The devil's in the details, honey.

Mars Erkens

*****

A warmongering Jezebel that walks the blurred lines of legalities with a seamlessly anguine ability; a parasailing breed of vulturing hustler to whom you speak in terms of assets, bulk and numbers and need not burden yourself with the turbid details of how, but when. Picked clean in class and slathered in dirt, she's the ilk of Concrete Royal kingpins call by name and very delicately handle.

*****

Arms Dealer

*****

Her forefront business is one that profits a high scaled revenue, it justifies the wealthy lifestyle of a lowborn Brooklyn girl that's clawed her way up the lather by means of bloodshed and treachery; a Bratva route broker that's quite familiarized with the taste of foul and bitter vile to be daunted by much of anything.

Residence: She's the habit of being a sojourn bird, her permanence anywhere is brief, her passports are plenty and are as numbered as her elusive nature has deem necessary. She's a knack for booking rooms she might never use and a marked agility to disappear out of thin air, but rumor has it -- it is only because the pauper-crowned-Queen hasn't forgotten how to be a commoner and reckon her own affairs in the only way a stalking predator does -- quietly

Personality

Duplicitous/Manipulative/Cynical

Decidedly Feline

The morally bankrupt aren't bound to societal norms or behavioral etiquettes, but are gifted at playing the part of sympathizers, dolling up the appeal of she who evokes a lawful righteousness while being everything but. This is not  a creature of white picket fence fancies, her motivations aren't founded from the root of selfless relations and tend to be a toxic amalgam of double-dealing interests that might wind  in betray. This doesn't mean that the sly-eyed virago cannot forge a personal bond, it just means, that it might not be for the reasons you'd hope.  

The type of sophisticated beauty

that's every bit as lethal 

We dissolve behind the veils and trench coats, our faces soon dimming, the whiskey of their tongues already forgotten

Around us the scent of orchids and tobacco flowers, bruised and senescent, blooms into the night air

thick with gunfire.

****

General Info

****

Height - 5'7''

Weight - 125 lbs

Eyes - Gunmetal Blue

Hair - Jet black

Skin - Unblemished pale

Body Type - Sylphlike

Age - Undisclosed

Zodiac Sign - Gemini

Specie - Seemingly Human

Romantic Interests - None

Nick Name - Dustbunny

Alignment - Antagonist

****

 Russian Red

Chanel Nª5

A poisoned glass of Pinot Noir

 

"Why is she alone on this dark street? On this cold night? You care, but she doesn't.

Her Jimmy Choo's can't be comfortable, but you'd never know it. Unaffected elegance. Too cool elegance. Not for you elegance, you say. There's got to be something wrong with her; that attitude, high maintenance, hiding something. She's taller than you can handle. Flirts more than you can handle too.

She's the kind to tell the bartender how to make her drink. And Chess, yeah it's a men's game, but when she plays, men pay. Say you don't like her, until she looks your way. She's not easy and she's not flawless. But she's never wasted her time thinking about it." - Noir Commercial.

Writer's Writing Style (OOC)

Paragraph, Multi-Para, Novella


About the Writer (OOC)

An adult writer that's not new to RP and has been about a long time. Don't be shy to ask me anything, am very friendly and open to ideas. I don't have rules, I appreciate creativity and freedom, which means -- that so long it makes sense, whatever you'll pitch I'll catch. This is a drama free zone -- in Laymans, drama here has a tendency to slide the fuck off, so if you lose your shit don't expect me to care, I asure you I won't. Otherwise, have fun ;)


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Comments

  • | Oh please, when am I ever good? |

  • 754-1313

    (Unknown Number - AMERICA)

    --------

    Errrrrrrrh...

    Nah.

    Welcome back. 

    --------

  • I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
    to withdraw from the tumult of cemeteries
    I want to sleep the dream of that child
    who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

    I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
    that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
    I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
    nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
    that labors before dawn.

    I want to sleep awhile,
    awhile, a minute, a century;
    but all must know that I have not died;
    that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
    that I am the small friend of the West wing;
    that I am the intense shadows of my tears.

    Cover me at dawn with a veil,
    because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
    and wet with hard water my shoes
    so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.

    For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
    to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
    for I want to live with that dark child
    who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.
    - Gacela of the Dark Death by Federico Garcia Lorca
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