Post by VETIS on Jul 1, 2011 7:09:35 GMT -5
[/color][/font]I'VE BEEN RE-HYMENATED!
AND THAT, DUDE, WILL NOT ABIDE[/color]
”Okay so maybe you’re not afraid of me, But I bet you’ve thought of me naked.”
NAME Vetis
AGE Young for a Demon
DOB Forgotten
SPECIES Demon, Red eyed.
SEXUAL ORIENTATION Bi-sexual.
ALLEGIANCE Whichever side benefit’s him greatest, but is against any reign by Lucifer.
OCCUPATION Crossroads Demon.
HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?[/color][/font]
ON SILK SHEETS, ROLLING NAKED IN MONEY[/color]
HAIR Brown
EYES Brown
PERSONAL STYLE Vetis favours Low hanging Jeans that near balance on his hips, accompanied by a soft belt that isn’t so much doing its job as just looking good there. He accompanies these jeans with form fitting dark coloured and often long sleeved shirts in V necks, and flat comfortable shoes.
His hair is fair long, and occasionally drawn back with a band. He purposefully flaunts the ‘bed head’ look, because he’s big enough and broad enough to pull it off. He styles himself a lot of the 90’s decade of fashion, as his Vessel is young and suits the look. Vetis purposefully retain’s this specific vessel, having developed a rather firm fondness for how it looks and feels to wear.
Although fond of the more casual, every day wear Vetis is also perfectly capable of donning a suit for those all important business trips with the bosses. When he does, his wardrobe varies drastically in the formal department, from the classic black suit, to a bright purple and green one, and all the way down to a very provocative and frankly cheeky ‘All, white, Suit’.
Aside from how he looks, Vetis is also fond of cologne. As any hunter will tell you, even if you (as a demon) don’t show any demonic traits straight off the bat, such as eye colour, SOME Hunter’s are just that little bit too savvy, and a HINT of that hell-born sulphur scent that follows all demon’s and BLAM, you’re exorcised. Most annoying. However, human’s invented this wonderful little bottle of liquid that with just a few sprays, will mask not only that mild sulphur smell, but also any unwanted body odour issues you, or your vessel might have. Magic.
PLAY BY Heath Ledger
WE SHOULD HAVE ANGRY SEX[/color][/font]
DON'T OBJECTIFY ME. LET'S GO[/color]
LIKES
Whiskey
Scotch
Bourbon
Motorbikes
Rock and Country Music
Horror Movies
Deals, Deal sealing Kisses
Men, and Women
Respect
Pushing the nerves of his superiors
90’s Fashion
Blood
Torture
Sex
Sharp objects
Other people’s expense
Making people nervous unless he’s after a deal out of them
DISLIKES
Crowley, that bitch has my job.
Being put in line, reminded when he’s lower than someone in the hierarchy
Lucifer
Angels
Being restrained
Devil’s traps
Holy water
Exorcism
Salt
Preachers, Holy men, The Pope
Hunters
Rap Music
Poorly made Whiskey
Jokes about Leprechauns
The colour beige
STRENGTHS (AT LEAST 2)
Control of Hellhounds
Specifically talented with summoning and controlling hellfire
Very charming when he wants to be
Can and will use his looks and sexuality to secure deals
WEAKNESSES (AT LEAST 2)
Is arrogant and can put too much confidence in his own persuasive powers
Can be just as easily lured by someone else’s sexuality as he can lure people with his own
Is savvy but not too smart on occasions
Can be disrespectful to the wrong people, but generally tends to wriggle his way out of it
SPECIAL SKILLS
Gifted with his control of hellfire
Has a generally good understanding of humanity still, as he isn’t too old a demon and his human days not too long gone behind him. He can still think in a human fashion and make judgemental calls based on emotion rather than gain.
10 WORDS TO DESCRIBE YOU
*Charming
* Persuasive
*Attractive
*Sarcastic
*Snarky
*Arrogant
*Risk taking
*Emotionally capable
*Ambitious
*Strong
WHO'S THE HOTTER PSYCHIC?[/color][/font]
PATRICIA ARQUETTE, JENNIFER LOVE HEWITT, OR YOU?[/color]
HOMETOWN Before his demon days? Ireland, Cork. After? Hell, Obviously.
PARENTS Johnathan Patrick (deceased), Katie Patrick (Deceased)
SIBLINGS Joseph Patrick (Deceased).
SIGNIFICANT OTHER None, At present.
OFFSPRING None, At present.
HISTORY
“Don’t be a baby…” [/font] [/color]
A lot of Vetis’ History is shrouded in Mystery and chances are if you ask, he won’t tell you. Half because he’d forgotten some of it and half because he frankly doesn’t want you to know, pretty much like most demons, actually. So where to begin? I suppose this could start with the whole ‘born in a normal home, two parents, picket house’, but it won’t.
“….Remember what you told me…” [/font] [/color]
Vetis was born in Ireland to travelling folk in the late 1920’s. His parents were poor, but they got by. They had their road house and they always had food and that, for a long time, was all the little and then human Vetis needed. Him and his little ‘cute faced’ brother spent their youths growing up on the road, never attending any fixed school and gaining only the experience needed to continue to live like this. A poor traveller, and nothing more and content with a life of forever uprooting and never knowing the higher life.
“…Shut up and put your money where your mouth is…” [/font] [/color]
Well, When Vetis was old enough to know better, he was not content. At a young age, he worked his way to save up enough money and abandoned his travelling family in pursuit o the great US of A in the early 1940’s, as a young man, just fresh out of 18. He travelled all the way to Las Vegas in the hopes of the glittering life and fortune that the gambling paradise promised. Carrying what money he saved up, he found his tricks and his ways from back in Ireland were small fry compared to the casino professional’s, and he very soon ended up in debt with the big bosses, the mobster. Especially in a casino called ‘El Cortez Motel and Gambling’, in 1945. The money he owed them was some of much needed for the Mobsters who were expanding their enterprises.
“…That’s what you get for waking up in Vegas” [/font] [/color]
Desperate to get out of his situation, under the threat of having his legs broken and worse, he turned every which way he could to find a solution, even to the more spiritual guides in the outback of the state. An old woman, who lived in the roughage of the state told him that, for a small fee, she could summon a spirit that could offer him a way out. Desperate and with only days left on his contract before he’d have people come looking for him, He accepted, and gave what little cash he had left to the woman. The woman was not bluffing. She summoned him a crossroads demon in the dead of night, and a deal was struck.
“…Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now…” [/font] [/color]
The crossroads promised him a way out, not only a way out but a good life. He would be taken out of the Mobster’s debt and further more would be given the luck of the gods, money to start his gambling again and a promise that he would forever have lady luck on his shoulder. He accepted, selling his soul to the beautiful young man that his demon was. Well, When you’re hours away from a monster slaughter ten years sounds like a pretty damn good deal. And so it was, Vetis made his fortune in Vegas, Gambling his way to the big time, living the high life for a the long 10 years he was granted, almost forgetting his Life In Ireland, forgetting his deal, lost in the drugs and the booze and the sex that came with his gambling habit that never saw him lose. He could have anyone he wanted, and he often did. Male, female, old, young…if he wanted them, they were his, like everything else.
“…That’s what you get for waking up in Vegas.” [/font] [/color]
Course, the 10 years ran out. Just like his luck. At the end of his 10 years, Vetis was involved in a fatal car crash in one of his many expensive cars on route 66, killing him instantly. His soul was dragged down to hell where, for his display of greed in life, he was tortured into the very same being that damned him: A crossroads demon. Thus, Vetis was created, a young demon not too far from his days as a human, and yet corrupted by the drive for wealth and gain. His alliance sits on the side of any organisation willing to rise against anything more powerful than him ruling the end of the world. Namely Lucifer. Despite not being too big a fan of Crowley, he does have similar opinions. An Angel should not sit on the throne of Hell, a demon should. Him.
“That’s what you get baby” [/font] [/color]
[/SIZE]
ARE YOU HUMMING METALLICA?[/color][/font]
IT CALMS ME DOWN[/color]
YOUR NAME/ALIAS V
RP EXPERIENCE 12 years
OTHER CHARACTERS None on here
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
[Okay, it isn't Vetis, but it IS mine]
Leaning back on the back on the carved wooden desk belonging to Bobby Singer, Crowley inspected the small holes and white salt markings riddling the breast of his suit jacket. To say he wasn’t impressed was toning it down, he liked this suit, as he’d just announced. He supposed he should have expected such a reaction from singer though, the man was simple, brash and none too bright, of course violence was all the man had to respond with. Not the man’s fault he supposed, he was an uneducated pratt as far as Crowley was concerned. He returned his cold professional gaze back on Singer as the man wheeled his chair around to face him, irritating salt gun in his lap. Bobby had not taken well to his proposal. He had expected a ‘no’...but if he gave in at that then he’d be a very poor salesman indeed. Looking down to him, Crowley hoisted his jacket edge and tucked his hands in his pockets, almost lounging where he stood.
“I’ll give it right back.”
Crowley presented bobby with his best ‘honest’ face, and even a hint of a smile, but avoided a full blown grin. Whether or not he was actually being honest was near impossible to read from his decades-practised poker face. Crowley wanted to smirk as Bobby asked him if he took him for an ‘idgit’ As Bobby said. Of course he took him for an idiot or he wouldn’t be asking him for this. Although it was true Crowley could not simple just ‘grant’ wishes without a deal, he could have gone to any one of the others involved. But he wanted Bobby, specifically, because Bobby was so vastly important to the Winchesters, and it was them he was so desperate to acquire insurance protection against.
“Quite the contrary...”
He ensured he did not leave too long a pause before he answered, else Bobby loose his patience and get the impression Crowley was thinking of his answer, rather than the natural ‘of course not’ that he desired to give the impression that the meant.
“Look, you’re right to be suspicious, but I’m your ally. ‘Enemy of my Enemy’ and all that...I need the Devil back in his stock, ‘fact: my delicate ass depends on it.”
He gave him his best expression of self-concern to back up his statement. Fact of the matter is he was not lying. He wanted Lucifer locked and bound as much as they did, but truth or not it was still a weapon that he could persuade Bobby with. He could see it was working too, getting through slowly to that thick mess Bobby claimed was a brain.
“I promise you. Temporary loan. I’ll give it. Right. Back.”
He could see the contemplation running over Bobby’s face. The man was no artist when it came to concealing what he was feeling and thinking, and Crowley supposed that was a side effect of having so few living brain cells left, especially after the amount of hits Bobby had taken to the head in his life coupled with how much cheap whiskey he poured down his throat. Cheap whiskey – God that was disgusting. He supposed though, from looking around himself, that Bobby’s money wasn’t a high number. Crowley was a man of luxury and this house was a pit to him. He was vain, so vain that even his vessel was of some standard: a ‘moderately successful literary agent from New York’. He allowed Bobby a few moments to think it over, sitting there in his chair. Any good business man knew when to push and when to ease off and give some space. Pushing at this point would only frustrate his thoughts and make him shoot him again, no doubt. It didn’t do much besides hurt, but that was enough to make him avoid the aim.
He relaxed a little on the desk, watching Bobby for any sign of movement in case he raised that bloody arm again. He scanned his face, reading the contemplation and was pleased to find temptation in his expression. Bobby was considering it, and Crowley knew why. How they were going to find Death was currently an almost clueless situation and here he was offering a quick and simple way out of that floundering position. He was offering them the quick route to the end and all it took was one little soul that he was claiming to give back at a later date. A later date that he was not exactly specifying. As Bobby rose his eyes back to look at him, clearly having something to say, Crowley eased his watchful gaze up and looked at him with an expectant expression.
“You’re gunna give us death’s location, right now n’ all it takes is the loan of my soul? Loan!”
Crowley nodded slowly and matter-of-factly to the question, his eyes not leaving Bobby the entire time. If he knew one thing then he knew that if you wanted to pull off a good bluff, you made eye contact, and you kept your story straight. He’d had a long time to perfect the ‘honest’ gaze without making it seem to forceful. He didn’t move other than this gesture, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. He wasn’t going to specify any further than he already had done and Bobby was none-too-smart on these deals. He was not demanding a time limit, and Crowley was not about to put one on either. What Bobby did know would not hurt him. Yet.
“Indeed, your soul on a loan, for Death’s location.”
He exchanged long looks with Singer for a second or two, something in them understanding between the pair. It was about then Crowley knew he’d won already, Singer would do it, because Singer would do anything for his Winchester boys, and if it meant they got the last ring off the oddly gaunt horseman and pegged Lucifer back down in Lilliput then Bobby would highly likely self-sacrifice. Well in all honesty Bobby believed he wasn’t...didn’t mean that was true though. A small smile crept across Crowley’s middle-aged face and he pushed his vessel off the desk, moving a little closer to the crippled red-neck. He stopped in his tracks mind, as Bobby raised that irritating salt gun in his face again.
“I ain’t gonna be kissing yer though...”
His smile increased a little, showing pearl white teeth. He was amused. Sad fact of the matter for Bobby was that a deal required a kiss. He didn’t make the rules here but he was forced to enforce them. He trailed still closer now, until the tip of the barrel was less than a foot away from his chest. Looking down on him he tilted his head ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes a little before he spoke.
“Well my apologies, Singer, but all deals require a seal. I don’t make the rules, but I do have to obey them.”
He gave him a slightly apologetic look before returning his expression to his usual poker face and waited. Clearly this part seemed to be the hardest bit for Singer to accept, which was a joke really. He was selling his soul to a demon, he was trusting him to give it back, but here he was squabbling about the kiss. Well it had to be done, and despite Crowley’s flexible nature as a demon Bobby wasn’t much to look at either, not to mention that beard. Least Crowley was clean shaven. He watched as Bobby gave him a very dissatisfied look, a deep set frown that was enough to tell him that Singer was accepting that fact but was not at all pleased with it. It was almost enough to break Crowley’s poker face with a smirk. He refrained though, at least until after the deal was done.
Bobby lowered the salt rifle and he smiled a little, trailing closer to him again now and stood directly in front of the wheel-chair bound man, unblinking hazel eyes on him.
“Shall we then?”
Bobby gave him another look, this time glaring daggers up at him before nodding and shifting uncomfortably in his wheelchair, bracing himself for it. With a grin, Crowley pulled his iPhone from his pocket, discretely setting it to Camera and used his other hand to place his fingers under Bobby’s chin. He tilted the old man’s head up, watching him close his eyes hard and leant down to him, needing to stoop considerably in order to perform the deal. His lips connected with Bobby’s firmly, and the old man winced a little to the connection. Reaching over he looked up to the camera of his phone, clicking the photo, and then rapidly pocketed the saved evidence. It was not a practise he often made – this photography thing, but he was amused by the idea. Maybe he’d start taking it up.
He drew this kiss out as long as he could, feeling Bobby twitch slightly, how tense and disgusted bobby was and enjoyed it. After a moment, he raised his hand to bobby’s cheek, and ran his fingers down to his jaw line. This made Singer jerk away violently, wiping his mouth on his hand and grimacing. Crowley smirked, chuckling and straightened his spine up with amusement gleaming in his eyes. He patted Singers shoulder softly, and moved back into his kitchen, returning his hands to his pockets.
“Nice doing business with you, Singer. I’ll be seeing you.”
Bobby wheeled his chair around, only to be confronted with nothing more than his empty, slightly untidy kitchen.
Leaning back on the back on the carved wooden desk belonging to Bobby Singer, Crowley inspected the small holes and white salt markings riddling the breast of his suit jacket. To say he wasn’t impressed was toning it down, he liked this suit, as he’d just announced. He supposed he should have expected such a reaction from singer though, the man was simple, brash and none too bright, of course violence was all the man had to respond with. Not the man’s fault he supposed, he was an uneducated pratt as far as Crowley was concerned. He returned his cold professional gaze back on Singer as the man wheeled his chair around to face him, irritating salt gun in his lap. Bobby had not taken well to his proposal. He had expected a ‘no’...but if he gave in at that then he’d be a very poor salesman indeed. Looking down to him, Crowley hoisted his jacket edge and tucked his hands in his pockets, almost lounging where he stood.
“I’ll give it right back.”
Crowley presented bobby with his best ‘honest’ face, and even a hint of a smile, but avoided a full blown grin. Whether or not he was actually being honest was near impossible to read from his decades-practised poker face. Crowley wanted to smirk as Bobby asked him if he took him for an ‘idgit’ As Bobby said. Of course he took him for an idiot or he wouldn’t be asking him for this. Although it was true Crowley could not simple just ‘grant’ wishes without a deal, he could have gone to any one of the others involved. But he wanted Bobby, specifically, because Bobby was so vastly important to the Winchesters, and it was them he was so desperate to acquire insurance protection against.
“Quite the contrary...”
He ensured he did not leave too long a pause before he answered, else Bobby loose his patience and get the impression Crowley was thinking of his answer, rather than the natural ‘of course not’ that he desired to give the impression that the meant.
“Look, you’re right to be suspicious, but I’m your ally. ‘Enemy of my Enemy’ and all that...I need the Devil back in his stock, ‘fact: my delicate ass depends on it.”
He gave him his best expression of self-concern to back up his statement. Fact of the matter is he was not lying. He wanted Lucifer locked and bound as much as they did, but truth or not it was still a weapon that he could persuade Bobby with. He could see it was working too, getting through slowly to that thick mess Bobby claimed was a brain.
“I promise you. Temporary loan. I’ll give it. Right. Back.”
He could see the contemplation running over Bobby’s face. The man was no artist when it came to concealing what he was feeling and thinking, and Crowley supposed that was a side effect of having so few living brain cells left, especially after the amount of hits Bobby had taken to the head in his life coupled with how much cheap whiskey he poured down his throat. Cheap whiskey – God that was disgusting. He supposed though, from looking around himself, that Bobby’s money wasn’t a high number. Crowley was a man of luxury and this house was a pit to him. He was vain, so vain that even his vessel was of some standard: a ‘moderately successful literary agent from New York’. He allowed Bobby a few moments to think it over, sitting there in his chair. Any good business man knew when to push and when to ease off and give some space. Pushing at this point would only frustrate his thoughts and make him shoot him again, no doubt. It didn’t do much besides hurt, but that was enough to make him avoid the aim.
He relaxed a little on the desk, watching Bobby for any sign of movement in case he raised that bloody arm again. He scanned his face, reading the contemplation and was pleased to find temptation in his expression. Bobby was considering it, and Crowley knew why. How they were going to find Death was currently an almost clueless situation and here he was offering a quick and simple way out of that floundering position. He was offering them the quick route to the end and all it took was one little soul that he was claiming to give back at a later date. A later date that he was not exactly specifying. As Bobby rose his eyes back to look at him, clearly having something to say, Crowley eased his watchful gaze up and looked at him with an expectant expression.
“You’re gunna give us death’s location, right now n’ all it takes is the loan of my soul? Loan!”
Crowley nodded slowly and matter-of-factly to the question, his eyes not leaving Bobby the entire time. If he knew one thing then he knew that if you wanted to pull off a good bluff, you made eye contact, and you kept your story straight. He’d had a long time to perfect the ‘honest’ gaze without making it seem to forceful. He didn’t move other than this gesture, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. He wasn’t going to specify any further than he already had done and Bobby was none-too-smart on these deals. He was not demanding a time limit, and Crowley was not about to put one on either. What Bobby did know would not hurt him. Yet.
“Indeed, your soul on a loan, for Death’s location.”
He exchanged long looks with Singer for a second or two, something in them understanding between the pair. It was about then Crowley knew he’d won already, Singer would do it, because Singer would do anything for his Winchester boys, and if it meant they got the last ring off the oddly gaunt horseman and pegged Lucifer back down in Lilliput then Bobby would highly likely self-sacrifice. Well in all honesty Bobby believed he wasn’t...didn’t mean that was true though. A small smile crept across Crowley’s middle-aged face and he pushed his vessel off the desk, moving a little closer to the crippled red-neck. He stopped in his tracks mind, as Bobby raised that irritating salt gun in his face again.
“I ain’t gonna be kissing yer though...”
His smile increased a little, showing pearl white teeth. He was amused. Sad fact of the matter for Bobby was that a deal required a kiss. He didn’t make the rules here but he was forced to enforce them. He trailed still closer now, until the tip of the barrel was less than a foot away from his chest. Looking down on him he tilted his head ever so slightly, narrowing his eyes a little before he spoke.
“Well my apologies, Singer, but all deals require a seal. I don’t make the rules, but I do have to obey them.”
He gave him a slightly apologetic look before returning his expression to his usual poker face and waited. Clearly this part seemed to be the hardest bit for Singer to accept, which was a joke really. He was selling his soul to a demon, he was trusting him to give it back, but here he was squabbling about the kiss. Well it had to be done, and despite Crowley’s flexible nature as a demon Bobby wasn’t much to look at either, not to mention that beard. Least Crowley was clean shaven. He watched as Bobby gave him a very dissatisfied look, a deep set frown that was enough to tell him that Singer was accepting that fact but was not at all pleased with it. It was almost enough to break Crowley’s poker face with a smirk. He refrained though, at least until after the deal was done.
Bobby lowered the salt rifle and he smiled a little, trailing closer to him again now and stood directly in front of the wheel-chair bound man, unblinking hazel eyes on him.
“Shall we then?”
Bobby gave him another look, this time glaring daggers up at him before nodding and shifting uncomfortably in his wheelchair, bracing himself for it. With a grin, Crowley pulled his iPhone from his pocket, discretely setting it to Camera and used his other hand to place his fingers under Bobby’s chin. He tilted the old man’s head up, watching him close his eyes hard and leant down to him, needing to stoop considerably in order to perform the deal. His lips connected with Bobby’s firmly, and the old man winced a little to the connection. Reaching over he looked up to the camera of his phone, clicking the photo, and then rapidly pocketed the saved evidence. It was not a practise he often made – this photography thing, but he was amused by the idea. Maybe he’d start taking it up.
He drew this kiss out as long as he could, feeling Bobby twitch slightly, how tense and disgusted bobby was and enjoyed it. After a moment, he raised his hand to bobby’s cheek, and ran his fingers down to his jaw line. This made Singer jerk away violently, wiping his mouth on his hand and grimacing. Crowley smirked, chuckling and straightened his spine up with amusement gleaming in his eyes. He patted Singers shoulder softly, and moved back into his kitchen, returning his hands to his pockets.
“Nice doing business with you, Singer. I’ll be seeing you.”
Bobby wheeled his chair around, only to be confronted with nothing more than his empty, slightly untidy kitchen.
IS IT BECAUSE OF MY PERKY NIPPLES?
[/color][/font]GIVE CREDIT WHERE CREDIT'S DUE, KAY? THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE
BY CATE (AKA GIRL TALKK OF CAUTION AND RC&R. SO DON'T
STEAL IT FROM HER, OKAY? TEMPLATE WAS MADE SPECIFICALLY FOR
GOOD AND GREAT. SECTION TITLES ARE QUOTES TAKEN FROM THE MOST
AWESOME SHOW EVER, SUPERNATURAL.[/color][/CENTER][/BLOCKQUOTE][/BLOCKQUOTE]
