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Post by Feint Desei on Mar 11, 2009 22:41:50 GMT -5
marjorie “feint” desei
Nickname: des, but prefers simply “feint”
Age: twenty-three (appearance) & five hundred forty-one (actual)
Occupation: mercenary , assassin
Human, Vampire, Werewolf: werewolf
Steriotype (if applicable): whore
Gender: female, obviously
Sexual Orientation: straight – only men do it for her
Good or evil vampire/ werewolf: more or less evil
____Next Level____
Personality: to put it very, very bluntly, feint is probably one of the biggest bitches than anybody will meet in their entire lifetime. she speaks her mind and isn’t afraid to do so, and she doesn’t take crap from anybody. in fact, she was beaten down and talked down to so many times in her mortal life she has more or less grown immune to people talking back to her and, if they have the indecency – and the stupidity – to dare to open their mouth, she’ll take them down in an instant. she may be a woman, but that by no means instigates that she is a weakling in anyone’s eyes.
feint is the female version of a womanizer. she uses men to her advantage, whether it’s to get her way or to just get a good night of entertainment in. she’s a mistress to many, and everyone knows it. she is commonly known around town as a whore, although she’s not your everyday average slut. instead, among all of her colleagues and the other werewolves in the pack, she is highly respected. her favorite pastime might be having fun with a guy back at his place, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t a respectable woman.
despite the fact that she is one of the feistiest and bitchiest people in the world, if someone gets the chance to actually gain her trust and allow themselves to trust in her, she won’t let them fall. she does absolutely all that she can and, while she satisfies herself, she is constantly thinking of the betterment of the pack, and she will do anything to make sure that everyone is kept safe and out of harm’s way.
Piercing(s): none
Tattoo(s): “lead me not unto temptation” on her left side
Eye color: icy, oceanic blue
Natural hair: chocolate brown
Current hair: same as always – chocolate brown
Weight: 137 lbs.
Height: 5’4”
Face claim: megan fox
Likes: her femininity , men , money , complete power , dominance in sex , getting her way , hunting , long weekends , being doted upon , black lacey things , italian sports cars
Dislikes: taking orders from somebody else , using the phrase “making love” , breaking a sweat , overexerting herself , smoking , being back-talked to , talking about her life before she was bitten , doing some low-life , asking someone for their help
Strengths: she has strong leadership characteristics , she knows what she wants and will get it no matter what it takes , she’s assertive , she’s not your typical dumb whore – she’s exceedingly clever and tricky
Hobbies: hunting , preying on men (food-wise and sexually) , collecting sports cars
Fears: being assassinated , being made a fool out of , losing her sight
Secrets: she’s attempted suicide on four different occasions , she once had a child
____Next Level____
Hometown: rome, italy
Mother: annabella Delacroix vincelli, deceased
Father: tristan vincelli, deceased
Sibling(s): antoinette (older, deceased) and britton (younger, deceased)
Pets: weimeraner named pippin
History: Marjorie Knox Vincelli, back when she was born in 1468, was not the type of person that people typically knew of, or even as much as really cared to know of her, for that matter. Marjorie was just Marjorie. She was striking and elegant, yes, but she was a she, and, in those time, that was her problem. Her father was a wealthy Italian man who came from old money and new ambitions. He had everything he wanted brought to him on a silver platter. He was powerful, had social class, and Rome brought him everything his greedy heart wished. Tristan Vincelli was used to that. He got what he wanted, and he got it quickly.
One such item that held much desire for him was a woman named Annabella Delacroix. She was quite the beauty: enchanting green eyes and long, curly dark hair, in addition to a tiny figure, were all tools she used get what she wanted, in the same way and in the same mindset as Tristan. He used wealth, and she used her beauty. Tristan was amazed by her, although he was not the first. Many men had made their case and she had heartlessly rejected them all. But then again, she hadn't known Tristan. Tristan's money quickly won over Annabella's heart. She was wealthier than much of the population, but Tristan was a whole other class of glamour. He wasn't the most beautiful thing in the world, but the lawns of his estate, decorated lavishly with only the most expensive ornaments, was. When Annabella first saw the interior of West Claymor, the Vincelli family heirloom, she was entranced. Just like the home had cast its spell on her, she cast her spell on Tristan - they were married within six months and, by the next year, the couple was expecting a successor.
If there was one thing that Tristan desired that money could not give him it was a little boy. He wanted a son, and, try as he might, money could not buy him one. This brought him great frustration; he had never had to rely on chance to achieve the desired. And, in 1461, a little girl was born, much to Tristan's great dismay. Secretly, however, Annabella adored the newborn child. She was beautiful with her father's dark hair and her mother's curls and bone structure. She would prove to be quite the beauty and Tristan learned to live with her, even if he didn't like her all that much. Antoinette found this baffling as she grew older. By the time she was ten she just couldn't understand why, no matter how hard she tried, she could not earn her father's love. She idolized him. He was the epitome of class and sophistication, and even at an early age Antoinette knew she wanted that, too. Anything her father disliked, she did also. Likewise, anything her father approved, she was all for. Business, a certain horse, a piece of land - even another sibling.
Annabella was constantly berated by her husband - he wanted a boy, and he would go through any lengths to get one. The only other way Tristan could come up with by achieving his goal was... well, he didn't know. So complaining to his wife was his fall-back. They didn't love each other. Their partner had uses, and that was it, and they both knew it. Annabella held no tender feelings for him, and neither for his constant complaining. Tristan thought, for years later, it was Annabella's spite that brought them another girl. He was convinced and enraged, though his betrothed tried to tell him she didn't know or hadn't meant to. Since when did women control their children's gender? But Tristan would hear none of it, and Annabella was punished for her disobedience as a servant or employee would be. He limited her fun and spending and, for that, his wife was greatly aggrieved. Her dislike for her husband grew into utter loathing, and she blamed her youngest daughter for her strife.
Marjorie. That was her problem. Another girl.
Marjorie was beautiful, as her mother and sister were. She had the same loose, dark lochs of hair, large round eyes, and petite figure, but she had her father's proud bearing, and a watered-down version of his ego. Her pride struggled and fought to remain intact, but it still remained, and was waiting there to blossom in later years. Marjorie learned quickly. Unlike Antoinette, her older sister, she was much more clever and cunning. Antoinette was a material girl, the same as Annabella, but she had inherited a certain degree of con and brutality from their parents, too, and often used it to insult her clearly unloved younger sister. However, this wasn't often - they were both beautiful, but Marjorie clearly was the more intelligent and witty out of the pair. It was on many occasions that Antoinette was on the receiving end of Marjorie's sharp tongue.
Years passed, unremarkable and meaningless, and as the family grew older and more bitter towards each other to the point where it was a total relief when Antoinette was married off to a rich man that lived elsewhere. During these monotonous years another attempt was made at a male heir, and yet another attempt ended in failure. Instead there was a third little girl added to the family, who seemed more like Marjorie than her mother or oldest sister. As the middle child grew older Tristan was all of the time contemplating marriage for her and had the same thing in mind for as Antoinette, but she greatly disliked the idea which, in turn, made it all the more appealing to him. Marjorie was a young lady now and dreaded the same fate as her sister had received. It was, by some degree of luck or misfortune, that she met Clifton Blalock, a merchant from England come to oversee his investments in Italy. The two quickly fell in love, becoming entangled in a web of desire and secrecy, their very own tale of Romeo and Juliet developing. Marjorie was in love with the story, and with Clifton: he was so good and kind, with a beautiful smile and a laugh that could lighten your day and make you forget every single your worries. It was this that appealed to her, she believes now. Clifton could make her forget her life and her family, and live in the moment. He proposed to her, and Marjorie readily agreed. They spent that night together, and his touch was so soft, and drove everything else from her mind...
Through him, Marjorie found that she loved adrenaline and a sense of danger. This was fear and excitement's first debut, and she craved it more and more. Clifton was wonderful, and she loved him, but sneaking out to meet him was becoming too familiar to be as exciting as it once was. However, Marjorie soon came up with a cure for her seemingly gray and dulling days. This cure had a name - Royce Cristo.
The kidnapping was smooth and detailed and intricately plotted out, as well as efficiently executed. Marjorie's attackers were quick and struck fast. She was out cold before she even knew what was happening. When she woke up it was to see the face of a man her father's business associate always complained about. Agore Cristo was the volatile and falsely cheery leader of an always-expanding ring of criminals. These weren't your ordinary street criminals, as Marjorie had always expected. These men were trained and highly dangerous, and proved to be quite brutal in the handling of her.
Royce was the exact opposite of Clifton. He was darker and more twisted, and definitely not the gentleman that Marjorie's fiancée had been. He was rude and coarse, and did not handle her gently at all. Nevertheless his scarred hands saved her from the greedy hands of his comrades and it was Royce that began to touch her and show her the things she would be most grateful for in years to come. Royce taught her many different things: how to live, how to be proud, how to fight, and how to kill. He showed her the tricks of the trade, and although there was much grumbling about it, he kept her out of the other men's grip. Marjorie became dependent on him for protection, and he did so, using his status as Agore Cristo's son to rule her untouchable by any other man than himself. Marjorie began to feel that she owed him for her shield from the other men, and repaid that with her body. Royce took her willingly.
It was in these years, when Marjorie passed into her early twenties, that she began her transformation into someone else. She retained the smart tone she spoke in and the proud way she held herself, but she became cold and unforgiving and merciless, just as Royce was. He watched her approvingly. Strong in the body and agile on her feet. The men in the ring of robbers that would challenge and threaten her grew scarce and any soul who was brave enough to do so was made a demonstration out of. Slowly Royce began to call her by a different name: one more fitting and close to her morphing nature. Deceitful and wicked, Marjorie was dubbed “Feint”, and the name stuck. She shed her old name like a rotting skin, never to be heard of again.
But, unknown to her, Clifton still searched for her. And, also unbeknownst to her until around this time, she was pregnant.
Martius was born months later. The father was unknown - Royce fought and clashed over the woman and child until Feint put a stop to it. She adored her son with all her heart, a startling change from the cold woman she had been before. She was still nasty to those on the outside, but Martius changed her temporarily. While he was alive, he brightened her up to a seemingly impossible amount. Martius was vibrant, with always the good things to say. He looked like neither Clifton nor Royce, with curly brown hair that spiraled out of his head into a messy, untamable entanglement and with the Vincelli wide eyes. He was extremely intelligent, and both Clifton and Mordred were astonished with this gift. But Feint's happiness, as always, could not last.
Martius was a sick child, and a weak one as well. His mind was at its best but his body was failing. He was fragile and delicate and so sick some days he was not able to stand on his own. But he never complained. Feint never heard one negative thing come from his mouth. The fact that he was sick, had a whore for a mother, and two disputing fathers never seemed to bother him. He loved them all with the same amount of affection, if not a tad bit more adoration towards his mother. He still acted the eight-year-old child he was. He was nothing but a kid who wanted to have fun. Royce and Clifton entertained him. Mordred would present him with problems and brainteasers with seemingly impossible-to-find-solutions, but Martius would always crack them. Both fathers took great pride in him, and Feint couldn’t have loved him more.
The enemies of Royce's gang, which he had inherited it from his father, Agore, a few years down the road focused their sight on Feint and, just as a bonus, Martius. Feint wasn't aware of this, and neither was Royce Lot. When the shady man found out he was furious and was on his way to fetch them himself when devastation hit. The men burned Feint's home - with her son inside it - to the ground. In her grief and anger, she turned on them, and in the process of killing them all, nearly killed herself. She collapsed from blood loss, and Royce found a ruined home waiting for him when he went to warn his longtime friend of the danger that she and his son were in. Clifton, seeing the carnage from miles away, came also: he was the one who held Feint as she wept, and it was Royce whose vengeance was reaped upon the misfortunate souls who dared hurt Martius.
One of the arsonists found his way back to Feint, and it is believed that this was the immortal that turned her into a werewolf, but she never did say who he really was. It took a long time for Feint to get used to the trials and troubles of being a lycan, and to this day it is a sore spot. She has, on countless occasions, proved herself to the pack, and nobody questions her about anything.
____Next Level____
Name: christian
Years role playing: around seven
Random fact about you: i’m drum major of my high school’s band
Anything else: i’m also involved in winterguard, and i know how to do a quad on rifle
Code word: poofed~
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