Post by Lord Sami on Jan 30, 2007 16:48:22 GMT -5
ooc; Mmokay. Sami is finally roleplaying again =D Woohoo! Anyways, Sehvers isn't exactly nice and can do some pretty horrible things. So if mature themes make you cringe, back away now because Sehvers isn't a bundle of flowers and rainbows. He's also got a preference for guys, but he doesn't mind females either. Now prepare for an intro a la crap. Mrr. It's kinda long too. Sorry D:
A Death Dealer. That was what he was, a being whose services were sought after by only the most corrupt of beings, the people with the blackest of hearts. Those people disgusted him, left him with a sour taste in his mouth each time they conversed, made his skin crawl with even handshake. They smelled of deceit and decay. Really, these men were rotten to the core, ruthless tyrants, who wanted nothing more than to bend others to their whim, to climb the ladder of success, to sit on the throne of power. And these men, no, these worthless pieces of scum so foul that even filth would shirk away from them, weren’t afraid to use even the most vile and cruel of measures to get to that golden throne that was steadily being painted black, tarnished by their poisonous touches.
Slipping the still warm gun back into its holster, a low hissing breath escaped the man’s lips as he straightened himself back up. Obsidian eyes peered out from behind long black bangs that obscured them from view. He’d done a good job. The man sprawled out on the soggy concrete hadn’t even been able to utter a single word before a well-placed bullet connected with his skull in a spray of warm crimson and shattered bone.
Pulling out a white handkerchief, he wiped away the small spot of blood that had managed to hit his ivory cheek. Why did all these jobs have to be so messy? He didn’t understand it. Really, why did blood have to spray like that? Frankly, it was quite the nuisance. Tucking the now dirty piece of cloth back into the pocket of his tight black pants that were covered in buckles from the thigh down, he produced a cigarette and lit it, promptly setting it in between his lips to take a nice long drag.
Nicotine did wonders for his nerves. He was addicted to it. Ever since his first cigarette he’d been like that, smoking away dozens of them a day like they were as harmless as M&Ms. Now, he wasn’t oblivious to the harmful effects cigarettes had on the sensitive tissue of one’s lungs. Actually, he really didn’t care if he got lung cancer. At least when he went he’d be on a nicotine high and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.
Death didn’t scare him. It never had. He’d seen enough people go to understand that life was a bitch and played favorites. If everything sucked, well, too damn bad for you. Get over it and move forwards. Crying was just a waste of time and energy. If life bit you hard then you just needed to bit back harder.
The wind blew, bringing with it the salty smell of the sweaty clubs, the familiar scent of sex of the whore houses, and of course the welcome aroma of drugs and alcohol. Really, the red light district was the place to be this time of night. Get yourself a nice whore and have some fun, add a nice helping of sloshing beer jugs and a few drags of sweet marijuana and you’ve got the best night of your life on your hands.
He considered buckling the dead man’s pants back up as he did up his own, but decided against it. After all, this man was just as repulsive as his current employer, why let the dead man have any pride? Really, killed while screwing around with some whore in a dark alleyway? How shameful.
A snicker escaped his lips at that thought. With a sultry flick of his ivory scaled tail that was covered with sharp onyx horns along the top, he turned around and exited the alleyway, swinging his hips with each step he took. After all, he still was posing as a prostitute, might as well play the part.
Now, he looked more intimidating than sensual with the four white horns protruding from his skull, two medium sized ones sitting more towards the center with the smaller ones sitting alongside them. However, he made up for that with his outfit. Couple with those tight, hip-hugging pants he wore a form-fitting black shirt made of material that had a silky sheen in the right light and exposed most of his midriff to wandering eyes. Over this ‘scandalous’ shirt he wore a short sleeveless black vest made of less flashy material, whose collar had been fitted with soft white fur that matched the extreme pallor of his skin. Of course he left this vest unzipped. No need to be a prude, right? After all, this was where he wanted to attract stares. On his upper arms he wore black fishnets that stopped above his elbows and his hands were covered by soft fingerless black gloves.
Fingers fiddling with the three black and silver buckles around his neck, he continued to amble down the congested street, large white ears flicking back at the sudden bombardment of noise. His gun felt warm against his thigh, which was where it was strapped, hidden in a small black pocket that was covered in silver studs. Perfect place to hide a gun and some condoms as well. After all, those were quite handy in a place like this. Really, Sehvers was ready for anything.
A Death Dealer. That was what he was, a being whose services were sought after by only the most corrupt of beings, the people with the blackest of hearts. Those people disgusted him, left him with a sour taste in his mouth each time they conversed, made his skin crawl with even handshake. They smelled of deceit and decay. Really, these men were rotten to the core, ruthless tyrants, who wanted nothing more than to bend others to their whim, to climb the ladder of success, to sit on the throne of power. And these men, no, these worthless pieces of scum so foul that even filth would shirk away from them, weren’t afraid to use even the most vile and cruel of measures to get to that golden throne that was steadily being painted black, tarnished by their poisonous touches.
Slipping the still warm gun back into its holster, a low hissing breath escaped the man’s lips as he straightened himself back up. Obsidian eyes peered out from behind long black bangs that obscured them from view. He’d done a good job. The man sprawled out on the soggy concrete hadn’t even been able to utter a single word before a well-placed bullet connected with his skull in a spray of warm crimson and shattered bone.
Pulling out a white handkerchief, he wiped away the small spot of blood that had managed to hit his ivory cheek. Why did all these jobs have to be so messy? He didn’t understand it. Really, why did blood have to spray like that? Frankly, it was quite the nuisance. Tucking the now dirty piece of cloth back into the pocket of his tight black pants that were covered in buckles from the thigh down, he produced a cigarette and lit it, promptly setting it in between his lips to take a nice long drag.
Nicotine did wonders for his nerves. He was addicted to it. Ever since his first cigarette he’d been like that, smoking away dozens of them a day like they were as harmless as M&Ms. Now, he wasn’t oblivious to the harmful effects cigarettes had on the sensitive tissue of one’s lungs. Actually, he really didn’t care if he got lung cancer. At least when he went he’d be on a nicotine high and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.
Death didn’t scare him. It never had. He’d seen enough people go to understand that life was a bitch and played favorites. If everything sucked, well, too damn bad for you. Get over it and move forwards. Crying was just a waste of time and energy. If life bit you hard then you just needed to bit back harder.
The wind blew, bringing with it the salty smell of the sweaty clubs, the familiar scent of sex of the whore houses, and of course the welcome aroma of drugs and alcohol. Really, the red light district was the place to be this time of night. Get yourself a nice whore and have some fun, add a nice helping of sloshing beer jugs and a few drags of sweet marijuana and you’ve got the best night of your life on your hands.
He considered buckling the dead man’s pants back up as he did up his own, but decided against it. After all, this man was just as repulsive as his current employer, why let the dead man have any pride? Really, killed while screwing around with some whore in a dark alleyway? How shameful.
A snicker escaped his lips at that thought. With a sultry flick of his ivory scaled tail that was covered with sharp onyx horns along the top, he turned around and exited the alleyway, swinging his hips with each step he took. After all, he still was posing as a prostitute, might as well play the part.
Now, he looked more intimidating than sensual with the four white horns protruding from his skull, two medium sized ones sitting more towards the center with the smaller ones sitting alongside them. However, he made up for that with his outfit. Couple with those tight, hip-hugging pants he wore a form-fitting black shirt made of material that had a silky sheen in the right light and exposed most of his midriff to wandering eyes. Over this ‘scandalous’ shirt he wore a short sleeveless black vest made of less flashy material, whose collar had been fitted with soft white fur that matched the extreme pallor of his skin. Of course he left this vest unzipped. No need to be a prude, right? After all, this was where he wanted to attract stares. On his upper arms he wore black fishnets that stopped above his elbows and his hands were covered by soft fingerless black gloves.
Fingers fiddling with the three black and silver buckles around his neck, he continued to amble down the congested street, large white ears flicking back at the sudden bombardment of noise. His gun felt warm against his thigh, which was where it was strapped, hidden in a small black pocket that was covered in silver studs. Perfect place to hide a gun and some condoms as well. After all, those were quite handy in a place like this. Really, Sehvers was ready for anything.
