Character(s) Characters

[Minion]

Full Name: Victoria Delvont
Pronunciation: Vic • tor • e • ah | Del • vont
Preferred/Alternative Name: Harper Strauss
Pronounciation: Har • per | Str • ows
Nicknames: None, give her some!

Gender: Cis female, she/her
Orientation: Heterosexual
Real Age: Unknown, over 400 years old
Age Appearance: Approximately 24 years old
Birthday: 19/9/???
Deathday: Not applicable

Parenting: Lenient and sometimes absent
Infancy: Unknown, in presence of biological parents
Childhood: Biological parents were forced to leave civilisation due to a vampirism plague outbreak, moved to a small country cottage
Adolescence: Symptoms of the plague started developing
Adulthood: Afflicted with the final stage of vampirism, now immortal an d cast out from regular society
Evolution: Victoria's destiny has been thwarted by vampirism but she has openly embraced the change over the past century or so, leaving behind her parent's shock and despair upon finding out she'd turned in favour of acceptance

Species: Humanoid vampire
Preferred Hand: Ambidextrous
Facial Type: Oval
Eye Color: Pale yellow, frequently bloodshot and luminous in the dark
Hairstyle: Dark brown, wavy and shoulder length
Skin Tone: Extremely pale with cool undertones
Makeup: None
Body Type: Mesomorph
Build: Long legs, hourglass figure with shoulders slightly broader than her hips
Height: 176cm/5'9"
Weight: 68kg/149lbs
Cup Size: C
Facial Hair: None
Birthmarks/scars: A small scar on her left knee
Distinguishing Features: Elongated canines; fangs typical of vampires

Health: Relatively healthy, malnourished
Energy: High energy levels
Memory: Terrible memory
Senses: Heightened sense of smell and sight
Allergies: None
Handicaps: None
Medication: None
Phobias: Open spaces, sunny days
Addictions: None
Mental Disorders: None

Style: Grunge/goth clothing
Mode of Dress: Tightly fitting, multiple layers
Grooming: Very well-kept
Posture: Normal
Gait: Moderately-sized, fast paces with drastic hip movements
Coordination: Average reflexes, fast reaction time
Habits and Mannerisms: Glaring, clenching her jaw
Scent: Vague scent of blood on her lips, lavender and dusty clothes

Mood: (Often) passive-aggressive, neutral
Attitude: Calm and sarcastic
Stability: Average emotional stability
Expressiveness: Doesn't express much other than anger or disapproval
When Happy: Hides face, pretends to be mad
When Sad: Goes even more quiet than usual
When Angry: Snarls and threatens
Note: These are generalizations. Different situations will create different reactions.

Current Residence: None
Family: Deceased
Friends: Not yet applicable
Enemies: Generally humans
Bosses: None
Followers: None

Wardrobe: Turtlenecks, leather, boots and chains
Equipment: Needs none, has fangs for fights
Accessories: Miscellaneous pieces of jewellery, beanies
Home: Usually just a scratchy blanket, a stretcher and her clothes in an abandoned building
Collections: None
Most valuable possession: None
Prized Possession: Her vampirism

Morals: Very few morals, sees reason in most things
Crime Record: Too long to list
Motivation: Obscure but related to her own success
Priorities: Survival, success, personnal wellbeing

 

[Minion]

█▓▒░
Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌ
█▓▒░
Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ Nᴀᴍᴇ ; Atticus Morley
Sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ; Human
Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ; Male
Aɢᴇ ; 36
Bɪʀᴛʜ Dᴀᴛᴇ ; 17/6/???? (changes per RP)
Oᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ; Detective
Nᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ; English
Hᴏᴍᴇ ; A quaint apartment in the middle of a busy city
Hᴏʙʙɪᴇs ; Helping people, writing in his journal
Hᴀʙɪᴛ﹙s ﹚; Tapping his chin and biting off more than he can chew
Pʜᴏʙɪᴀ﹙s﹚ ; Rats and mice
█▓▒░
Ｌｏｖｅ Ｌｉｆｅ
█▓▒░
Sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ; Bisexual, biromantic
Position ; Bottom (with both men and women)
█▓▒░
Ｒｅｌａｔｉｏｎｓｈｉｐｓ
█▓▒░
Pᴀʀᴇɴᴛs ; Otilie Morley (deceased), Benedict Morley (deceased)
Cʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ; None
█▓▒░
Ｐｈｙｓｉｃａｌ
█▓▒░
Hᴇɪɢʜᴛ ; 5'9"
Wᴇɪɢʜᴛ ; 69.4 kgs
Bᴜɪʟᴅ ; Average, a little bit of flab on his stomach from not getting enough exercise
Eʏᴇs Cᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ; Brown-grey
Hᴀɪʀ Cᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ; Dark brown
Sᴋɪɴ ; Fair with warm undertones
Cʟᴏᴛʜᴇs ; A simple vest and tie with a trenchcoat on top in colder weathers
█▓▒░
Ａｂｓｔｒａｃｔ
█▓▒░
Lɪᴋᴇs ; Coffee, the colour yellow and gold
Lᴏᴠᴇs ; Helping others
Sᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ Aᴛ ; Finding missing people, worming out of tricky situations
Pᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ Aᴛᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ ; He's very charming and polite
Dɪsʟɪᴋᴇs ; The smell of perfume, arrogant people
Hᴀᴛᴇs ; Rats and mice
Nᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ Aᴛᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ ; He puts everyone else before himself, no matter what
█▓▒░
Ｅｘｔｒａ
█▓▒░
Sᴄᴀʀs Oʀ Aɴʏ Pᴀsᴛ Iɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs ; None
Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ; Cheerful, determined, charming, charismatic, collected, elegant
Preferred universe ; Anything steampunk or 'old fashioned,' crime or mystery

Writing sample:

"Good Morning, Mrs Potts!" He tips his fedora politely. His pale skin peeks out from beneath fingerless leather gloves, matching the sky's grey and dismal colour in contrast to the lively red and brown buildings. His still-running car chugs out black smoke behind him and, overall, you needn't even reply to him before being able to paint his personality. A rushed tie was disheveled and flipped up onto his shoulder, hair frizzy and unwashed. His boots look like they haven't been shined in weeks and from first glance he looks like a commoner.

This man was one of chaotic nature, but no ill intent. The detective.

"Miss Potts, actually. My husband is dead."

"Only if you believe him to be!" Atticus taps the top of his broom against her top step a few times to emphasize his optimistic point before lifting it slightly and pointing it at the space behind her. "May I come in? I do hope I haven't come at an opportune time..."

The woman considers him for a moment with sunken eyes. She clearly hasn't slept much this past month— which, naturally, is to be expected. It isn't everyday your husband vanishes into thin air and leaves behind an infant boy to take care of all on your own, especially when he's so family-oriented at heart and promised his presence until death. She was understandably disturbed. "Well," she wipes a blonde strands of hair away from her lips, "I suppose you may as well. Take your boots off, please."

"Jolly good!" The detective smiles. The narrow entrance hall was adjacent to a small kitchen with an archway in its eastern wall, beyond it laying several bookcases and papers that look to have been thrown up straight from a reporter's mouth.

"Can I get you some tea?"

"That'd be delightful, thank you. Now..."

"Don't bother. How much do I owe you?" The desperate woman sighs and puts her kettle on the stove. She knew this man would be hard to pay off; he was the best detective the city had ever seen, and she could barely feed her and her baby, let alone pay him what's due. What would it cost her? Her life, perhaps? Her baby's?

"I only ask that you have hope, ma'am," Atticus replies kindly, eyes crinkled in the corner.