Casting Call/OOC: Concrete Jungle

DrStein

Literotica Guru
Joined
May 7, 2005
Posts
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For some time now I've been contemplating doing a remake of one of my earlier threads, Heart of a Wolf. The concept is that there is an entire society of clans, tribes, and packs of shapeshifters currently living in human society. But through an elaborate coded communication system and a few lycanthropes in high places, their existence is thoroughly covered up.

I'd like a mixture of different shapeshifters, as well as a few humans who learn about and become inducted into the lycanthrope society. Feel free to get as creative with it as possible. Here's a fast rundown of how the different shifters are organized:

Werewolves are the most predominant, but each different clan takes on the characteristics of a certain breed of wolf. The most common are the clans resembling the grey and timber wolves. Others include arctic wolves, maned wolves, and red wolves.

Werecoyotes are also becoming more common for reasons unknown to the other shifters. They generally keep to their own kind, anyway.

Weretigers are common in areas with strong Asian communities. As are werewfoxes, the sole keepers of magic among the lycanthropes.

Werejaguars occupy a special role in shifter society. They are punishers of evil-doers and the wicked, both in human society and among their peers. They are judges, enforcers, hunters, and executioners all in one.

The list goes on, of course.

I'll be replaying my old character, Varg Blackstone.

Name: Varg Blackstone
Age: 19
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 167 lbs
Hair: Dark brown with natural tinges of rust red
Eyes: Violet
Species: Werewolf
Description: Varg is a tall, lean young man with a serious face. He has a rugged, chiseled look as if his features had been carved from wood. He grows his hair down to his waist and ties it back in a ponytail at his upper back. His wardrobe consists almost entirely of beat-up blue jeans and band T-shirts of a variety of horrorpunk and psychobilly groups. He also wears heavy steel-toed boots and a leather biker's jacket.
Backstory: Varg is a bit of a lone wolf. He lost both of his parents in an accident when he was 2 years old, and was raised by his uncle, aunt, and her husband. Uncle Leo was always an eccentric, and his love of books was the only thing that taught Varg to be literate. Despite a natural intelligence, Varg was always a man of few words. He kept to himself and instead become obsessed with the concept of justice. He saw the system around him as inherently flawed, and contemplated this for hours on end as he also immersed himself in his hobby with mechanics.
At the age of 17, Varg built his customized motorcycle from scratch and named it Black Rose. He took to the streets immediately, where he saw humanity at its finest... and at its worst. His desire for justice led to voluntary vigilantism, a concept he soon came to think of as his duty.
In the last two years, Varg has been prowling the city streets night after night on patrol. Urban legends has sprung up around him, always growing wilder with each story to the point where there's more embellishment to them than political spin. Not that Varg minds...
 
A very small handful, but the lycanthropes are every bit as modern as the hunters and enjoy a very supportive community and organized society that the hunters don't.

In short, hunters are essentially the marginalized members of society whom no one believes. The lycanthropes on the other hand are merely regarded as eccentric humans by the masses. And since they blend in so well and look out for one another, it's very rare for a hunter to have even a few kills under his belt.

Should they become more of a threat, that's where the werejaguars come in.
 
Mabh Fallon

Mabh (why couldn't anyone ever pronounce that the right way? Meev. MEEV, for crying out loud!) Fallon wandered through her lair, better known as "Research and Archives" and sometimes just "The Library", of Lykos Corporation™. Over time, she'd come to understand why newspapers referred to departments like hers as "The Morgue" -- most times it was certainly as quiet as one.

The diminutive, raven haired, blue-eyed woman was the first of her family to have been born in the States. Granda and Muime had come over with their son, Michael, her own Da, a mere babe in arms, in the thirties from the Aran Islands near Galway, Ireland. He'd married late to a much younger woman who hadn't survived the birthing, and so Mabh was raised an only child by Da and Muime when she saw fit to interfere.

Growing up, Mabh had appeared almost antisocial, but truth was that she preferred her own company, and that of her immediate family. Not that she had much choice, they lived on an isolated farm -- their nearest neighbor more than ten miles distant. As a result, it didn't seem strange to anyone who knew her -- or of her -- when she chose to become a librarian.

The position with Lykos came as a godsend three months ago, if you believed in a god that is. Muime and Granda were long gone, and Da had passed six months ago. The farm was hers now, though she had no desire to work it. Loath to let the homestead go, Mabh needed to generate an income sufficient enough to keep up with the taxes if nothing else. And so here she was...

Mabh was feeling inordinately restless today. She had just finished collating a series of documents, followed by putting them on microfiche and also into the Corporation's extensive computer database, and there were a million other things to do -- but she just couldn't seem to settle.

It had happened again last night. In fact, more and more frequently since she had begun working at Lycos. Mabh didn't like to think about it. Or even consider the ramifications, let alone put a "name" to IT.

Muime and Da always just called it her "spells" and assured her that it wasn't uncommon for girls to have them during puberty. Having no reference, she took their word as law. Until university -- when she found out that it wasn't as common as they had made her believe. And now...
 
Ellian

Ellian wondered about her own humanity. She felt often "interrupted" at times and often forgot during. She wondered about her own past as she had lived off and on in this or that orphanage. She wanted to be like Mabh. She wanted the confident work ethic. She sat now with her head bowed. She would watch from her far corner in Research and wonder at the marvelous way Mabh worked around the room. She never felt interrupted when Mabh was around. Sighing greatly she aimlessly wondered out of her corner.

"Mabh, is there something I can do for you? I have been looking over the files you have given me and found them to all be intack" her voice was quivering and sounded meek. She waited patiently as she was so often made to do growing up. She was still but a child at only 21 but she felt ions older. Her fears and insecurities laid open on her face day in an d day out. Why, had it not been by the simple stroke of luck finding this job, she would waste away in her grungy one room apartment. Now she had Mabh. She had something to want for each day.
 
I could get to like the looks of this thread. Any particular character type wanted, or should I just put something together?

CD
 
J. W.

Johann Wagner Stroheim is a rangy man that looks younger than his 26 years. His hair is short and spikey, jet black except for a single white streak that starts above his right eye. His eyes are pale blue, sometimes described as ice blue. He always seems to be possessed of extra nervous energy, and has that look that combat veterans refer to as "the thousand yard stare" - carry overs from his black wolf lineage. His voice carries a slight Germanic accent.

Raised in a family that claimed Prussian royal bloodlines, his upbringing was meant to instill discipline and honor in his mindset, but ended up causing him to question thngs that he saw around him. He found out at the end of his adolescence what his family really was about, as he was inducted into the lycanthrope ranks that his family had maintained carefully for centuries.

It was determined that several members of the family should take up the appearance of wanderlust stricken youths, and spend some time going walkabout. Johann was chosen, and sent away from the land of his birth, taking up the role of international student, in reality getting the lay of lycanthropes around the world, as well as scouting potential fresh blood for the lineage. Johann has accepted that there are more chances to encounter others of his type in a city full of both academics and criminals. (Mental discipline is alway respected, and those with things to hide find ways to congregate.) Johann has taken to working as a bicycle messenger, since not only does he respect the sub-culture, but it allows him to burn off his energy in an accepted manner.
 
J. W.

The knobs and treads of the specialized street tires hummed as they streamed over the pavement. Cars passed on both sides of him as he powered through the street traffic, or, more properly, the cars were passed, since he was actually able to keep moving through the gridlock as the drivers in their metal coffins had to wait for traffic control and human behavior to get them to their destinations.

Not him. He was free. Free to change direction or lanes as he needed, free to shift from street or sidewalk as needed, free to follow or ignore the road rules as he felt was appropriate. Drivers and pedestrians might not appreciate his freedom, but the bicycle and the messenger bag meant that he had a certain level of autonomy in the street rules. Plus, if the bag and the bike didn't give them a reason to ignore him, his appearance should. His clothing was a combination of trucker and goth - a seed corn cap and tired looking tee-shirt topping off heavy black shorts coated with metal studs and chains, and a menacing "Back Off, I Bite!" message across the back of his beltline. Only his specialized gloves and shoes were proper to the trade, not only the padding and pedal locks, but the company logo carefully placed along their lengths.

His eyes scanned the buildings he was approaching with a practiced ease, and he spotted the number he was looking for. A shift across two lanes, a short hop over the curb, and a grab at a street light, and he was at his destination. He twisted out of his pedals, hopped off, and snaked his lock from the case within the messenger bag. City dwellers sometimes didn't appreciate certain nicer things in life, but a bicycle left unattended usually meant a windfall for someone. His lock was a massive affair, three feet of snake and ball cable with an imbedded tumbler system. Ugly, heavy, and weird, but effective.

His bike dealt with, he spun and raced into the building, his hand reaching into the bag as he reviewed the directions.

Now, he just had to find the company morgue.
 
Ooh, first time back to lit in a long time and I find something that catches my fancy right away. >:3

Mind if I play a human doctor specializing in lycan-wounds and mystical healing? Sort of wiccan style instead of mage-style. One of those 'humans inducted into the lycan world'.
 
Sounds good to me. I was kind of wondering if anyone was going to bring up that particular concept. If not, I was just going to leave it as background later on in the story, but...
 
Maiiiiiiiiiidddddyyyyyy!! *Tackles and clings to.* Nice to see you again!

And alrighty. >:3 Photo/stats coming up in a hurry!
 
There Stein, you can tell me if this is acceptable. >:3

--

Aislin Barisnicoff
The /Pet/ doctor is in

.vitals.

name. Aislin Barisnicoff
sex. Female
age. 27
occupation. Lycan Doctor
found. Usually in her basement, the venue of her practice

.physical.

hair. Chocolate brown
eyes. The clear blue of the sea
skin. Pale with a spattering of freckles
weight. A lady never reveals her weight.
height. 5’8

.mental.

[Professional] . [Friendly] . [Knowledgeable] .

Having finished medical school early and at the top of her field, Aislin took a little extra time to dabble here and there in most areas of medicine. Her happening upon the lycan scene was quite by accident, having treated a gunshot wound to one almost six months prior to this point – now she does it because they intrigue her. They’re that little piece of fantasy that every human wishes was real; she just happens to know they are.


http://i29.photobucket.com/albums/c286/Annoyingarchmage/aislin.jpg
 
Name: Takashi Hiro (Known as Hiro or Tak to friends. Hiro is his first name)
Age: 26
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 130 lbs
Hair: Auburn with brown streaks.
Eyes: Brown
Species: Kitsune (Werefox)
Description: Hiro is short and decidedly underfed looking. He has a certain grace - in the right light - but caught out of his element he seems awkward and fragile. He's of mixed Japanese/Anglo descent and has inherited the small, fineboned, frame of his Japanese mother along with the western sharp-edged features of his English father. Hiro usually dresses in loose flappy and dark clothing - making him look more like a raven than a fox and he's frequently to be seen staring off at things that other people don't see.

Backstory: Hiro should have been a seer amongst his people, venerated as almost a prince among the elusive Kitsune folk. Alas - his mother had the bad taste to associate with his Gaijin father and so, despite the most auspicious portents, the young family was cast out of the clan when Hiro was still a young kit. The injustice of that still rankles him, but more than that it has caused him to have deepseated crises of self-worth. He's returned to the West to find that many of the Were's, who might have warred with him if he were a clan representative, are willing to accept the little outcast. He does magical oddjobs, and makes a fair living from it. His father and mother were called back to Japan sometime ago, but were unfortunate casualties when a clan war spilled over into overt violence.

Now Hiro can often be found in a booth in an out of the way club. If you have the money, or sometimes just a good story and a pleasant manner, the Kit can sometimes be persuaded to bend the laws of reality for you. His specialties are spirit work, summoning, illusion and the occaisional elemental working. He is LOUSY at healing (so he won't be intruding on Aislin's turf) but can usually stabilise the critically injured enough to seek better help.
 
Sorry for the neglect. I'm finding very little time these days for my various threads.

Both characters are welcome to join.
 
Excellent - I've posted a set up in the main thread that provides a possible opener for anyone else that is looking for a point to jump in?
 
I'll just poke you every now and again, Doc. Everyone else feel free to do the same to me. I'm lagging. :heart:
 
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