Skav

Nineteen

Androgynous

The Razors.

Four

When one thinks of Skav, they may think of their mask first. Huge, feathery, all seeing. The crow symbolizes mystery and life, a trickster blessed with discovering destiny and intelligence. The dark feathers that form from crown to neck don't appear to have a visible seam when connected to Skav's head, leaving most to assume that the mask either attaches at the shoulders OR Skav is actually a disgusting crow-human hybrid. He's fine with both assumptions. They all just add to the mystery that is Skav.

Body wise, they are an assortment of twists and angles. Sharp shoulders, normally hidden below a thick leather jacket or colorful and ratty sweaters, lead way down to angular arms and spidery, beautiful hands. His body his a plain of flatness, with taunt, tan skin that stretches down to from long and powerful legs. Skav is a study in survival; bore form a hard life and brought up by the strings of their boots, and such evidence of that is made real and possible when one glances upon his bare flesh. Their body is marred in old, white scars and new clusters of scabs and bruises, and every lanky or skinny corner is buried deep behind thick, long sleeved sweatshirts and sweaters and tattered jeans. They’re tall enough to appear intimidating despite their lanky shortcomings, standing at about 6’3” when not slouching or seated behind the wheel of his Qrow.

Skav moves with the motivation of a senior in high school. Apathy literally pours from every cell, shown through sluggish ambling an a prominent slouch that only ever goes away when Skav feels the need to get serious. Skav never runs anywhere unless necessary, finding it both a waste of effort and a sign of fear or weakness. Slow walking, with hands shoved deep into their jeans' pockets and head high to the sky, is how Skav usually shows up to gigs or fights, looking both relaxed and electric depending on the situation. One their knuckles are visible and their posture more serious, it is evident that Skav isn't one to shy away from a hit. Bruises line their fist, along with the old memories of broken bones and twisted tendons. A past leg injury also becomes clearer half way through a brawl, when Skav may slow to twist their hip a certain way in an effort to not show off a rather noticeable limp.

As for accessories, well, Skav is never seen without a cross dangling from his right wrist. The golden bracelet has since been worn to an off-silver, splotched black with grime or blood or other substances not worth mentioning, and it acts as a reminder to most that Skav is indeed a believer of Heaven (even if their actions say otherwise). Their nails are always painted a vibrant pink, and a scratchy '3' is tattooed into their forearm, along with a few Russian and Filipino sayings.

Secrets are made to be kept, and Skav has many, many unspoken thoughts. From the story of their family, to the origin of their name, every single little thing about Skav is hidden in someway, be it behind thick clothing or unseeable faces or glossy and fake words. Skav shoulders countless secrets, and is willing to keep others if offered because his shoulders could do with a bit more weight, but in the end these thoughts are jus made to make Skav feel unknowable and lonesome. Secrets are made to be kept, and Skav is prepared to keep himself hidden away and mysterious until he is put into the grave.

Despite being a little secretive rat for the most part, Skav has a tendency to be confrontational and rash, especially to those who threaten him or his gang. His loyalty is deeply rooted and even one sour note sang from the mouth of a stranger could lead to a verbal or physical brawl. Even if he is quenched with apathy for the night, too drunk or stoned to move, if something seems amiss or if someone thinks to lie to them Skav will be prepared to sober up and stand up for himself or whoever the opposite party is trying to rile up. His observant nature makes this scene play out a bit too much, perhaps, but Skav will assure everyone it's "for the good of the group". Liars are often the focal point of Skav's aggressiveness, because Skav can't stand those who cannot be one hundred percent truthful to them. Honesty may be their only policy, but is one of the few good traits Skav likes to show off in the presence of others.

Even if Skav is a bit sharp around the edges, there are some gentle sides to them. Religion may be the most notable one. Skav takes every Sunday morning off to go to weekly mass, perhaps in an attempt to pray away their sins or just to feel one step closer to something that is as unknowable as they feel. To them, God is as real as can be, and to them, God ignores their very existence but that's fine. Just praying to a benevolent force for an hour can quell the anxieties that may spur during the week. Other than that, Skav is usually drunk on Fridays and horribly sober on Saturdays. Their voice carries an apathetic tone most of the time, and they seem to have a bit of insomnia when everything is a bit too peaceful.

☯ Observation

☯ Dirty Fighting

☯ Transportation

☯ Luck

☠ Physical Endurance

☠ Superstitions/Horror

☠ Attitude

☠ Bees/Hornets/Wasps/ECT.

♱ Alcohol; both sweet and fruity and hard as shit. Skav will ingest any kind of colorful and bizarre tasting liquid as long as there is some kind of brewed substance within.
♱ Neon lights, neon signs, neon colors. They drive Skav's eyes crazy and for some reason they just can't look away. This infatuation with bright colors is notable in Skav's sense of fashion.
♱ The Qrow. Pronounced "crow" (Skav just likes to spell like a tool), Qrow is Skav's trusty 1969 Chevy Camaro and is souped up to holy hell. They treat it like a child, and will at times be found whispering to it when anxious.
♱ The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit, for obvious reasons.
♱ Reading, mostly pleasant YA novels and a few biographies. It's a secret past time that not even Skav's closest mates now about probably.

♱ Blaspheme, again, for obvious reason.
♱ Drugs; pills, and smoking. Skav prefers his habits to have the constancy of water and the possibility to bite him in the ass in the morning.
♱ Liars, cheaters, and people who chew with their mouth open. Skav likes to say that there is a special place in hell for all three of these offenders.
♱ Buzzing noises, because of his incurable fear of bees. Even the slightest feeling of something brushing over his arm or the threat of a fly coming too close can send him into a pulse-stopping panic attack. It's a nasty curse he carries, really.
♱ People prying, whether it be over their gender or their past. Most just end up with a mouth full of fist if they try too hard.

Skav's weapon of choice would be his stainless steel butterfly knife, which he always has on his person no matter what.