding to her. “Going down,” she said quietly into the com, passing off to Ahanu, headset off and exchanged for the earpiece once more. “I’ll let you know where we are when I get her.” She stood next to Toby for a moment before stepping out and into the air. Leaps rivaled the power of the beasts, with much more finesse as she descended into the city, landing with the grace of a dancer in front of the Bakkhos liquor store- another thing she was responsible for keeping tabs on. Too big for their britches in her honest opinion. Eyes already had gleaned what was happening… front lobby windows shattered and lights sputtering as a Were was banging against the set of steel doors to the warehouse that had been closed for protection. Mouse was in there, beyond the doors, the Were turning and pitting it’s ire on the vampire instead. Calm lashes blinked, leather gloved fingers creaking slightly as they tightened to fists and released, the thing starting its charge, and her foot hitting the bumper of a car to send it slamming toward the thing. Steel door made a horrendous noise as the Were smashed back against it, followed by the buckled car crushing the beast and the quiet footsteps of crunching glass into the destroyed lobby. Machete pulled from her booth sheath, she made several leaps up and over the twisted metal to decapitate the thing. Shame. It was a nice car.
  9. Fuck This Shit I'm Out

    Midst of the Blood Moon Eris' Compound The petit Sheut put her tumbler down on the coffee table, amber liquid barely trembling. Eyes peered over the ledger she was going over. Fucking coffee. Made her planes smell like coffee. She. Hated. Coffee. And waterfalls. And South America. And fae. Hand reached to the remote to turn up the television, watching the quivering camera work and pure turmoil unfold over the screen. [eris]Christ... what now.[/eris]
  10. Fleshing (Literally) Out Eris' Crew

    -I am imagining Ahanu found a family and, more importantly, a lot of peace in joining the Sheut Nation because of her background/personality (which I would partially hash out in her profile later). * Eris picked up a few "strays" during the Nevus when she was trying to save as many Sheut as she could. Ahanu was picked up because she could fly and was fearless about it. The actual events of their meeting I never hashed out, but that's the gist and up to creative interpretation. -If it works with your image of her, I plan to write Ahanu’s background heavy on the military side, rather than her time at the DEA. I think it would fit even better for her being a PA (and a resourceful “cleaner”) and, of course, being a body guard/someone who can hold their own in a crisis. *Yes, she is heavy military, but very proud of her Iroquois heritage. Before the Nevus she was a vocal activist for her community. Personality-wise, she's tough and sassy- very Blair from Terminator Salvation. -Do you have a specific history of how Ahanu became Eris’ employee? *Only that they met trying to save Sheut during the Nevus. Eris can't fly during the day, so it was a mutual need. -I'm kind of obsessed with the idea that Eris will let Ahanu split some of her time trying to work her way into Bakkhos since that's a North Am Sheut goal. i.e. Maybe they try their hand in larceny, stealing magical artifacts for safe keeping in the Sheut vaults and it gets her an in with the crime ring? (Just spit balling here…) *Sheut don't deal much with local groups, think a bit more global. If the artifacts pertain to a global crisis, yes they'd go after it. If Pharos was moving artifacts that threatened her East Coast territory's security, she'd go after it and Ahanu and Toby would be her right hands to shut that shit down. The potential for big moves and plots rather than running small jobs is huge. Eris does answer to a higher authority, but doesn't have any qualms kicking ass and taking names, then asking permission later. -Do you have descriptions of the three established air spells you wrote in her description? *Nope, totally up to you to change and modify. -Could she be a tad older? *Sure -And could I change her name from Walker to Locklear? *I like Walker because the name flows well and Eris calls her Walker, but it could be her middle name and you definitely could change her last to Locklear if you want. Hope that helps get the ball rolling!
  11. Fleshing (Literally) Out Eris' Crew

    Hello! I haven't forgotten about you. Work all of a sudden needed me STAT so things got hectic. I'll have more time to give you detailed feedback tomorrow. In the meantime, take a peek at the Sheut nation descriptions, background, and the major players. I know you're hyped about the Bakkhos idea but the Sheut mainly just keep an eye on them and only interact if it's to their benefit. Check out some of Eris' threads too ( just do a name search or title search from the ones on her profile). She's extremely salty. Just want to make sure you know who you're potentially jumping in with >. < Great to have you aboard!
  12. Fleshing (Literally) Out Eris' Crew

    HI Guys I'm looking for characters for general plotting because Eris is Viceroy- she should have played characters as part of her organization. Before I shift them to canons, I wanted to toss them out for individual development. Of course they need to be admin approved first, but here are a few teasers for your perusal. Message if you might be interested. Listed in order of importance. +++++ TAKEN - Reid Thomas, 35, Pilot, DEA Affiliate, whereabouts and fate unknown (scruffy Bren Foster PB) Reid was Eris' fiance before the Resonance. He is/was an Aussie special operations, also highly trained in martial arts, that was "loaned" to the DEA for a specific assignment. They were separated during the Resonance and she was unable to locate him due to her seclusion in South America when she was hospitalized for injuries/illness/subsequent infection (detailed in Eris' profile). HUGE leeway for character development. He is the only person that she truly trusts/trusted. Big drama potential. +++++ Ahanu Walker, 33, Air Magus and Pilot (Moon Bloodgood Terminator Salvation PB), current love “interest”. Occupation- Personal Assistant- Face of the Company, Pilot, Bodyguard. Loyal to Eris London. Race- Air Magus Former Military Cargo and Commercial Pilot, she was born and raised to an Iroquois family and raised in upstate New York. An activist in her community, she still chose to move on to the military and become a pilot. Abilities- Low Level -Updraft -1 more of player’s choice Medium Level -Pressure Change -1 more of player’s choice High level -Storm Front (summoning “The Thunderer”) -1 more of player's choice Other details/spell specifics subject to player's preference. +++++ Toby Lavoie, 30, Sheut Ka, Sheut Constable and Security (Taye Diggs PB) Occupation- Vampire Nation Constable, Security, Driver, Novice Pilot. Loyal to Eris London. Race- Sheut Ka Age- 30 Born on Prince Edward Island, Canada, Toby was a dance and drama student at Julliard before the Resonance. Infected shortly after. Abilities- -Heightened abilities and distinct weaknesses associated with V Infection. -Photographic Memory- an innate talent amplified by the V infection. Other details/spell specifics subject to player's preference. +++++ Stevie "Mouse" Hayes, 24 'Data' Magus, Mechanic, "Pilot" through her magus abilities (Noomi Rapace “Dragon Tattoo” PB) Occupation- Mechanic/Techie/Security Guru. Loyal to Eris London. Race- ‘Data’ Magus Already an incredible techie before the Resonance, Evie’s gifts were transformed to a new level. Nobody knows where Evie came from. Rumor is from the underground of Detroit, becoming wealthy by picking up the remnants of money left electronically scattered by the endless corruption in the city. She is a tiny, quiet girl with a tough appearance, rarely speaking to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Her skill with anything mechanical is awe inspiring, able to repair machines that require computer interfacing as well as old school mechanics. Abilities- Low Level -Data Streaming- can jack into data streams and actively read anything transmitted through waves. This includes cell conversation, wireless networks and even satellite transmission. -1 more of player’s choice. Medium Level -Electrical Decoding- can speak with machines for diagnostic purposes. If the electronics are simple, she can give them basic commands and sometimes commandeer a machine through touch in the electrical stream. -1 more of player’s choice. High Level -Electrical Disruption- can ‘fry’ electronics -1 more of player's choice Other details/spell specifics subject to player's preference. +++++
  13. "Well, today was a total waste of sexy underwear"

    1. Zeph


      -.- that's why I quit wearing those things..........

    2. Eris London
  14. "Well, today was a total waste of sexy underwear:

  15. Bites everyone. Just because.