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This is a 1x1 RP! Please do not post unless your name is in the title. Thank you! |
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Name- Axl Jager Age- Looks to be middle to late-twenties. DOB(MM/DD/YY)- 08/19/1998 POB- Minnesota Sex- Male Ethnicity- White Height- 6'4 Weight- 227LB Languages Spoken- English, German, Russian Status- High, third in command. Married- N/A Zodiac- Leo Accent- Slight underlaying Minnesotan accent, covered up by years of southern. Drawls. When he gets angry, the Minensotan comes out. Most Used Phrases- "Really? Shooooocker." "I swear, if you open your mouth one more time I will shove my hand down your throat and pull out your voicebox." "Ain't gonna hap'n, cap'n." Habits(B)- Snapping at people, or just not responding, being rude, sarcastic, never giving a straight answer, being commanding, domineering, inserting himself where he doesn't belong. Habits(G)- He cares about very few people, but the people he does care about, he protects with his life. He is very loyal and can be really funny. Positive Traits- He is a great fighter, very protective, loves making people laugh, and enjoys his social life. Negative Traits- Much like his bad habits, he tends to just not reply, give people the cold shoulder, generally be a dick, be rude, bossing people around, and using his rank for bad. Diabilities (Mental): Hyperthymesia, Low Latent Inhibition Species- Werewolf Body Build: Lean, Muscular Eye Color: A bright golden color that almost doesn't look right for a human... because he's not. None of this dull amber. His eyes are sharp and steely, calculating everything. Glasses or Contacts: None Distinguishing Marks: He has an assortment of scars spattering his body from various fights and things. His whole shoulder, right arm, and a lot of his back is covered by a big burn scar that he never talks about. He also has a full left arm tattoo, black and white, of snakes and roses twisting down his arm to his wrist, the snakes fangs bared. Predominant Feature(s): Eyes that make the phrase 'if looks could kill' true, very muscular body. When he does smile, it lights up a whole room, and his laugh is even better. Hair Color: Jet black Type of Hair: Medium length, slightly wavy, small amount of scruff around jaw and upper lip, looking unkempt.. but somehow in a good way. Hairstyle: None, I dunno Voice: Deep, attractive, southern accent, usually cold, underlaying Minnesotan accent that comes out when extremely angry. Overall Attractiveness: Extreme, with sharp features and bright eyes Physical Diabilities: Scar tissue in his right shoulder, causing it less movement and stabbing pain at times, paired with the burn marks making it not fun. Usual Fashion of Dressing: He's a leather and denim kind of guy, usually dressed in jeans, boots, a tight t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Favorite Outfit: He doesn't really have one. Jewlery or Accessories: he has a thin silver chain with a wolf claw around his neck, from his first kill. Personality- Good Personality Traits: Extremely intelligent, observative, logical. Once you earn his trust, which no one has successfully done yet, he's very loyal, comical, and soft. Bad Personality Traits: Very blocked off, untrusting, dislikes the other clan, defaults to fighting definite anger issues. Mood Character is in Most Often: Dark, quiet, cold with everyone but her. With her, he's light and funny, smiling most of the time, and looking like he's enjoying life. Sense of Humor: Amazing, when you can find it. Greatest Joy in Life: Spending time with her, really. Ever since they met he looks forward to being with her. Greatest Fear: Finally starting to care about somebody and having them ripped away... like her. Why?: He never lets anybody get anywhere near him, so he is afraid that when he does he'll get hurt. He's had this happen once, and from that point forward, he was a different creature. Now he let her in, and he's terrified the same thing will happen. Most At Ease When: joking around with her. Soft Spot: Humor, but he doesn't really have a big soft spot. He dislikes it when helpless people are getting attacked, and ...well, her. Is This Soft Spot Visible to Others: Nope. Greatest Strength: Logic and intelligence. Greatest Vulnerability or Weakness: Anger and untrustfulness and her Past- Hometown: He has none. Present- Current Location: Dallas, Texas Religion: N/A Family- Father, second in command, mother is dead. Spouse: Nada Relationship With Her: Nonexistant Children: None Relationship With Them: Also nonexistant Other Important Family Members: All nonexistant. Traits- Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert Daredevil or Cautious?: Daredevil to the bone Logical or Emotional?: Logical Disorderly and Messy or Methodical and Neat?: Neat Prefers Working or Relaxing: he likes working, but alone, and he likes nature, despite his clan being ... not like that. Confident or Unsure?: Confident - Backstory: He's a shadowy person and no one really knows his twisted past |
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Age: Looks to be mid-twenties. DOB(MM/DD/YY): 05/22/1999 Languages Spoken: English, Dutch Status: Low – right at the bottom of command. Accent: International accent for the most part – has the occasional Duch slur, and picked up a typically Southern undertone during her time in Texas. Most Used Phrases: “Oohhh, really now?” “Yessir!” “You’re shitting my dick?” “Calm down, princess,” “Abso’fukin’loutley not!” “Ugh I’d so blow you for that.” Habits(B): Jumps to conclusions, overthinks, can’t take things seriously, holds a harsh grudge, can’t take other people into account, can be snappy, speaks too directly, flighty, pulls away from situations before she can fix them. Habits(G): Always needs something to do, very bubbly and maternal to most people, enjoys seeing a smile. She isn’t the strongest or bravest, but she’d do her best to look after those who were close to her. Positive Traits: Very talented when it comes to medicine. Has been taught to heal most wounds for her clan, and is trusted to do so. Know’s how to make people feel safe and comfortable around her, and strives to do so. Negative Traits: Very timid when dominance is shown, and often won’t say anything to stand up for herself. Similarly to her negative traits, she can over think things and never seems to take important matters seriously, and has proven to be flakey in serious situations. Disabilities: Cardiomyopathy (Inhearited) Body Build: Fine, athletic Eye Color: Bright blue eyes with dark flecks in the middle and a black ring around the irises. They tend to glow like something supernatural, especially during the full moons. Distinguishing Marks: Has fairly clear skin, although she has a large birthmark on her right shoulder, in the shape of a half moon. She also has the symbol of her clan burned into her right chest, a simple snowdrop flower. Has four claw marks on her throat from an incident when she was young. Predominant Feature(s): Has a rounded, short face, with deep dimples that show up when she smiles, although in more recent years they never showed up much. She has high cheekbones, that tend to catch the light just tight, along with her bright blue eyes that stand out next to her pale skin. Hair Color: Dark auburn hair – edging on brunette Type of Hair: Reaches the bottom of her shoulder blade, fine strands although she does have a lot of hair and nearly pin straight. Hairstyle: Enjoys getting fairly choppy layers, although still wears her hair down and straight. Voice: Carries the quiet patheticism of someone accustomed to being ignored, even if she doesn’t always seek attention. It’s calm, yet firm, with a hint of vulnerability that betrays her internal conflicts. Her tone can be sharp when she feels misunderstood, though it’s never without reason. While she doesn’t raise her voice often, when she speaks, her words are deliberate, carrying the weight of both wisdom and youthful ambition. Her voice can shift from a quiet, reflective hum to a commanding, impassioned declaration when she’s pursuing something that matters to her. It holds that slight accent, although the Dutch comes out when frustrated/aggravated. Overall Attractiveness: Moderate; simple features although not harsh on the eyes. Physical Diabilities: N/A Usual Fashion of Dressing: Often found in flowy tanks and shorts of any kind. Hates restriction. Favorite Outfit: A gorgeous burgundy and white tank and a pair of plain denim shorts Jewlery or Accessories: Wears a simple silver chain with a small cross on the end. Good Personality Traits: Incredibly emotionally intelligent, very bubbly and loves to laugh with others when given the chance. She’s hard working, and will work to no ends to make people proud of her. Bad Personality Traits: Very flightily. Although something of an extrovert, certain people or situations will turn her back the other way. She is very mistrusting and can be harsh with those who have wronged her loved ones. Mood Character is in Most Often: Nervy and but not distant at all. She likes to laugh and constantly makes jokes, so is often in a giggly but flighty condition. Sense of Humor: Is there, and is also very specific. Greatest Joy in Life: He was her greatest joy in her younger years, but more recently she takes pleasure in experimenting with herbs and fixing up her clan makes. Greatest Fear: Being hurt the way she was before. Why?: She had been incredibly outgoing and brave when she was young, although after the... incident she found herself more flakey, especially around men or those who she was growing close to. Most At Ease When: When she was frolicking around with him. Soft Spot: She has a soft spot for all things needy – helping those who need more care than her leave her with a sense of worth and belonging. She’d melt for some good banter and finds herself easily enamored with a friendly smile. Is This Soft Spot Visible to Others: Yessir! Greatest Strength: Empathy and resourcefulness. Greatest Vulnerability or Weakness: Disorganized, skittish... and well... him? Hometown: Constantly on the move, but consistently finds herself in Alexandria, DC Current Location: Dallas, Texas Mother (Kerry) Head medic Relationship With Him: N/A Relationship With Them: No babies Other Important Family Members: One older brother (Paxton) Not at all in commands, not even nearly Introvert or Extrovert?: Extrovert – or, she was Daredevil or Cautious?: Incredibly cautious Logical or Emotional?: A mix of both Disorderly and Messy or Methodical and Neat?: Messy Prefers Working or Relaxing: She loves having things to do - always busy with something Confident or Unsure?: Unsure Backstory: Has had a lot going on – she’s very open about her past, although it’s not the nicest of backgrounds. |
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Hey, did you see my email? When should we start in the rp? Like, should they go bowling or something lol? Also, who is gonna start? |
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Yea I did! I thought I replied lol. Would you be happy to start? It's late with me. |
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Oh, sorry! I didn't see it. I can start. I'll write that up a little later. |
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No worries I can't remember what I said now anyway lol. Take your time! |
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Axl Jager King Clan +++ A waning gibbous moon rose slowly above the city of Dallas, Texas. A cool breeze was blowing through the countryside at the moment, in the month of June. The city was brightened with lights that reflected off of the thick cloud cover, though the moon managed to shine through. Cars backed up on roads and honks sounded through the main part of the city, but out towards the edges, the hustle and bustle was muted. Inside a rustic, two story cabin more than a mile outside the city limits, a 27 year old Werewolf slept fitfully, nightmares that were memories flashing through his mind, things that shouldn't have happened, that should've been all a bad dream plaguing his thoughts. . Axl Rhys Jager awoke with a start, his nostrils flaring, sweat shining on his bronze skin as he sat up in the king size bed. His golden eyes darted around the room, vision and scent confirming there was no one there, before he flopped back down with a loud sigh. His eyes flitted shut and he rested a hand on his stomach, feeling the eradic breathing that continued to stick with him even as he tried to force himself to calm down. He exhaled slowly before turning his head towards the open window, eyes opening. A breeze ruffled the curtains and chilled his sweat slicked skin. He could clearly see the moon through a part in the clouds. His gaze quickly turned to the clock, where he realized he was going to be late. Rolling out of the bed, Axl stumbled towards the bathroom. In ten minutes tops, he had changed into black jeans, a tight grey t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He zipped it up, threw on his boots, and grabbed his helmet. Racing out the door, he hopped on the bike parked in the drive, threw his helmet on, and ripped out of the driveway. . It didn't take long for him to reach the bar on the outskirts of town, the special one that doubled as a bowling alley. Courtesy of his money that he put into it to build thst bowling alley, of course. He parked and grabbed the key from the ignition, striding in with his usual cocky saunter. As he walked through the door, he took off the helmet, wavy black hair ruffled and falling into his eyes. As he almost ran face first into a wall, he raked a hand through his hair, shoving it back into messy perfection, and gazed around, looking for a specific person. As he didn't see her yet, he tucked the helmet under his arm and ambled to the bar, ordering himself a beer. Tonight, Axl deemed, would be a good night, hence the beer. If he was having a shitty day, he would've gotten whiskey, and if things really went south, it'd be vodka. He hadn't drank vodka in a while, so he counted that as a win. . After he got his beer, he found a spot in the shadows in the corner, sitting in a comfy chair. Crossing his legs, Axl gazed at the door with sharp golden eyes, his finger tapping the armrest, other hand cradling the beer that he occasionally sipped. He felt impatient and uptight, but he tried to put those thoughts out of his mind and focus on the task ahead. . Unbidden, the memory flashed through his mind anyway, his eyes blurring as his brain shoved this vision to the front of his mind and flashed through every excruciating detail. The way the flesh ripped under his claws, the taste of fresh blood in his mouth, the sound of his victims screams. Closing his eyes and shuddering slightly, a muscle jumped in his jaw. He banished the memory- for the moment- with sheer force. As he liked to say, he never called the wrong number. You picked up the wrong phone. He swirled his finger around the edge of the can of beer, contemplating how late Raegan could possibly be while still amusing him. For some reason, watching her burst in the door late yet again, spewing out excuses usually revolving around medical shit, and flashing her apologetic look, was adorable to him. He didn't ever bother mention it, though, as it didn't seem like it would be constructive for their relationship. . Axl was so glad he had met Raegan. Before her, his life had been boring as hell. Every day had been being the COO of Jager Industries, the bodyguard business his father ran that had just broke a multi billion dollar record for the fastest climbing company in Dallas. They could bathe in money every day, they had expensive cars, all the woman they wanted, houses, buildings; they had everything. Yet, Axl still wasn't happy. It was never enough. Then he met Raegan, and a spot in his life had finally been filled that he didn't know needed filling. In any case, these late night hangouts were his favorite times of the week. Speaking of which, it was 10:34 and she was supposed to be there at 10:30. Tsk tsk. - (Two things- I may not be able to keep up this exact length posts, as I have a puppy at the moment, but they will be over 500 words. Also, I have decided to name Axl's clan King Clan, if that's okay) |
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Raegan Northland Blue Ridge Clan - A flickering row of cold streetlights lined the heart of the city, their unsteady glow casting restless shadows against the towering buildings where Raegan Northland stood. The night pulsed with life, the distant wail of sirens threading through the air, voices rising and falling in the darkness like whispers swallowed by the city itself. Overhead, the sky stretched vast and empty, not a single star breaking through the thick veil of clouds. Yet beyond the chaos, past the endless sprawl of glass and steel, the distant glow of villages shimmered against the horizon—a quiet, untouched contrast to the storm of city life. There, peace existed, undisturbed and distant, though Raegan merely watched from within the city’s relentless grip. Her ears caught everything—the quiet whimpers of patients just two doors down, the drunken ramblings of a familiar addict stumbling four streets over. She was far from trapped here, though. Raegan moved between two worlds, slipping in and out of the city with practiced ease. By day, she worked in a private hospital hidden from human eyes, a safe haven for werewolves in need of care. A normal doctor would notice the peculiarities in their anatomy—their lean, impossibly toned frames, the men towering over most, the women with legs that never seemed to end. Even the subtle elongation of their tailbones could betray them. But it wasn’t their forms that gave them away—it was the wounds. Deep claw marks raking across their backs, punctures scattered over their bodies, bones twisted and snapped in ways that defied logic, bruises darkening their throats from fights that should have been fatal. They healed fast, of course, their bodies piecing themselves back together before the worst could settle. Here, none of that mattered. There were no clan rivalries, no territorial grudges—just medicine, just healing, just a quiet understanding that anyone who walked through those doors would find help. Most werewolves distrusted human medicine, and Raegan understood why. The old remedies—the tonics and potions passed down through generations—worked faster, cleaner. A single draught could dull pain better than any drug. A well-mixed salve could close wounds within hours. She had learned to balance both worlds, moving between modern treatment and ancient knowledge with the skill of someone who had spent her entire life tending to her kind. In the evenings, her work shifted. She left the hospital behind, making her way to the outskirts of the city, to the small setup her clan maintained. It was there she had learned everything—how to mend, how to heal, how to ease pain with more than just a steady hand. She worked beside her mother, following the traditions passed down through generations of healers. Her mother had fought hard for her place, for her honor. And Raegan… Raegan had always been a little apart from the pack. No, not apart—set aside. Pushed away. Especially after that incident. After she had come running home, sobbing, blood pouring from her neck, deep scratches scarring her arms. She had confessed what she had done, and the clan’s leader had not been pleased. She had been reckless. She had been foolish. And yet, even after everything, she had remained close to the one who had hurt her. The word didn’t seem quite right anymore. Not when excitement bubbled in her chest. Not when she caught that musty old bus out of the city, heading toward that familiar place—the bar that had been newly furnished, the one she slipped into every Thursday and Saturday night. The place where she met with her tormentor—her friend. The brute of a man who had carved scars into her skin, who had left her breath hitching whenever a hand rested on her shoulder, who had turned every moment of stillness beneath another body into something unbearable. He had made her feel unworthy of touch, as if even the simplest graze might burrow into her flesh and mark her all over again. He had left her wary, restless, and quiet, moving through the world like a ghost for nearly a decade. And still, he was her friend. She would go to the ends of the earth for him. Without hesitation, she would give her life if it meant saving his. She cherished every rare smile, every unexpected laugh, and again, she found herself restless with anticipation for their late-night rendezvous—far outside the city, away from the watchful eyes of their clans. The clans that had been at war for centuries. The bus rumbled to a stop about a mile from the bar, and Raegan slipped out quietly, the night air cool against her skin. She was still in her scrubs, though she had thrown a loose-fitting jumper over her top to ward off the chill. 10:30. That was the time they had agreed on. She was running late—as always—and he would scold her for it in that familiar, gruff way that only made her grin. The bar came into view quickly, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement, laughter and shouts spilling into the night. The crash of bowling pins sent a sharp clang through the air, momentarily jarring her sensitive ears, but she barely flinched. The excitement buzzing in her chest far outweighed the discomfort. She was here. He was here. Her beloved confederate. Slipping through the door, she kept her handbag tucked tight to her shoulder, moving with practiced ease toward the bar. She knew exactly where he’d be—Axl would be there. He always was, perched in the shadows, watching, waiting. She could already feel his eyes on her. Still, there was no way she was sitting down without her drink first. Vodka cran. Always. As she waited, her gaze swept the room, seeking out the one face she wanted to see. And just as expected, there he was—tucked into their usual hidden corner, the same place they always gravitated toward. A grin broke across her face. The second the glass hit her hand, she turned on her heel and made her way over, her steps lighter, quicker, fueled by a surge of energy she had no business having at this hour. “Evening, princess,” she mused, dropping into the seat across from him with an easy smile. Her bag slid to the floor beside her as she leaned in, warmth in her gaze. “Sorry I’m late—we had some serious stuff today. Someone managed to snap their—” She cut herself off, her expression turning sheepish. He didn’t need to hear all that. For a moment, her eyes studied him, sharp and curious—until the thick scent of beer hit her nose. She wrinkled it instinctively but didn’t comment. Beer meant he was feeling good. That was enough for her. Instead, she simply hummed, tying her hair back in preparation for their inevitable bowling showdown. “I take it you’ve had a good day?” she asked, head tilting as her grin turned into a more playful smirk. Beer meant he was having a good day – or that he was going to turn the day into a good one. She’d learned that much about him, and honestly, she wouldn’t want to be around him when he was in any other mood than a good one. - (Yeah no worries! I totally get it lol. I've been super busy recently too so I probably won't be able to keep up the super long posts eather) |
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Axl Jager King Clan +++ The louder than normal crash radiated through the bar, causing him to flinch as the sound struck his sensitive ears. He was used to quite a bit of noise, but hadn't been expecting that. A frown flitted over his face, his sharp gaze darkening as it turned to two men that had started yelling at each other while a lady tried to grab their arms and stop them. Quite ineffectively, if he must add. When Thing #1 threw the first punch, Axl lifted his lean body from the chair like a panther stocking its prey, danger, power, and energy all coiled into a weapon perfectly tuned to kill. His lips twisted into a forced smile that looked disturbingly like a grimace as he strode over, grabbing one of the men's jackets and shoving the other backwards. Thing #2 stumbled and hit a chair, and Thing #1 yelled something slurred at him. "I know you may be too drunk to understand this, but if you keep interrupting my night, I will make you pay. One more word and you will not have a nose to flare, mkay?" He stated, not faking sweetness like most people. His voice dripped with lethal, quiet danger. He never raised his voice for matters like this... it only got quieter. Both men stared at him for a long second before nodding, and the second he let the one go, they scurried out of the bar. The woman tried to say something, but Axl ignored it and stalked back to his place, annoyance rippling through his form. . He lowered himself back down onto the chair, lifting the beer to his lips and taking a sip. Many people said beer tasted like piss or that it was a cheap drink that many people got drunk on, so the smell was disliked by most. He countered with an insult and the fact that beer had one of the smallest alcohol levels of any normal drink. In any case, it was a sour drink that complimented his taste needs. . He would lift a hand to rub the back of his neck, where the burn scars peaked out of the top of his jacket slightly. The rough skin felt marred and gross to him, even after many years of having it. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of it, but since he couldn't, he always wore long sleeves. Whether it was a jacket or a flannel shirt, his arms were never visible. He pushed away the memory as it threatened to come back, sucking in a breath and downing a chug of the beer. That should keep them at bay. . Yet, unbidden, one other slammed in its place. Some years ago, November 7th, almost midnight on the dot. He had searched Raegan out. He had attacked her. The memory wasn't as forgiving as that, however. His Hyperthymesia painted a disturbing picture of exactly what happened. The terror in her eyes. The scream that ripped through the air as he slashed at her throat. He didn't know what came over him. He was so sick of her turning him down, as if he wasn't strong enough. He just wanted to get away from here, make a new clan with her, and yet... she wouldn't. He had snapped, and every year, every month, every week, every day, every hour, every minute, every damn second of his life after that, he spent regretting his sins. Feeling just like his father. . His nostrils flared as he huffed out a shuddering breath, clearing his mind. He couldn't think of that now. He would always blame himself, but that wouldn't fix things. This would. What he was doing. Proving to her week after week that he would never lay a hand on her again. . Axl heard the door open, his golden eyes focusing again as they flit that way. Surprisingly, instead of the random patron he thought was here, Raegan stood. She moved in with the same ease in which she always moved, but before it was a caution that could only come from being scarred past the point of coming back. His betrayer of a heart fluttered in happiness at seeing her, while his mind berated his reaction and told him that he was still on a very important quest. One that he had been on for years now. As soon as she had allowed him, he had been near her every second her possibly could... just to prove a point. Simply, anyway. . His lips twitched as he watched her gaze the slightly more crowded room than usual, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree when she saw him. That never made sense to him- he could see the coiled wariness lingering under her skin, yet she still acted like she enjoyed seeing him. She was either the bravest person ever or really stupid, because if he were her, he'd be in a hole right now. . "G'd'evenin', m'lady." Axl would reply in his calculated drawl. Unlike most Southerners, his words didn't seem sloppy. On the contrary, they were as perfectly put together as he was, somehow, while still maintaining that perfect southern drawl that most people would die for. "No apology needed... I've come to expect it. Soon, I'm going to have to start telling you to get here at 10:25. Maybe then you'll be on time." A shadow of a smirk flitted across his face, golden eyes twinkling slightly. . As she wrinkled her nose, he resisted the urge to snort. "Still haven't gotten used to the smell, I see?" He mused, remembering that. Next time he'd.. find a less strong smelling drink. He didn't need to be driving her away with the stench of beer, because even he knew it smelled like crap. He was just quite used to it by now. "You've guessed correctly. How'd you know?" He asked with a slight sarcastic lilt to his voice. It was one of his more obvious quirks. It was like a scale of whether anyone should be near him or not. Vodka meant stay away if you wanted to keep all of your fingers, whiskey meant unless you had good news, shut up, and beer meant there was only a 20 percent chance you'd get punched. Those were different for her, of course. She could come to him morning, noon, and night, and no matter what mood he was in, he would do whatever he wanted. Hell, he'd find a way to jump the moon for her. Whatever it took. . His faint smirk grew just slightly as he glanced at the bowling alley. "Are you ready to be proved once again that I am the Supreme bowling champion?" He asked with a fake sweet smile, eyes glittering. Axl had racked up the highest score in this bowling alley within the first couple days of using it. The score had been unbroken since, and he had done the same in a couple other bowling alleys. He absolutely adored bowling, for whatever reason. Being around a bunch of very heavy spherical objects that could smash someone's head it probably had something to do with it, but she had nothing to worry about. He had a heart of ice, but for her, he'd burn the world. - (I assume this is after he attacked her, correct? And no problem haha. It'll work out for both of us) |
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Light Rain then Clearing Overnight
