Post by vincent ivaylo on Jan 24, 2010 20:55:09 GMT -5
VINCENT ASHER IVAYLO
is the only reason we're famous
" my body's strained but god I like it"
S IS FOR THE SIMPLE NEED
i'm loving what you wanna wear
[/color]is the only reason we're famous
" my body's strained but god I like it"
S IS FOR THE SIMPLE NEED
i'm loving what you wanna wear
NICKNAMES: Vince
GENDER: Male
AGE: About one hundred eighty-six years. But he appears to be around twenty-three.
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
MEMBER GROUP: Werewolf
GOOD/EVIL/NEUTRAL: Evil
CANON OR ORIGINAL: Original
FACE CLAIM: Louis Prades
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E IS FOR THE ECSTASY
i wonder what's up under there
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2. He's very territorial.
3. Vince fancies himself alpha. Maybe one day.
4. He generally hates other males.
5. Loves the ladies, probably too much.
6. Enjoys being a werewolf. It has its perks.
7. Found out a long time ago he can get away with murder.
8. Likes keeping in shape.
9. Tends to use his looks for what he wants.
10. Grew up in Europe.
11. Found America thirty years ago.
12. Has lived in MA for about seven years now, but moves around.
13. Detests vampires.
14. Hates demons and angels alike. Demons make him go crazy, angels are annoying.
15. Likes to howl at the moon.
16. Can turn into a very large dark brown wolf.
17. Has a few scars in various places from fights. But nothing major.
18. Is very vain.
19. Hates modern music.
20. Enjoys psychological warfare.
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X IS TO MARK THE SPOT
wonder if i'll ever have it under my tongue
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whoa there, my name is e-e-elkie and i happen to be of the female species. i currently have infinite number of candles on my cake but i've got forever under my belt. i found this sexy site through pb support and like the good little member i am, i know you want me to say *****. by the way, you can contact me via pm or through booker doust!. now i'll show you what i'm made of.
To Booker, strength came not in the physical form, but the spiritual form. One of life's hardest path consisted of the spiritual form and he tried following that path, only to end up on the side of the road like he was now. The air remained stagnant with anger; he could smell the emotion, filled with bitter animosity and caused him to shift uncomfortably. Not only uncomfortably, but shifting his weight side to side helped him keep his piece of mind, the small bit he had left. Seeing her move made him automatically react; a snarl, a growl, the flash of teeth that appeared longer than before. Booker felt his insides rage with an anger he never knew before this point in his lifetime. It fueled his movements that were choppy and filled with predator's blood. He heard blood gush behind his ears and a voice in the back of his mind coaxing him, petting the tendrils of the wolf to change.
He resented the way she talked to him. Each word had emphasis and he could feel the poison lace his own bones. Booker met her gaze with a flash of his own that appeared more wolfish than anything. But, like she pointed out, he stifled the beast until it no longer breathed. This he hated, he detested, but he couldn't accept the fact he was a monster. Booker refused to embrace this creature that killed, the exact opposite of his religious beliefs. He figured he would much rather suffer and end up in heaven than end up in hell. It bothered him and the look played upon his features.
Coming out among his thoughts, he made no attempt to respond. What could he say? Psychological warfare never came to him very easily. For now, he only watched her, still standing too near and though a small voice, now fading, told him to back up, he resisted and stood his ground. Fights like this could not be ignored; he would not walk away from this one. If he did the likelihood of him living diminished.
He noted the yellow eyes and the snarls, growls, and other sounds that threatened any hopes of peace. Booker now even opened his eyes to a new way of thought: some things couldn't be avoided. Not at this did he snarl, but her, a mere warning. No doubt in his mind plagued him about fighting. He was ready--he would be all right. Surely fighting came natural, almost as natural as shifting into an oversized wolf.
The question triggered a reaction that Booker could never resist in his life. The taunting sound replayed in his head, torturing any pride he ever had. A roar ripped out of his throat coupled by pains and popping joints that pained him beyond belief. His head rushed with agony but he bore it well: he had no choice to. And he wanted it; he felt his stature change; his viewpoint changed. A tongue lolled out of his jaw but snapped together teeth that clacked in the atmosphere.
His body language changed to a predator, one who refused backing down, one who refused peace or any concept that included backing away. No, he would win. The wolf felt confident in himself and now eyed his prey, knowing she could not refuse a fight.
He resented the way she talked to him. Each word had emphasis and he could feel the poison lace his own bones. Booker met her gaze with a flash of his own that appeared more wolfish than anything. But, like she pointed out, he stifled the beast until it no longer breathed. This he hated, he detested, but he couldn't accept the fact he was a monster. Booker refused to embrace this creature that killed, the exact opposite of his religious beliefs. He figured he would much rather suffer and end up in heaven than end up in hell. It bothered him and the look played upon his features.
Coming out among his thoughts, he made no attempt to respond. What could he say? Psychological warfare never came to him very easily. For now, he only watched her, still standing too near and though a small voice, now fading, told him to back up, he resisted and stood his ground. Fights like this could not be ignored; he would not walk away from this one. If he did the likelihood of him living diminished.
He noted the yellow eyes and the snarls, growls, and other sounds that threatened any hopes of peace. Booker now even opened his eyes to a new way of thought: some things couldn't be avoided. Not at this did he snarl, but her, a mere warning. No doubt in his mind plagued him about fighting. He was ready--he would be all right. Surely fighting came natural, almost as natural as shifting into an oversized wolf.
The question triggered a reaction that Booker could never resist in his life. The taunting sound replayed in his head, torturing any pride he ever had. A roar ripped out of his throat coupled by pains and popping joints that pained him beyond belief. His head rushed with agony but he bore it well: he had no choice to. And he wanted it; he felt his stature change; his viewpoint changed. A tongue lolled out of his jaw but snapped together teeth that clacked in the atmosphere.
His body language changed to a predator, one who refused backing down, one who refused peace or any concept that included backing away. No, he would win. The wolf felt confident in himself and now eyed his prey, knowing she could not refuse a fight.
'CAUSE THAT'S THE ONE I REALLY WANT
yes, sex is always the answer, it's never the question
hey, hey, hey, this app was made by SASS ATTACK ?! aka AJ at CAUTION 2.0. Changes were made by the admin of Hush!
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