EVÉRCHA, vincent emilio de

[vince]

Illuminated in eerie pale moonlight, the maw of the Terrinth coal mine held a foreboding aura of malice. The shaft tracks meant for transporting carts glinted like vicious forks in the mountain's tongue. It was toward, rather than away from, this maw that Vincent Emilio de Evércha slunk. His claws drug through the earth before his feet, carving little paths for him to follow. Perhaps now would be a good time to mention that this particular hour of day (or rather, night) found Vincent not in his human form, which may or may not be easier on the eyes, but instead in the form of a beast. He'd stripped off his clothing prior to the evening's transformation (wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good pair of trousers), but don't worry. This isn't R-rated frontal nudity material. Vince had a nice, thick coat of brunette fur to cover his man parts. His teeth had been elongated and sharpened to a point, his fingernails had grown into claws of the wickedly curved variety, and his overall appearance bore striking semblance to that of a wolf. Coincidence? ... Not really. That's what lycanthropes were modeled after.

Casting a glance over his wolf-shoulder, Vince surveyed the horizon with crystalline blue eyes. Faint traces of pink splotched the skyline. The sun would soon rise, which would bring about another onslaught of bone-wrenching agony to plague his joints for the remainder of the day. Or at least until the subsequent nightfall, at which time the process repeated all over again. But Vince had prepared himself with the appropriate response to the situation -- a deerskin pouch filled to the brim with the finest mead Terrinth had to offer. He'd stowed the pouch in the mine, his favorite after-hours haunt, for later consumption. Thankfully, in contrast to the folklore of the silly mortals inhabiting Earth, lycans were sentient beings, so Vince was able to navigate his way to the mine - and even recall his chosen hiding place - before the first traces of sunlight breached the leafy canopy. And then, once he was safely hidden away, it happened.

If, for some reason, you've ever wondered what it felt like to morph into an overgrown mutt (or back to human form from overgrown mutt), allow me to enlighten you. It is not a quick process. Bones must literally break and realign in order to perfectly imitate either form. First, his knees reverted from their backwards inversion to their original sate, kneecaps facing forward. Then his hind legs lengthened, forcing him to stand up straight as his teeth cut into his gums in their retreat back into his skull. Simultaneously, his claws receded into his fingers and the fur that had sprung up from each follicle on his body was sucked back beneath his skin. So yeah. The ordeal as a whole was relatively the same length as a proper tooth-brushing, but it wasn't fast enough to save the wolf from all the little (and not-so-little) pains racking through his body (or her body, if we're gonna be politically correct). And afterward, all that remained was human Vincent, stark-naked and smarting on the dirt floor of a coal mine. No, lycanthropy isn't like the Hulk deal where you get to keep your pants.

It was during moments like these, after particularly painful transformations, that Vince flashed back to his childhood. The flashbacks weren't all fruity and happy and nostalgic, either. His flashbacks took him to the locked doors of his dark room at the age of sixteen, writhing in agony. He'd been alone, of course, as all teenagers tend to rebel and refuse any help offered from their parental figures. One reason being a teenage werewolf sucked: on top of a constantly breaking voice and a foul body odor, you were constantly plagued by the urges to scratch behind your ear and piss on the front lawn (and shag women doggy style, but that's kind of universal) and by excruciating transformations on a nightly basis. The whole ordeal was worsened by Vince's arrogance driving him to experience it on his own. His parents, who were both lycans themselves, could have helped him. Instead, Vince took the "I'm a tough guy who can muscle his own way" road, which would eventually lead to his alcoholism.

Rolling over onto his side, Vince lay there a moment, awaiting the subsidization of the pains in his legs, hands, and head. As he lay there, he surveyed the mine shaft, squinting through the dim light in search of the rock he'd stashed his stuff behind. Along with the flask of mead, he'd stowed his pants. No shirt, though. Vince wasn't fond of shirts, and to be frank, women weren't fond of him in shirts. They preferred him half naked. ;] In truth, his torso commanded a fair amount of attention. On top of his washboard abs and astounding thinness, there were the tatoos lacing his right side and arm. A large Gaelic vine covered his arm from the collar bone outward, stretching from and to his waist both up his front and down his back. Then, scrawled along the length of his right arm in large, celestian script were the words "To Arawa". There might have been a back story to the tattoo, but the night he got it, he'd been too drunk to remember.

When at last his gaze fell upon his effects, Vince stretched his arms toward the rock, straining the muscles in his fingers. He wriggled them limply, but alas, could not find in him to move. The lingering aches from his transformation had all but dissipated, and Vince wasn't tired from the lack of sleep (he got most of his resting done during daylight hours), he was simply too lazy to put forth the effort of crossing a few feet of shaft to gather his things (and don pants). It'd be nice if I could say Vince's sloth and nonchalance were the result of a trying childhood experience, but really, they weren't. His parents had been as present as he allowed them to during his childhood, and had gotten on with each other extraordinarily well. His father would always try to give him pep talks on how to be a wolf (slash man, because they're totally interchangeable) and his mother would always smother him with love and affection (and cookies... especially cookies). They provided everything he'd every wanted and more, despite the strain the war put on every family during the first sixteen years of his life. Vince had also successfully wooed every girl he'd ever felt compelled to pursue. This may come as a surprise, but Vince was a bit of a hit with the ladies. But he'd always been distant, never forming and deeply emotional connections with anyone. He'd always been the same apathetic, lazy, slovenly, extremely sarcastic man he was now.

As you can see, his character arc has yet to be reached. And possibly never will, given his stubborn resistance to change. We'll just have to wait...

FACE CLAIM :: Vinnie Woolston (just a note: I owned him before Robin did)
ALIAS :: Zee
EXPERIENCE :: A while.
CHARACTERS :: Dmitri Udinov & Vince
HOW YOU FOUND US :: My awesome sense started tingling
HOW ARE YOU DOING? BETTER THAN THE PEEPS WHO TRY TO OUTWIT THE LADY ADMINS OF HIWIC.

_____________________________________________________________________
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

HEAVEN IS WRAPPED IN CHAINS ©

[LADY ELENA ©]

Didn't I just accept one of your applications last week, Zee? Ah well, can't leave all the work for Em. Vince looks to be an interesting character - I can't wait to see how he develops. Your applications are always brilliant </broken record ftw>, but I especially loved your description of Vincent's transformation and the comment about not getting to keep your pants like the Hulk does >.>. Claim your face ( if you haven't already ), and as always, if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, don't hesitate to contact Em or myself.

P.S. - Yay, HIWIC's got its first lycan!