Demon Realm

May 2017 Featured RPG

Sullivan Renepault

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Onii OOC Information

Status
Created
Threads
Posts
Offline
06-22-2017
3
57

Character Information

Character Type
Face Claim
Human with Civil Demon
Freida Pinto
Human Pronouns
Human Age
Demon Pronouns
Demon Age
She | Her
33
He | Him
8,500
Faction
Profession
Spirit Detectives
Ex-Prizefighting Champion

Character Summary

The Pitbull

They call her a Pitbull, because she latches on and doesn't let go until you go limp and life leaves you. She is commanding and strong but never vicious because that implies her hits are sharp and cutting like a viper's strike. When she hits you you'll know it, when she despises you you'll hear it; there is nothing slight about her, nothi nf remotely carried out beneath the waves and she does not slither under your feet. She is loud in all ways, commanding and sturdy like the fanfare of a horn or the earth shaking traipse of a fighting bull. You'll know her when you see her, hear her when you don't, and there's an air about her that strongly suggests you look and you'll find that you aren't looking at her because of her body. You'll look for the same reason your eyes are drawn to the tiger in the cage, immediately drawn to observe not the DAINTY beauty of it but simply because it is demanding to be seen and is capable of taking you off you feet - and then liberating you from them.

She's the one you hear about long before you meet her, the one who lives by the skin of her fists and is in all ways already done with your shit. She is passionate like fire and will happily burn you, she is quick to anger and very slow to appease, and when the posture of her words degrade into her native Brazilian accent that's when you know you've really made her mad.
You won't see what else she's capable of because she won't show you, because she's become conditioned to the concept that survival is not about feelings or likes or happiness or gentle indulgence - no, you'll be met with the strongest emotion of all and she'll say, "Isn't that enough?"

Full Name // Sullivan Renepault
Pronunciation // SUL-ih-vun REN-uh-pault
Sex // XX
Status // Single
Height // 5'7
Weight // 130lbs
Eyes // Hazel
Hair // Coarse; black
Nationality // Indian x Brazilian
Birthplace // Brazil
Personality Type // INTJ-A; The Architect
Alignment // Lawful Neutral
Tattoo 1 // henna design sleeves from back of hands to shoulders
Tattoo 2 // large traditional-style dragon tattoo across entire back, tail curls round back of left thigh
Ascensions
Dominions

Strength Tier 1. Ascension to "THE LION"
The lion is strong, and being consumed by that strength. The lion is a powerful entity not in control of the thing most important to grasp when powerful: themselves. The lion is a wild path to follow, and a wild persona to take.

You feel new possibilities within you. You can now experience increased mental capacity, but you may become more animalistic. The dominions shape shifter, superior senses, superior endurance, superior strength and superior speed are now augmented. Your character may show unusual command of those dominions for their mastery.

Superior Strength

Proficient // Control

Biomancy

Proficient // Control

Animals

Proficient // Power

Fire

Minor // Power

Invulnerability

Proficient // Power

Superior Senses

Lesser // Power

Character In-Depth

THE PSYCHOANALYTIC BREAKDOWN

Hairtrigger

She spits straight fire, that tigress, and as sudden as you could even utter a word to trigger it. She is all or none, sharp and vicious is her tongue, her anger deeply seated in her bones such that it physically burns in her and she can feel it, that sensation of rage like a bonfire in her gut. Self-destructive aggression is an understatement, but something so deeply rooted into her everything can not be untangled like some trivial thing. It has become her, has pulled her away from the doorstep of death, has been the only constant motivator that has tugged her body away from quitting and her mind from curling up and succumbing to certain unreal harshities of her existence. Dependent on it, surely, the drug of adrenaline and gratifying exhaust of acid and flame in her throat now remaining long after it has been needed; backfiring, as with all addictions.
But as she breathes fire it burns at her own insides as a side effect and the heat is slowly killing her. She is on a hair trigger because her body is perpetually high-strung, perpetually waiting for the slightest cue to shatter the slightest opposition under her feet. She has potential to be furious always, for anything at any time, her survival mechanism now naught but an overactive and hypersensitive side effect to what has been done to her. She is the tigress in the circus cage, skinned and raw and even the lightest little pokes of a hand through the bars has her screaming in pain, whipping around and removing the entire arm as punishment. Do not test her.

Lionhearted

For all she has endured, the tigress remains no more sensitive than she has ever been. She is tough, resilient, certain of who she is and what she has at her disposal and how effective her means of action. "Bullheaded" is a term that can be used for her interchangeably, and she will not disagree; rather, she will only remark that it is better to be bullheaded than to sheepishly submit. She is capable because she refuses to be anything else, she is swift to act and even swifter to recover from misgivings. Brave, stubborn, proud and honorable to a certain degree; she does not lie to forward herself, but she will not keep her word if extenuating circumstances give her reason to reconsider. More often than not she runs on an honor system, her judgement strict and unbiased and if one cannot manage their half of that respect then she will consider them worthless.
Just as straightforward as she is with all others she demands the same from them and will test them, push them, and either they respond favorably or she takes off their head. Feelings are intangible "extras" of the world she lives in; that is to say, they are the very last of her concerns. She insists, that when you have been living entirely day by day as she once has been, there is no first-world privilege necessary to worry about distant things like "emotional state" and happiness. As a result, never expect courtesy or beating around the bush from her; she will speak only candidly, exactly what is in her head because that is exactly what you need to hear. As long as you're alive, you're fine.

The Brass Hammer

Not to say she is inherently violent, but she has absolutely no aversion to settling things physically. She is swift and her decisions immediate but nevertheless final, her driving force a cross between gut and pragmatism. If one cannot be saved she will not try, and likewise if one she is attached to can break one of her cardinal laws then they are immediately severed - often literally. She has a system of judgement that does not always operate similarly to that of the City's, but many will suggest it is far more fair for it. Her common lack of bias allows her to weigh situations on a very intuitive scale of not just what is right and wrong but what is unforgivable or what is tolerable, what is practical to allow and what is senseless. She is not interested in being a hero or frequent face of the news.
She judges objectively, weighs things based on some scale of "greater good," a pragmatic approach to situations where the best option might be to free a criminal in order to catch a thousand more of them. She is under no illusion that suggests all wrongs can be righted and, as a primarily-nihilistic personality, the tigress does not even find herself on some solid, unchanging path towards some "world peace" construct. She does not ever claim to be working towards some ultimate good; the only thing that matters in the moment is the moment itself, and whether or not that decision changes something somewhere else for someone else is none of her business. She's not out to save the world - she'll only do what she can when presented with a situation, one at a time.

Rose on The Wall

She is certain of herself, true - but that says nothing about how protective she is of herself. A boxer always blocks their core and their face with their hands and arms and she of course is no different - it's a mechanism to defend the most sensitive of things. She does not know how to be nice in the way you might know it; she finds compliments as lies, emotions obscure and attachment simply dangerous. For when has she ever been shown that relationships are solid and only beneficial? You'll know the reason behind this if you spare the time to listen to her story that's later told, but gist of her loss and the wrongs done to her have certainly shaped her into a rather mean creature. She is loud and aggressive, a single poke of a stick throwing her into a lethal passion that will not end until she's eviscerated you.
Like every part of her body is raw, skinned by a cheese grater, and the slightest misgivings someone may do to her will have her react in a way so intense they are not sure just what they've done to deserve it. That is how she is with people - but what about when she is alone? Is she still so high strung, still so ready to be wronged? How calm and quiet and diligent she is in private would absolutely surprise you, how unassuming she is, not a single bark or scowl, tending her pitbulls or tending her passion for plants - bonsai trees in particular, her perfectionist need having her spend hours cutting the little branches into shapes. She's a rose - but not for you, not around you, only when she's safe enough to be one. If you're lucky, you'll glimpse it before she can snap at you.

THE PRIZEFIGHTER (BRIEF HISTORY)

"It started with Ramos," she'll tell you candidly while she occupies herself so easily with the brushing of her horses or the wrapping of her fists before a training session at the gym, "and it started with looking for anywhere I could stay to avoid him beating the shit out of me." She went from cage to cage, moved from a heated family structure in Brazil with her fleeing father whose eyes were kind and the softness of his words were swiftly muffled by the sounds of poverty and, in particular, the sound of a bullet forced into his skull during a botched robbery. The innermost slums of Ghost Town had been all they could have afforded to take up after their speedy travel from across the world and the man had payed for it with his life. Without the reach of support from a proud bloodline that had stricken her name from their books (for she had been taken from their lineage by a man who was an outsider), the young fledgling was forced to adapt to the high risk life of the projects. She surrounded herself with people who had tattooed their faces with tears, and who had seen a judge more times than they could count - she was never a part of their gangs but perhaps it was pity or admiration or something of the like that even people of their nature could appreciate a rose on the wall.

But that is how she met Ramos, a seemingly-sturdy fixture such that she wound up living with him, and such that she found out that people who crossed him were not the only ones he senselessly attacked. "I chose it because it was the only one with the lights still on at all hours," the gym, she means, a place where all sorts of souls came at all hours of the day and night and therefore the owner left it unlocked for them always. "I was there more times than not," she'll tell you, "and eventually passed the hours with weights and punching bags." The rest of that is simply history. She'd not known how furious she was, had not known just how liberating the gym was until she began pouring her everything into the hours she hid from Ramos, the determination and aggression and ANGER fueling her workouts that admittedly lacked structure and know-how. It did not matter to her, because all she wanted to do was hit. and hit. and hit. and hit. That was only until the owner of the gym came by and witnessed her in her complete lack of structure but raw, determined strength - and decided to work with that.

With an ex-champion boxer as her coach, of course, it was no surprise at how far she had gotten in the boxing world. First came the in-house fights in which a savage set of victories took her from smaller leagues into larger ones that suggested she travel from gym-to-gym, underground fights to underground fights, and she decided it worth her time. How else would she cope? The cushiness of society as others knew it would never support something so conditioned to fighting for survival. "Only I had no money to move, she says to you, "I needed to approach Ramos for that." who, as a reputable gang leader and drug pusher, he had all the money in the world and she saw absolutely none of it spent on her. "I left for the gym at times he would not miss me," and she means when he was drunk or high off his ass. This next part, she will tell you in excruciatingly-fine detail; "Things were different then - well. I was. He did not notice how I did not cower or look away as I did months ago." she says this fondly to you as she relives the intensely gratifying moment of the first time she exhausted the extent of her anger that spanned beyond Ramos, beyond the murder of her father, beyond the poverty and beyond the shattered family structure that stood as a caste that did not want her in her homeland any longer. "He raised his hand so I shattered it at the elbow," and whether you're intrigued or appalled by how candid she is, she continues. "then I broke half his face and slammed the rest of it against the brick wall over and over and smeared his brain under my foot. He was unrecognizable, which I've decided was an improvement."

Her boxing career soared and so did she, her victories many and the belts she won slowly but surely qualifying her higher and higher until she crossed a threshold she desperately looked forward to. She wanted to be where the real challenge was and after pulling many strings, her very well renowned coach had the woman put into heavy weight male lists. "I won some and I Lost some, I am not invincible. ..that being said, I have dropped men some twice my size." she'll be sure to tell you about that.

It was the one belt she never won, and it's the one thing she'll never explain candidly. She won't tell you about the misogynistic title holding champion who could not bear to even face the chance of losing to a woman, she won't tell you much about the hit that was put on her by two of his partners, and she won't tell you much about what they did to her in an attempt to remind her of a woman's place, how beating her to a pulp was the first thing they did and arguably the kindest thing on the list.

...but she will tell you about the one who delivered her from such torture in that back alley, who put a curt and fitting end to them in such a way she could not even hope to replicate herself, and she'll say "..Buck Savage is not so bad." and believe me when I say that is the closest she will ever come to doling out any type of compliment.

"I haven't moved from Ghost Town despite the nice purses from my wins," she'll end on this note, saying "Never have I been as exposed to the high life as I was when I traveled for matches. And I learned that there's a reason they put fighting pitbulls out of their misery." and you'll know she's referring to a line that she can't cross, a line she has no will to cross; all she has known are the many wrongs put upon her by others and she will never mesh well in a world where people are to be kind and close and social - she will always be quick to snap their necks. Once a fighter, always a fighter.

THE BEASTKEEPER

What she learned of her gift with Animals she learned from her father - it's the last tangible tether she has to the wide-smiling man wise beyond his years with a heart of gold that ultimately did him in. Most specifically he was a scientist out of India whose study was geared toward genetics and fine-tuning the breeding of certain animals. Sullivan caught the admiration for such creatures from always being around his work (the animals, of course) and further learned she had express control over animals in such a setting when a wild mustang once broke free and was subdued by the little girl's defensive touch rather than trample her as it originally was aimed to. At this point he did anything he could to help forward her understanding of this power. Now that he's long gone, Sullivan makes extensive strides in the art of animal control not only because it is useful for her, but also subconsciously to please him.

She's mostly fond of Horses and canines, and on the more exotic side big cats, birds of prey and safari-bound animals if ever she comes across them. Animals see the most of her (the perpetual anger is reserved for you, don't worry) that no one else does, and in the midst of them the entire flavor of her presence changes. It seems she is only ever capable of tempering herself and properly reigning in the fire in the pit of her chest when it might harm or agitate animals; as for why she cannot think to do that for the sake of her own health, who can say.

You will not see her with many exotic pets because her power is not used to capture animals for her own benefit. She uses it to control them temporarily; be it their mood to calm them, or be it that she intends to set them free with their help. After that, she lets loose the tether and allows them to move on. If they are animals she obtains that have no hope for returning back to the wild (habitat destruction, orphaned big cats or birds of prey) then she houses them in facilities that are much more spacious than her little home. You will mostly see her with horses or dogs or wolves, social animals that attach to her without the need of her power, animals that do not suffer from life in compartments like stables or her apartment in Ghost Town's deep end. Her pitbulls are heavily emphasized in her life, all ex-fighting dogs (of course) who would have otherwise met their demise by the hands of a kill shelter. As for what happened to their owners when she came across their fighting rings, well..
Don't worry about that little detail.

Demon Information

Do not be fooled by his innate quiet; he does not speak because you do not deserve it and that is all there is to his silence. If ever he speaks it is like thunder and it is cruel and you will immediately know that the obelisk is prepared to shatter you under his hooves at a moment's notice. The shape he takes is purely ironic, and some might say incredibly satirical, because he is nothing like the gentle giant he takes the form of and perhaps your hair will stand on end as a way of forewarning you. He has not always taken such a form but it is catered to the anchor that binds him; as for why the obelisk has decided to wrap himself around the structure of his host's being, who can say. Perhaps he fancies her, perhaps she is a worthy host, perhaps there is a genuine (though unspoken) want to integrate with her, to be close to her in such a way that the demon would insist upon a form of something very close to her heart. perhaps he's just an ass. She won't tell you yes or no on that and neither will he. But he is intentionally a wild animal, as free and as vicious as a feral mustang and will not hesitate to hunt you and take a massive chunk of flesh out of your back to devour.

He is rude, bitter, spiteful, intentionally sadistic for the sake of the reaction but never has he harmed his host. Her anger, though, is what he primarily feeds and why wouldn't he? Is it not of the most excess resource? When she is enraged he feels it through every inch of himself, drawn into it like a high and fueled with more than he could even think to handle. This is not to say he ever attempts to invoke it in her - not that he would ever really have to, but perhaps the obelisk is attached enough to her that he's decided it more ethically responsible to take only what is there for free absorption, not to cause it himself.

Perhaps the seemingly docile face of the beast will be what does it for you; perhaps the way it moves, perhaps how black it is such that its body even absorbs the light of the sun as though he's an afterimage of another world. Or perhaps it's those eyes that you'll look into, the dark and craterous eyes that you expect to be the warmly-knowing sort that horses have, those black eyes that sit like chasms that make you want to send an echo down, asking if anyone is there.
And the response to that might make you sick.

Name // Faustus
Pronunciation // Fow-Stus
Sex // XY
Height // Generally 7'2 at withers
Weight // 2500lbs
Eyes // jet black
Hair // Coarse; black
Personality Type // INTJ-A; The Architect
Alignment // Chaotic Evil