03-06-2011, 04:33 PM
Character Name: Lisbet Lockwood
Character Birthdate (including year): March 17th, 2008
Luperci Ortus
Species: 85% Gray Wolf (Canis lupus lupus), 15% Tundra Wolf (Canis lupus albus)
Gender: Female
A secondary form of contact: E-mail
The pale woman rode her bike calmly through the almost rocky lands. It came nearly effortlessly for her, to spin her legs around on the metal structure, the sound of the chains clicking together soothing her to the very end. After living 99% of her life besides machines, her trust on them was far more stronger and deeper than with other living beings. Machines never failed. They did what they were told to, what they were built for. And if they broke or stopped working properly, it was the fault of its mechanical or creator for not taking good care of it or not making it perfectly. It was always someone's fault; never the machines.
They had never let her down, so why hate them?
Her rather weak nose scented a smell not quite familiar to her, and the steampunk stopped on her tracks fully, a rather alarmed and confused expression on her face. It wasn't the smell of rust, nor oil. Coal, wax, gas, copper... none of them fit that smell. It was... the scent of wolves. In fact, the scent of a pack.
Not being as sociable as expected from a wolf, it was a rather disavantage for her. Such things that were so simple for anyother canine had turned into enigmas for the Victorian woman.
She carefully dismounted her bike, careful not to let it fall to the side. The wieght of all her stuff would make it rather hard to get it up again. Multiple sniffs in the air and a watchful gaze on her surroundgs gave away she was in the borders of a pack.
Oh, gracious!
The pale woman knew it would be the normal for her to feel in the need of other wolves' company. But yet, it was hard for her to admit it. She had took care of herself this far; therefore, she could keep herself safe and sound and on the move for much longer. Why need a pack? Well... because it was...
"Logical?" The creamy woman said out loud, scratchinbg her neck in disconfort. "Oh, for the love of the Queen!" She said a bit too loud in distress, but then sighed heavily and took a deep breath. A shaky, unstable howl broke through her lips, reflecting her unneasy in acting so much... like she should. As a wolf.
For a minute, carefully marked on her pocket watch, nobody came, and her uncertainty of her actions started to steam up inside her. Slowly, the beating of her feet on a rock she was standing on got quicker and more anxious. Then, a beat came from them, and in a question of seconds she was tapdancing, her feet alive and moving on their own will while her arms were crossed over her chest and her face showed her nervousness. They went on the tune of 'Singin' in the Rain' by Gene Kelly, her greatest idol. That kind of stuff happened when she got indecided, nervous, angry, or worse, drunk. Right now, however, it was the first factor.
When her feet were about to stomp the poor rock open, she shook her head nervously and got on her bike again, decided to turn away and never look back. What a shame! A wolf that couldn't be a wolf... Most pitiful.
Before she began to wheel forward, she haulted, biting her lower lips, and took the cross-key on her hands.
"Grampa..." The woman muttered in the softest and lowest of whispers, stroking the metal piece with her thumb ever so gently. Lord, how she missed him. Flashes of their time together shone inside her mind swiftly, but disappearing just as quickly. He always trusted her to do what she felt was right. But in that moment, she didn't know what was right anymore.
Character Birthdate (including year): March 17th, 2008
Luperci Ortus
Species: 85% Gray Wolf (Canis lupus lupus), 15% Tundra Wolf (Canis lupus albus)
Gender: Female
A secondary form of contact: E-mail
The pale woman rode her bike calmly through the almost rocky lands. It came nearly effortlessly for her, to spin her legs around on the metal structure, the sound of the chains clicking together soothing her to the very end. After living 99% of her life besides machines, her trust on them was far more stronger and deeper than with other living beings. Machines never failed. They did what they were told to, what they were built for. And if they broke or stopped working properly, it was the fault of its mechanical or creator for not taking good care of it or not making it perfectly. It was always someone's fault; never the machines.
They had never let her down, so why hate them?
Her rather weak nose scented a smell not quite familiar to her, and the steampunk stopped on her tracks fully, a rather alarmed and confused expression on her face. It wasn't the smell of rust, nor oil. Coal, wax, gas, copper... none of them fit that smell. It was... the scent of wolves. In fact, the scent of a pack.
Not being as sociable as expected from a wolf, it was a rather disavantage for her. Such things that were so simple for anyother canine had turned into enigmas for the Victorian woman.
She carefully dismounted her bike, careful not to let it fall to the side. The wieght of all her stuff would make it rather hard to get it up again. Multiple sniffs in the air and a watchful gaze on her surroundgs gave away she was in the borders of a pack.
Oh, gracious!
The pale woman knew it would be the normal for her to feel in the need of other wolves' company. But yet, it was hard for her to admit it. She had took care of herself this far; therefore, she could keep herself safe and sound and on the move for much longer. Why need a pack? Well... because it was...
"Logical?" The creamy woman said out loud, scratchinbg her neck in disconfort. "Oh, for the love of the Queen!" She said a bit too loud in distress, but then sighed heavily and took a deep breath. A shaky, unstable howl broke through her lips, reflecting her unneasy in acting so much... like she should. As a wolf.
For a minute, carefully marked on her pocket watch, nobody came, and her uncertainty of her actions started to steam up inside her. Slowly, the beating of her feet on a rock she was standing on got quicker and more anxious. Then, a beat came from them, and in a question of seconds she was tapdancing, her feet alive and moving on their own will while her arms were crossed over her chest and her face showed her nervousness. They went on the tune of 'Singin' in the Rain' by Gene Kelly, her greatest idol. That kind of stuff happened when she got indecided, nervous, angry, or worse, drunk. Right now, however, it was the first factor.
When her feet were about to stomp the poor rock open, she shook her head nervously and got on her bike again, decided to turn away and never look back. What a shame! A wolf that couldn't be a wolf... Most pitiful.
Before she began to wheel forward, she haulted, biting her lower lips, and took the cross-key on her hands.
"Grampa..." The woman muttered in the softest and lowest of whispers, stroking the metal piece with her thumb ever so gently. Lord, how she missed him. Flashes of their time together shone inside her mind swiftly, but disappearing just as quickly. He always trusted her to do what she felt was right. But in that moment, she didn't know what was right anymore.