Post by ADRIENNE STEELE on May 24, 2011 23:52:41 GMT 1
[/color]ADRIENNE STEELE
of the DEMONS. [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Adrienne Steele
» Dare you utter my true name, you will summon in an instant. Nezbelthar is my true name, yet for the sake of walking on this planet, I have adopted a more human name.
»»AGE:[/b] 28
» The demonic blood that flows through my veins is ageless and has existed for a time greater than even the greatest minds could quantify and as I possess this vessel, it will forever remain at the age of 28 until I leave or it is destroyed.
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Model
»»FACTION:[/b] AB Syndicate
»»SPECIES : [/b] Demon
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Evil
»»ABILITY: [/b] Midas Touch.
» In mythology, Nezbelthar is a demon of sculpture. And in the grand scheme of things, the powers associated aren't particularly exciting but she's made them work to her advantage (but it's no shooting fireballs). Her power is a variant of the Midas Touch. Unlike in the myth of King Midas, where everything turns to gold, she has control enough over her powers to only transform people into clay when she chooses, otherwise blending in would be incredibly difficult. When activated, her touch is capable of turning people and objects into clay. All humans are susceptible to this ability. Incredibly low supernatural beings are also susceptible to this but anything with a fair magical ability, will not be affected. For creatures of higher orders, powerful elves, angels, demons, powerful witches, wizards, Hellboy, the midas touch will have no effect. It will have no effect on gorgons and gorgon powers will have no effect on her. But thats not all. What's the point in having a pile of clay? Nothing. Unless you are a demon sculptor who can supernaturally mould this pile of used-to-be-a-human clay into whatever form they want to do their evil bidding. The more clay available, the larger the creatures can be made. A human will only provide enough clay for one human sized clay creature or multiple smaller ones. These creatures can then be sent to do her bidding or attack but these creatures are temporary and will be destroyed by magic or enough brute force.
- - -Strength: Can turn people into clay. Can create clay minions in many different forms to do her bidding.
- - -Drawbacks: Limited midas abilities on supernaturals. Absolutely no effect from the midas touch on more powerful supernatural beings - generic angels, demons, hellboys etc. Clay minions are easily destroyed.
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Grey-blue.
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Blonde
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5'9
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Yvonne Strahovski
»»APPEARANCE: [/b]
Adrienne has an almost perfect, sculpture-esque body which in reality comes from the fact that she originally was a statue. She stands at around 5'9 in height, with a classic, hourglass shape body with legs that almost seem endless. She's slim, verging on skinny but that's the reality of the modelling world for such a beautiful girl. Her body is well toned, and enhanced by her natural demonic abilities gives her increased speed, strength and stamina.
Her face is an elegant oval shape, framed by soft blonde hair - that is typically straight - falls to just past her collar bone. Her hair typically sits in a centre parten, but for a special occassion, she'll change it up. Her eyes are almond shaped and a steely blue-grey in colour, roofed by neatly plucked eyebrows. Her nose ends a pointed bulb from a long bridge. Beneath them sit a pair of voluminous lips - not on par with Angelina Jolie - but plump with a sexy pout.
Dress sense typically stays the same and never strays far from the classic LBD - little black dress with a pair of sleek black heels or the equally badass number of a pair of tight fitting leather trousers with boots, simple white t-shirt with a cropped leather jacket over the top. It wouldn't be complete without a pair of sleek dark sunglasses, so you can never quite tell if it's you she's looking at.
»»PERSONALITY: [/b]
Adrienne is a cold hearted, hotheaded, know-it-all sort of woman. She is very intelligent and knows it and not at all afraid to show it off to everyone. She can angst like there is no tomorrow if something gets to her and she is the kind of woman you want to stay on the good side of. It doesn't help the image of tempermental models but when you're that beautiful, you can have an attitude and still work.
This female does sometimes loose control of her temper and she does have a tendency to get a bit jealous, although, if she sees something she wants, she'll do whatever she can to take it. She will kick your butt if she feels like it and takes great pleasure in kicking ass and causing trouble. Adrienne is a truly empowered female. She’s her own woman, independent who doesn’t need a man to do things for her. She’s capable of taking care of herself, quick thinking, powerful and resourceful. She has great pride in her ability to fend for herself and loves nothing more than showing whose boss. She’s bold, to the point of headstrong and can come across sometimes as cocky but she’s always willing to throw herself into any situation and prove that she can do anything the blokes can do, which can often lead to much destruction.
She considers herself to be a liberator from the male dominated world. Getting along with men is considerably more difficult as there is often tension between them with Adrienne proving she’s just as strong, if not stronger than they are. She's very much pro-women and while she is a demon hellbent on taking over the world, she likes to see other women, supernatural or not, taking control. She has a great respect for female adversaries who think for themselves (before she kills them). Romance has never been something to interest her. While she’s pro female, it doesn’t mean she is a lesbian. She’s open to the idea of a partner but it will take a certain sort of man to win her around.
Her attitude causes a problem for her loyalty and she often has problems with male dominated groups and can be found on her own a lot of the time. She’s truly only loyal to herself but remains affiliated to the AB Syndicate as they have much the same goals. There is a symbiotic relationship where they both make use of each other. Adrienne knows she can be a powerful enemy and if confronted, will often back down herself, knowing that she could easily wipe them out to leave the fight for another day.
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] Giovanni Claudius CriceroFather. Long since deceased.
Augusta Minor Cricero. Mother. Long since deceased.
Giovanni Claudius Cricero. Brother. Long since deceased.
Giovanni Marcinellus Cricero. Brother. Long since deceased.
»»IDOLS:[/b] I wouldn't really say that Adrienne had many idols. It would be easier to say that she idols herself but shares a mutual respect with other demons and does somewhat look up to high ranking demons hellbent on wreaking terror upon earth.
»»HISTORY: [/b]
The history of this one individual, Adrienne Steele is rather the result of more than one lifetime. To understand how she came to exist from the demon, you have to understand how the demon came into existence.
This story begins long ago, at the beginning of the Roman empire. Born to a peasant family was a boy. They called him Giovanni Lucretius. Now this boy wasn't particularly strong or smart. A career in the Roman army was out of the question nor was he a scholar. Despite this, he was particularly gifted with his hands, finding a job as a sculpture for the royal court in the Roman Empire. His sculptures were immaculate, effortlessly capturing the essence of those he carved. It was true that he was very good with his hands, and these hands did like to roam. Roam to all the fair maidens of the court. Lucretius was a serial womaniser, sleeping with many women in the Emperor's court. The unfortunate day came when the woman he pursued was a mythical being, disguised as a fair virgin and she cursed him. Never again would he touch a young woman, never again would he carve and through the curse he lost his hands. With all his means of work gone, he was cast out of the court. Ever the opportunist, he made a deal with a demon. In exchange for ever lasting life as a demon, he would give the demon his human body on earth to cause as much havoc as he desired (and as we all know, eventually the Roman Empire did collapse - but lets not point fingers.)
From this meeting, Nezbelthar, the demon of sculpture was born. Since then, the demon has existed throughout history. His demonic essence was able to grant him a human form on earth when it possessed the stone body of any statue. Easily able to switch between a human and statue form, he was able to exist in near perfect condition. And if by chance the statue should be destroyed, his demonic soul was released, capable of taking hold of another statue and creating a whole new human body for himself.
By now the world was changing. To preserve himself, he had merged with a statue of a woman, which was put into deep storage in a museum. And there he was content to stay, ensuring his existence forever. But the situation of the world was unstable. A war between the humans and elves, beings of the natural and supernatural, heaven and hell broke out. Seeing his opportunity, he breathed life into his statue form, the statue of the young woman taking life. Creating an alias around his new vessel, as Adrienne Steele, he secured his place on earth, serving as a member of the AB Syndicate, a band of demons working to destroy the human race and take over this world.
As Adrienne, he, now a she, took advantage of the perfect sculptured body, living and working as a successful model in New York, where she had the perfect ability to wreak havoc and keep an eye on the uprising forces of the humans and heaven in this changing world.
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Bones
»»GENDER:[/b] Female
»»AGE:[/b] 20
»»TITLE:[/b] i've got that midas touch
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
In comparison to his blonde haired, smooth skinned counterpart, Kisame had a hard time wandering the streets of Suna unnoticed. Against a backdrop of the desert, hues of yellows and orangey-browns, the blue skinned man stood out far more than Deidara ever would. Even though they wore the same, the crimson-black robes, the manbeast was more striking than the petite blonde, practically feminine in his appearance. It would have been a simple errand normally, nothing but a run into down for a package of Itachi's, whatever it was - with them being criminals and all, the odds of it being something legit was unlucky – but he was not one of question his partner. Needless to say, Kisame never obtained the desired item. That bastard Gaara. The Sharkman was barely able to set a foot silently onto Suna soil before the Kazekage was on top of him.
Kisame clutched his side tightly, panting as he move swiftly through the back eyes, nothing but a black and red blur to those who weren’t chasing him. Even for a boy, Sabaku no Gaara had made something of his father’s empire, so much that hunter-nin chased him through the streets. He winced, screwing up his face in a most unattractive manner, sharp teeth biting at his inner lips, pushing down so hard that his tongue lolled in his own blood. Samehada clung tightly to his back, purple spines tainted with a bloody red, as he turned the corner, taking the turn to wide and beating his shoulder off the wall of some strange building. He couldn’t stop now, they would catch up to him sooner than later, and then he’d be shark fin soup.
He crept himself pinned to the shadows as ebon eyes peered up at the buildings front. What a stupid place to hide! So stupid that it may just work. Dragging his hand away from his side, he pressed a bloody palm against his other, eyes closed and chakra concentrated. Water swirled swiftly from his feet, Mizu Bunshin springing to life from the wet, bursting forward into a run through the streets, leaving the real Hoshigaki to his own doings. Limbs drifted to his side once again, palm clutching the bleeding bound in his side, other hand pushing the door open gently. Drifting into the Oasis library soundly, he peered around, avoiding the eyes of anyone. People stirred at the tables, restless with the reading. Breathing quickening, his heart rate leapt as he slipped into the rows of bookshelves; doing his best of avoid any attention. His vision was blurry, the blood from his wound crept through the lining of his robe, dripping on the ground behind him, leave a solid trail to him, as he collapsed in a shadowy back row of books, hefty head knocking against the shelf, literature crashing round about his wounded state.
“Mrrr.” Kisame stirred in his position as the books rained a storm on his already pounding head. They were all in their own right, just a bunch of words scribbled down on some paper. Why were the bloody things that heavy? The shark cursed the books. What happened to be the one that fell open before his eyes? Oh the irony in the words in which the book spoke. Literature wasn’t his friend. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the last time in which he actually sat down to read a book. Had he ever sat down to read a book? And with the current avalanche of stories falling on against his skull, it hurt too much to think. And then there was that voice drilling into his head. Kabuto? Oro’s b i t c h? What the hell was he doing here? Bloody brilliant. Just what he needed, that little weasel running about ruining things. Speaking of weasels, Itachi was going to kill him. As if this day couldn’t get any worse?
As things would have it, it was going to. That fateful ‘yeah’ at the end of every bloody sentence. The footsteps grew ever louder as Deidara moved down the hall. Kisame turned his head away from it as Deidara spied him, not wishing to see the expression upon the boy’s face though he was already familiar with how it would look. It would probably be the same if anyone saw him in that state. For someone with such a reputation as he, to been seen in such a wounded state was nothing short of embarrassing and to be seen by a fellow Akatsuki, he’d never live the experience down and to be seen by him especially. Of all people, why Deidara? He didn’t speak to the boy right away as he questioned him, refusing to turn his blue face – in both physically and emotionally speaking – to look at Deidara. He slipped his arm round the boy’s neck as he was helped back to his shaky feet, his other hand grasping his bleeding body.
As Deidara moved away, the Sharkman stumbled, falling back some, a hand jutting out using the bookshelf to support him. His eyes dropped to the floor as he caught the blonde’s backwards glare. Was this really all his fault? He had better things to do himself than be here! If anything, it was Itachi’s fault! He was here upon the request of Itachi, so how was Deidara meant to blame him for all this mess? It hadn’t been his fault that Gaara had happened to be lurking with the entire Sunagakure army. How was he meant to expect that? It was just meant to be a normal trip into Suna, as it had been on many occasions before. And anyways! It wasn’t like Kisame knew that Deidara was here. Through no fault of his own was Deidara to be wrapped up in things – it was only by chance –some twisted bit of fate- they ended up here, together, like this.
Why were all these thoughts running through his head? Why was he worried, scared of what the younger would think of him. It wasn’t like him, not in the least. Shaking it off, Kisame blamed the sand. Nasty, gritty stuff. It had wormed its way into his head. That must be the reason. In his more usual, almost childish personality, Kisame spoke, “What did I get into, nothing!” he said with a scowl, beady black eyes avoiding the yellow voids. “What got into me, I think his name was Gaara. Jealous?” he hissed in an attempt to lighten the mood with some dire form of comedy.
Raising his head, he peered over the shoulder of the younger, eyes fixed on Kabuto. Stumbling forward, he made his way behind Deidara, pressing his body against his companion’s back to keep himself upright. The smaller was right, now they did have to worry about the ANBU and the Kazekage hunting them down and there was that part of the man which was sorry for dragging the boy into this mess. But still, he didn’t have to treat him as he was treating him. They were all allowed their slip-ups, and he was sure Deidara had had his. Sasori’s constant screaming at him was enough to gather that much. Their partnership seemed to mostly consist of them yelling at each other for something or other. Itachi and he got along. And though Itachi, the infamous clan massacring Uchiha, was something to be afraid of, it was Deidara’s harshness, which terrified the Akatsuki at now. “Give him the f**king book, Kabuto” Kisame hissed from over Deidara’s shoulder. He was sorry for the mess he had got the pair of them into so far, and wasn’t going to let Kabuto make it any worse.
Kisame clutched his side tightly, panting as he move swiftly through the back eyes, nothing but a black and red blur to those who weren’t chasing him. Even for a boy, Sabaku no Gaara had made something of his father’s empire, so much that hunter-nin chased him through the streets. He winced, screwing up his face in a most unattractive manner, sharp teeth biting at his inner lips, pushing down so hard that his tongue lolled in his own blood. Samehada clung tightly to his back, purple spines tainted with a bloody red, as he turned the corner, taking the turn to wide and beating his shoulder off the wall of some strange building. He couldn’t stop now, they would catch up to him sooner than later, and then he’d be shark fin soup.
He crept himself pinned to the shadows as ebon eyes peered up at the buildings front. What a stupid place to hide! So stupid that it may just work. Dragging his hand away from his side, he pressed a bloody palm against his other, eyes closed and chakra concentrated. Water swirled swiftly from his feet, Mizu Bunshin springing to life from the wet, bursting forward into a run through the streets, leaving the real Hoshigaki to his own doings. Limbs drifted to his side once again, palm clutching the bleeding bound in his side, other hand pushing the door open gently. Drifting into the Oasis library soundly, he peered around, avoiding the eyes of anyone. People stirred at the tables, restless with the reading. Breathing quickening, his heart rate leapt as he slipped into the rows of bookshelves; doing his best of avoid any attention. His vision was blurry, the blood from his wound crept through the lining of his robe, dripping on the ground behind him, leave a solid trail to him, as he collapsed in a shadowy back row of books, hefty head knocking against the shelf, literature crashing round about his wounded state.
“Mrrr.” Kisame stirred in his position as the books rained a storm on his already pounding head. They were all in their own right, just a bunch of words scribbled down on some paper. Why were the bloody things that heavy? The shark cursed the books. What happened to be the one that fell open before his eyes? Oh the irony in the words in which the book spoke. Literature wasn’t his friend. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the last time in which he actually sat down to read a book. Had he ever sat down to read a book? And with the current avalanche of stories falling on against his skull, it hurt too much to think. And then there was that voice drilling into his head. Kabuto? Oro’s b i t c h? What the hell was he doing here? Bloody brilliant. Just what he needed, that little weasel running about ruining things. Speaking of weasels, Itachi was going to kill him. As if this day couldn’t get any worse?
As things would have it, it was going to. That fateful ‘yeah’ at the end of every bloody sentence. The footsteps grew ever louder as Deidara moved down the hall. Kisame turned his head away from it as Deidara spied him, not wishing to see the expression upon the boy’s face though he was already familiar with how it would look. It would probably be the same if anyone saw him in that state. For someone with such a reputation as he, to been seen in such a wounded state was nothing short of embarrassing and to be seen by a fellow Akatsuki, he’d never live the experience down and to be seen by him especially. Of all people, why Deidara? He didn’t speak to the boy right away as he questioned him, refusing to turn his blue face – in both physically and emotionally speaking – to look at Deidara. He slipped his arm round the boy’s neck as he was helped back to his shaky feet, his other hand grasping his bleeding body.
As Deidara moved away, the Sharkman stumbled, falling back some, a hand jutting out using the bookshelf to support him. His eyes dropped to the floor as he caught the blonde’s backwards glare. Was this really all his fault? He had better things to do himself than be here! If anything, it was Itachi’s fault! He was here upon the request of Itachi, so how was Deidara meant to blame him for all this mess? It hadn’t been his fault that Gaara had happened to be lurking with the entire Sunagakure army. How was he meant to expect that? It was just meant to be a normal trip into Suna, as it had been on many occasions before. And anyways! It wasn’t like Kisame knew that Deidara was here. Through no fault of his own was Deidara to be wrapped up in things – it was only by chance –some twisted bit of fate- they ended up here, together, like this.
Why were all these thoughts running through his head? Why was he worried, scared of what the younger would think of him. It wasn’t like him, not in the least. Shaking it off, Kisame blamed the sand. Nasty, gritty stuff. It had wormed its way into his head. That must be the reason. In his more usual, almost childish personality, Kisame spoke, “What did I get into, nothing!” he said with a scowl, beady black eyes avoiding the yellow voids. “What got into me, I think his name was Gaara. Jealous?” he hissed in an attempt to lighten the mood with some dire form of comedy.
Raising his head, he peered over the shoulder of the younger, eyes fixed on Kabuto. Stumbling forward, he made his way behind Deidara, pressing his body against his companion’s back to keep himself upright. The smaller was right, now they did have to worry about the ANBU and the Kazekage hunting them down and there was that part of the man which was sorry for dragging the boy into this mess. But still, he didn’t have to treat him as he was treating him. They were all allowed their slip-ups, and he was sure Deidara had had his. Sasori’s constant screaming at him was enough to gather that much. Their partnership seemed to mostly consist of them yelling at each other for something or other. Itachi and he got along. And though Itachi, the infamous clan massacring Uchiha, was something to be afraid of, it was Deidara’s harshness, which terrified the Akatsuki at now. “Give him the f**king book, Kabuto” Kisame hissed from over Deidara’s shoulder. He was sorry for the mess he had got the pair of them into so far, and wasn’t going to let Kabuto make it any worse.
