Post by percival on May 22, 2012 13:58:41 GMT -5
PERCIVAL.[/b]
this is your night with arms wide open
i'm the option you shouldn't have chosen
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NAME; percival
pronunciation; pur-sih-vaal
nickname; percy
meaning; pierce the vale/valley
origin; old french
GENDER; male
AGE; five years
BIRTH SEASON; spring
SPECIES; arctic
PACK PREFERENCE; none
RANK; loner
FUR COLOR; white
EYE COLOR; glowing yellow && glowing blue
BODY BUILD; wiry
UNUSUAL MARKINGS; none
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION;
The young sir could pass for a regular wolf at first glance-- or at least, from behind. His eyes are unique in their coloring and glow with a soft, flickering, fire-like light. The left eye is a vibrant yellow, giving him the look of a wild, untamed beast. The right is a softer, more child-like (or pup-like, in this case) look with it's gentle baby blue.
Percival's fur is uncharacteristically silky to the touch. Despite it's texture, it stays true to his heritage via it's pristine white coloring, and it's thick, insulating quality. It covers his body in a downy, soft coat, and is shorter on his legs and muzzle than the rest of his pelt.
He is wiry, built in a way that a alley cat might be, in stark contrast to the powerful, thick builds common to wolves and their other canine brethren. He's also rather tall for a arctic wolf, though not unnaturally so. Don't be fooled by what you see at first, though; it is apparent in his floating, ethereal gait the dangerous, feral predator that lies underneath his charming smile and eloquent tongue.
AFFILIATION; neutral (though depending on who's asking, his answer is whatever will benefit him the most at the moment)
SEXUAL ORIENTATION; homosexual
likes;
- mind games
- thrill
- control
dislikes;
- tactlessness
- losing
- dullness
PERSONALITY;
Perhaps Percival was born the wrong animal-- surely, he'd be better off as a fox, the traditional creature of cunning. He is indeed one of the sharpest crayons in the box, with an acuity of mind that some find frightening. Well-versed in the art of the spoken language, Percy has been an eloquent speaker since he spoke his first word. He uses this skill to manipulate others, with a word here, a hint there. It gives him this charm, this enigmatic charisma that gives him an alluring image, drawing in others like flies to honey.
On the flip side, he's an awfully callous fellow, rarely stopping to pity another. Though, he is a rather moody wolf, and no one is really ever able to predict his actions. Despite being a loner, a nobody, Percy has the domineering set of mind of an alpha male, which often can get him into trouble. Reckless and daring, he tends to seek out trouble either way, loving the thrill of adrenaline pulsing in his veins. He's opportunistic and vain, and certainly isn't afraid to admit it (who needs that overrated pride?). While certainly not the most likable chap--
it certainly wouldn't be dull tangling with Percival.
HISTORY;
mother; eleri
father; cadawyn
siblings; yuir, lancel
mate; none
pups; none
lazy fetch is lazy.
THEME SONG(S);
- "LOVERBOY", BY YOU ME AT SIX.
MEMBER NAME; FETCH!
RP EXAMPLE; (taken from my previous audition for a position here with some edits from the original)
"I don't know anything!" the youth whimpered, his hands trembling and pale as he sat, restrained against the cold steel chair. His long blond locks, falling just to his shoulders, were greasy and looked like they hadn't seen a comb in weeks. He was grimy, though surprisingly he didn't smell terrible.
Michael regarded him with cool, calculating eyes, his lips set into a deadly smirk. "Ah," he said lightly, and the young pirate visibly became increasingly uncomfortable after a few moments of silence passed between them. The dark-haired man scrutinized him, eyeing him as a hawk might watch a rabbit. There was an advantage to having a red eyes after all, he supposed.
Suddenly, he stood, grabbing the prisoner's hand and slamming it on the table. A cry wrenched forth from the blond's throat from the impact. Michael slowly slid his trademark switchblade out of his pocket, the blade gleaming dangerously in the low light. "But," he drawled, examining the weapon with an expression of fondness, "I think you're lying. Are you lying, Mr. Rushley?" he inquired, a polite smile settling on his features. A gasp of fear and surprise came from the outlaw as Michael lazily dragged the flat of the blade along the man's wrist. "I believe it's time to start talking, sir. I'm a busy man, after all, and the Seventh is notorious for their... enthusiasm in getting what they want," he said smugly as he referred to his crew.
There was a reason why no one liked going into the hold while Captain Tirell was interrogating someone.
WHERE DID YOU HEAR OF OUR SITE FROM;
[/b]ad at on the edge![/b]
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ORIGINAL LAYOUT BY CHAY AT `LONG WAY FROM HOME!
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