just exceptionally good at small-talk, baby.

[Luz Cresceno]

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_____________________________ LUZ CRESCENO _____ A wolf-woman, a devotee to sensorial wonder, an astronomer, an addict of small villainies, a love-lorn homosexual best suited to starlight trysts, a predator, a mother, a slave to small indulgences of spirit and flesh, a moral-barren beast, a silver-shaded thing that pocks Clouded Tears’s more idyllic evenings with hedonist laughter. These things are twined in every step she takes; they are pooled in both irises as scintilla and thought-spark. She is subject to the warp-speed twists of caprice. Her faults are numerous; her strengths are far fewer and less apparent to unloving eyes. Although prone to pretty turns of speech, she herself scoffs at the starlight fancies of poetry, as well as lovers’ sea-like yearning and the lineless faces of children. Eyes - Low-lidded and secretive, the color of hard amethyst. Variances are caused by the flux of emotion. Laughter - Soft, low, chuckling rather than a bark or bray of amusement. Often of questionable cause, but most seem to stem from circumstances rather than direct statements. Facial Features - Symmetrical and pleasing to the right pair of eyes. Androgynous, with sharp angles tempered by feminine softness. It waxes endearing with time. Figure - Willowy, with a smooth transition of proportions rather than the radically dainty ankles and plump thighs of curvier creatures. Hide Colors - A shoal of silvers, a chaos of monochrome colors with flashes of white and dreary brown and more furtive black streaks hewn in among the riot. By day it is drab and unseemly; night adds an as of yet unidentified polish, a sort of shadowy loveliness. Hands - Long-fingered and capable of moments with near inhuman dexterity. Scent - Not readily identifiable. At first it is only the vaguest of musks, accompanied by a not-unpleasant sourness and traces of rosemary and thyme. Close proximity reveals the dominant scent to be the lulling odor of lavender. History - Sordid, unsorted, unspoken except for fits of wine-watered conversation. It involves a tribe of superstitious wolves, the daughter of healer and astronomer, and an ill-advised mateship that results in a infant being deserted by his mother. Skills - Minor herbal familiarity, mostly related to the olfactory impacts of selected plant specimens, but also owns a modicum of healing knowledge. Her talents lie mostly with astronomy, being both familiar with the legends and a more scientific education regarding navigation and precise timing. An exquisite rendition by India may be found here. Thanks again, Lacopra! ___________________________ HER POSSESSIONS _____ Opal Necklace - Everything one might expect. It is a sparkly bit of nothing hung on a slim silver chain; it fits in such a way that the gemstone nestles between her breasts, a subtle reminder to the astronomer and to anyone with a wandering stare. From the coffers of pearls and silk and sumptuous things aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge, it was thieved, though that is not the cause of the memory it carries. Astronomical Instruments - Decades older than the astronomer herself, and yet kept in tip-top shape. The nearly entirely brass set includes several varieties of telescope, a sextent, a sizeable compass collection. Her arrangement of star-maps is mostly inherited from her father, the remainder having been stolen from a very miffed sect of Italian werewolves. They are exquisitely cared for; each is bound by a silk ribbon whose color denotes the particular stretch of sky the scroll describes, and worth well above another's life to Luz Cresceno. _______________________________ HER DEN _________ Diagram: Tada! Location: D-9, Haunted Hills, CT. Luz Cresceno is not its first occupant; in good sooth, most of the comforts she enjoys within it are a result of another’s handiwork. Nestled in the Haunted Hills of the Pack of White Supremacy, there exists a knoll (rampant with weeds and skirted by thorn brush) from which sprouts a great, towering oak. A small entranceway – made smaller by the eternal drying herbs hanging above it, tied on root-tips by fraying twine – approximately a foot above bottom of the knoll leads into the sole room of her home. There is a dropoff; to combat the risk of injury due to careless entry, a heap of eiderdown pillows on a singed oriental carpet have been placed for visitor’s convenience. To the far left lies the bed of Luz Cresceno: little more than a helter-skelter collection of blankets, almost an afterthought. To the right lies everything else that she possesses – the small array of books blockaded by granite book-ends, the far greater compendium of wine bottles, the haphazard stacks of star-scrolls – on a variety of makeshift shelves carved into the right wall of her home. Much like the entrance, the root-straggles hanging from the ceiling have been adorned with drying herbs; the unusually tall cannot take a stride without being batted in the face by a daisy-cluster. The wall directly opposite the entrance has no decoration at all, save a dagger tied to root-stub protruding directly out of the wall itself. A hole-ridden basket below this light threat contains all the human adornments that Luz Cresceno, on blue moons and other nights of untold fancy, sometimes dons. Small claves have been carved all about the room by the previous occupant for the placement of candles, the vast majority of which remain empty. There is little transition from one end to another, although the room does grow rapidly shorter towards the back (away from the doorway), and it does not occupy the whole of the knoll. Exiting is tricky. It involves either a lunge followed immediately by a small drop off to the bottom of the knoll, or the trust in small footholds directly bellow the entranceway specifically intended for the purpose for a slightly more gainly departure. __________________________ FRIEND & FOE _________ Friends - Few, and far between. The greatest among them would probably be considered Poe D'Angelo, but that particular creature is many things to Luz and a recent betrayal leaves the name with a bitter aftertaste. Among those whose company has so far been proven pleasurable include: Rio, the sassy bohemien that the astronomer flirted with in her European excursion; Laruku Tears, whose lone conversation left the she-dog with a distinct sense of like; and Zaets Russo, who healed her after an ungainly moment. More currently, there's been a budding friendship betwixt her and the warrior-wolf, Skoll, who she regards with equal parts curiosity and amicability. Foes - Ah, this category is reserved for but one beast only: Hybrid Holocaust, who inflicted injury without any apparent provocation. So far they've had only one meeting, but surely the gyre of circumstance will inspire a second. She suspects her son, if they do cross paths again, may make himself a comfortable place here; yet so far, fate has proven close-mouthed on that count.

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