EAA Viceroy, Former DEA Special Agent-Aviations Div; Pilot
New York, New York
Eris is tiny, curvaceous and powerful. Possessing the physical prowess to do dangerous work before the Resonance, her appearance now is quite deceptive to the casual observer. Standing barely 5’5”, she has a medium long length mane of slightly curly, thick chestnut hair. Eyes are large and dark, face cherub-like and seemingly innocent. When the darkly lined lashes narrow, it’s best to back the hell away or risk something much worse.
She prefers elegant suits and sharp formal wear, everything she puts on whether it utilitarian or dressy is high end and polished. She can often be seen sucking on a mint of some kind and never touches anything in public.
Her entire personality can be summed up in one word. Eris didn’t always have a penchant for arrogance, the cutting personality trait developed over time and a long series of unfortunately linked events. Before the Resonance and subsequent infection, she already held abhorrence for the social aspects of life. Relentlessly tortured as a youth by peers that couldn’t fathom the depth of her genius level intellect, it pushed her away from society in a negative light- perceiving interactions with others more of a nuisance in the way of her goals. A business-like demeanor reigned in her communications with others as she grew older, making her prime for difficult and heartless work. Shortly before the Event, devastating news toppled her from her solitary Ivory Towers. Terminally ill, the end of the world and infection was regarded as a blessing since it gave her a second chance at life and the physical prowess to match her mental capabilities.
Now, she is dangerously cunning, quiet, straight talking and ruthless. She keeps a drawn up list of transgressions and revenge appropriate for those that have wronged her, and plans to deal with each of them on the time she has been given by the Resonance. She has no friends, only people she deems as useful or irrelevant and has an unshakable need for justice- though she is not above heartless nastiness out of spite.
Eris is best kept on your side of the table- which unfortunately is very hard to do.
Eris lives in a large warehouse on a former small airstrip near the harbor she has commandeered from the Resonance. Formerly a DEA location and her point of assignment, it contains a small personal jet, a helicopter, and a non-working single engine plane. She has an exclusive list of clientele she ferries for when she is in the mood, the bankroll allowing her to live the lifestyle she has become accustomed to and keep the engines running.
Surrounded by razor wire, the large complex is a place of business, hiding a rather lavish loft above her aircraft prized possessions.
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Typist's Role Play History
Since the beginning of time
Role Play Sample
Soft breath moved between her lips, drawn in and out methodically before darkness was allowed to penetrate her lids. She’d been crouched for a long time in the shadows, waiting till the sun fell to scale the building, scenting the bastard... The ledge was a perfect one, just along the side of the building to shift her into nothing, hiding her until the morning; content at the moment to just watch, learn, roll plans over in her brain, make decisions.
It would be so easy.
Eyes reflected the meager light, swollen dark opal glowing with iridescent gleams, watching the particularly dashing elf wander across the room to select something from his bookshelf and then seat himself near the fire to read as fingers drew absently along the bough of his cello. It literally burned against her skin, lips pressing to a thin line as she watched the calm relaxation with a vivid hatred. Fingers that lingered over her knees twitched unconsciously, going through the motions as they remembered the last time she skinned an elf. The screaming, whimpering blond hadn’t been particularly dead yet at the time; a passion she’d developed when she mostly fancied the promises they would make her if she left them alive. Her own lips always asked where there were more elves, sometimes obliged, sometimes not. The last had been particularly loose lipped.. which had led her... here.
Dark eyelashes lingered together, the deep smirk lighting up the glitter of her eyes. It had been too long. Tthe world had driven too many into hiding, her own prowess having to hunt more. Further away to places of the world she loathed going. This elf of particular interest, willing to cross the entire world to find him; and kill him. Her tribe eagerly awaited the silver braid that she would bring back on her belt.
Fox fur swirled, tickling the edges of her cheeks from the hood drawn over her features. Now she knew where, she needed the how and when. The more she watched the angrier she became, flirting with self control, playing with her ability to bide her time, to wait. She knew the city, rather well and hated it distinctly. A memorable failure still bristled under her skin, the life she still could see in the goliath buildings something she could use and perhaps even tend again.
In the meantime, she had decisions to make.
Slipping from her perch, she slid a dainty pair of gray leather gloves on, wisping down the fire escape to the alley below, stepping over a slumped figure that reeked of alcohol. Taking a moment to smooth her appearance, she began her trek, short legs making fast work of the distance to her office, leather binder in one hand, sliding on her glasses. The glint of silver from the delicate chain that held them around her neck caught the light, stark against the dove gray turtle neck at her tiny throat. Footsteps behind her were heard even before they were audible. The vibration.. the scent of alcohol..
She did look quite the target; tiny, bookwormy, barely a hundred pounds soaking wet and dressed impeccably in black slacks and boots, the silver chain at her waist over her thigh length sweater turtleneck swanky. Grey fox fur swirled as she turned, head cocked slightly at the shadow under a rusted awning. Fingers were nowhere near her hip, black eyes blinked quietly, pale pink lips calm without a smile. She shook her head slowly, the light catching the peak of her ears, finally sliding her coat back slightly to reveal a holster of some kind at her hip, the alcohol laden shadow moving back within them before she turned and finished her way.
The steps were light, trotting up the stairs to the office and surveying the bustle, eyes lifting upward to the glass railing to scent something before spotting a seat near a conspicuously placed office door. Sitting quietly, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap demurely as she watched the workers, eternally patient.