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Lost to the World

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...Will you restore it?

 

Please continuously look at the OOC!

 

Background:

 

Over the past 100 years on the planet Earth, things have taken a drastic change from the future that was so optimistically looked at in the early 1900's. In the 1900’s, people often looked to the future for the solving of all of their problems. People would no longer be poor; they would all be treated equally; they would have hope; they would have living dreams. But that is not the case anymore. Instead of an optimistic outlook, the outlook is far more dreary than any would have ever thought. Politics are no longer advancing for the better of the country, for they have taken several steps backwards by combining Middle Age social structure with modern day plutarchy.

 

While the social structure has degraded to a mere shell of what it once was, technology is advancing in the upper echelon of the government. Some rumors have stated that there are now transports to the moon that get there in a day and that the moon is being terra-formed for the rich and wealthy who plan to leave the poor on Earth.

 

Despite all of the horrid changes, there are a few good such as the provision of education. The lowest class of people, the Poorlings, are able to go to Elementary school and possibly Middle School depending on their brilliance. However, beyond that, they are not even allowed to step within 100 yards of the gates of the schools dotted around the States, UNLESS they are Scholars (explained later). The second class, Middles, are allowed to go through to High School, but not college unless their genius dictates that they can surely make themselves useful in the future. The highest class and the ruling class of the United States now, are the Richies. Richies are allowed to do whatever they wish regarding education, laws, and even harming another person of a lower class.

 

Another somewhat good thing, is that the government provides for Poorlings and Middles with ease. Poorlings are given a thin blanket per person, one set of winter clothes, one set of regular clothes, one pair of boots, and enough food to barely live on. Middles, however, are only given a single pair of clothes if they need it as well as some sort of food. Middles aren’t given as much because they have more wealth than the Poorlings and are therefore able to provide a home for themselves without too much hardship.

 

 

Plot:

 

Within this hard time, there are the few geniuses that are allowed to go from the lowest class to make their way to the top of the classes. These lucky few are called Scholars. They are still held under restrictions (which will be outlined later) and treated as scum amongst the other students. If they cannot survive, then they are sent back to where they came from.

 

In Canon (pronounced like canyon) Cit, Colorado, there lies a college known as Crystal Lake University. This college has the highest population of Scholars which tops the charts at four of them. But there is more to this college that is not known to any soul except for a rare person or two in the upper parts of the government. This college is home to two rare humanoid species that were always seen as evil in the ancient stories of the world. Those stories revolved around bloodthirsty, murderous beings but it was not so with all of them. With only one or two bad apples in their entire group, humans took that evil seed and ran with it, banishing all of them and killing those that they could.

 

These beings are seemingly immortal beings to the human realm, but instead, are just as mortal but live longer. The older of the two are the Vampyres as they were called long ago. The second species is the Werewolves. They are younger and do not live as long as the Vampyres but they still live longer than any human could ever live in this day and age.

 

The United States group of Vampyres and Werewolves are not enemies as many would think. Instead they are steadfast friends living in the same house, underneath the same roof, and all going to the same school. You guessed it: Crystal Lake University. They are trying their best to start changing what they can in the political realm by working on the lowest class first even though they are considered to be in the Richie class.

 

This is where you come in. You are either a Vampyre, Werewolf, Richie, Middle, or Poorling. As a Vampyre or a Werewolf ( from the United States at least) it is your duty to follow the rulings of your Leader(s) and Alphas or risk being killed because of your risk to those around you. As a Richie, it is your plan to torture and humiliate any Middle or Poorling you so choose to make sure that they do not rise against the smallest class with the most power; yours. As a Middle, you are trying to find a way to negotiate between the groups and figure out how to better your chances in life since you are a Scholar since you are going to the college. As a Poorling, you have to try and keep yourself from being beaten every day and find a way to stay out of trouble while maintaining a 3.8 GPA or risk being thrown back into the life you struggled to leave.

 

There are also the possibilities that you are not one of the good Vampyres or Werewolves and your soul desire is to destroy those against you and allow the world to keep running as such. But you would have had to have come from one of the other groups in the other major areas of the world such as Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Philippines, Russia, or Australia.

With being a Richie, you could also wish good for the Poorlings. But any direct action to help them if you are not as powerful as the richest, will cause you to fall from grace and may even cause you to lose your monies due to new laws set into place.

 

But behind all of this, there is even more boiling into place besides the search for perfect balance again. There ARE other groups of Werewolves and Vampyres trying to go against the United States, Canadian, and Central/Southern groups of Vampyres and Werewolves. They intend to work in the government to make sure that the once powerful USA falls into oblivion.

 

Species:

 

Humans: The ilk of the earth as some call them. They have now populated the Earth well over six billion, threatening to kill the Earth and all around it unless they find a new home. While they are finding new ways to survive, their lower classes are dying at an alarming rate.

 

Vampyres (Americas): Old beings that date as far back as 4th Century BC. However that particular Vampyre is long dead with only his son to carry on the lineage of the oldest living Vampyre at 2405 years old. He has the appearance of a healthy 65 year old man though and is bound to live far longer than his father had. Generally speaking, a Vampyre’s body starts to degrade around their 1000th year of living. After that they slowly age like a human being would but retain any abilities that they had. As to their appearance, nothing sets them apart other than barely elongated canines that no longer serve any purpose in the Americas Vampyres. Their hair color, skin color, eye color and general pigmentation is the same as any humans. As to abilities, Vampyres in the Americas have the ability of supernatural speed due to increased development of their muscles. This also allows them to have an increased amount of strength and stamina as well. Their eyesight is superb in the light, allowing them to see for several miles. But at night, their vision is slightly impaired. There is no need for Americas Vampyres to drink blood. They have been able to resist that urge for a long time and no longer have the need to even taste it. The only thing that they do, is keep a high supply of iron with them at all times to make sure that their increased need of iron for their muscles and own blood does not impair them.

 

Vampires (Anywhere besides Americas): Their description follows much like the old descriptions of Vampires; pale, white skin, elongated fangs, odd eye colors. Their eyes are much like the blood that they drink when they are feeding, however they fade to a slightly pale gray when they are satiated. Their skin is like that of a sick persons and their fangs tend to protrude over their bottom lips. They drink blood at an increased rate and do not limit themselves to just animals.

 

Werewolves (Americas): Werewolves are very simple to describe. They are beings that have three forms that they can phase in between at any time that they so choose. They are not beholden to the moon or its cycles, except that their strength doubles on the night of a full moon. Their original phase, that of the wolf, is the same size as a full grown wolf once they hit the age of 18. For some, the size varies and is reflected in what is commonly called their crinos form, as well as their human form. In their crinos form, they are slightly weakened from the immense strength and speed that they have in their wolf form, but are able to get through doors more easily. This form is hardly used. The last form and weakest, is their human form. This form allows them to mask themselves in the human world. Their eye color and hair color reflects the color of their pelt and wolf eyes. Depending on the size that they are in their wolf form, they can either be tall and lean, broad and short, short and lithe; whatever combination that you can think, they can be it.

 

Werewolves (Anywhere besides Americas): These Werewolves are distinctly different from their kin in the Americas. Most of them are generally black except for those existing in the Russian area that are sometimes white because of the snow. Their strength and speed is the same in regards to their cousins, but they are bound to the moon and her love towards them. Their power is very high when the moon comes out at night, but their power doubles when they are underneath a full moon. However, unlike the Americas Werewolves, they are affected by the sunlight and it weakens them making them no stronger than a human.

 

 

Locations

 

Little Torino's - A small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves either a wide variety of Italian foods or feel good foods. The restaurant is near the college campus making it someplace that would generally be thought of as a hot spot, but instead is actually not that well known. Many people that go there love the environment. The walls are painted like old stones with ivy draped across them. Several plants grow in the upper corners of Little Torino's which accent the painted ivy. In the middle of the restaurant, attached to the left hand wall, is a large aquarium filled with exotic and local fish. To the right of the restaurant, separated by a wall with glass windows and doors, is a room that can be rented out.

 

Clear View College - The main, and most prestigious college in Colorado is surrounded by dense forests set at the top of a leveled hill. In the middle of the college is a clear lake that gives the college its name because the water of the lake is crystal clear. There are several buildings to the college that would take forever to name because the college itself addresses most, if not all areas of study in an in depth manner. The professors of the college are some of the best in the country allowing them to be the best college in the United States. Around the campus, further down the mountain, lay the smaller, "extra" buildings. Such buildings would be the stables and veterinary practice, the large art studio/museum, research buildings, and business offices.

 

The Vampyre/Werewolf House ( only for Vampyre's and Werewolves )- This massive building is on top of a mountain that overlooks the hill that the college is built upon. It stands at four stories tall overall with a small, single floor tower in the center. The house is made out of stone, wood, and glass. The main walls are made out of the stone with trimmings of lacquered cherry wood and windows of seamless glass. The outer landscaping is very neat and trim with perfectly cut glass that surrounds a cobbled circle with a large fountain in the middle. The fountain is in the image of a young man (who looks much like a young Zebulon) with handsome features who has his hand placed on the head of a wolf whose head is above his waist making it look as if his entire arm was rested on the wolf. Both wear expressions of peace and admiration for one another.

 

Within the building there are several rooms meant for sleeping in. Those that have owners are customized to each persons needs, views, morals, religion, and philosophies. There are a few rooms left over for others to make sure that any visitor has a place to stay if they so wish. The rooms are contained on the fourth floor of the house.

 

On the third building there are several rooms that allow for the creative expression of several beings. Whatever room you can think of, it is there. With the second floor, there are areas for working out and pretty much the physical and spiritual well being of each person. There are also a few studies here that belong to the doctors, leaders, and various others.

 

On the first floor, there are a few more studies, a fully fledged library, living room, and large kitchen.

 

 

New Laws (These may be added to) :

Richies

1. You are not to aide a Poorling in any case

2. You are not to prefer to a Poorling even in an emergency situation

3. If you see a Poorling and they are not providing the proper respect to you, you are allowed to defend the law on your own accord.

4. If a Poorling challenges you, you have the right to kill.

Middles

1. You are not to aide a Poorling if it takes from your own stocks of food and clothing

2. You are not to prefer to a Poorling in an emergency situation if there is a Richie present who is also in need of care.

3. If a Poorling does not respect you and your class you are to tell the nearest Richie of operating, government officer.

Poorlings

1. You are to always give the right of way and space to Middles and Richies.

2. When graced with the presence of said classes, you are to initiate conversation by stating “I am honored to be in your presence. How is your day faring?”

3. When leaving the presence of higher classes, first make sure that you are able to leave their presence and then state “I have been honored to be in your presence and am graced by your kindness. Good day.”

4. If there is an emergency, you are to move yourself out of the way unless your limbs are severed from your body. If so, do not state anything until all other classes have been taken care of.

5. In a hospital, you are to always to move out of the way of a Richie or Middle. You are not to receive care no matter the case until they are taken care of.

6. In the case of a Scholar, you are allowed to mingle with Richies and Middles. However, you must in no case refuse any request that they make of you.

 

USA Main Werewolves and Vampyres (NPC’s):

(These will have simple, sometimes one word explanations to allow a flexible use of the characters)

 

Vampyres

 

Professor Aloysius von Voght – quiet, brooding, vocal when it comes to his best friend Montague. Hates to see harm come to Poorlings. Will not disobey the leader. Strict Professor. Teaches: History, Art, Science, Math, Music. Age: 782

 

Professor Montague de Champlain – Happy! The exact opposite to Aloysius. The two are steadfast friends. Diplomatic. A concerned professor that is willing to work out dates. Teaches: History, Photography. Age: 452

 

Professor Kachine Darkfoot – Stern. Motherly type. In other words, she is concerned, but won’t take any dung from anybody. She will make sure that you are taken care of if she cares about you. Teaches: Art, American Indian History, Archeology. Age: 518

 

Dean Zebulon Adams – Jovial. Knows how to handle the business world of the college and care for the students. Wise. Loving towards his wife, Jamila. He will care for the Vampyres that he once ruled until his death and is currently the Leader with his wife. Age: 2405

 

Head Councilor Jamila Adams – Much like her husband. She is not as outgoing as he is except for with the younger Vampyres whom she adores like their own mother would. Age: 2350

 

Councilor Yasu Hitsugaya– A rough around the edges woman. She doesn’t take no for an answer, but will also point out your flaws. She is a personal councilor at the school. Cares about your hurts but encourages you to search for answers within yourself instead of your surroundings. Age: 340

 

Werewolves

 

Head of Psychological Studies Dr. Victoria Forks – Quiet and brooding. She is the Alpha of the werewolves along with her mate and husband. A cold and calculating person who works in close contact with the Elder of the Vampyres to make sure that the two are always communicating correctly. Performs all Werewolf duties with her husband as her leader if she should falter. Doctorate: Veterinary Medicine in Microbiology and Psychology. Age: 708

 

Head of Equine Department Dr. Rollo Forks – Would kill for his wife. He too is quiet and brooding, but talks more than his wife. He is the head Alpha and works in close proximity with the leader of the Vampyres making sure that their two groups are not susceptible to the wiles of the other groups. Doctorate: Equine Nutrition and Exercise. Age: 709

 

Professor Louis Stevenson – Monotonous. Gets worried easily. Tires easily. Hard to understand due to swift nature. Teaches: Chemistry, Organic Chemistry. Age: 300

 

Werewolf and Vampire Positions:

 

These are outside of the Americas. Please, please, please, fill these spots quickly!

 

Vampires

 

Leader

Elder

 

Werewolves

 

Alpha (1)

Beta (2)

 

 

Question and Answer

 

1. Are half-breeds aloud (Vampire/werewolf, werewolf/human, vampire/human)?

 

I haven't considered that possibility, however, I am not adverse to it. The only problem though occurs with Vampyres/Vampires which will be explained.

 

2. If not, is it possible for purebreds of different species to mate, and if so is the child just one species or the other (or can't they have children)?

 

If you mean is it possible for a Werewolf and a Vampyre to mate, then yes. However due to the social structure of the "Clan" and "Pack", it is highly looked down upon even if they are on the same team. They try to maintain the purity of their race. The reason being is because of their longevity, there are hardly more than 20 alive in each area.

 

3. Can Vampires/Werewolves turn humans into their species through a bite or other means? If so, how often and when and how does it work? On the other hand, can they be turned into normal humans through any means?

 

This is where complications with being a halfbreed between any other creature and a Vampyre occur. When a woman is impregnated by a Vampyre/Vampire, she also turns into a Vampyre/Vampire. This is in the case of both human women and Werewolf women. Any abilities from a Werewolf woman would be eradicated by the dominance of the Vampyre/Vampire genetic tendencies.

 

Vampyres can also use something that could be regarded a poison which they can only produce every 100 years of living. If they do not intend to poison someone, then they have to save their poison for later use in a crystal vial. The poison, an entire dose, has to come into contact with the skin thus avoiding the typical bite syndrome known to Vampyres/Vampires.

 

I haven't considered if they could be turned into humans by any means, so for now, I don't think that that would be conducive to the RP.

 

4. Is it possible to be a lower-class Vampire or Werewolf, or are they all automatically upper-class in America?

 

If a Vampyre/Vampire, or Werewolf is young enough, then yes. In regards to Darkshadow's character, Rals Jackson, she is more than likely on the lower side of the Richie class because she is only 45 years old. However in the case of my character, Alexander Williams, he would be in the middling part of the Richie class. The NPC's such as Zebulon and Aloysius would have had time to accumulate a large amount of wealth in their lives therefore bolstering them to the upper area of the Richie class.

 

So to answer your question, YES, it is possibly that a Vampyre/Vampire or Werewolf could be part of the lower classes especially at a young age. But because of the family like tendencies of the Clans and Packs, they would more than likely bring them underneath their name to keep them well taken care of. If there was the instance of a loner, then they could indefinitely be part of the lower classes.

 

5. Are there such things as 'Vampire Slayers' or 'Silverhands (Werewolf slayers)' or those who specifically want Vampires/Werewolves dead and have organized?

 

I had thought about it, and there still can be those that are superstitious, but because of the increased secrecy of the Clans and Packs, there haven't been enough appearances to arouse anymore suspicions. If someone were to sign up as a human that was still rather wary of the existence of the Clans and Packs, I would not be adverse to it.

 

6. I don't think so from the descriptions, but are Vampires/Werewolves weak to any of the common stuff, I.E. Garlic, silver, a wooden stake to the heart....

 

Nope. They are “mortal” in the sense that they can get sick and be injured; however they heal at an accelerated rate. But despite this accelerated rate of healing, they can also lose a lot of blood and die quickly as well. Their heart rates are faster than normal humans because of the amount of blood needed to provide oxygen to such strong musculature. Therefore a stab to any of the main arteries, and they could be dead in a matter of a minute or so. In previous wars, Civil, World Wars, any of those, there were several Vampyres and Werewolves that were killed by bullets that hit main arteries as well as their brain. Anything that could normally kill a human, can kill them as well. BUT! Because of their age, they have been able to learn how to fight and how to watch their backs if need be which makes it difficult to get to them.

 

Also, when they are injured, a quick drop of their poison on the injury, temporarily heals it until they can have a fellow Vampyre take care of their wound.

 

7. Can humans have Vampire parts or Werewolf (human form) parts transplanted into their bodies? Just curious.

 

No....no no no no...no. wink.giftongue.gif

 

8. You mention that Vampires age after 1000 and you mention a Vampire that's over 2000, but how long do they usually live maximum?

 

It's not known ( I don't even know how old I want them to be). However I do want to keep Zebulon Adams as the oldest vampyre known to the world.

 

9. Do vampires have an special abilities? IE: The ability to set things on fire by looking at them.

 

In my book, which has no title, the up and coming leader, Sheehan O'Hara has this "ability."

In essence it is not an ability. BUT, to humans it would seem so. Because he is over 200 years old, Sheehan has practiced being in tune with everything around him. With his advanced senses, it isn't that hard to do. However Sheehan has honed his abilities to allow him to hear the slightest shift in the air, or crunch in the grass. This makes it difficult for anyone to sneak up on him, and allows him to know how to move to allow him to sneak up on anyone he chooses.

 

If you are going to have them have an ability, you have to be able to scientifically explain it.

 

10. Do vampyres have the power to persuade humans in some way?

 

Power to persuade? Only if they are old enough to have observed what is the easiest way to get to humans.

 

11. Also, if a Vampire drinks a human's blood will the human survive? Can the Vampire drink just a pint or so and have the human survive, or do humans die from some sort of venom injected into them?

 

Generally speaking, yes. A human can survive a Vampire drinking their blood without any adverse effects except for possibly passing out. Venom is only produced once every 100 years in both a Vampyre’s and a Vampire’s life. If the human were to be bitten during the time of venom production ( a span of two days) then they wouldn’t die, but instead be transformed into a Vampyre/Vampire whether or not they wanted to be transformed.

 

12. Can Vampires eat normal foods and drink normal drinks? If so, can they have allergies?

Yes. Vampires eat and drink normal foods and can have any ailments that a human has, however they are really subdued compared to the extremes that can happen with humans. While a human can die from allergies, the most that happens to them is maybe itchy skin or swollen appendages.

 

13. Do all Vampires work under whoever the Vampire Leader is, and do all Werewolves work under the Alpha?

 

Yes and Yes. Werewolves in the United States obey Mr. and Mrs. Forks while those in Canada respond to Valerie Muscat and those in Mexico/Central/Southern America respond to Enrique Gonzalez and his formidable betas. With the Vampyres, they obey and listen to Zebulon and those outside of the Americas listen to various peoples. I know for a fact that the Australian group of Werewolves listen to Rals Jackson as well.

 

Rules:

1. I am the OP and what I say goes.

2. You go against what I say three times, you are kicked from all of my RP’s that I run.

3. No God-modding

4. No Power playing

5. No Fast posting ( that means that you and ONE other person post an entire page of posts.)

6. Once two pages have passed, and if I have not posted, all posts must cease.

7. You are limited to two characters unless I know you and your RPing style. Until I learn your style and can see that you can handle more than two characters, don’t even think of sending me more than two forms.

8. Each post MUST BE two paragraphs minimum. That means 5-8 sentences in each paragraph.

9. Whenever I say paragraph, I mean 5-8 sentences, no less.

10. You must submit a sample post that you have done in the past, or that you type as the first post you wish to make with your character.

11. You are to have AT LEAST one of the lower two classes in your characters. Having a plethora of Vampyres/Vampires or Werewolves in your entourage will not impress me, nor will it win you a place in the decision making of the RP.

12. The NPC’s are NPC’s. However, if you abuse the character or post something that is out of character for that person, then you will not be able to play that NPC any longer.

13. I have the right to kill off your character if he or she has become too powerful to allow an enjoyable playing experience for everyone.

14. I have the right to have as many characters as I wish.

15. I have the right to add more rules as I see fit.

16. Put the following in the specified color if you have read that section:

Background = sienna

Plot = firebrick

Species = darkorange

New Laws = darkblue

NPC's = darkgreen

Rules = purple

Q&A = rosybrown

17. PM me your forms with the title of "Lost in the World" and this alot.png lovely feller at the beginning.

18. If you are going to be gone for more than a week, PM me or post in the OOC thread to let me know.

19. If you are not active for more than a business week (five days I believe), then you will not be allowed to RP and your posts will be ignored until you PM me the reason for your absence. I understand RL happenings and am very sympathetic with that. Also, if you are in college or school, PLEASE PM me the general times that you have your exams that way the RP can be put on hiatus until people are done with exams.

20. The RP may or may not be put on hiatus during holidays. You will be PM'd during that time as to whether or not that will happen.

 

Character Sheet

 

Username: Self explanatory.

 

Name: Name of your character.

 

Age: Humans can be no younger than 18 and no older than 25. Werewolves can be as old as 500 and Vampyres/Vampires as old as 1000.

 

Gender: Male or female?

 

Species: Americas Werewolf, Werewolf, Vampyre, Vampire, Human

Class: Poorling, Middle, Richie

 

History: Three paragraphs minimum. That means 5-8 sentences in each paragraph.

 

Personality: One Paragraph.

 

Appearance: Photograph WITH one paragraph of description OR two to three paragraphs of description

 

Excels at: What is the one thing that your character is especially good at and two things that they are good at, but not as good at as the first.

 

Studying: What is your character in the college for? What is it that they want to learn? What degree are they going for?

 

Other: Whatever else you wish to put.

 

Sample Post: Explained in rule 10.

 

[B]Username:[/B]
[B]Name:[/B]
[B]Age:[/B]
[B]Gender:[/B]
[B]Species:[/B]
[B]History:[/B]
[B]Personality:[/B]
[B]Appearance:[/B]
[B]Excels at:[/B]
[B]Studying:[/B]
[B]Other:[/B]
[B]Sample Post:[/B]

 

Month: November

Year: 2111

Temperature: High 65, Low 38

Wind Chill: 30

Chance of Rain: 30%

NOTE: I do not own any photos used in this Post unless specified.

Edited by LoveLost

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Vampyres

 

LoveLost

 

Name: Alexander “Xander” Williams

Age: 355

Gender: male

Species: Vampyre

History:

As a young man, Alexander tended to be a very sickly boy. It didn’t help that his mother had died when giving birth to him and that he was plagued with that memory daily. But at least his health would someday become better, or at least he prayed it would. That day seemed to come sooner than Alexander had wished it would when he was ten years old.

The day after his tenth birthday, his father who was a friend of a Vampyre without knowing it, confessed his sorrows about his son to his good friend. The Vampyre listened with increasing sadness and decided that enough was enough. It took an hour to explain to Alexander’s father that the Vampyre was who he stated to be, but after that hour, Alexander’s father agreed to allow the Vampyre to turn Alexander into one. The process was simple, if not slightly painful was the explanation, but Alexander would outlive his father.

While Alexander lay dying in his own bedroom after a particularly horrible sickness, the Vampyre walked into his room and began telling stories about “Vampires” and what they were. He continued to explain their entire history only to end up telling Alexander what he was. As a young boy, Alexander had always been rather frightened of things, but for some reason, he felt at peace knowing that his father’s friend was a Vampyre.

The Vampyre asked Alexander what he wanted to do and the little boy stated that he wanted to live. He wanted to see his mother someday, but at the moment, he wanted to live. He wanted to see the great mountains that surrounded his home, to see the great lands around him, to see the wild west that everyone had been talking about. Most of all, he wanted to be able to help his father who was an elderly man who could barely run his shop.

With a gently touch to the boys hand, the Vampyre signaled that he was to begin the process. Alexander braced himself, but instead of being bitten by the Vampyre, Alexander felt a few drops of something being placed on the main vein on his wrist. A few minutes later, an odd, fuzzy feeling overcame his body and he soon passed out.

Not long after the day that he was altered to be a Vampyre, Alexander’s father seemed to grow tired. The people that visited his store kept coming though as Alexander helped his father in his shop. Some came to see how quickly he had recovered and how much strength the boy had gained, while others walked in to check on Alexander’s father.

Eight years passed before Alexander’s father passed away. But, one he had, Alexander found himself walking to the door of the same man that had made him a Vampyre. With begging and pleading, the Vampyre finally allowed the young man to become a part of their group but on one condition; that he should never tell anyone of how Alexander became a Vampyre.

The years passed and Alexander found himself in the middle of several wars, political battles, horrible presidents, the changing of laws, and finally the total degradation of structure in the United States. It saddened him to see what had happened to the world that he had once loved, but now, he had more of a purpose than he ever did. It was now his job to see that balance was righted again and to make sure that the Werewolves and Vampires from across the ocean didn’t make the USA fall into oblivion.

Personality: Alexander is a happy person much like the man that had given him his abilities: Montague de Champlain. He tends to enjoy being around people despite their idiosyncrasies and loves to always be doing something with his hands. This has allowed him to be able to do several different arts such as woodcrafting, metal working, jewelry making and various other things. But what he enjoys the most, is photographing the wild outdoors. Alexander always seems to find peace when he is outside, but feels cramped and almost claustrophobic when indoors leading to the idea that Alexander tends to be a free spirit.

Appearance: http://cdn.buzznet.com/media/jj1/2010/11/h...magazine-07.jpg

With dark brown eyes, and light brown hair, Xander is a man to be envied. His strong jaw and perpetual mustache and beard allow him to have a rugged appeal to any woman that passes by. He stands at 6’3 with a frame to match. He isn’t a small man per say, but rather a well built man made to last the rigors of time. But, it does also help that at one point and time, he was a smith which has developed his muscles in bulk instead of the lean build that most would have if they were him. Xander is a slightly tanned being from his time outdoors and can be found wearing jean slacks most of the time with a clean button up shirt. Generally, he wears round toe boots that have been worn for many years. The outfit described, is his favorite to wear when going around the campus. He has several scars along his arms and hands, but because of the materials needed to do what he loves, his hands are also rather soft.

Excels at: Photography, wood working, metalworking/jewelry making

Studying: Masters in Architectural Design

 

Packgoater

 

Name: Thomas (Tom) James Ruthlop

Gender: Male

Species: Vampyre

History:

Tom was born on January 1st, 1911. That year took a toll on his father, who was already a vampire. His mother, Lucinda Ruthlop, died in the famed Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in March. Thomas didn't really know her, and no sorrow followed him after her death, for he was still an infant. But his father vowed to never love another woman, and thus Tom was his only son.

 

One might say Tom's father was destined for greatness. An ambitious, clever man, James Ruthlop was by no means a couch potato, nor was he stupid. No, he was witty and though he may have been relatively poor in 1911, that was soon to change. In 1923, James came into contact with a large sum of money, though no one was sure how he managed it. His twelve year old son often saw strange, Italian-looking men wandering near their house, and though some were friendly, he shied away from them if they tried to speak. From then on, where James and Tom went, business followed and money gravitated towards them. Over the years inventions and businesses prospered under James' watchful eyes, so much so that now, in 2111, he is the most prosperous businessman.

 

Let's go back in time, back to 1931. Thomas Ruthlop and Anacleto Moretti. Anacleto was a large, burly, nasty man who was the one to teach Tom how to stand up for himself. The Italian and Tom were in a room, sitting, when Cleto stood up, and started sneering and pushing Tom around. He had been intimidated by Cleto up until this point, but when the Italian had said his father was a coward, Thomas charged like a bull, right at the man's stomach, driving him to the ground with a snarl. Anacleto was more wary from then on, and he quit soon thereafter.

 

1944. The blonde's life in a wreck. WWII ruled the thoughts of everyone's minds, and Tom was very close to being shipped out to Germany. In fact, he had volunteered. And then he had an accident just before being deported. He suffered a large gash from the middle back of his neck that slid to the front of his chest. Four ribs were broken, one collapsed lung. All from a very stupid car accident that could've been easily avoided.

 

In 1952 Tom's cousin died of polio and his father gained mild paralysis from it on the right side of his face. Tom himself was lucky to not have contracted it. He remembers the long period of time he spent away from his father and slightly shudders at the memory.

 

Now, in 2111, he goes to college for another time, obviously under the guise that he is human. He doesn't let people know he's anything but, and that way he can stay out of the equation until needed. Being high up in commerce, James Ruthlop is also high up in social status, and things tend to pass on to him. When he heard that there might be foreign werewolves and vampires, he knew that having Tom just as another jock might be important.

 

Personality:

Tom comes across as a sneering, stupid, aggressive guy. He generally seems to be okay, but then he'll find someone to prey on and they're practically toast. A popular man who everyone knows, Ruthlop isn't the son or daughter of a professor, but his father is highly respected and thus he is. Tom isn't about to let anyone push him around, and if they dare to, then they better be ready to be beat up at another time. Where Graham is quiet, anti-social, and self-pitying, Tom is loud, gregarious, and tends to be a grateful person.

 

Ruthlop hates how people look at him, his enemies at least. Especially the poorlings. They look at him with utter distaste, mostly because of his father. His father owns a lot of companies, a lot of which the poorlings' parents work for, if they're lucky. And James doesn't actually treat them well, but Thomas gets blamed for it, and what his father did affects how people look at him.

 

Appearance: Tom is 5'11 and 190 lbs of muscle that's likely going to be used to both play the game and afterwards beat someone up. He has a square jawline and blue eyes that are practically an automatic win with most girls. And then he has a six-pack, so he's basically irresistible... right? Well, if you could scratch his personality and replace it with one of your choice, sure. That's how it always works, isn't it?

 

Excels at: Football -Fullback, remembering history facts, learning foreign languages, making fun of people, and beating up those he doesn't like. The last two don't really count, do they? xd.png

Studying: Law, a degree in law.

Other: None

 

 

Vampires

 

Rakashua

 

Name: Johan Tatar Hawk

Age: 1772yrs

Gender: Male

Species: Vampire

History:

(PM LoveLost if you want the whole History.)

 

Personality: To be RPed… (because it’s about to change)

Up to this point, Johan has been behaving as an appropriate foreign exchange student. He keeps to himself most of the time, and gives off an air of confidence that has kept him from being the object of pecking order establishment by the other Richies. His habits are odd as is his choice of food, imported food from his home is all he is willing to eat. He reads most often and gets Bs and Cs in his classes even though he could pass them.

Appearance:

Before his Rise to Power as Priest of the Religious Order: http://arkoniel.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d35a0dn

After his Rise to Power as Ruler of the Empire:

http://arkoniel.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d4hhc9r

What he wore to class the first day (replace the sword with a cane (hilt stays the same but the blade is hidden in the cane):

http://arkoniel.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=72#/d2dqpkn

 

Excels at: Nothing in particular, he’s so average that it’s obvious he’s to anyone who watches him that he’s faking his school career and laughing in secret at anyone who would think otherwise. He gets exactly 77% in every class he takes, scoring poorly or well in order to get exactly that number, just for fun.

Studying: He is majoring in Social Science

Other:

His sword/cane he never reveals that it is a sword to anyone and it weighs 260lbs with the added 4 lbs of the cane sheath. Because of this he is careful not to let anyone touch or hold it to reveal it’s true weight. The sword itself has been augmented with 21st century technology. When Johan grips it in a certain way the symbols glow red and the blade heats until the metal is bright orange on the outside and white in the middle because it’s so hot. The metal is extremely dense (as previously stated) however and does not begin to turn to liquid because it’s melting point is slightly above that of Titanium (1668* C (3034*F)). The blade only heats to 1200*C (and takes approximately 5 minutes to reach that temperature).

 

He dresses oddly for the time period; wearing similar outfits to the one he first wore to school, insanely expensive looking, jeweled, and custom made for him and sent from his mansion in England. The outfits often resemble suits of armor with the metal replaced by form fitting fabric except in a few places (much like his original outfit, see the third picture).

 

Over the past ten years he’s gone without warm human blood, instead he has shipments sent him, frozen, that he procures from blood banks. He has it sent frozen in order to assure that no werewolf, vampire, or vampyre will smell the sealed and frozen blood and discover his secret. The blood is delivered once a month by one of his servants to Johan himself and by no other third party.

 

Johan makes a point of figuring out which other members on the campus are not human. He has a photographic memory and makes notes at the end of each day as to where and when he saw each individual person. This allows him to find patters in behavior and movement in others, allowing him to discover things about them, and to hide himself in the holes in the patterns so as not to be discovered or really noticed much by anyone, even though his choice of clothing does make him stand out somewhat.

 

The food Johan has imported to himself is enriched with iron, allowing him to go longer without the need for human blood. He takes every precaution he can think of to keep his Vampirism from being discovered, though soon he will reveal it to those that he already knows are vampyres and vampires and werewolves.

(will add more if I think of it)

Sample Post:

 

LadyNatasha

 

Name: Joran (Yoren) Baalgruf (WOOT)

Age: 19 (WOOT)

Gender: Male (WOOT)

Species: Vampire: Class is considered High Class Richie

History:

Joran was raised in a very noble, very perfectionist sort of family; the Bampaia family. They were one of the longest-standing, best-standing, largest and most spread noble Vampire families in existence, and still are in a way. They are famous for slipping their influence onto the tongues of unsuspecting humans and altering the course of history--hence WWII and the extent of the Cold War (they didn't want the Soviet Union to dissolve). They tend to put their influence into weak countries and countries that are falling apart, and they enjoy causing dictatorships. Because of America's state, they are now aiming much of their time towards breaking it down.

 

Joran is just a small part of that. Joran was not an expected child, nor was he a loved one. Before he was a year old, several assassination attempts were made on his life and his mother was assassinated before he was three. You see, Joran's father, Ulfen, was a very proud and high-standing Bampaia, the son of the leader of the Bampaias. His mate was chosen for him before he was born, and he was always expected to follow the rules and become what his father was. But Ulfen was not the type who enjoyed following someone else's rules, especially since he knew that some day he would be the leader of the Bampaia family. So what did he do? He ran off one night and found a young human who was beautiful. Four months later she told him she was pregnant, and of course was a Vampire at this point.

 

First of all, she was a human, and any emotional Bampaia interaction with humans was strictly forbidden. Second, he did NOT marry the woman and did not inform his parents about his relationship with her. Third... well, his family couldn't have their heir having an illegitimate child now, could they? Ulfen begged for forgiveness, but it was too late; he was forbidden from marrying the Vampire he was supposed to marry, and his father vowed to kill the previously-human-woman the moment the child was born. Ulfen's father would not have his own grandchild killed though, so Joran's life was spared.

 

When Joran was born and the secret of Ulfen's disloyalty was released to the rest of the Bampaia family, chaos ensued. Ulfen tried to hide his love (whose name has been blotted out of all history) and their child and named the child Vokshou, in hopes that he could escape his past. But the Bampaia family had many resources and eventually found and killed his love. His father was so frustrated at this point that he took Vokshou away from Ulfen and... well, no one's sure what happened to Ulfen, though many Bampaia believe he's still alive. Vokshou was renamed Joran and was raised by his blind aunt (Ulfen's younger sister) and his grandparents.

 

Joran was never treated like other Bampaia children. His grandfather was grieved about the whole situation; some days he would spend all day with Joran, talking to the boy and teaching him things. Other days he refused to let the 'illegitimate creature' even stand in his presence. Joran's aunt tried to comfort the boy, but she couldn't always be there for him; she herself was not allowed to marry due to her blindness.

 

Other nobles of the Bampaia family were careful not to let Joran or anyone outside the Bampaia family know of his history, but their children sensed that Joran was an outcast and treated him so. Joran learned to use money to buy his friends and learned how to act in certain situations so he could please others. By the time he was nine, he was an expert at getting people to do what he wanted, where he wanted it, when he wanted it. His grandfather noticed this and was rather impressed, but did not encourage or hamper it.

 

When Joran was twelve, the Bampaia family decided it was time to act upon America. Joran was moved there along with human foster parents who served the Bampaias and he was taught to speak American-English with no accent at all. Joran was raised as a very rich Richie and learned to act like one. His incredible skills at getting people to do what he wanted made him respected among other Richie boys and adored by Richie girls. Before he was fifteen he had an entire club of 'fan-girls' that loved to draw, photograph, and talk about him. Joran never really encouraged or interacted with them, but he obviously loved the attention he had never gotten as a child.

 

In truth, Joran loved being in America. He was treated like a normal noble with no stigma involved. By the time he was fifteen he was aware that he was illegitimate and unfavored and unable to be a true heir to his family, but nobody in America knew or cared. When Joran first met a Vampyre, he was absolutely fascinated. It became hard to keep his secret as he met more Vampyres, and his family moved a lot. This was partly his fault; Joran enjoyed grinning at fan-girls and telling them he was a Vampire, because none of them really believed it... right?

 

When Joran was eighteen, his grandfather became serious about him undermining the college's programs for Poorlings and Middles. Joran's grandfather was the only one who could 'get to him'; Joran would die to please him and get his favor, and so he agreed to be cruel to the little people and encourage cruelty from the bigheads. Now Joran has begun attending the college, prepared to do his part in bringing down the Americas and helping his family reform the country under their rule--oh, and did I mention his grandfather told him to eventually kill every Vampyre and Americas Werewolf? (WOOT)

 

Personality:

Two words: HAAAAAAAHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA! Shadow.

Okay, now that you have the basic jest: Joran is the life of the party, the center of attention, the dashing young prince who holds his head above some and below others. He can be a dog or a bully, a jokester or a leader, military or simple. He is whatever he needs to be whenever he needs to be it to best keep every secret and goal in order and perfectly lined up to be accomplished on time. But mostly he just enjoys joking around and causing a good laugh... he loves spending time talking to humans and often takes deep breaths near them. He's not extremely good at hiding his Vampirism and is actually disappointed that he has such a small part to play in his grandfather's plans; he believes he was just thrown into the college to be out of the way. The shadow beneath the laugh could go one of two ways; is it there against his grandfather's cause or against the world? That, my friend, is the confusing question that makes no sense. (WOOT)

Oh, and he hates it when older Vampires act all wise around him, heh.

 

Appearance: Typically

Joran has free, whispy brown hair which tends to get all over the place but somehow seems to always find its way back to where it belongs (though some Richies claim they've seen him combing it in secret). He seldom wears anything on his head. His irises are a pale purple which turns dark as he begins to hunger and eventually changes to a dark red. If he is starving his eyes will change from red to a dull and listless grey. This is known because he has almost starved to death before. Anyway, as can be expected, his skin is more pale than most people's skin, but it is not extremely pale; due to his young age, his skin is still fairly normal. His fangs are also not very long at all and in fact look like Vampyre fangs at the most, due to his young age. (WOOT)

Excels at: Art, music, psychology (WOOT)

Studying: Psychology (WOOT)

 

Other:

As a Richie of incredibly high standing, Joran has been permitted two pistols to carry around with him. They are beautiful silver weapons each loaded with three shots. Besides these, he also carries around a little dagger and a pocket knife, along with a set of keys that serve no purpose. Easily bored, he is often seen with a pencil and paper, sketching random drawings... oh, and dice. He ALWAYS keep dice around.

He's not very good with animals... okay, he just plain doesn't have good 'luck' with them. In his lifetime he's owned five horses, two dogs and one wolf, and all of them have ended up dead by various accidents, none of which were entirely Joran's fault. Now he tends to stay away from animals as much as possible, believing himself to be somehow bad for them. He was very sad when his wolf died. (WOOT)

 

Joran's name I did not base off your character, Rak, I chose this before reading your char's name. :3

 

Username: LadyNatasha

Name: Known as 'Steel'

Age: Somewhere around 500, though he lost track

Gender: Male

Species: Vampire

History: Steel was born in Russia as a secret project of the government there. His memories of the place are rather scrambled and he doesn't know exactly what he was supposed to be for there, but he does remember hating it so much that he escaped when he was forty. He left Russia in disgust and tried to sort his memories at this point, but the attention and power he had been granted in Russia haunted him, and he wanted more... but not from Russia. He was tired of being there.

 

At this point he could speak Russian, German, and English. He traveled for a while but hated not having money and prestige. He so hated it that he took every opportunity to backslash at those with power who looked upon him with haughty eyes. Of course, he stayed hidden from the Russian government all the while. In his time traveling, which was about ten years, Steel killed hundreds of law-enforcing humans and over twenty nobles all over the outskirts of Russia and surrounding countries. He looted those he killed and he came to view it as a game. Faint memories of playing such 'games' as a child in Russia spurred him on, and soon killing was a necessity, a habit, as normal and addicting as eating or breathing. Steel lost his humanity and the ability to look at humans as though they were anything more than an animal. Only when he was cornered by Russian government and shot by a rapid-fire weapon was he reminded that humans did indeed have minds and letting his guard down was a huge mistake. He managed to escape that night, but he had to leave behind all the earthly wealth he had accumulated.

 

Frustrated, injured and exhausted, Steel left wherever he was--he can't remember and never really paid attention to details back then--and traveled to Iceland, where he spent several weeks recovering. Iceland was an island of rather smallish size and at the time wasn't populated by the most advanced peoples, so he figured it would be a good place to stay and perhaps even take over. Being king of an island didn't sound too bad, and so Steel continued his habits of getting rid of certain law enforcement and working his way up the ladder by killing nobles. Fortunately for Steel, he never became Iceland's leader: Iceland's leader was already a Vampire, by the name of Ulran Bampaia. Ulran didn't like Steel killing off his puppets, and so one night he confronted the much younger Vampire and they battled, claw to claw and fang to fang. Ulran easily won, but was impressed by Steel's drive... and captivated by Steel's greed. He immediately saw that Steel could be used, and so he invited Steel to become his right-hand man. Steel accepted.

 

Steel didn't really have a name and was actually named by Ulran's son, Ulfen. Steel had claimed he didn't want a name, but Ulfen gave him one anyway and it stuck. Ulfen named Steel for his extremely pale skin that turned a greyish-Steel color when Steel was hungry. Ulfen and Steel became best of friends and worst of rivals at the same time. They were around the same age, but Steel had to do whatever Ulfen commanded (under Ulran of course). Yet Ulfen only commanded Steel to do silly and trivial things, never taking advantage of his position. This respect and playfulness was something Steel wasn't used to, and he appreciated it in a twisted sort of way. Ulfen was too naive to see how far Steel's mind was gone, but Ulran saw it and walked on eggshells to keep Steel under his rule.

 

Steel also got to know Ulfen's younger sister, Nuna. Nuna was blind and very sweet, and because of these traits she wasn't allowed to marry... yet she was the first and only Vampire that Steel had ever felt attracted to. He was kind to Nuna and for the first time experienced the joy of being a servant to someone. Ulfen often teased him about this and said that someday as leader he'd make an exception to the rules and let Steel marry her, but Steel simply growled that marriage was pointless and only led to children, which Steel hated. Still, Steel was fascinated with his emotions towards Nuna and paid close attention to how he felt around her.

 

About four centuries later, Ulfen and Steel were still best of friends... or so Ulfen thought. In truth, Steel was tired of Ulfen and wanted to move up in power. He was tired of being a right-hand man and wanted more than just a side-inheritance. It was close to the time that Ulfen was to marry, and Steel knew that when he married his position as heir to the Bampaia house would be sealed. So Steel went out and found what he called a 'lovely animal' which was actually a beautiful young woman who had a good heart. He captivated her into liking him and then introduced Ulfen to her, claiming she was the only human he trusted. He encouraged Ulfen to 'study' the ways of humans by watching and interacting with her. He talked to Ulfen about the Vampire woman Ulfen was supposed to marry (through an arranged marriage), and he listened to Ulfen complain that he had never met her. Steel himself went out and met her, and carefully said slightly negative things about her time after time. Slowly he twisted Ulfen's sense of honor, using what he had learned from his love of Nuna to further twist what Ulfen thought about the human woman. Then one night he got a brilliant plan and carried it out, sealing Ulfen's fate.

 

To make a long story short, the plan involved making the human woman drink some of Ulfen's venom and having Ulfen find her the next day, transformed into a Vampire thanks to his carelessness. Steel still viewed her as nothing more than trash, but he knew that Ulfen would now view her as a real intelligent being that was able to understand living hundreds of years. Ulfen felt obligated to take care of her, just as Steel thought he would, and Ulfen also felt it was now okay to give in to his feelings. How wrong he was, and it left Steel laughing in the darkness of his own twisted justice as his plans worked out better than he had hoped.

 

The woman became pregnant and Steel took the opportunity to casually inform Ulran that his son had betrayed the purity of the Bampaia clan. Ulran was so enraged at that moment that he took out his anger on Steel, but Steel felt the pain in pleasure for it meant his certain victory. Steel was certain that Ulran would go kill the woman and child and make his son lose all honor, if not kill him as well. Steel felt no guilt; he no longer viewed Ulfen as a friend but as an easily manipulated pawn who had little respect and wasn't worth honor. Ulfen admitted his wrongs to his enraged father and begged for forgiveness. As Steel predicted, he didn't mention Steel at all and seemed to blame the entire thing on himself. Steel thought that was rather greedy of him, but attempted to look concerned as Ulfen's father raged over the lad. Only once did he feel a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling like something he had done was wrong. That was when Nuna came in the room and wept on her father's feet, begging that he be merciful to Ulfen.

 

Once again, Steel miscalculated Ulran's reaction. He didn't know the old Vampire would get so emotional. Ulran didn't kill the illegitimate grandchild; he kept it and killed its mother once it was born. Steel remembered the woman begging for the child (a boy) to be named Vokshou, and of course Ulran ignored her pleas. Ulfen disappeared into the blackness of the dungeons and Ulran refused to tell even Steel what was to be done to him. But Ulran kept the child and wept over the loss of his son whom he had loved. He wept over what he had done to his son, and his tears fell onto his newborn grandson. Steel stood silently by, hiding the hatred in heart as he stared at the baby with disgust. He spent the next week comforting Nuna as he waited for Ulran to decide to kill the child.

 

At one point he thought again that he had won; Ulran summoned him with the message that he had an important decision to make about the baby and wanted Steel's help. Steel hoped it would be concerning the life of the child, but to his great disgust and unhappiness it was about a name for the child; Ulran wanted Steel to name him. Steel had never been good with names, so he excused himself and asked Nuna what she would name him. Nuna wanted to name the child after her brother, but she was afraid her father would be enraged at the thought so she instead gave Steel the name of a distant kind relative, Joran. Steel returned with the name and Ulran kept it.

 

From then on, Steel has been watching Joran grow. He has been trying with little success to ruin Joran's life and make Ulran hate the boy. On some accounts he has succeeded, but most have only made Joran more independent from the majority of the Bampaia family and more loyal to Ulran, and also more sensitive towards humans. Steel seems to hate Joran, but he is careful to never threaten the boy outright. He knows Joran is unstable, and he's only waiting for the moment when Joran (now 19) will mess things up on his own.

 

In his spare time, Steel runs messages to and from the Bampaia family. These messages often involve killing several people, which Steel enjoys. Steel's most recent jobs have focused around the college in America which Joran attends. In Steel's mind, it's the perfect place to make Joran mess up...

 

Personality: Steel is cold and merciless, greedy and twisted, unable to feel mental anguish and unable to correctly comprehend physical pain. It seems he has lost his sense of guilt completely. He has steady hands and a dangerously sharp mind when need be, and he has absolutely zero mercy towards humans. He views them as animals, nothing more and perhaps less. He has no qualms against killing children and in fact hates them. He also usually hates happy people and definitely hates being under anyone's authority except for Ulran, Joran's Grandfather.

 

Appearance: Basic Jest

Except no cross necklace. Steel has long, thick black hair which he happens to take great pride in caring for. He most often lets it flow around loose and free but occasionally he'll pull it back into a ponytail. His skin is always pale, even though he eats whenever he wishes, and if he is hungry it turns a steely-grey. Even when filled with blood his skin is pale, because his body is so used to feeding whenever it wants (he is also quite muscular and healthy because of this). Of course his eyes are red. He stands 6'4 and is built more for power than for speed; his body is thoroughly muscled and his chin is square. His nose is straight and longish, and his eyes are sly. He likes to wear black, and his favorite gems are diamonds because they are colorless. Of course he also has a fascination with rubies, and he likes obsidian. His face is very, very hard to read; he almost always has a pleasant, untrustworthy, relaxed look OR a disgusted, haughty look.

 

Excels at: Killing, lying

Studying: Manipulating, usurping

Other: Steel has a soft spot for turtles. He refuses to harm them in any way, shape, or form, no matter who tells him to or what the situation is.

 

Username: Darkshadow

Name: Jonathan Harker

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Species: Vampire

History: Jonathan Harker was born to two parents, both members of the SS. The SS, also known as the Silverhand Society, was an anti-werewolf and anti-vampire group founded long ago by a man named Felix Stoker, an ancestor of Bram Stoker, the famous auther who almost revealed the SS to the public through the use of his novel, Dracula. Van Hellsing had been a member Bram had enlisted to kill a vampire, on whom the novel was based. Of course, the public believe that Bram was just a writer, and that his work was of pure fantasy. The SS worked in secret, with members in governments all across the world. They lay in the shadows, hunting down supernaturals, experimenting on them, and then finally killing them. When Jonathan Harker was two, he was given up by his parents to the SS scientists for an experiment. SS members were expected to give up anything and everything for the sake of the society, and Jonathan's parents fulfilled their obligation. The scientists had gotten hold of a bunch of crystal vials filled with the vampire's poison, and they wanted a test subject to observe what would happen. And so Jonathan became a vampire at the age of two. The Silverhand wanted Jonathan killed, but the head scientist, a woman by the name of Talia, thought differently. She viewed Jonathan as a young weapon in the making, something the SS could use to fight the non-humans. And so Jonathan was raised on a steady diet of human blood from the age of two on. As he grew old enough to walk, he was put through experiment upon experiment. The SS had never obtained a vampire as young as Jonathan, and so they wanted to test his capabilities and record them for further use. And once the SS had tested to their heart's desire, then it was time for Talia to hone Jonathan into the perfect weapon.

Jonathan was trained by experts in the skills of fighting. He knew most of the martial arts, and how to use weapons to his advantage. He was taught to use his vampiric speed while in combat. By the age of 15, Jonathan was a living weapon. He had a chip implanted in his brain that prevented him from disobeying orders from Talia and a few other selected officials. He was perfect for destroying the non-humans.

However, throughout the entire process, Jonathan had lost his emotions. He could not act like normal or around humans. Heck, he couldn't even go to a fast food place and buy something. Something had to be done. Talia revised the program, and Jonathan was allowed to live like a human for three glorious years. He bought video games, did homework, and learned social skills that he had been lacking. Jonathan Harker was finally ready to do his first mission.

Personality: Jonathan Harker is a living weapon. He was raised without emotions, relying on human blood to live. Now, he imitates human emotions accordingly, following the directions of Talia. He feels like a dog on a leash, and must obey the one who holds the leash. Still, it feels like he's... missing something, some emotion that is vital to his existence. It irks him, and that makes him dangerous. Jonathan is more likely to kill when he's angry. He feels no sly hunger, but a need to feed that the SS can't provide him. Talia keeps him on a strict diet of donated blood, but still, Jonathan can't but be hungry. It's in his nature, after all.

Appearance: [x]

Jonathan has pale, pale white skin, a factor of staying in an underground base for most of his life. His eyes are red, but he prefers to wear ghostly blue contacts, and his hair is brown and short, but no one usually notices that since Jonathan never takes off his hood. He prefers to dress in Mercer-style clothing, down to the jacket and hood combo. Jonathan stands at 6'1", and is pretty skinny for his age.

Excels at: Fighting, Diplomacy, Hacking

Studying: Psychology

Other:

Edited by LoveLost

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Werewolves (American)

 

Packgoater

 

Name: Graham Riddell

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Species: Werewolf (American)

History: Unlike most people, Graham was born without someone there who wanted him. He was born without a loving mother and father, without a good home to go to. When he was born, screaming, his mother didn't want to hold him. She wasn't going to take him home. His father stood in a corner and watched, didn't move to give the child it's first bath, or cut it's cord. Instead he was only there for Graham's mother, only there to help support her. Once they heard the boy might have a mental illness they no longer wanted it, especially after they saw the mass of wavy, dark hair that reminded them of Graham's uncle, Seth.

 

Seth had been a strange, secretive man who was known for his nasty temper and alcoholism. He had been put up for adoption when he was ten and when his brother, Graham's father, was thirteen. Seth's parents were no longer able to support the children in their time of severe poverty, the food and clothing simply not enough for a hungry family of four teenagers, two parents, and Seth. As one could imagine, Seth was horribly depressed and blamed himself, hating everyone who tried to adopt him. They weren't his family. Maybe, just maybe, if he had been better he would've been kept. And then more misfortune struck. Seth, one night, turned into a werewolf, all the while crying and wondering what sort of misfortune had just landed upon his hands. When he was older he lashed out at his brothers and parents, and left Canada to live in the United States. It was a slap to the face, for when they would get together and try to make him understand he would make it clear how much he hated them, and the only thing that came close was the United States and it's politics. So he went there just to show them how angry, how furious, how hurt he was. He wouldn't forgive them. Not ever.

 

Graham was to be put up for adoption, no contact and no rights to the birth parents whatsoever. Somehow he was adopted by the distinguished Dr. Bershadsky, Dr. Seth Bershadsky. His childhood was dull and quiet, as he was an unusually quiet child, and preferred a book to people. His uncle, who was now also his guardian, drank around him, though rarely let Graham see him drunk. Dr. Bershadsky had fallen into fortune when he became a werewolf, and was no longer a poor soul stuck in poverty and forced to bow his head or be 'graced' with the presence of someone above him. He was a free bird, a free thinker, and would not settle for the child he was caring for to have a poor education.

 

So Graham went to a good school, though made no friends and barely spoke to his uncle, for they were both quiet and could never keep up a conversation. His teachers though he had issues or was just plain stupid, as he would often stare out of windows and hated to answer questions in front of the class. But he was smart, and he did pay attention, for he passed tests flawlessly in most areas, but he couldn't stand to speak or make eye contact. When they would have recess he would sit at the top of the old playground where no one played. The other children would run, but he would draw. He would make careful observations of people and things, and thus excelled artistically.

 

When he was a teenager he didn't rebel in the most obvious ways. He would subtly ask questions, prodding the fact that he knew that his uncle wasn't his father, but not quite saying it. At one point his uncle cursed, threw his bottle of wine at Graham, and finally told him the truth. Graham wasn't seen the rest of that week. It wasn't clear if he had bothered to eat, or if perhaps his appetite was lost. Either way it was clear that he was hurt inside, and his uncle wished he had told the boy all along.

 

One night, he must've been around fourteen, his body started to contort and move in ways it wasn't supposed to. The pain was agonizing for a moment while hairs sprouted and thickened from his body and grew into fur, his skull elongated to change shape, and his spine lengthened to allow for a tail. A whimper echoed through the house, and soon his uncle was at his side. And then his uncle was replaced by a werewolf. What was going on? Graham couldn't be a werewolf, and nor could his uncle. It was impossible.

 

Graham had a stronger bond with his uncle then, but when he was around nineteen his uncle died of several issues, mostly organ failure, which his alcoholism helped prompt. The pain was terrible, and he didn't realize how much he loved his uncle until he was gone. All this time his uncle had been there to help him, to care for him, not to do him wrong. When he had first found out his lie, Graham had hated him, but that feeling was gone now and replaced with the most painful of sorrows. Knowing it was what his uncle had wanted, Graham went on to Crystal Lake University to pursue his education after inheriting all his uncle owned.

Personality: Graham is a cold man. He doesn't like talking and is subtle in his acts of hatred and rebellion. He's rarely seen to make eye contact, but when he does it's either with complete and utter hatred, or sometimes gratitude. He doesn't trust people easily, and he doesn't like relying on others. Graham has a dark, sadistic mind, and when he writes or draws on paper it is no longer of butterflies or of playing children. It is of pain and sorrow, similar in style to Edgar Allen Poe. He possess a grim sense of humor, but rarely smiles. His eyes often speak for him even though he may not want them to.

Appearance: As a human, Graham is just under six feet tall with a lean form. He now holds a well-muscled form after learning how to box from his uncle, back when he was alive. He keeps up with this activity, mostly because larger and more popular kids think it's fun to pick on the person who doesn't like to talk. He has penetrating grey eyes that often convey his emotions better than any other body language he possess. His head is framed by dark wavy hair that often has a windswept look. Graha often wears proper pinstripe slacks, a nice shirt, and a pinstripe vest that goes over it. He's highly formal, and is of the opinion that wearing nice clothes is a sort of necessity if you want to make an impression on someone. Werewolf form. Wolf form.

Excels at: Drawing, Science, Violin, Boxing

Studying: Art

Other: None

 

LoveLost

 

Username: LoveLost

Name: Carmandy Elaine “Mandy” Forks

Age: 50

Gender: female

Species: Americas Werewolf

History:

On a silent night, with the stars burning overhead in all their glory, a young woman was walking along the streets of a small town that was lit up with Christmas lights all over. Of course the lights were small, uncolored, and more so candles, but greenery was hung on every sign on top of each building. Inside of homes, there were many different types of families varying from English, German, Irish, American Indian to Spanish. Her eyes wandered over the homes within the stores until she stopped before her favorite. It was the General Store for her small town and the one place that she always went into the night before Christmas. Within that store was the young man that held her heart in the palm of her hands and to her luck, he was only a year older than she. Despite their age difference not being that far, she always felt as if he was eons ahead of her in knowledge.

 

As she walked into the store, the young woman found herself starting to fidget in her dress, adjusting her pinafore and nervously plucking at the bow that held her bonnet onto her head. When it was off, she allowed herself to look around the store at all of the decorations and sweets that had been added to the shelves for the children. In the back of said store, she could hear a large amount of shuffling going on and decided to go and see what it was.

 

When she arrived at the back room, the young woman beheld something that caused a scream to jump into her throat but cease as soon as the thing turned around to look at her. There was blood along the teeth of the being in front of her but it didn’t seem to advance towards her. Instead, it looked frightened and even more so than the young woman was herself.

 

As the woman stared on at what would, hundreds of years later, be considered a Werewolf, she started to feel a familiar air about the creature in front of her, striking a bolt of apprehension into her heart. “Roland?” her voice squeaked out. When the creature nodded, she ran at the creature ignoring the blood and jumped into his arms. “Oh what has happened to you?” she begged only to hear a whine in his throat before she heard his calm, strong voice.

 

“Nothing. I am just not who you think I am.”

 

The rest of that night, Roland explained to his love what he was and where they came from. There weren’t any werewolves in their area so he didn’t mind living her, but he felt more alone than most. He knew that there were others, but still…

 

By the end of their conversation, Roland seemed to have accidentally convinced his sweet that she too should become a Werewolf even though that had not been his intent.

 

“Victoria…if I do this, it will be painful at first. I don’t…”

 

Victoria placed her hand on his cheek and brought her arm to his mouth. “Nothing would be as painful as being separated from you.” She said and with a smile, she endured the pain of having her human body transformed into that of a Werewolf.

 

Over 500 years later, Rollo and Victoria would find themselves having more knowledge than any other in their pack that they had started over a hundred years ago. Their pack loved them in every way because of their happy demeanor that preceded them wherever they went. But on the anniversary of Victoria’s transformation, everything was going to change.

 

Victoria and Rollo were the parents of over fifteen children who all loved them insurmountably. Each of them found safety in the eyes and words of their parents much like the rest of the pack did. However, when a rival pack from another country decided to make their presence known, the entire pack found themselves in a rage against the pack killing all of them off. But in the fray, all fifteen children were killed: it seemed that they had been the intended targets.

 

After that time, Victoria and Rollo became quiet and brooding not even smiling at a huge joke or the giggle of a newborn babe. It would be another 100 or so years before they even allowed joy into their expressions and that was when their daughter, Carmandy, was born.

 

Carmandy was born incredibly small making her parents think that she wouldn’t last more than a year. It didn’t help that they were already, and still sad, from the death of their older children. As they each held the small bundle in their arms, they found themselves feeling more warmth toward her and a yearning for her to live. Under the care of a local doctor, Carmandy lived.

 

Carmandy was a rather artistic and secluded child from an early age almost as if she felt her parents sadness at all times. When other Werewolf children tried to play with her, she would bare her teeth at them, tuck her tail between her legs and run to her parents. Her parents did nothing though and for a time, her behavior continued.

 

After several years of this temperament, Carmandy’s parents sat her down and spoke to her in a civil manner. When Carmandy heard the disapproval in their voices, she started to cry hysterically when released to her room. The one thing that she always wanted, was her parents approval which was something that she would never hear in her entire lifetime.

 

As her attitude changed, the other pups started to regard her with more curiosity and allowed her to exist around them. With this change, Carmandy found her voice which awed the other pups since they never thought that she could talk. A group of pups soon found themselves to be attached to her as a few close friends, but none were close enough to ever understand her gloomy nature.

 

Several more years passed and Carmandy grew in standing with her parents allowing her to advise them when they asked for it. When they did, Carmandy felt as if she could soar into eternity because her parents, in their actions, approved of her ideas and thoughts. As their relationship grew, so did their influence on the surrounding Werewolves who joined them to grow the pack in the United States of America. Because of their size, they soon moved to Canon City Colorado and no reside with the Vampyres in the area as well.

Carmandy herself actually has several degrees in art, but keeps them hidden from most people. She enjoys what she does and as she continues to learn more and more about her practice, she finds herself more and more expressive in her art. Since art is the only way that she can express herself, it always seems passionate, or sad, but at all times VERY emotional. Many find her voice to also be pleasurable which it should be after several decades of training and practice (as is the case with her piano and guitar skills as well).

 

Personality: Questions. Carmandy is very much like her parents but almost always seems to have a question on her lips. Whenever she can, she is questioning someone on their opinion or questioning why something happens in physics or in whatever class she is currently in. Some find it endearing, while others find it a serious annoyance. But not matter which side she is with, she still gets along with people even though she is quiet around them. That doesn’t mean that she talks a lot, it just means that she listens to people to learn more about them.

Carmandy is also very loving with people once she gets to know them. With those within her pack, she usually calls them something like ‘hun’, ‘mija’, ‘mijo’, and various other pet names. But despite all of her pet names for everyone else, she dislikes being called anything other than Carmandy. Some deemed her Mandy, but she quickly refused the name despite the kind intent behind it.

Appearance: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=anime%20wo...fset=0#/d4fnz8t

 

Carmandy is a rather short girl standing at only five feet. Despite her shortness, Carmandy is a very fully figured young woman who tends to not show off her curves like she could. Most of the time, she wears baggy shirts with her shoulders exposed and loose sweat pants. She hardly deviates form the style and barely wears makeup. The only time that she does is when she has a pimple and considering her parents, that is hardly ever. When you are to first look at Carmandy, one would notice the mountain of voluminous, dark brown hair. It seems to make her light skin be even lighter than it is, however, her skin is more olive than anything else. Once you look into her eyes, you would be shocked to see that they are a golden yellow that seem to pierce you with a dozen questions all at the same time while holding a hint of sadness.

http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=yellow%20g...set=48#/d3au8o5

 

http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=wolf%20cri...fset=48#/didlh5

 

In her crinos form, Carmandy is slim, but still just as strong as any other wolf around her. She is muscled evenly throughout her body, however they aren’t as chiseled as many of the other wolves making her seem like a weaker link. Her voluminous hair carries over to her crinos form and falls around her shoulders and is sometimes tied back in a fighting braid or ponytail.

 

http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=small%20br...set=48#/d2mxshw

 

With her wolf form, Carmandy is a small, trim, brown wolf . Her eyes are a bright golden color with flecks of brown throughout. Her coat is a light brown in majority with a saddle of sketchy black over her shoulders. Her coloring is somewhat like that of a light German Shepherd.

 

Excels at: Art (Painting), Drawing, Music (piano, guitar, vocals)

Other: Has an ability to hear people coming up on her. This means that she can distinguish between the steps of someone that she knows, and someone that she has never met before. It makes it insanely difficult to creep up on her.

Studying: Music - Overall

 

Werewolves (OUtside of Americas)

 

Darkshadow

 

Name: Rals Jackson

Age: 45

Gender: Female

Species: Werewolf (Non-American); Alpha

History: Rals was born in Sydney, Australia. She weighed around 3 pounds, 4 ounces when she was born, and it wasn't expected that she would survive. Even Rals parents had lost hope, but Rals pulled through, somehow defying all expectations. Growing up in the town of Bull's Creek, Australia, Rals became an expert eavesdropped by the age of five. She was naturally curious, and couldn't help listening at keyholes and doors, and often surprised people about the extent of her knowledge of the town's affairs. Rals was delicately built, and looked so fragile that the town feared that she wouldn't make the transformation. However, at the early age of seven, Rals defied expectations again. She transformed at the full moon, and her wolf and crinos form were way larger than other werewolves, even though she was so young.

 

From that point on, Rals was no longer treated like a young girl. In her town, when a werewolf took on their wolf form for the first time, that person would be treated like an adult. However, Rals was still seven, and couldn't tell right from wrong. Punishment for adults was much more severe, and after spending a few nights in the town's jail, Rals felt mistreated, and ran away to the Australian wilderness. Fearing the worst, her parents sent out search party after search party, but there was no sign of her. The funeral took a few weeks later, after finding a puddle of Rals' blood on a rock at least three miles away. Everyone was convinced that the precious little girl the town had cherished was dead. Rals' parents mourned for three months afterward.

 

And then, a year later, there were rumours of a large creature stealing livestock from the local farms about two miles away. Fearing that it might be another werewolf intruding into the town's territory, the town sent three werewolves to check on the 'creature'. Two weeks later, the corpses were sent back to the town, delivered by a strangely-dressed man. He was the first of Rals' pack, and the one who convinced her that it would be beneficial to topple the U.S. because of the social rankings that consumed millions of live, and how wasteful the rich prigs that ran the country were. Of course, the man's death was fuel to the fire when he was shot down as a terrorist by military operatives deriving from the U.S. And so Rals began her mission to demolish the U.S....

Personality: Rals has an insatiable curiousity embedded in her very soul. She cannot help but be curious about mostly everything, even though she restrains herself in the face of her pack. When people are around her, many speak of a great, calming feel they seem to have when Rals speaks. Rals is a little shy, but isn't afraid to step up to a challenge, and never tries to back out of something. She defends her decisions with words, and, if need be, her fists, fangs, or claws. She doens't like sunlight, and has a mortal fear of deep water. Rals also loves to draw and paint, inspired by the life she led out in the desert after she ran away.

Appearance:[x]

Rals is 5'6". Rals likes the color green, so she wears contacts. She usually keeps her hair short, but she's been lazy in cutting her hair, so it's been growing pretty long. Her hands are usually cut-up and bruised from working so much, and her clothing is pretty torn up most of the time. In her crinos form, Rals stands at around 9 feet, with a solid mass of a russet brown fur, and liquid brown eyes. In her wolf form, Rals is around 4' 2", with shaggy, russet brown hair. However, her fur always seems ruffled, like Rals withstood some wind blasts for an hour or two. She doesn't really mind comments about her appearence as a human, but she will fight for bad remarks about her wolf form.

Excels at: English

Studying: Art

Other: None. <3

 

Name: Arata Shou

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Species: Werewolf; Japanese-deviant 'Kitsune'

History:

Born in the Hokaiddo region, Arata lived in Japan until the age of five, when his parents immigrated to the U.S., looking for a better life. They arrived in America about three months later, having secured a boat passage. However, their family was in for a shock. In the Hokaiddo region, there was no information about the class system. Arata's family was shocked, and Arata's father, a proud man, refused to believe what was happening when they were sorted into the Middle class. Due to his outrage, he managed to piss off a egoistic Richie who dominated the port, who confiscated the family's life savings, automatically dropping them into the Poorling class. For 8 years, Arata and his family tried to survive, but it was hard. They had not been prepared for the harsh cruelty of America, and his mother died first, shot down in her 'kitsune' form, but died as a human. Arata's father was never the same. He spent what little money he earned on cheap booze, and took all his anger and frustration out on Arata. Day after day he did this, until Arata finally had enough and told his father that his father could go back to Japan. It made Arata's father fly into a rage, and give Arata ten different scars on his back, each from a knife his father was wielding. Then his father stalked off, swearing never to see Arata again. Arata studied hard at school, learning hard, and working up late into the hours of the night just to scrape his way into a good school. He became a Scholar, and Arata was proud. He started to take up botany, cultivating a tiny garden within his personal quarters, and used his home economics skills he learned from his mother. He got into Clear View Collage, and there he had to forsake his garden. For a month, Arata was depressed. However, one of the Richie families tried some of his cooking, and took a liking to Arata. For working for them for free, he is allowed access to their kitchen and their greenhouse, which is no loss to them.

Personality:

Arata is quiet and unassuming, prefering to hide away then boldly stand up to all Richies like others. He treats them according to the law, and politely obeys them to an extent. If they go too far, he will get his revenge in a quiet manner. All Richies who have business with his culinary talents have to pay him, or else. That is the way, and Arata will not tolerate rich-boy Richies trying to get him to cook for them for free. Then his other form comes out.

Arata is different in a 'kitsune' werewolf form. He is cheeky, confident, and he likes to take calculated risks in order to keep his business free from Richie influence. Arata will not kill the Richies, but he will make his purpose clear. He has set little booby traps to warn them of his deal, and most tend to think otherwise of trying to force Arata. However, Arata still has little power when it comes to those affairs. He is supplied by Richies with a little greenhouse of his own. Arata is in love with his plants, and the small kitchen he is provided by the Richie family. In exchange for working for them for free, Arata supplies them with delicious food. It is hard for him to live like this, like a slave, but he has no choice.

Appearance:

[x]<-Human

Arata has golden, beautiful eyes, and golden hair, which he dyes ink blue-black to keep his identity as a werewolf 'kitsune'. He stands at 6'6", a tall, lanky giant. Though he appears to be stick-thin, Arata has heavily built muscles, excellent for running and climbing, but not for anything. 'Kitsune' as a rule do not fight, so neither does Arata. He usually wears black jeans, baggy and patched, and a loose, brown t-shirt, which hides most of the stains. He has only one fancy piece of traditional japanese clothing, which was his mother's kimono (he wears it in the picture).

[x]<-Kitsune

Arata, in his 'kitsune' form, has beautiful, golden fur, and two tails, due to genetic mutation. He has a delicate build, which is easy for scaling walls and such, but not for fighting. But don't be deceived by appearences. Arata can run faster than Vampires and Werewolves in exchange for no combat abilities. He has to rely on other methods. Arata has a strap that he designed to fit around his 'kitsune' form, within easy pawreach to drop behind him. Caltrops, knives, etc.

Excels at: Botany, Home Economics, and Parkour

Studying: Psychology

Other: Arata is fluent in Japanese and English.

 

LoveLost

 

Username: LoveLost

Name: Jaylan Victor Emerson

Age: 270

Gender: male

Species: Werewolf (non-American)

History:

Jaylan was born in Australia in the Outback without a name to his person. His family was a pack of wild werewolves that had never seen civilization. Most of them were rough and tumble people that would kill a normal human on sight. This was how he was raised until he came to a town and found himself interested in the women of that town instead of the women of his own pack.

It took a long time for his family to realize where he had gone, but once they had, they quickly raided the town and killed everyone within it. He was to be the next Alpha whether or not he liked it. Of course, Jaylan was more of a supportive being instead of a leader unless it was with his mate that he would have had had his family not have raided the town. He quickly confirmed their fears by running off again when he was only twenty, a young age for a werewolf.

Before long, they found him again with a female wolf whom had taken him into her pack. Instead of killing them this time, his pack found that they instead decided to join the other pack and work with the female. It was a ruse though and they soon killed then entire pack threatening Jaylan that if he left again, he would have everyone in Australia killed because of his insolence.

That very night, Jaylan killed his entire family as well as those that were in the pack that weren’t a part of his family. He wouldn’t tolerate them any longer and he would do as he chose. The only person left alive was his oldest brother who was also tired of their family’s betrayal.

After another 100 years, they found a town that they enjoyed and lived there underneath the radar. But events would turn and there would be werewolves killed and his brother turned the mind of a young woman to lead a pack against the U.S but his brother was killed by the military which fueled his desire to kill those that had harmed his last remaining family member. With that, he confronted Rals and joined her pack whether or not she liked it. It took some time, but he eventually came to be her one and only Beta.

When they arrived in the states, he found that they were rich beyond their wildest dreams because of how hard he had worked during his life time to build wealth for himself. He was glad to be able to raise his daughter in a healthy minded pack, as well as to find that he himself was being reborn as a wolf. He now follows Rals as best as he can and gives her advice when she needs it.

Personality: Jaylan is almost bi-polar in ways. He tends to be very very kind to those that he knows, but when it comes to people that he doesn’t know, he is hostile and ready to tear out their throat if they do not comply to what his Alphess states. He is a romantic wolf as well, but wouldn’t let anyone know for fear of being ridiculed. Over his daughter, as well as his Alphess, he is very protective but it doesn’t stop there. Anyone that comes within their pack is now within his range of protection and therefore will be protected to the best of his ability.

Appearance:Werewolf

 

In his Werewolf form, Jaylan stands at around 8’ tall. His height is the one thing that he earned form his family, but they were all designed to be quick in battle as well as calculating. So besides being tall, he is also very well-muscled, but not unevenly. Nothing is out of proportion to it makes him look somewhat lanky when he is wet. Otherwise though, he looks rather large because of how fluffy his fur is all of the time.

Wolf

In his wolf form, Jaylan is pure white with small bits of gray here and there. It is odd for him to even be near that color since he was born in Australia. He doesn’t mind though and tends to keep himself extremely clean when he is in his wolf form. His eyes are a striking light blue which is a recessive gene and sometimes makes it hard for him to see. Across the tip of his snout, there is a scar that has yet to heal and some think that it is from when he murdered his family.

Human

As a Human, Jaylan is a very handsome man. He seems to know that most of the time but doesn’t lord It over people. His eyes are the same blue as his eyes when he is a werewolf and wolf, but his hair is slightly darker than his white coat making him look as though he is prematurely gray. His body is built like a runners: trim and wiry. Most mistake it to be a weakness, but to him it is nothing but strength and power that he has to be able to beat his enemies. As a human, he stands at an even 6’4.

Excels at: Fighting, Math

Studying: Business

Other: Has a daughter named Wynter

 

Username: LoveLost

Name: Wynter Kiel Emerson

Age: 35

Gender: female

Species: Werewolf (non-american)

History: Wynter actually doesn’t have that much of a History except for the fact that she is more wolf than she is werewolf. Her father, as far as she knows, was the son of a full wolf and a werewolf which makes her and her father more wolf. To her it is a sense of pride that she has in that fact and it was the reason that her father mated himself for a few years to a werewolf woman.

As Wynter grew though, she soon grew angry at her father for taking her away from her mother and soon attatched herself to Rals to find a place to take care of the lack of a mother that she had. Rals was a rolemodel to her and if any harm were ever to come to her, Wynter would probably kill herself if she were to find that Rals was no longer part of this world.

Wynter is young for a Werewolf and tends to misunderstand some things that her father says for he still follows many of the old traditions of werewolves. One such thing that she has a hard time understanding, is his use of body paint whenever he goes hunting. Of course she still helps him in applying it, but in her misunderstanding one day, she insulted her father and he hasn’t worn it in quite some time.

Since then though, Wynter has been overly cautios in what she does but hopes to someday be as strong as Rals is.

Personality: Wynter didn’t get her father’s initial bi-polar tendencies. Instead, she is more even tempered but not in an aggressive way. If she were to have any ability, it would be to heal. She is caring almost to a fault even though the wolves that are in her pack are more so aggressive. She doesn’t mind, but just keeps on caring. When she was a pup, most of the wolves teased her for being so nice, but once they had pushed her too far and found out that she wasn’t exactly all that nice. When fighting, she tends to go into a state of mind that allows her to kill, but not without discretion. As soon as she is done though, she has no remorse and allows others to help themselves instead of her helping them like she normally would.

Appearance: Wolf

Wynter is a rare wolf in her eyes. They are a dark green that sometimes change to more of a golden color. Her father is curious as to why she has such a color as her eyes, but he attributes it to his great grandmother being human instead of wolf. It was the reason that his mother had mated herself to a full wolf. But besides that, Wynter is normal in everything else. Her coat is a normal color as well as her size. She stands at the average height of 3’6 in her wolf form, but her feet are still rather big.

Werewolf

 

While in her werewolf form, Wynter is a very slim wolf like her father which gives most the impression that she lacks strength. But whatever little she does lack in strength, she picks up in speed and smarts. Wynter does look very graceful in her werewolf form and her fighting style takes on a sort of dancing flow to it. When she stands at her full height, she is nearly 7’, but not quite there.

Human

As a human, Wynter looks like a young, eighteen year old woman with striking green eyes and short brown hair. Her height is around 5’4 and she looks as though she is a dancer in her lithe beauty. It is strange that she doesn’t have a boyfriend though, but she doesn’t much care. Her temper is very even though unless she gets into a fight. Her face is unmarred from battles, but she does have a few here and there along her arms and legs.

Excels at: Dancing, Speeches, Singing

Studying: Dance

Other: Her father is Jaylan

 

Edited by LoveLost

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((Thank you soooo much Khallayne!))

 

"Not again." came the deep, rumbling voice of a young man that sat in the library pouring over his studies to make sure that he passed the next test that was going to occur in the next few days. His voice was actually no more than a whisper, but a few students still looked up to see what it was that made that deep sound but he ignored their stares; his work had more importance. But at the moment, he didn't really want to study for it was something that he had taken several times in the past 100 years which made it frustrating and somewhat monotonous when you weren't allowed to use the degrees that you had earned before hand for the degree that you wanted to learn that time of your life.

 

It took some time for him to finish studying his mathematical problems before he was able to lean back in his chair against the back of the chair which creaked in exasperation of his stretch. he ignored the creaking as he placed his hands behind his head to look up at the ceiling which was a very high ceiling with paintings made by students during the founding of the college. When his eyes had rested for a long enough amount of time, he leaned forward again to look at his book then slammed it shut.

 

With a turn, he grabbed his back pack and placed it on the desk and his book within the pack. As he stood up, he noticed the eyes of a few girls standing there straying to him as he stood, but thought nothing of it as he swung his pack of one broad shoulder then strode out of the library between rows and rows of books. With a sniff, he was able to detect where the others were in the library and cast his glance to the others and for those he recognized, he nodded to them in hello.

 

Outside of the library, he walked along a path that led to a large cafe that had been designed with student comfort in mind. There were magazines on every table as well as a port for holographic systems which allowed for easy navigation on the internet. After ordering a cup of coffee, Xander looked around the expansive room to find a seat. On the outside of the cafe, sitting on a cushy leather chair was Carmandy Forks, the daughter of the Alphas of the Werewolves.

 

After getting his coffee, Xander walked towards where Carmandy was and laughed as she said hello in a calm tone.

 

Carmandy had been in classes all morning and it seemed to be rather exhausting. it was easy though, the going to class part. The hardest part was having to listen to the same thing over and over again, just worded in a different way each time. She didn't mind too much in the long run, but it did get annoying when she was already tired. Her last class was a History class which wasn't exactly her favorite, but because of having gone to college twice already, she thought that she had learned the ins and outs and the entire course: she had not.

 

Hsitory was still difficult, but at least she could pass it with an A if she really studied pretty hard. Even though it was tedious, Carmandy stuck to her studies like a fly to poop because she needed to keep her parents' approval at the fore front of her mind. She had to work harder than any other being in the world, in her sometimes extremist opinion, to keep that approval or any hint of it there in her life. She didn't have the trials that many had in the physical world, but instead dealt with them in the mental world.

 

As she walked out of her History class, Carmandy's golden-yellow eyes traced over everything around her taking care to note the odd gaits that people had and matching them with the sounds the echoed around her. It was a bit hard to distinguish footsteps while between buildings because of the echo, but she still was able to after a few minutes of concentration. The sheer thought that it took to do what she loved, kept her calm and level headed.

 

Without even thinking about it, Carmandy's footsteps led her to the large student cafe on the other side of the campus from the history building. It was a place that she loved to be because it overlooked the large lake on the campus which the entire college centered around. Her mind wandered here and there as she walked to her favorite spot and sat her things down making sure that people saw who it was that was setting things down.

 

She walked inside, her steps light and hardly audible even though she wore three inch high boots. Her normal, a pitch black form of liquid that hardly any drank, was quickly placed in front of her much to her happiness. After she took her first sip, she hummed in pleasure as she pulled out a ten dollar bill and placed it on the counter. "Keep it." she said in her quiet manner before walking out of the cafe to her place on the outside of the cafe walls in a comfy chair. She placed her headphones in her ears to a mix of ancient, classical music that hummed through her body.

 

When those all too familiar hums were interrupted by familiar footsteps, Carmandy allowed a gentle smile to cross her rosy lips. "Hey Xander."

 

When Xander sat down across from her, she looked up from the book that she had been reading and sipped lightly at the hot liquid in front of her.

 

"Good morning Carmandy." he said with a smile on his handsome face. It was irritating how the two of them acted like a couple...at least to the men and women around them who liked them. Within the Pack and Clan though, they knew that they were the furthest thing from a couple.

 

"Seen anyone else?"

 

"A few in the library. How were classes?"

 

"Uneventful and boring." She muttered her nose back in her book.

 

"Same here." Xander said with a light laugh as he allowed himself to zone out while looking at the lake and sipping on his coffee.

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"Are you most alone with or without people?" That's what people always seemed to ask. It was the same question to Graham Ridell, over and over again, and perhaps the reason why people asked was because he was always alone, and though it seemed it was by choice, he also seemed lonely. And the fact was, Graham didn't quite know the answer to that question, either. He didn't exactly like being around people, but he didn't really like being alone either. It was just that... he didn't seem to "click" with any of these people. None of them were terribly interesting, and the ones that were just seemed rude as a side-affect. They pushed away outsiders, and that was one thing Ridell definitely was. He didn't fit in, and the people who talked to him mostly seemed to pick on him. The only thing that stopped him from showing off his boxing skills was the fact that he wanted to stay at this college for more than a month.

 

Right now the black haired man was walking away from the latest lecture he had attended on anatomy, and was currently putting his notes in a book of his that had cost him practically a fortune. He stopped as he felt a heavy breath on the back of his neck, and sighed. Turning around, he looked at the man before him with a huff and turned back around. And now the man came closer, head slightly waving back and forth like someone who had a broken neck, or perhaps a cobra that had dove for it's prey, only to find it a rock, one too many times.

 

"So how's being a loner working out for you?" the man sneered, his mouth in a twisted grin.

 

"Is this high school? I thought perhaps college jocks would've been a bit more mature, but perhaps the brain damage got to you. It can have quite an effect, I've heard, and I believe you are a quintessential example," Graham replied coldly, and sighed. He didn't like talking, but ever since he had told the kid he didn't want to hang out with him or the jocks, he had become an enemy. And that meant that this idiotic man-child felt it was his duty to mess with Graham Ridell as much as he could.

 

"I've been doing some digging," the man called in a sing-song tone, grinning as the Ridell kid suddenly froze. "I heard about your uncle, which wasn't hard, considering he gave a lecture here. He was crazy, nothing but an alcoholi-" he was cut off as Graham swung a fist to his face and then started to walk away through the halls. So much for not hurting someone.

 

Finally he arrived at the cafe, where he looked around and found a chair mostly apart from the others. He was slightly shaking all over. He wasn't usually this angry, in fact, half of the time he appeared void of emotion, but this time it was different. Anger and hatred radiated from him, and people warily shied away. Sitting down, he got out his sketch pad and started drawing on it. What he drew was rather grim, a man hanging on a noose. It was skillfully done, but he suddenly erased the face and drew a new one - one with a similar likeness to a man he had seen just today.

I'm most alone with others.

Edited by Packgoater

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Carmandy was about to ask Xander a question about why he seemed so annoyed at something when a familiar scent crossed her nostrils and the sound of familiar footsteps entered her ears. In a moment her headphones were out of her ears as she listened intently making sure it was the person that she indeed thought it was. To her surprise though, his steps were angry almost as if he had exploded upon someone without meaning to or something.

 

Carmandy looked at Xander who nodded knowing that he was to stay there when matters came to her pack. She loved all of them equally and wouldn't dare want to see them harmed mentally, physically or emotionally. Although, not many knew this and thought that she was only out to pester them with questions despite her fifty years of living. Carmandy brushed her hair out of her face and made sure that her baggy shirt was in the right position before allowing her Werewolf scent out into the air to allow the other Werewolf to know that she was there.

 

SHe looked at Xander again wondering if he would watch her stuff.

 

"You bet I will...with my life." He said with a cheeky grin at her knowing that she would tell him 'Not with your life you dimwit.' Which she did.

 

After making sure that all of her things were taken care of, Carmandy stood an unimposing figure amongst the 'kids' that walked along the paths. A few looked down at her diminutive height and smiled at her which she returned with a glance/glare that told them that she was clearly not someone who smiled at random people. Her boots lightly clicked on the ground as she made her way to where the other wolfe's scent lead her and his spot was way away from where the other students sat.

 

As she arrived, she didn't even say hello, or ask if she could sit. Instead she hooked the toe of her boot around the leg of a chair, swung it around and sat down on it backwards with her legs folded up in front of her. For a moment she regarded his handsome features noting the sadness in his gray eyes once more.

 

"What happened? Why are you angry? Who made you angry?" she asked him in quick sucession a slight amount of concern lacing her words.

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Just a touch of green right there... And a dab of brown. Rals flicked her paintbrush against the canvas, adding a familiar touch of color to the painting of her home town; an old photograph she had taken as a memoire. She didn't grimace when her paintbrush brought to life the house of the married couple she had killed years ago. Another student, also studying art, peered over her shoulder, and commented, "Wow, that's amazing, Rals. Do you know this place?" Rals smiled. "Yes, this is my hometown." she said, and the student smiled and said, "It's very beautiful," and turned away, heading back to her own art.

 

Rals gave a sigh and flicked her brush a few more times across the canvas, filling in the little details of the last house. With an impassive sigh, she finished the painting and stood up, stepping back to admire her work. All the familiar details of her home town were imprinted on the canvas. Setting it on her easel to dry, Rals carefully screwed the caps back onto her acryillic tubes, and went to the nearby sink to rinse off her brushes. Rals was aware of how expensive her matierals were, despite being in the 'Richie' class or whatever it was in America. She sighed and packed everything carefully away, and walked out of the classroom. She still couldn't stand being in America, though the people here were polite and such.

 

I've gotta put on more of that herb-y perfume on my clothes again before I go out to that cafe. Rals thought as she proceeded down the hallway. It was a bit of a pain, but the herb-y stuff actually smelled really nice, like lavendar, and she didn't want to let it slip about her heritage.

 

Ten minutes later Rals left the campus with her favorite book, Bram Stoker's Dracula tucked underneath her arm. Rals had loved the old classics, like The Count of Monte Cristo and such, but Dracula was her all-time favorite, despite how the facts were only based upon superstition. However, Rals did not start to read. Reading while walking was dangerous, and also it was hard to relish all the good details while the book was constantly moving under her nose.

 

Entering the cafe, Rals immediately froze as she caught the Werewolf scent. She knew who it was, of course. It wasn't a secret to another werewolf, at least. But none of her pack was here, and if there were more werewolves, even she might go down in a fight. Then she scented the air again. Only one scent. Calm down, Rals. Just go and sit down at a table. Pretend to ignore everyone else. Rals walked calmly to a shady table and sat down, folding her legs and opening up the creased and tattered book. All the while, however, she strained her senses, trying to detect if any sign of attack was coming.

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Johan rushed out of anatomy class, bumping past two middles who apologized as he rushed down the hall, sure that the rest of the class believed that his stomach had become queasy.

 

The truth was far different, though it had a bit to do with his stomach. They had been studying the major blood veins and the network that carried blood through the body from the heart, leading back to it over time. Johan had allowed his mind to fantasize about the thought of all that red ecstasy rushing about just below the skin of a particularity beautiful freshmen sitting a row in front of him.

 

This he found himself leaning over the sink in the bathroom, biting into his tongue to keep from screaming in pain as his fangs grew exponentially. Blood ran from his tongue into his mouth and down his throat, and though it was his own... it immediately eased his pain. He locked the door and withdrew two things out of one of the many pockets that his current attire boasted, a piece of hard foam... and a titanium fingernail file... which he promptly began to use on his incisors until they looked human again... a painful and annoying process that he usually could avoid but once a week.

 

A moment later he stepped out of the bathroom only to have another boy rush into it past him... the aroma of fresh warm blood hit him as the boy rushed past with a bloody nose. He sighed... it had been so long since he'd had warm blood... he would have to take a short vacation to satiate himself... cold blood, old, and shipped halfway across the world... just wasn't the same.

 

That boy was... Johan's mind replayed the moment, catching the boy's face as he walked past him. Tom Ruthlop, a jock, his current hobby happened to be bothering Graham Ridell. That made it likely that Graham had given him the bloody nose. Which meant Graham would be going somewhere to get away from these surroundings, in a bad mood... well there weren't many places to go, so Johan, swinging his cane as he walked, exiting the school grounds on his way to the Cafe.

 

As he had predicted Graham was there, sitting alone... oh nope, there came a girl to sit near him, Carmandy, now she was interesting... She had a knack for sensing things, a nice personality, and she smelled of wet dog... under all that perfume at least. A fact he'd discovered through one of his typical ways of gathering information about individuals in the school he suspected of being extra-human... going through their laundry, stealing trash they threw away, recording their movements.

 

Xander on the other hand, boring, an avoider... a creature of habit. Interestingly enough he had iron breath. A term Johan had invented for himself actually... it came from the amount of iron he laced his food with, or form taking iron supplements. It meant that Xander had an iron deficiency, explainable by several common medical conditions, but also the possibility of vampyrism.

 

All of these facts entered and left Johan's mind as he caught Carmandy's question and answered it as he strode over to the table with a friendly smile.

 

"Oh Xander got bothered one too many times by Tom, I have a running count if you're interested, but this particular time he finally hit the buffoon, broke his nose I'd say by the amount of blood" he emphasized the last word without explanation. "So now he's angry, though probably a bit more at himself for losing his temper than that worthless dweeb who was bothering him."

 

"But you should be proud of yourself, stood up for yourself for once old man." Johan gave Xander a pat on the back, "please, don't be do down, celebrate, I'd have loved to hit him, come on, don't be so glum. I'll buy you anything you like to snack on, just name it."

 

Johan smiled pleasantly. He had never made an attempt to get to know anyone in the whole school. Now he had just inserted himself socially out of nowhere, oh this was going to be fun!

 

He'd decided last week, it was time to start putting his semester of observation into work. Time to get to know those he thought were inhuman. If he was right he'd reveal himself, if not... he would make them vanish, at least that's what he planned.

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Carmandy was waiting for Graham to reply, but it was really taking him forever and by the time that she was about to ask him the same three questions again, another man walked up behind her whose foosteps she had never heard. Her head whipped around allowing her hair to throw a strong scent of werewolf into the Vampire's face. "You mean Graham right? Glum? He's always glum. Who are you?" she asked him as she stood up slowly making sure that she didn't snarl. It was something that was a habit when she was with her pack because then they would make sure and cover up her all to overactive snarling. She didn't like it when people walked up on her in a random way and having this...weird looking man sneak up on her and Graham was not a comforting prospect.

 

Her golden yellow eyes looked into his crystal blue eyes as she took in his scent. It wasn't anything too abnormal, but she couldn't really place it which made her tense. He was dressed oddly making her wonder where exactly he was from. His clothes in no way matched what others were wearing even the clothing that she wore was out of the normal for a Richie, but his was a little overboard.

 

In a moment, Carmandy realized that the tensing of her muscles along her jawline had alerted to Xander that she was tense. She could tell that he was looking at her just because of the way that her hair prickled on the back of her neck.

 

Carmandy glanced at at the new man once more and several more questions popped into her mind. "How do you know that that idiotic jock has been plauging him? Have you been watching him? If so, why? For entertainment? For sheer boredome? Do you take a class with Graham?" her questions would continue endlessly if she didn't hear Xander clear his throat as he walked over.

 

"Easy on the questions there Carms. I watch people too and you know it. Besides, Johan and I go to a class together so don't worry too terribly much." He said with a charming smile as he looked between the three others with a slightly wary look. They took the same anatamy class but he had told his professor that he had a doctors appointment, which technically, he did.

 

Carmandy glared at Xander until he put his arm around her shoulders with a laugh. " I know I know. Don't call you anything other than Carmandy right?" he asked then looked across the way at a young woman that was one of three Scholars on the entire campus. He was distracted only for a moment then turned his gaze back onto those there.

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"...As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew louder and angrier; their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew then that to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such allies at his command, I could do nothing-"

 

"But you should be proud of yourself, stood up for yourself for once old man, please, don't be do down, celebrate, I'd have loved to hit him, come on, don't be so glum. I'll buy you anything you like to snack on, just name it."

That man was so loud! Sheesh, he sounded so full of himself. However, the next part of the book was too enticing to be annoyed for long. Rals bent her head down again and continued to read Bram Stoker's Dracula again.

 

"But still the door continued to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and as a last chance I cried out-"

 

"You mean Graham right? Glum? He's always glum. Who are you?" A strong whiff of werewolf scent hit Rals's nose, and it was all she could do from sneezing. Irritated, Rals looked up, holding her page. One of the other students, Carmandy, was all in someone's face, and by the scent she was wantonly blasting in the cafe, she was more than irritated. She interupted my favorite part! This conversation was getting irritating, especially since the other people didn't know the mean of the phrase 'peace and quiet'. Rals watched the others for a second, Carmandy with her wet dog scent, the man with the strange clothes and the cocky attitude. Rals went back to ignoring them.

 

"... 'Shut the door; I shall wait until morning!' and covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the hall as they shot back to their places-"

 

"How do you know that that idiotic jock has been plauging him? Have you been watching him? If so, why? For entertainment? For sheer boredome? Do you take a class with Graham?" Does that female ever shut up? Rals gave her a cold, hard glare, one that she had long practiced in exercising her command over her Australian pack. She wished she could tell the girl to shut up, that some people were trying to read in peace, but that would attract attention. And then another person joined the conversation, a male, who seemed to be using what most people would call 'the voice of reason'. And then she turned back to her book.

 

"In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me; with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile Judas in hell might be proud of."

I'd like to lock Carmandy up in this castle with the Count and see how she likes being loud.

Edited by Darkshadow

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"Nah, that's not cool man, we gotta get something bigger! Tell ya what; you go find something larger than a bear and I'll get my fan gir--er, I'll get Liana's group working on the ribbons. No, I said Liana's grou--ah, shutup! You have to admit, they'd jump off a cliff for--oh, gotta go, here she comes!"

 

Joran grinned mischievously as a group of five Richie girls turned a corner, all talking excitedly about some stupid new fashion trend which involved using wolf-fur belts... something Joran was forbidden to do, and wouldn't do anyway. Joran's grandfather had a huge respect for all non-American Werewolves, and would have no products made from any part of any canine. The old Vampire hunted deer, but despised those who hunted predators.

 

None of this mattered to Joran, though; he thought it was stupid to hunt predators but he wasn't going to stop anyone from doing it. Now he simply waved his entire right arm at the girls, and they all stopped their conversation to wave back--all but Liana, that is. Liana had a higher sense of pride and grace than that. Instead of waving she simply smiled and crossed her arms, and her entire way of walking changed. Liana wasn't really a 'fan-girl' to Joran, but she did enjoy watching her friends go sugarwild over him and she did occasionally flirt. Richies liked flirting; it was a hobby. After all, they could do anything with their lives even if they failed college the first time around. And so can I, heheheh.

 

Joran was pretty sure he was currently the youngest Vampire in existence, just barely nineteen and posing as an eighteen-year-old. His grandfather had been reluctant to send him to college, but Joran had begged to be allowed to get out and do something. He couldn't stand sitting around in the Baalgruf compound, receiving the same treatment and looks from all the Vampires that he had received since he was born. Nobody wanted an illegitimate child around, and Vampires took a very long time to change their minds, or so it seemed.

 

"Hello ladies, I was just looking for you." Joran had known Liana since highschool, which was one reason he was so popular with her and her new college friends; much like Joran, Liana knew how to make people like her quickly, but unlike Joran she was actually quite picky in choosing her friends.

 

"Hi Joran!"

"Hey Jor."

"Joraaaaaan! I texted you but you haven't replied!"

"Joran, Tom Ruthlop has a bloody nose!"

 

This last bit of information caught Joran's attention, and all at once he felt a hunger arise. He quickly glanced at his wristwatch to avoid staring at the necks of the girls in front of him. Just the thought of blood... if he allowed himself to think of it any longer he knew he would lose it. It sucked, being only nineteen, but his breath-mints covered the scent of his weekly dinner quite well on most days.

 

"Bloody nose, eh? Look, I gotta go but ask Pete about the party tomorrow night Li, and I will text you in an hour or so Savaria. And all of you make sure you save a dance for me. See ya!" Joran clicked at one of the girls who giggled and rolled her eyes, and then Joran raced past them all and took a deep breath as he turned the corner. It didn't take him long to catch Tom Ruthlop's scent. Immediately after catching it, Joran stopped breathing and slowed his jog to a quick walk. He held his breath all the way down the hall to where Ruthlop was sitting outside the nurse's room, holding a kleenex in his nose and tipping his head up. He looked quite disgusted and furious. The sight of blood didn't really set Joran off, unlike his relatives, but the scent....

 

"Ooooh, who'd ya mess with?" Joran asked, still not breathing in. Ruthlop glared at Joran, but in a sort of kind of maybe buddy manner.

 

Joran was not a jock. Nonono, he wasn't even close to a jock. He was not built and wasn't sporty at all. However, he had a way with people; he knew how to talk to them in a way to get them to accept him, if not like him. It was something he had been forced to practice his entire life, and he was actually not too bad at it. Sure, teachers seldom gave him higher grades than he deserved, but he was fairly good at manipulating young humans. Vampires and Werewolves were a whole other annoying story.

 

"That freak Graham just exploded for no reason, the idiot. Hey, take my buddies and get back at him, will ya? I'll be right there when this bleeding stops..."

 

Graham? Who's Gra--oh yeah, that quiet guy who could have all the girls on him in five seconds but instead just sits in a corner and paints dead people. Wow, that guy exploded? Ha, smashed Ruthlop right in the face. Good aim, and... gotta breathe soon....

 

Joran shook his head and grinned, which unfortunately let some of the taste of blood into his mouth. Immediately his pale purple eyes began darkening. "Can't," he said quickly, "you know that'd make half the people I bargain with hate me, and I do bargain for your sake, I gotta go now I'm late for breath! I mean math!" Joran spun on his heel and sped the other way, turning a corner quickly and searching for the nearest non-classroom area he could possibly enter. He knew if he saw one more person with any sort of blood on them, he'd lose it... and if no one here killed him, his grandfather would. He quickly found the door to the student cafe and took a deep breath outside of it. A few people glanced (and smiled) at him as he did this, but he ignored them. Instead he took one more breath and entered the cafe, his eyes now returned to their normal color.

 

A few people greeted him as he entered and one tossed him a paper airplane which he caught and stuffed in his bag, but what interested him the most was the conversation at the end of the room; it was a loud conversation and, being a freshman, Joran didn't know anyone who was participating in it (though he recognized Graham). He suddenly felt perhaps it was a good time to get to know some folks...

 

A plain look on his face, Joran meandered towards the group, hands in pockets. As one of them barraged another with questions, Joran saw a lady on the sidelines give the talking one a glare. Joran's eyes wandered to the book she held and noticed with delight that it was a book about a Vampire, if not a fictional one. Then the scent of canine caught his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose; it was faint, but still apparent. It made Joran feel sick as he remembered each of his dogs and how they had died... and his wolf. He felt ever so guilty about the death of that wolf. It had been the first wolf his father had allowed him to even interact with, and... well, Joran decided to not to think about it.

 

Instead he approached the girl who was reading the book and peered over her shoulder. He was about two feet behind her, but with his Vampire eyes he could see the words just fine. His hands were behind his back and he was smiling just a bit as he found a paragraph to begin reading.

Edited by LadyNatasha

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Graham jumped as Carmandy sat by him. He always was rather oblivious when drawing, and more so when agitated. He looked up at the woman before him miserably before putting his head in his hands and sighing. He really hadn't meant to get so angry or to punch the guy. But he had called his uncle an alcoholic, which admittedly he was, and that was the main way to piss him off. The pencil in his hands was starting to flex, and started to groan and was splintering ever so slightly.

 

He watched as another man came into the scene, and then started babbling out about pretty much everything that had happened. Graham shifted towards the edge of his seat and started to gather up his supplies. He was starting to get uncomfortable, being as he sat alone purposely and now was surrounded by people. Not a single one would he call friend nor foe; up until this point they mostly had just been other student and nothing really special at all. Well, besides the girl. She was the Alpha's daughter or something like that.

 

" Pretty much what he said. I... I took care of it. It was nothing. Some guy was just acting like a stupid highschool jock. Said the wrong thing about my uncle. I overreacted I guess and he'll be feeling it later. God, I hope he's not knocked out," he muttered, the pencil finally snapping in his hands as his head smacked onto the table with paper fluttering around him. A moan escaped his mouth as he imagined having to leave the school because the whiny little brat of a man would complain. But perhaps he'd be too embarassed that he, the big highschool jock, got beaten by Graham, the skinny artist.

 

"I hope I get to stay. I shouldn't have done what I did. I can't believe I... My uncle would be so horrified..." he groaned, brows knit, looking up at the woman again with misery in his eyes though strangely not on his face. He looked then at the man who had offered him to get a treat. Grahamwas slightly offended. Was he really that cheap looking? He had too much money to look like that, though he did tend to look a bit raggedy. Did dark colors look cheap? Did he look poor? See, this was why he hated being around people. They always made him feel snervous and unworthy.

 

Standing up he started away from them, glancing back just once as he looked to make sure they hadn't followed him. While looking back, he walked straight towards a table and tripped over the chair to land sprawled on the floor. He looked up for a second before sighing and letting his head rest back on the floorGroaning, he could feel there was something wrong with his left hand. He had landed on it in a strange way and now, feeling it, he could tell it was broken. Three of his fingers, and his wrist was messed up. Sighing, brows knit, he uttered one question.

 

"Karma, why do you hate me so?"

 

((Sorry my posts suck. I'm stuck on a kindle, and not even the touch screen kindle fire. D:))

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((*growls* it wasn't Xander...Xander is my guy....it was Graham.))

 

Xander watched Graham get up and wondered what was wrong with him, but when he ran into the table Xander winced and stood between Johan and Graham and motioned to the table that he had been sitting at. "Come on, let's go sit down and let Carmandy take care of him. She knows his family better than most." he said with a chuckle and lead the way to the table. When he sat down, he looked over at a young woman that was reading a book. He could pick out the word D-R-A on the front and knew that it would have to be Dracula...what else could it be? Drama? Nope, that didn't fit with her personality.

 

After making sure that Johan was seated, he looked at the young man that was standing in a kind of creeperish way behind the young woman and found himself tensing at the sight. Was he being a creeper? Or was he just reading? Wait, how could he be reading from that distance? Oh well. Wasn't really any of his business, but he would talk with Zebulon that evening if he had too. "So, Johan, how was class today?" he asked him to initiate conversation.

 

When Graham spoke to her, Carmandy quickly turned her head towards him hoping to catch every word that he said. She wondered why he had been so tense and thought that maybe she would ask him later that evening if he decided to stay at the house that had been built for their kind. When he started to seem rather panicked about staying at the college, Carmandy felt sorry for him, but when he looked at her with such misery, she felt her heart leap into a pool of tormented sadness, almost as if he really did want to be there despite all of the people that plagued the college.

 

"Graham..." Carmandy muttered as he stood up and watched him wondering where he was going. he was so distracted that he accidentally ran into a table and chair and did some sort of weird movement in the air. She winced at the same time that Xander did and was grateful when he tried to distract Johan. If he did, all the better for her to get Graham out of there...he was so upset right now.

 

Carmandy looked around at the Middles and Richies that were snickering and her look turned to a harsh glare as she walked over to him as dignified as she could and knelt down beside him. Her hand gently rested on his back for a moment before she gathered his things together and helped him sit up. "Let's get you home." she said without any hint of room for discussion. She walked over to where Johan (hopefully?) and Xander were sitting and grabbed all of her things. With a slight afterthought, she turned back around and walked to Xander's side a cheeky grin in her eyes as she barely bent down and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of what needs to be done please." she said and Xander nodded in understanding of her words.

 

"Will do love." he said which made her glare at him before walking back to Graham and taking his stuff.

 

"Come on Graham." she said and reached down her hand to help him up. He was well over a foot taller than she was, but she could help him up for the most part. Her strength was still hers to possess even though she was a human at the moment.

 

((Pack, your posts suck? Liar....mine do!))

 

Marcy looked around her at the people that stared at her in her gray turtleneck and leather jacket. Her dark brown hair covered half of her face which was much to her benefit for earlier in the day she had found herself feeling rather obstinate to the Richies in her History class thus making her a prime target for a mobbing. The right side of her face, the one covered her hair, was swollen in several areas which painfully split her skin but on the other side, the left, her face was scratched across her cheek bone but that was it.

 

Out from underneath dark bangs, her angry blue eyes looked out at those that looked down on her with scorn and hatred. No one loved a Poorling for they were they were the reminder of what a failure was of what each of the Middles and Richies were...failures riding on the backs of their ancestors. They rode in on the wealth of others and beat up those that weren't doing as well as they because they didn't want more Poorlings to think that they could succeed. They didn't want the Poorlings to see that life could get better for them if they worked hard enough. Stupid idiots. They don't care about anyone other than themselves!

 

Marcy turned a corner and nearly ran into a Middle who didn't move but the Richie behind him did. Right into Marcy's path. She was able to stop just in time to look up at him and found herself glaring at one of Tom Ruthlop's cronies, Dan Reyck. He was another jock but most of them responded quickly to Tom's leadership, not Dan's. In her opinion, Dan had way more guts than any of the other jocks, but Tom had power. He was the son of a great businessman who held power in many circles and used that to his advantage.

 

Marcy stayed there for a moment while Dan waited for her to apologize for getting in his way. But instead of getting an apology, Marcy spit on his shoes and stepped to the side. Dan growled in anger and shoved her against the wall holding her there by her shirt.

 

"Watch it Poorling." he said as he brought his face closer and closer to hers warning her as best he could of what he could do to her if he so wished. When his breath blew a part of the right side of her hair away from her face, he grinned darkly and then hit the same side again with a powerful blow. Those that were still walking along payed him no attention as he laughed and walked away from Marcy allowing her to regain her senses.

 

When Dan had made contact with her face, Marcy found herself accosted by bright flashing lights and then sudden darkness after a large spike of pain crossed her face. When she flashed back into existence, she realized that she had not really broken anything, just that it hurt even worse now. It was more than enough to make her eyes water, but who was she to allow her eyes to water?

 

As she gathered herself to stand up, she realized that some were staring at her including a few officers. Their warning, and somewhat sympathetic grins made Marcy even angrier as she stood up, straightened her back and walked into the glass building that she had just been held against. When she walked in, silence pervaded the room for a moment before she looked at those that were quiet and it soon burst back into it's activity as she ordered a small cup of soothing tea. She had to get something that kept her from exploding and getting herself arrested or killed. There was hardly a person outside due the slight chill outside so she was relieved when she found a table that was empty. Her stuff was thrown to the ground with a loud boom that echoed along the way. A smirk was on her face as she enjoyed the sound then sat on one of the chairs. Her sickly thin, but well muscled, body didn't even make the chair creak as she sat down and propped her legs up on the table.

 

Her jeans hugged her legs, painfully showing wherever there was a bone protruding because of her ill fed weight or where her legs were swollen from being kicked earlier that day. To be honest though, she didn't give a crap what anyone else thought about it. She was going to survive whether or not they wanted her to.

 

In her graceful, emaciated hands, she held her tea and slowly breathed in the soothing scent of lavender chamomile tea. A sigh of relief and release escaped her even as a moan of pain did from the throbbing in the side of her face. It was hard to sip at her tea as she looked over the lake, but she did so anyways allowing herself to relax some since her back was to a wall and hardly a body was there. Finally, some peace.

Edited by LoveLost

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" 'Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait. Have patience. Tomorrow night, tomorrow night, is yours!' There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw without the three terrible women licking their lips. As I appeared they all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away.

I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I am dear!"

Rals could hear the man's breathing and he stood behind her, and the scent on his breath. A Vampire! "I feel pity for Jonathan Harker, trapped in the castle with the Count." she spoke aloud, not even turning around to address the strange young man. "Of course, Dracula is fiction. You, however, are not ficitional, and by the stench of your breath I can scent the remains of whatever iron-supplement you had with your meal, be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner." Rals finished. She hadn't needed the glance that male gave her from his position to alert her. "Interested? Well, let's hear about Bram Stoker's opinion. 'It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.' He doesn't have a nice attitude towards vampires, but that's to be expected, anyway." Rals said, and motioned to the seat next to her.

 

She had no idea why she was extending such an attitude towards a strange vampire, but Rals bet that he could smell something underneath the lavendar perfume she was coated in. It was hard to hide the scent of a dog-related creature, after all. That other boy, Graham, had tripped over a table and done something to his left hand. Ouch It looked like some, if not most of the fingers were broken. "Karma, why do you hate me so?" he asked the heavens, and Rals understood his meaning. According to one of the weirdos before, Graham had punched a loser jock in his fat face, which was apparently unlike Graham. And now his hand was broken. Man, this guy is really unlucky. Rals made a mental note to stay away from him in the future, and to tell the rest of her pack stationed here to do the same.

 

When Rals saw Carmandy make a move, she sighed and settled into her chair in a more comfortable style. Carmandy, a messanger of the angels coming to help another. The thought made her sick, and Rals's mouth formed a vicious snarl for a moment as Carmandy bent down to help Graham up. She quickly stopped. Rals couldn't blow her cover here just yet, with an American werewolf in such close contact. She also didn't know if Carmandy's 'friends' were also non-human, and she couldn't tell with the pungent scent of Carmandy and the vampire behind her in her nostrils. "Let's get you home." Carmandy said, drawing back Rals to the present. With a cheeky smile, the female went over and kissed the male that had partially alerted Rals to the man behind her on the keep.

 

Ick, ick, ick. I can never unsee that. Rals snarled again, a low snarl that caught in her throat. She was disgusted by the public display of affection, which was gross already. But from Carmandy, it was just plain nasty.

{{My posts are the most fail of all.}}

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((sweat* EDITED! Ah, my mistake, how could I do that... *sweat*))

((Edit: you guys think YOU fail, I get entire sets of names mixed up...))

 

"I feel pity for Jonathan Harker, trapped in the castle with the Count."

Surprised that the reader wasn't freaked out at his presence, Joran smiled just a little and leaned slightly away from the book and the brunette reading it. Nineteen was very young for a Vampire, and he wasn't even experienced enough to know how to react to such strange confidence... that, and he wasn't used to interacting with Werewolves, though at the moment she seemed like a lavender-smelling human to him...

 

"Of course, Dracula is fiction. You, however, are not ficitional, and by the stench of your breath I can scent the remains of whatever iron-supplement you had with your meal, be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner."

Now Joran was quite surprised, and his smile faded to a look of confusion... he wasn't sure how to react. He wondered if she was a Vampyre, or perhaps a Vampire or Werewolf or American Werewolf. The scent of canine... is it her? Did I just... lean over to read over the shoulder of a Werewolf? And she just... well, if there were any Vampyres in the room to hear her, I guess they know what I am now, or at least have a guess... how interesting! Grandfather would kill me! If she is a Werewolf and she is somewhat important, I bet Grandfather could tell me who she is.

 

"Interested? Well, let's hear about Bram Stoker's opinion. 'It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion.' He doesn't have a nice attitude towards vampires, but that's to be expected, anyway."

 

When the Werewolf motioned to a seat, Joran took it with one swift movement and glanced curiously at the book, then looked back up at the green-eyed girl. "Everyone has their opinions," he said in a cautious-cheerful voice, "and most people wish to express them. They seem to like making other people agree with them. Forgive my breath... apparently the mints weren't strong enough..." -his voice quieted- "and it wasn't a supplement." At this Joran coughed slightly into his hand to suppress a grin. Idiot! Why did I say that? What if she's NOT a Werewolf, or what if she's an American Werewolf? Oh well, I was supposed to find the Americans and root them out, wasn't I? Hmm...

 

"I've never read that book of course, so I can't feel pity for the characters or the writer. Doesn't sound very accurate, though, but it does sound exciting. I can't think of a single family member of mine that would gorge themselves on any sort of food." He smiled then, reminding himself to avoid grinning; the scent of blood from earlier and now the thought of gorging one's self on it was getting to him. He felt his cellphone buzz as someone texted him. "My name is Joran, Joran Baalgruf."

 

He was about to extend a hand towards the Werewolf when he caught her growl and quickly retreated. A moment later, he realized the growl was not aimed at him and he followed her gaze to see where it was aimed. By the snickering and disgusted look on the Werewolf's face, Joran had to guessed that the female that was leaving now had just kissed the male who was saying 'Will do love.' Joran was quite curious now and a bit disappointed he had missed the kiss, but he turned his attention back to the Werewolf and extended a hand, allowing a respectfully curious smile to cross his face. "Pleased to meet you."

Edited by LadyNatasha

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Johan smiled as Graham walked away, Carmandy going after him as he fell, and Xander stepped in to salvage the situation. It was very much like them all, sort of... he'd never encountered Graham in such a... foul mood that he would trip and break his hand... still... Carmandy was a saving grace and Xander her guardian angel... something like that anyways.

 

Johan turned his crystal blue eyes back to Xander. A fitting description of them, for his irises were covered by crystals cut into unobtrusive contact lenses that did nothing for his sight but caused his eyes to appear bright blue instead of a more demonic red. He moved his tongue around in his mouth, making sure his fangs weren't acting up, something that brought back the unpleasant memory of class and Xander's question.

 

"Bloody, oh it was filled with blood, everywhere, it was all anyone was talking about, you could practically feel it pulsing through the room..." Johan rolled his eyes, "I detest anatomy class. I shouldn't have to expose myself to pictures like that... I lost my lunch after class. Oh that's how I ran into Tom what's his face that Graham decked. Ran in as I left, probably to wash the blood off his face... geez what is it today with blood?" he asked, as if just making the connection that he'd ran into some real blood after being exposed to it in anatomy class.

 

"Don't worry about it though, I think Graham was in the right, Tom won't bother him about it I assure you, the dolt is lucky to be alive, wouldn't have thought the beanstalk could pack a punch like that," he noted, referring to Graham.

 

"Oh miss..." Johan caught the waitress' eye on her way by, "garlic tea if you don't mind, extra strong." He'd always liked the taste of garlic, it did wonders to hide the stench of his iron breath, garlic tea... ahh... it was perfect to clear the sinuses as well. In fact... he ate a lot of garlic things, and didn't mind the bad breath effect as it worked to his advantage in another way. He could purposely not breathe on people and no one would think anything about it... and it gave him the excuse to chew on Altoids all day between meals, he was quite sure some students must think him addicted to the small white pills.

 

"So what about you Xander?" Johan asked, taking a deep scented breath of everything around him. "How do you feel about blood? If you're not paranoid about the stuff I've got a great book on AIDS that would properly paranoi you, wish I'd never read it myself... can't even enjoy zombie movies anymore."

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Rals looked over at the man who had just sat down beside her. She had to be careful, and not reveal anything, especially about being an Australian Alpha werewolf who wanted the U.S. to crumble...

"Everyone has their opinions," the man said in an almost false cheerful voice, "and most people wish to express them. They seem to like making other people agree with them. Forgive my breath... apparently the mints weren't strong enough..." -his voice quieted- "and it wasn't a supplement." At this the man coughed slightly into his hand, and then continued, "I've never read that book of course, so I can't feel pity for the characters or the writer. Doesn't sound very accurate, though, but it does sound exciting. I can't think of a single family member of mine that would gorge themselves on any sort of food." The man smiled, and then said, "My name is Joran, Joran Baalgruf."

 

 

Joran extended a hand, a respectfully curious smile crossing his face. "Pleased to meet you." Rals nodded and slowly extended her own hand, shaking his firmly. "The name is Rals, Rals Jackson. I am pleased to meet you as well, Joran Baalgruf." she said, and then paused for a little while. "What you said about the non-supplement meal you had earlier was a bit amusing. It seemed that you and your family consider humans to be 'food'. Interesting, very interesting. I haven't yet seen how you people do it, with this little game of non-human hide-and-seek. Crikey, it drives me mad to watch those two dimwits"-here she motioned towards Carmandy, who was leaving, apparently, and that other male whom Carmandy had kissed- "and believe that they're non-human."

 

'Oh miss... garlic tea if you don't mind, extra strong." Rals gave another small growl. It sounded disgusting, this 'garlic tea'. In Australia, things were much simpler than this 'class' stuff in America. Small wonder there were weirdos who enjoyed garlic tea. "Anyway, mate, it doesn't matter. So why were you reading over my shoulder, anyway? If you wanted to know the mildly amusing topic of Dracula, you could've just asked, instead of acting like a slightly psychotic stalker, or whatever it is called here-" Rals paused for a moment in the middle of her sentence. Oh, rats! I've been saying all of this in my Australian accent! It took me a few months to sound like an American! There was an awkward moment of silence, in which Rals just waited for the strange man to reply. Maybe there was time to reforge this mess-up, and she wouldn't mention this to her pack...

{{More fail posting.}}

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"The name is Rals, Rals Jackson. I am pleased to meet you as well, Joran Baalgruf."

Her handshake was very firm and her hands weren't very smooth--she obviously worked, which surprised Joran. Then again, he supposed he could be wrong; his grandfather would have been able to tell where, what, and how often Rals worked. Not that his grandfather would ever be caught shaking hands with someone in America who had no importance. Rals... what an interesting name.

 

"What you said about the non-supplement meal you had earlier was a bit amusing. It seemed that you and your family consider humans to be 'food'. Interesting, very interesting." Joran shifted a bit, not certain how much Rals knew. Her words confused him, making him wonder if she knew he was a Vampire and not a Vampyre, or if she was just going along with it like it was a game and didn't actually believe in Vampires... but didn't she smell like a Werewolf? His confusion faded to great curiosity when he suddenly noticed an accent on her voice.

 

"I haven't yet seen how you people do it, with this little game of non-human hide-and-seek. Crikey, it drives me mad to watch those two dimwits"-Rals motioned towards the two who had apparently kissed or something- "and believe that they're non-human."

 

So she does know I'm not a human, and she's not a--wait, those two aren't humans either? O-hoho! Gotta meet them sometime.

 

'Oh miss... garlic tea if you don't mind, extra strong."

 

Joran perked at the deep voice and the mention of garlic. He liked it, but his grandfather thought it was disgusting and wouldn't let him eat any. Joran had never heard of or thought of garlic tea. He glanced with amusement at the extremely rich lad who had ordered it, but he looked at Rals again when she growled. Her voice was quiet but more powerful than she herself appeared. She wasn't all that tall or anything, but her manner betrayed her stature; she wasn't weak, and she wasn't a Richie-flirty-girl either.

 

"Anyway, mate, it doesn't matter. So why were you reading over my shoulder, anyway? If you wanted to know the mildly amusing topic of Dracula, you could've just asked, instead of acting like a slightly psychotic stalker, or whatever it is called here-"

 

Joran laughed a bit louder than he had intended, but he couldn't help it; people had given him a 'you're-a-psychotic-stalker' look before, but had never said it to his face. "Was I that creepy? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I didn't even think you'd notice, I guess, and when I started reading it intrigued me and I felt the need to continue. I'll have to order a copy. So... are you Australian?" Joran asked the question carefully and more quietly, rather confused because she hadn't started out speaking with an accent but then she had been, and it was definitely Australian or Tasmanian or something of the like. Then again, she could have just been joking at his psychotic-stalker-ness; maybe she associated such things with Australians and was trying to give him a hint. The more Joran looked at and spoke to Rals, the more fascinated and confused he became.

 

He mainly asked the question to see if it was safe to reveal that he wasn't American... then again, even if she said yes, how could he be sure and believe her? If it was a fake accent and she was trying to find out if he was a Vampyre or a Vampire--with the intention to slay the latter of the two--well, Joran really didn't want to get into that mess.

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{{If you didn't like what I did here, LN, I'll edit if you want me to.}}

 

 

"Was I that creepy? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I didn't even think you'd notice, I guess, and when I started reading it intrigued me and I felt the need to continue. I'll have to order a copy. So... are you Australian?" Joran asked the question carefully and more quietly, looking rather confused. Rals's eyes darkened at the question, and she grabbed Joran's shoulder and pulled him closer, digging her nails in tightly to keep a firm grip. "Yeah, I'm Australian. I wasn't born to have society offered to me on a silver platter, like all these piece of censorkip.gif Americans. Now, this information happens to be private. If you so happen to let it slip, I'm going to kill you. Understand?" At this, Rals dug her nails in a bit harder, just to let the threat stand, and then released Joran, sitting back with a casual look on her face. It was if the little moment of hard truth had never happened.

 

Why had he asked the question? Was he an idiot vampire or something? Was that even possible? The Australian vampires were nice people to hang out with, once one got over that they didn't have any morals when it came to food: it was hunt or die down in the Outback, where the conditions were harsh all year round, with little or no rain and a harsh, bleak sun shining overhead. And yet still there seemed to be idiot vampires. How old was this person anyway? His appearence was by no means a way to tell his age; Rals had seen 400 year old vampires who looked as young as he did. "Now, why did you have to ask the question that opened a Pandora's Box?" she asked him, her green eyes boring into him as she asked the question. Her whole body posture was relaxed, but really, Rals was ready to flee the place, and track down this vampire at night, when she would regain her power to transform... and hunt as well.

 

There seemed no way around it. Rals would have to get blood on her hands once again in order to stop her identity from being leaked, and her plans ruined. Especially if the werewolf pack stationed at the school found out... My pack would be decimated if they were caught unprepared. Rals shook her head slightly to clear that nasty thought out of her head. Her pack would follow her until the end, because she was the Alpha. "Now, unlike Count Dracula, I have no qualms about throwing you to the wolves, with or without your consent. Now then, tell me if you are American or not. Now I'm indefinitely curious." Rals asked, putting her fingertips together, and studying the man's face in case he tried to lie. Would he answer truly, or would he try to bluff his way out of a sticky situation? Relaxing a little, Rals waited for a reply.

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((Alright, real laptop ftw! :DDD But it's early here so I'm not exactly awake. xd.png Maybe I'll get up a real post tomorrow after school. :/))

 

Graham's grey eyes rested on the ceiling a moment longer before he refused the hand that was being kindly held out to him and instead stood up on his own, locking his jaw and sighing with a heavy breath. He closed his eye for a moment and took a deep breath in preparation for what he was about to do. Flicking open his weary and sad eyes, he concentrated on his broken fingers as he other hand wrapped around one and tugged, slowly shifting the bone back into the correct position. He visibly winced and his brows knit in discomfort as his teeth ground into each other. Once all bones were set, albeit painfully, Ridell then tore a strip of fabric off of his expensive jacket and held out his hand, slowly wrapping the fingers up in hopes of at least momentarily keeping them still. He'd see a doctor or something later, now was not the time.

 

He started picking a few of his drawings that were still left up, and stuffed them within the confines of his book, another huff escaping his pale lips that were currently set in a slight frown. It appeared he wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed that there were people laughing at him, and was thus completely indifferent as a quick glare on his behalf came from Carmandy to silence the crowing onlookers. She thought he was weak, he could tell. She tried to help him to sit up, and then she further tried to help him to stand. He wasn't weak, he wasn't some wimpy, simpering dog begging at it's master's feet. Graham was an expert at boxing, he just didn't normally box with chairs. Stupid chair had won this time. He wasn't deaf to the conversations going on around him either, and one was about his lovely little fight.

 

"Wouldn't have thought the beanstalk could pack a punch like that," one voice said, and seemed to sneer over and over in his head, even though he knew it probably hadn't been meant like that. A nauseating feeling started to overcome him, and he staggered slightly before righting himself. This voice made him angry and head-spinningly so, but these things were best kept inside and he wouldn't be letting his feelings out like he did earlier for a long while yet. If that was how he acted, like a child, then he certainly wasn't ready to be heard. Children were seen and not heard, and as far as he was concerned, while he acted like he did earlier he was a child, and was undeserving of a voice at all.

 

It was strange that, even though he was born in a modern time, he seemed to have the same outlook on children as they had in the old. Children were extra mouths to feed and were lucky to be fed at all. They didn't deserve to whine or complain, especially not if they had loving families who wanted them. The loners, the children who went from foster home to foster home, they had reason to complain, just a little. But the rich kids who cried when they got their lunch at the wrong time? Those kids ought to be kept silent until adulthood. They were undeserving of the time and money that was given to them.

 

"I'm fine. I don't need your help, nor do I need anyone else's. I'm not a child, and you aren't my mother here to save me after all this time," he said quietly, taking the rest of his things from her and looking for a table he could actually sit at. He had some homework he needed to get done, and he didn't want to get it done at his house because he'd forget he was supposed to do it there are start to watch TV instead.

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Xander looked a little bit absent minded as Graham seemed to react incorrectly to Carmandy's aid. She wasn't one to view others as lower or higher...she was more of an equality person. However, he still paid attention when Johan spoke even as a young woman agressively grabbed a young man and then roughly released him. Such strange happenings were oging on today which was rather odd considering the usually peaceful campus. He chuckled lightly when he heard Johan complaining about how his stomach became quesie at the sight of blood which was odd. He was never one to get sick at the sight of blood because of having blood lust "bred" out of him by Montague. It made it easier to understand how anatomy worked when you weren't a blood loving weirdo.

 

Xander allowed Johan to finish as he nodded his consent with his comment about Graham. "Rumor has it that he was a boxer at one time, that or his uncle or someone like that taught him. To have such rounded talent is really a neat thing." he said not using the English that he had been born into and instead using the dialect of the modern day.

 

"Blood isn't something that bothers me really. I mean it's not like it's something to be abhored. it's what every being has whether they are human or not. Even theses on aliens state that they have to have some sort of lifeforce. And I don't need to be paranoid about blood...thanks for the offer though." he chuckled again his dark eyes scanning the area and his breaths normal. He took in the surrounding area, noting the gentle lap of waves against the shore, the pained breathing of a Poorling seated behind him, the increasing heartrate of Carmandy...wait...the increasing heart rate of Carmandy? Oh dear.

 

Carmandy watched with a grimace as Graham set his fingers. He seemed to pick up more papers that she had missed without realizing that they were his. But above all of that, she seemed to notice that he had an impressively large chip on his shoulder about people considering him to be something else. he wore it in his eyes which was starting to irritate her. What was it that she saw? Self loathing? Hatred of other people? She couldn't tell; I mean really! She was only 50 years old, maybe her parents could read him better, but she sure as heck couldn't.

 

The one thing that she did realize, was that he was starting to irritate her with all of his misery and all of this self pitying. Even her parents who had lost several children, didn't pity themselves. Instead they worked for the better of their pack and ensuring that they were well taken care of. Maybe all Graham needed was someone or something to take care of? Maybe a cat. That would be too ironic.

 

He calmly stated to her that he wasn't a child and she wasn't his mother which quickly set her aback making her silence rather interesting. Carmandy was never one to be very outspoken but instead, more of a quietly brooding person: A habit that she picked up from her parents.

 

Not only was her silence there, but her face was rather easy to read at that moment. Who did Graham think he was to judge her as being motherly? SHe was only trying to help and nothing more than that. She wasn't trying to treat him as a child only as someone who was a part of her pack like his Uncle would be. When he turned to walk away, she added to his momentum by firmly kicking him in the butt.

 

"Don't interpret everyone's aid as them calling you a child. Instead you are calling yourself a child when incorporate self pity into your responses and accusations." she said then walked past him, her short legs moving quickly but her breath coming easily. Her words had been pointed and stern, but quiet as she normally was. It was almost time for her to go home anyways so it was easy for her to make the decision to go ahead and leave.

 

Her steps seemd to grow louder as she allowed her frustration to go through her body and out of her feet but the frustration simmered as she watched a few Richies, her own class of course, walk by her with anger in their eyes. It was easy to see that they had some sort of heinous crime planned by the way that they looked at the people that were outside of the cafe. She stopped her frustration still deep within her, but her concern for the safety of others winning out.

 

What would my parents do? What would they do?

 

 

 

Marcy calmly read her book, Jane Eyre, as she sat there enjoying the feel of the world around her. The sheer peace that it gave her was unparalleled in any way. It made her feel like she belonged instead of like the person that others rejected and hated all of the time. Her mind kept wandering over the first pages more often than concentrated making it hard for her to even be able to finish a page, let alone absorb the autobiography. What else was she to do then when she couldn't stop thinking about how she had a C in History?!

 

But her thoughts were interrupted when the Richies from her History Class walked up to her and started to tap their feet. A small spike of fear struck itself into her heart making her tigthen her grip on the book, her dark hair covereing all of her face from the Richies. "Can I help you?" she asked as she looked up from her book, her icy blue eyes glaring at them from underneath her shaggy, mangled hair.

 

To her dismay, those standing in front of her were the EXACT same people that hdad cornered her for asking a question in History class and beat her up for it. The girls behind the two boys were those that had cut her once long and beautiful dark hair into the shaggy, angry mess it was today.

 

"Yeah you can Poorling. You can help us by moving your sorry butt out of the way so we can sit down." Came the oldest man's voice. He was one that she hadn't really met before because usually it was the jocks that picked on her.

 

"I don't see your names on the table or the chairs so I think I can stay. " Marcy responded knowing that she was going to get another beating today. In her heart she hoped that there would be someone to help her...someone....please....

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((editing... ninjad. Is Marcy in the same reading room as our other characters? Also, that's perfectly fine Darky X-D Any interruptions to this post are fine and I can edit, it's a tad long))

 

It didn't take Joran a moment to realize he had said the wrong thing, and a tiny whimper escaped his mouth and he was suddenly pulled nearer to Rals. Everyone was busy laughing at the Graham guy, so nobody really noticed. Joran didn't resist or flinch when Rals's nails dug into his shoulder. Instead he offered a quick and guilty smile that faded as quickly as it came.

 

"Yeah, I'm Australian." Joran listened to her insult the Americans, wondering why the question was such a big deal, but not daring to ask. "Now, this information happens to be private. If you so happen to let it slip, I'm going to kill you. Understand?" Joran nodded and flinched just slightly as her nails dug further into his shoulder, but he didn't dare move against it until she released him. When she did, he sat back with a small sigh of relief. "Yeah, I gotcha, not a word," he said. His voice didn't sound as surprised or threatened as his posture had seemed a moment ago.

 

"Now, why did you have to ask the question that opened a Pandora's Box?"

 

Joran was about to answer but Rals continued with the questions.

 

"Unlike Count Dracula, I have no qualms about throwing you to the wolves, with or without your consent. Now then, tell me if you are American or not. Now I'm indefinitely curious."

 

Joran was very happy that he was able to truthfully tell her he was not American; he knew if he was American, he would definitely feel like telling a lie and if he didn't he would be hiding; Rals's grip was strong and further betrayed her stature, and Joran had no doubt she could be tough in a battle... perhaps he'd even lose was it against her... if she was a Werewolf, she definitely wasn't a young one.

 

"My apologies," he said excitedly but quietly, "I'm from the Nordic lands, I'm not American. I...'ve worked pretty hard to get rid of my own accent. My family is fairly important in Greenland and Iceland." This last part wasn't bragging; Joran simply wanted to make sure that Rals knew he was legitimately not American. He definitely didn't wish to present himself as a threat, though it seemed Rals wasn't easy to scare, and so he stopped at that and shrugged.

 

Joran stopped suddenly when a familiar and quite distinct scent caught the air; it was the scent of one of the very few Poorlings attending the college. Immediately his interest piqued and he glanced at Rals, wondering if she smelled it to and what she thought of Poorlings. If she didn't like America, she probably didn't want the Poorlings to succeed, especially not the smart ones. However, this particular Poorling was one that very much interested Joran; she didn't always do what the Richies asked her to and she didn't always greet them legally. Sometimes she had a good reason not to do something and she'd state that reason, risking getting herself beat up but still stating it. Other Poorlings simply moved and survived.

 

What was her name? "If you'll excuse me," he said to Rals, standing and giving a polite head-bow. So interesting, he knew he would definitely have to speak to Rals more later--he had been wondering if there really was anyone else in the college that wasn't American--but for now, he had other objectives. Joran followed the scent around a corner or two, just in time to hear "so I think I can stay" come from the Poorling's mouth. Joran was almost completely delighted to see Dan Reyck standing in front of the Poorling, about to beat the living daylights out of her, along with another big guy and two very popular and cute girls. Immediately Joran decided what to do. He hadn't had much experience with Poorlings in college and had yet to beat one up; he didn't mind when the Americans helped ruin their own nation by beating up Poorlings for him, but this specific Poorling quite intrigued him.

 

~If Rals had decided to come this far, Joran grins at her and says "Watch this."

~If not, Joran simply begins to approach...

 

Without any reserve of any sort, Joran jovially strode over to the two girls behind Dan and the other guy and, not pausing a moment rested one elbow on one girl's shoulder and the other on the other's shoulder. "Hello, ladies!" He said loudly. The girls were startled when he did this and turned suddenly to look at him, immediately seeming both disgusted and complimented. Dan had been about to give the first smack-in-the-face to the Poorling, but was also surprised to hear Joran and turned around. Dan's already angry look turned ever darker.

 

"Have either of you a dance to the party tomorrow night? I happen to be a lady or two short, if you know what I mean." He winked and clicked at the one on the left, and both girls moved away from his elbows with looks of disgust. "Hands off, freshman," said one. The oldest man, who Joran did not know, looked extremely annoyed and impatient.

 

Dan suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Joran by the shirt collar. "You came at a bad time, Baalgruf!" Joran grinned in response. "Nice to see you too, Dan! Tom has a message for you!" Dan clenched his fist tighter, seemingly not happy at the reminder of Tom's power. Joran seemed undaunted, but Dan looked just about ready to smash him.

Edited by LadyNatasha

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((Just wanted to mention one thing. Even to werewolves, Vampires are very difficult to detect. The oldest werewolves and Vampyres/Vampires even have a hard time of finding out who or where they are because they still smell human unless they have just eaten))

((And yes she is wink.gif And the Cafe is outdoors))

 

Marcy was bracing for the impact of the would be mortal punch that was about to come towards her when she heard an unfamiliar voice say something to the ladies. He was a handsome Richie with dark brown hair and from this distance, without her glasses, she couldn't really tell what color his eyes were. As he approached, Marcy found herself curious as to what he was doing. He was making Dan angry and Dan was no small boy. He was a football player and baseball player in the off season. He was big and fast. It was hard for her to get away from him especially on a long stretch of straight land. The first time that she had tried to run away from him, he tackled her to the ground breaking her hand and then dealt a few punches to remind her that she wasn't to run away from a Richie no matter what they said, did, or asked.

 

When Dan looked like he was about to punch Joran for what he said about Tom, the oldest of them placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Xander had turned around in his chair and looked at the three of them, shadows dancing in his eyes begging to be released onto those that thought themselves above everyone.

 

"One moment please Johan." Xander said with a charming smile and walked over to the others his steps smooth but his attitude bristling. He stood just an inch or two shorter than the largest man there, but his size was larger. "Dan, get your hands off the boy...now."

 

Dan glared at Xander and kept his hand there with a smirk. "Why Williams? You aren't a professor."

 

"Yeah, but I know several." He said smoothly as he glanced at the ladies who, once they had backed away from Joran, moved closer to Marcy wanting to get her away from these Richies. But Marcy was smart and started to pack her things.

 

Dan glanced back and cursed mildly under his breath and then felt a lare constricting force around his forearm. "Didn't I say to let him go?" He asked his dark eyes daring Dan to refuse him. He knew that Dan was someone with guts and he hated being controlled especially by those weaker than he was like Tom did. But with Xander, it was now a test of will. He had to win, he had to! But as the grip increased, he had to release Joran. A glare of defeat crossed his face before he turned around like a whipped pup but Xander put his arm around Dan's shoulders and whispered something in his ear which made pain and sadness cross the man's face. But within those emotions, there gleamed hope.

 

The girls were still moving towards Marcy when Dan walked by giving up on the venture. But the girls didn't want to. They hated Marcy even if Xander was there, they were going to get back at her for asking those questions and insulting their grades. But before they could get any closer to her, Xander pushed by the larger man and appeared behind Marcy, resting his hands on her shoulders which pushed her back in her chair. "Ladies, I'm sure that you haven't responded to Joran correctly. Especially considering the value of his family and his name."

 

The girls looked back at Joran and sighed as they walked over to accept his invitation. Xander chuckled and watched as the girls and large man walked off. He still didn't dwarf Max (Graham's best friend since he came to America), but he was close.

 

Marcy watched all that was going on and was so surprised that she nearly dropped all of her stuff as Xander patted one of her shoulders and then walked over to Joran. "Smart move." He said with a laugh then saluted both of them in an off handed manner then walked back to the table.

 

Marcy tried thank Xander and looked at Joran a coldness still in her eyes but anything she did still brought increasing pain in the side of her face. "Thanks." she said in a gravely voice. She didn't even say anything to him legally but at least she said thank you. Normally it would have taken a gun to her head to get her to say thanks to any sort of Richie. She sat back down, slightly shaken and looked at him again. "Why? Why did you do that? he could have snapped you in two. You're lucky Professor de Champlain's foster son came over...." she said and sighed willing herself to keep from breaking down.

Edited by LoveLost

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Joran happily braced for the incoming punch, but it never came; the oldest guy for some reason decided to stop Dan--well, on Joran's opinion, it was because Baalgruf wasn't a name to be taken lightly and Dan was of slightly lower Richie ranking than Joran. Slightly. Having fake parents didn't make Joran look any richer than he had been before.

 

Joran opened his mouth to say something smart but shut it quickly when he noticed another person coming over, one that Rals had suspected wasn't human. He looked human to Joran, but then again so had Rals... though he didn't smell like canine.

 

"Dan, get your hands off the boy...now." Joran stared at the newcomer like a kid whose toy had just been taken away; his smile faded and his body went slightly limper. He didn't say anything though, and instead simply listened with curiosity.

 

"Why Williams? You aren't a professor."

 

"Yeah, but I know several."

 

Joran slightly adjusted the way his neck sat in the collar, allowing him to breathe better. He wasn't smiling, just watching with interest as though he was a bystander in the whole thing. Finally, after a few more words and such, the grip was released and Joran landed lightly on his feet, backing out of Dan's reach. He smiled and waited until Dan walked away before he brushed off his outfit, adjusting the collar. He wished to tell Williams that all the hassle wasn't worth it, but to his surprised the lad wasn't done; he pushed past the largest man and went right up behind the poorling, then put his hands on her shoulders. He touched her. This shocked Joran into silence and he rather just stared. Now Williams had done it; everyone who heard about this would totally shun him. To college students, he had just done the equivalent of letting a terrible criminal go free, or aiding a terrorist. Joran was rather surprised someone would have the guts to do such a thing.

 

"Ladies, I'm sure that you haven't responded to Joran correctly. Especially considering the value of his family and his name."

 

Joran blinked once and took this as his cue to grin at them. "Come on, I'm not that bad of a dancer!" They both accepted his invitation, if not with a slightly disappointed expression, and then they and the huge guy left. Joran watched them walk away for a moment, a smug smile on his face.

 

"Smart move." Then Williams laughed, saluted, and left. Joran blinked and stared after him, his purple-red-greyish eyes rather wide with curiosity. "I didn't think it was that creative," he said to himself. Then he turned and looked at the poorling, wondering what she'd do now.

 

"Thanks." Joran blinked again and stared at her, as though having no idea why she thanked him. He watched as she sat down and then looked at him again. Her eyes were awfully blue, standing out against the rest of her dirty appearance. Her smell was strong and distinct, though not in a bad way. She looked like she was trying not to cry.

 

"Why? Why did you do that? he could have snapped you in two. You're lucky Professor de Champlain's foster son came over...."

 

Joran stared after Xander. "That's the Professor's foster son? Oh, I thought he'd be... I dunno, taller. With darker hair. Huh. World's full of surprises, eh?" Joran hadn't looked at Marcy at all while speaking, but now his rather blankly curious face turned to meet her eyes again. "Why'd I do that? Because I wanted a dance, duh! How else am I supposed to get them to dance with--ohhh, you mean why'd I do it that way. Well." He grinned at Marcy and raised a finger as though he had something intelligent to say.

 

"If you want a girl, you can't just sneak up to her after lunch and ask her if she wants to dance! You gotta be brave, and blunt, and do it right in front of her guy! Well I don't know if Dan was her guy, maybe that ugly guy was, but really! What girl is gonna think you have the guts to dance at all if you ask her at lunch, or worse, if you text her some really dumb message like 'Do u want 2 dance 2night?' Honestly! Take my advice:" Joran's grin widened mischievously and he lowered his voice-- "If you want some macho guy to sweep you off your feet, let him know you're not a wimp!"

 

Then suddenly he stood and stepped back, a look of inspiration and revelation on his face. "Ohhhh...." he paused a moment, though not long enough to let the poorling respond, "but it might be different for girls. Anyway, gotta go! Chao." With a final grin and a wave of his hand, Joran turned on his heel and began to walk towards the place to order food at the Cafe. When he got there, however, he simply put his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands, staring at the menu. Why did I talk to that poorling in the first place? Oh yeah, I was gonna ask her name. Guess I'll have to do that next time, not that it really matters... she's just rather interesting for a poorling. I wonder if poorlings can dance? Probably not, what person would waste their time learning to dance if they were starving? Starving... oh boy, let's not go there... huh, guess I owe some people a text....

Edited by LadyNatasha

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