cerozer0

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

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Skav listens to the running shower like its their favorite song, leaning towards the door subconsciously as they shifted over to lean against the couch once propping a spare t-shirt on the door for Blue. Something inside them was stretched too tight, held together too well. Each shuddering breath they took felt like it was too little, too small. At first, they thought it was something to do with Blue, and then something to do with the stranger's hands on their neck. Skav sighed out, held a hand to their chest, and then glanced down as the issue became all too apparent. Glancing towards the door, Skav listened to the rumbling showered, and once the slight concern of being caught changing faded they wiggled out of their binder and reached for a thick sweater to hide whatever curves dared to form.

They had caught a flash of purple-red flesh on their stomach. More scars from the fight. Skav decided to deal with the haunting pain another day, when they knew they were without interruption.

The fog in their mind suddenly lifted, just a bit, as Skav sucked in a real breath and held onto it tightly. They sighed it out, sucked in another, and felt logic and reason return to them, as well as a few heart-stopping memories. The shower squeaked off beyond their mind, but Skav was stuck on a name. Arya. The wish to run woke from hibernation. It had been a long time since they last fled a home, a town, a city; a long time since they last heard that name that offered such a reaction within the Razor. Skav lifted a hand to they face, their eyes, and pressed the heels of their palm down into the soft flesh of their eyelids.

Tears were squeezed away when the door to the bathroom open, and Blue stumbled over to sit above them. Skav tilted their head up to survey the disaster that was their companion. Apathy clung to their expression as they waited for something, anything, to come from Blue's lips. The question at hand, now, was unexpected. Skav's eyebrows quirked considerably, lips pursing and tightening as they processed an answer. Before responding, however, they rose and stumbled on jellied legs into the kitchen to grab two water bottles.

"What do I think of you?" They reinstated, tossing one of the bottles onto the cushion besides Blue. They settled back on the floor, head tipped back to lean against the couch beside Blue's leg. "Well, I think you're a bit of a nympho, or you seem like a nympho. And the drug thing isn't exactly great in my books." As if to prove a point, Skav's expression twisted into mostly feigned disgust. This obviously wasn't going to be a judgement free confessional. Skav twisted open their water bottle and drank slowly, coughing as room temperature liquid swam down their raw throat much too quickly.

Another sigh escaped into the air. Skav stared up at the ceiling, watching the lights of the city beyond the large window dance brilliantly across the room. Purples and pinks and blues and yellows, all twisted due to the storm, all bright due to the never ending night life. To think they almost died in that night outside. Skav lifted a hand to their heart and felt the gentle thumping. It was another reminder: You are here. You are alive. You are fine.

Skav glanced up at Blue again and the apathy threatened to melt. A small and trained smile pressed against their lips instead. "I don't care how you make your money, though, snake. It's not my business. Despite what you see with my driving, I like to stay in my own lane, deal with my own issues." They sighed and gently brought themselves up onto the couch, taking up the far corner out of instinct to curl up and stare at Blue. Their eyes gleamed in the half-light, blue-gray, heavy-lidded, chilling. Emotionless. "I don't think you're a whore or anything, if that's what you're worrying about. I don't think anything of you at all. You're just-- just 'Blue' in my head." Skav ran a hand over their shaved scalp again, rubbing the bristles thoughtfully, scratching at the few bruises that came from being tossed around on soaking pavement.

Something in them wanted to confess. It wasn't an unusual feeling; they felt it every Sunday morning, every weekday night when they settled down to pray. Skav didn't believe in lying or liars, but they still kept secrets locked away, and some days it felt like they were just another sinner keeping information from those who could help them or use it. Lying by omission was still lying, their mind often told them. Something tight twisted in their chest again, and Skav lifted a hand to press against their sternum.

Skav almost said 'I'm being hunted down.'

Skav almost said 'I can't stay in this city anymore.'

Skav almost said 'I probably won't last the summer.'

Skav did say, "And what do you think of me, Bluesy? You annoyed with me yet?" They forced a choked laugh, legs pressing hard against their chest as they curled further into themself, "I'm sure a lot of our fellow gangmates find my anti-blaspheme ways and attitude to be quite a chore to deal with." The tightness in their chest twisted harder. Skav assumed it to be heartstrings, pulling themselves apart out of spite as they sat mostly-bare in front of an ally.

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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Skav stared at the wall above Blue's head as the man inspected their face, feeling a bit too bleary to focus in on the other's own injuries without losing some of their well-trained apathy. Still, their lips quirked painfully at Blue's honesty, and without another word they shifted away from the cabinet and his hands and stood to claw open the medicine cabinet. Sparse items sat on the mirrored shelves: a gathering of unopened pill bottles, a collection of unused but crumpled tissues, and a single brown bottle of peroxide. No gauze or bandages, but Skav didn't expect to find any. They grasped the peroxide bottle and closed the cabinet door, glancing down at Blue with heavy-lidded eyes. They focused in on the cut on his neck, and something more akin to concern cut through their straight gaze.

"No bandages." They said simply, reaching over them to grasp a few handfuls of toilet paper, "Rip up one of my shirts if you want to cover that ghastly cut on your neck." Skav opened the bottle with shaky fingers and then took a few moments to gently tip it into the wadded tissues, watching lazily as moisture caught and turned the paper into a white-ish mush. They pressed the mess onto the cut and winced visibly, leaning over the sink with a short hiss as the concoction bubbled against the cut and sent swaths of foam and blood down into the basin.

Skav held the toilet paper there out of pure spite, finding some sense of mind from the sting and smell. They stayed stagnant and focused until the TP was more blood and disinfectant than paper. The mess was then discarded into the toilet, and everything within was flushed down and hidden below the seat. Skav took a few more silent moments to scrub the blood from their skin and gently dab at their bruises with a soaked finger, pupils still small and wavering with each glance they took at their own face. The bruises on their neck were beginning to fade, but the weight remained. They sucked in a labored breath and held it. The feel of swelling lungs reminded Skav that they were indeed alive.

Eventually, they backed away from the sink, sliding passed Blue's smaller frame to sit on the toilet seat. They leaned onto their knees and scrubbed their hands over the back of their scalp, feeling dirty and tired and heavy-headed. Vulnerable, a muted voice in their head screamed.

"Okay," Skav muttered, glaring down at the messy tiles, "Okay, okay. That's over. Snake?--" Skav's head tilted to stare at the blonde again, eyebrows furrowed. Faint memories but memories nonetheless came; hands on throats, knives on skin, Blue stabbing a body over and over again. Ghastly sights they don't remember seeing. Moving on feeling alone, they hooked a finger in the back of Blue's shirt and pulled, "You look gross." They said apathetically, "Don' got warm water but, like, take a shower if you want one. And loose the bloody shirt. I'll give you something to wear if you want."

Skav stood up unsteadily and slid passed Blue again, leaning against the bathroom door to open it again. Their body didn't see much logic in walking after that, however, and with a grunt they lowered down onto the wood floor and reached to grab whatever article of clothing was nearby. They took one last second to glance back at the bathroom, at Blue, at the memory of blood and knives, and with a cool if not slurred voice they purred, "Confessionals are open now, too, in case you would like to get some sins off your chest. I'm all ears, snake."

Rigor Mortis

WELP. Looks like it's gonna be a nice, chill zombie party from here on in. ;3c

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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Skav heard a scream cut through the silence of their resting senses, and then the hands on their neck vanished and they were toppling to the soaked concrete. They waited in silence. Blind and deaf and immobile, they waited and waited and waited for some kind of sign. Skav felt their adrenaline and mind waver as their head lolled and their body slumped and grew even more malleable to outside forces. Prayers, airy and quiet, escaped them. Wishes to keep living were born, and Skav lapped at the bloody river that trailed down their face and, once again, waited. Waited for the end or for the beginning of a chance to continue on with life. Waited. Waited. Waited.

Blue's voice comes suddenly, loud and clear right in front of their face. Skav winces away from the noise and regrets the action almost instantly as their body swayed and ground further up against the rough bricks. Words failed, caught on their raw throat and flooded tongue. Liquid dreams sloshed in their hollow head, drowning out the feeling of hands and air that swelled when they were once again forced to their feet, and then they were walking. The focused on the movement. One foot after another, left, right, left, right. Skav had to keep remembering to stay awake. Without the push of panic coursing through their veins they were simply another roofied pedestrian, a drunk and drugged citizen who was lucky to be alive.

The duo stumbled down the rest of the block in silence. Skav thought they heard the rumble of more footsteps behind them after a moment, and then a curse and a name they hadn't heard in a long, long time. "... Arya... -ing to... pissed."

Skav's stumbling walk turned into a withheld stumbling sprint, and then the voices were gone and Skav was being pressed against the Qrow. Hands they assumed to be Blue's scoured through their pockets, and they couldn't hold back the small flinches of discomfort that spurred. A joyous noise of satisfaction reverberated through Skav's skull once Blue found what they were looking for, and then the rain was replaced by the familiar smell of gasoline and leather and peace swallowed them whole. Inky darkness claimed them as the engine growled to life. Dreams of the past and the present swirled, a vortex of muted colors and chrome. Skav slept the entire ride, because they couldn't fight the drugs anymore and it was better then getting sick and ruining the interior of both their mask AND their car.

When they burst awake again, Skav found they were pressed against the window of the car, and their apartment complex sat like a dazzling beacon of hope among a dreary, painful night. Their hands grasped at the door, pulling at each jutted corner they found until the passenger door opened and they fell out onto the pavement. Their mind churned, along with their stomach, and Skav settled back onto their heels to catch their breath before sliding up the side of the car and leaning in. They nodded back towards the building, a silent invitation, and without waiting for a response back they turned and stumbled towards the side-entrance of the building.

Skav's apartment was on the fourth floor of the complex, and a single uninterrupted elevator ride brought them to their front door in a matter of seconds. After snagging a spare key from the higher sill of the battered door, Skav pushed into the apartment and made a staggering beeline for the bathroom, making sure to leave the front door slightly ajar for Blue. They ripped the crow mask clean from their head as they stumbled, throwing it onto the hall floor. The apartment was a studio, a single room home that was bare of everything but essentials. A sheet-covered bed was pressed up against the wide, blind-covered windows, and a poor-man's version of a kitchen was exactly opposite to that, pressed into a single corner along with a ratty old couch and a few metal chairs.

Clothes littered the floor, boxers and sweaters and jeans, and Skav added their leather jacket and stained sweater to the pile as they pushed by and practically kicked open one of two doors that were sitting alone on the bare side of the room. The binder holding them together felt too tight, but they made no effort to remove it. They didn't even bother with lights, pressing blindly into the bathroom until they collapsed in front of the toilet and retched. Shaking hands clung to cold porcelain, then rose up to scrub over their shaved head, pressing into the aching flesh at the back of their skull before their body shuddered and dispelled the rest of the alcohol. Blood mingled with sweat and bile, and after a while of pained noise Skav shifted back from the toilet to breathe.

They rose after a moment of feeling utterly helpless, staggering to a halt in front of the mirror to glare through the darkness at their own face. A beaten mixture of their father and mother stared back. Red stained most of the lower half of Skav's face, dropping messily onto the white-porcelain sink. It poured lazily from their nostrils and bubbled from their split lip, and Skav licked at the coppery liquid again until their tongue felt heavy with the taste. Icy gray eyes glared, heavy-lidded and much-too dilated, contrasting vividly with the tanned and bruised flesh that adorned their face. Everything besides their crooked nose and swollen lips looked as it always did; their eyes were narrowed, their eyebrows were furrowed, and the scar jutting from brow to cheek looked much brighter than it usually would.

Everything about their face was utterly feminine, and hideously bruised. Skav hated it.

They stared at their reflection until they saw double, then triple, and with a huff they slid down to lean against the broken wooden cabinets below the basin. "Blue?" They moaned, running their tongue over their front teeth idly, tasting blood but thankfully no empty spaces, "Blue? Not sure if-- nose is broken. Check please."

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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Skav breathes in response to Blue's outcries. The sounds are shallow and slow and laced with strain; the sighs of an Olympic runner or a dying man. They breathe and breathe until the world stops spinning and the rain appears as singular pixels instead of a mesh of water, and then Skav is rolling onto their stomach and pushing themself up onto their knees. The butterfly knife toppled into the rain-flooded street, a rectangle of oil-colors in the mess of a darkness. Skav fumbled to get a grip on it. Their fingers wouldn't close properly, filled with static instead of blood, and sleep wavered their vision and their grasp again and again. Eventually, adrenaline stuck the two together, and Skav was able to raise shakily to their feet. They didn't have a sense of mind to think anymore, and with a stunted cry they rushed forward as barreled right into the assailant.

Weight sent both flying over Blue and tumbling across the sidewalk. Skav kicked and thrashed against the heavier weight of Dog-mask, practically blind and mostly deaf to the curses that were barely filling the thundering air. They eventually managed to pull away from Dog-mask, skidding back an inch or two until their back was pressed securely onto a wall. The butterfly flicked open, glinting in the streetlamp light, and Skav tried to calm their wheezing breath and find their eyesight again. It came back too quickly, though, when a sudden fist dug into their stomach. Slashing random, Skav felt their blade catch on either fabric or skin, and then they were being thrown again, away from the wall and back onto more sodden sidewalks.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Dog-mask cursed. Skav rose onto their knees again, heaving dryly and sobbing despite themself, and then they were scrabbling to their feet again, twisting on their heels just in time to see Dog-mask reach out for another punch. Skav ducked, faltered as they lost their sense of balance again, and then they barreled into Dog-mask's stomach, throwing both onto the ground. They took a fraction of a second to notice the man's lack of weapon, and then another to realize he was bleeding from a gash in his shoulder. Satisfaction formed and then fell apart as they swayed again, and Dog-mask took the second of delay to thrash and throw Skav off to one side.

Skav groaned when a foot dug right into their solar plexus again, shuddering passed a wish to vomit then and there as weight fell onto them and hands closed around their throat. Skav had no energy to thrash. Air was vanishing quickly, and their brain wasn't prepared to go without oxygen, not when it was drunk and drugged to holy Hell. Skav muttered a prayer under their breath, short and sweet, singing out Hail Mary's in a drastically failing tone just as their hands rose up to bury the knife into the man's gut. Warmth soaked their hands, a drastic change of pace from the chilling rain above.

Curses were uttered like a fervent prayer, and Skav scrambled back when the hands around their neck loosened and rose to grapple with Skav's fingers and weapon. The butterfly knife is caught and thrown off towards Blue, an obviously idiotic act that the other man didn't even seem to realize until it was too late, but Skav didn't give them anytime to fix their wrong. They jerked up a knee and dug it right into the sensitive area surrounding the fresh puncture wound. Dog-mask screamed in pain, reaching blindly for the wound, and Skav pulled away further until, once again, they found a wall to their back. They took a moment to catch their breath, twisting around the bruises on their stomach as their lungs filled with wet air and smoke and the promise of sleep. Dog-mask wasn't screaming anymore.

No... There was no noise at all. Nothing, just the hum of their own heart in their ears. The world wasn't even a mesh of colors, just darkness. Skav was blind again, completely useless as they pressed far into the scratchy texture of bricks and grease and waited. They didn't have to wait long, of course. Dog-mask would regain some of his rage eventually, and when he did Skav would feel every inch of anger that decided to manifest.

Still, the next punch was much worse then Skav expected it to be.

It came like a bullet and caught their nose and upper lip beyond the mask. Darkness danced, rain water tasted coppery, and then Skav was being pressed higher up onto the wall, held there by hands that were shaking with truculence and pain and fury. Skav hung limply. "You're dead. You're so fucking dead, Crow."

"Don' feel very dead," Skav licked their split upper lip and tasted blood. Their eyes squeezed shut as the hands gripping their collar shifted up to press against their wind pipe again, "I think-- I think you're lying to me." They wheezed, and then laughed as Dg-mask cursed them out in reply.

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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"I-I'll manage, snake. Don't get too grabby." Skav groaned as the world shifted into movement, but they made no effort to pull free. In a world where Skav was of sound mind and body they would have, perhaps, slipped out of Blue's grasp to make a half-hearted bolt for the exit, knowing full well that the snake would be on their heels. That time and place was nonexistent. Skav was seeing double while their body was fighting against an invisible, liquid enemy. Shame swelled among the feelings of sickness and hate. Shame for being so easily caught, shame for having to rely on the steady (shorter) shoulder of Blue, shame for not being to walk on their own. The bar faded into a blur as Skav stumbled across the wood floor, unable to find solid ground.

They were halfway to the door when something dashed off Skav's shoulder. They winced against the feel of wetness, hearing the offbeat shatter of a glass by their ankle as they stumbled and clutched tighter to Blue. "Christ, they're pissed..." They slurred, head lolling back slightly to see a mess of bodies and colors. Glass dug into the sole of their shoe as they took a heavy step forward. One after another. Walk. Walk. Skav felt their toes curl with life, forced and heavy with drugs, and then they straightened somewhat and increased speed towards the door. The fight grew to a distant hum, and the stuffy air was suddenly sucked out and replaced with humid rainfall as the duo shoved the door open.

Skav practically fell up the stairs, hissing out in pain as the rain thudded against their mask and echoed tremendously through their hollow-feeling head. Weight shifted and they scrabbled to clutch onto BlueThe neon sign overhead cut into Skav's gaze, impossibly red and smudgy. Everything felt airy and cloudy. Skav wondered mindlessly if they were dreaming, if the bar and the rain and the weight beside them was really just figmants of their imagination. That thought faded as knees slapped against soaked stairs, and Skav regained enough sense of mind to climb up the rest steps.

"C'mon shorty-- pick up... The pace." Skav groaned, finding their footing again as the world meshed into a single black-blue and the rain filled up whatever silence was left between them.

Skav pointed limply towards the general direction of the Qrow, head rolling hazardously around on their neck. The thumping rain was almost enough to mask the sound of quickly approaching footsteps. Almost. Skav tensed and swayed, head twisting just enough to see the shadow barreling towards them from within the blur of night. The starting cough of a warning caught in Skav's throat, and, in an effort to save both of their heads, they twisted and kicked and pulled until they were able to push Blue away and toppled over onto the rain-flooded street.

A baseball bat shattered where the two had been standing, splintering across the earth and pelting Skav's legs with a shower of chipped wood. They found no energy to scramble away, instead tilting up an inch to eye at their assailant. A dog mask stared back, holding the remains of the bat and breathing hard and heavy. The world blurred again and Skav let their head tilt back, wheezing out a defeated laugh as the shadow shifted to stand over them, a new, smaller weapon in hand.

"This is Bomber territory." The man said. Skav felt their fingers prick and reach instinctively for their back pocket, finding the butterfly knife there to be soaked and heavy in their grasp. They made no attempts to show off the weapon, however, as the man loomed over them. Another blur of a weapon was dangling precariously over the eyes of the crow mask. One last groan escaped them as they shifted onto their elbows and lurched back, waiting for a clear mind or an opening or a chance to run but finding only smoke and rain and shadows. "You know what we do to brutes like y'all around here?"

Fuck.

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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The hand on Skav's shoulder was an unexpected and grounding weight. They drank it up, memorizing the tug of familiar fingers rather then the masks that bore holes into the side of their head. The haze lifted just enough for Skav to tilt their head and groan out a wordless answer. The alcohol and drugs slowed their world down to a colorful, dark blur, swallowing their mind whole. Their heart was currently racing from memory alone, and the added strain only made them fall deeper into a thick stupor. Skav breathed in heavily again, holding it, counting to ten backwards over and over again under their breath until they found enough energy to straighten and lean across the table. Blue's mask came into focus then, and a harsh, unconvinced laugh echoed from deep within Skav's throat.

"I really am lucky, huh?" They slurred, swaying to press their head up against the wall as the world turn sideways and then back again, "Waitress slipped me something. I think-- I know, uh, it was a gift from those gentlemen over there. Are they still looking at me?" Skav twisted to stare at the table, and the group's eyes quickly turned to the jukebox casually. Skav laughed again. Their body had begun to quake from the neck down, and the laugh curled into another drowsy groan.

The rest of the pub remained none the wiser to Skav's woes-- well, most of the pub. Skav swore they could see a red-dressed blur pacing behind the bar. Poor, guilty, bitchy waitress, their mind sang, and Skav felt distaste swelling in their chest. Or-- maybe that was just their body wishing to dispel all the poison they took in tonight. Skav let their head fall to the table, sighing out around the rush of sickness threatening to claim their throat, and they hissed, "Qrow is a block down. No parking... Here." Skav shuddered again, stomping their left foot as the static of sleep filled their toes, "Now, now... Give me a moment to plan our downfall."

Skav turned their head to stare out at the rest of the room again. What was worth noting? The bar wasn't full, nor was it empty. There was a gathering of muscular, unaffiliated bikers surrounding one of the arcade machines, and a businessman was passed out alone at the bar. The group staring at Skav only consisted of four different masks, and they all were working at their drinks slowly. The rest of the room was a quiet hum of life, and slowly becoming a singularly colored blur. Skav struggled to fit all the pieces together. Their left foot had fallen asleep again. Their mind was a swirling vortex of nothing. It was all very distracting and Skav couldn't help but let their eyes slide shut, just for a moment.

Their dream was short and quick and nostalgic; all needles and smoke and smiles worth running from. Skav started awake and hissed out a curse meant for no one, straightening just enough to stare up at Blue's hissing mask. The glass clattered across the table, spilling messily off to one side, and when a few unfamiliar faces turned to inspect the noise an idea formed. Skav laughed once more while they surged up, pushing the now-empty glass over to Blue's side expectantly.

"I need you..." They slurred, swaying, "To start a bar fight. Throw the glass at the--the tattooed guys. By the arcade machine. Just do something to cause a commotion." Skav pressed back into their seat and let their head droop, once again losing their ability to move more than an inch a minute.

"Commotion... And then we book it. I'll try to sober up while you ge-get to work."

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

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Name

Skav

Age

Nineteen

Gender

Androgynous

Affiliation

The Razors.

Years with Gang

Four

Appearance

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 is 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.

Personality

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.

Strengths

☯ Observation

"The eyes of a hawk", or, in this case, the eyes of a crow. Skav is best known for his sleuthing and spying abilities, being able to seemingly perch in a secret spot of their own to keep a close eye on those worth watching. Skav is one who watches thinks before acting, finding it much safer to attack once they know their enemy's weak points as well as strengths.

☯ Dirty Fighting

Got a bottle to the back if the head? Some gravel in your eyes? A knee right to the balls? Then you're probably squaring up against Skav, the quickest, dirtiest fighter around (or so they boast). Using their keen eyes and general gifted sense of direction, Skav takes his time to check what possible environmental wounds he can inflict on his opponents. Of course, this means he spends a few extra moments plotting out his course of action, but it'll be worth it once he has a hand around the muzzle of a mask, ready to take down who ever dares to confront them.

☯ Transportation

Or, as others see it, "street racing". Skav adores his Camaro not because it's fucking gorgeous (though, that's half of it) but because it speeds up fast and hard when ever he needs it too. Skav's a fan of speed races of course, but when it gets time for serious driving he seems prepared. He knows his car AND the city like tha back of his hand, and is always willing to take transportation jobs if ever asked to.

☯ Luck

Skav, in general, is a rather lucky fellow. Now, gun shots don't just magically bounce around them like they've got some sort of luck-shield or something, but Skav seems to be blessed with the uncanny ability to find loose change in gutters and pretty necklaces left behind in parks.

Weaknesses

☠ Physical Endurance

Skav isn't the best at managing their energy nor the amounts of hits they take, and because of this they can often be put down quickly in a fist fight. Running or fighting or exerting energy for long periods of time puts him both in an awful mood and sometimes a hospital bed. This fact has also granted them a weak constitution, leaving them to get sicker often (especially after a night of boozing and partying).

☠ Superstitions/Horror

Okay, honesty Skav is a bit of a wuss when it comes to horror stories or ominous surroundings. They adore the downtown area's lights and music, but always seem to tense up when faced with a particularly narrow and dark place like an endless alleyway or an abandoned warehouse. They also seem to rely heavily on luck, and becase of this Skav takes his time in making sure he doesn't step on a crack, trip under a ladder, or pick up a face-down penny.

☠ Attitude

Skav has the tongue of a crusty old drunk and the temper of a three year old. He is quick to irritate and even quicker to set off on a tangent if forced, and Skav is able to go on and on in a verbal fight until they eventually cry themselves out (or, scream rather). If one would like to take on a headstrong and reckless Skav, then the best way to do so would be to get on their nerves.

☠ Bees/Hornets/Wasps/ECT.

Actually, Skav just has a fear of anything that has more legs than himself. Be it ants or spiders or beetles or centipedes, Skav hates them all the same and seems to react wildly if one decides to land on any available bare skin. This fear was spurred during a childhood accident where Skav accidentally stepped into a wasps nest. Thank God they weren't allergic, but in the end he was left with glaring emotional scars and a fear that just won't leave him be.

Likes

♱ 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.

Dislikes

♱ 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.

Relationships

Other

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

NEVERENDERS [nightmare eyes + murdoc]

_{M O O D}

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Skav was drunk.

Drunk on spirits, drunk on life, drunk on adrenaline. Skav was drunk and feeling quite inspired, which was how they often got at half passed one in the morning. Midnight bar hopping had quickly gotten out of hand after the first few stops. The Qrow was barely held together after rolling over curb after curb and trampling every single trash can that dared to sit on street corners. Skav, however, was much too drunk to care about the current state of their car. Another push of the mask was another drink down, and this action repeated itself multiple times over until Skav's next glass was hideously empty.

"Miss, could I-- could I get another glass?"

The bar around Skav was a study in life. 'Quinn's Pub' often attracted the night crowd due to it's seven PM opening time and it's general sleaziness. Tucked deep away into the recesses San Marzano, most only know of the bar's existence because of the neon sign that is protruding out into the skyline. It's small and red but ever so inviting. Down the rickety metal stairs lies a thick wooden door, and beyond that a wide, dim room filled with metal tables and booths and life. A bruised jukebox sang out only the oldest of songs, ranging from Elvis to Eartha Kitt to Billie Holiday. If the old pub was meant to have a theme, Skav assumed it to be jazz, but said jazz music was often swallowed whole by the louder-than-life arcade machines that were constantly booked with drunks searching for a blurry fun time or virgin business men in search of a little danger along with their game.

The drinks were cheap and constantly refilled, which Skav appreciated the most out of the environment. The rest of their experience was shrouded in a fuzzy haze and pressed into the corner of a sticky vinyl booth.

Once their drink was refilled, Skav drank again, pushing up their mask to press their lips to the glass easily. Even as their mind swam in a sea of disorientation, they were aware of two things with each fussy sip they took. One, people loved watching a Razor drink. Perhaps there was something to gain in watching masks shift and shake unreasonably while the head underneath tried and failed to take sips of their drink, or maybe they were waiting for a slip up. Waiting for a trace of skin that most would never have the pleasure of seeing. Two, the waitress that had just served Skav was taking a wad of cash from a certain group of similarly masked gentlemen.

Whoops.

Skav swirled their unfinished drink around mildly, blinking passed a new wave of drowsiness that hadn't been so strong before. The group at the table beyond was watching them, obviously waiting for Skav to finish off their whiskey, and obviously waiting for Skav to fall victim to whatever drug they had managed to slip into it.

They were not aware, however, that Skav was not a victim any longer.

A wobbling fist pressed against the glass, pushing it out of reach, while another twisted down to press hard pinches into their thigh. Skav pressed further into the corner of the booth, breathing heavy as they tried to force sobriety. Years of taking alien-substances made them rather resistant to most drugs (depending on the amount they take in, of course), and while Skav should be half way across the seat asleep by now their body remained awake and reluctant. The only possible issue right now was their inability to feel their finger tips and toes... And possibly the entire left side of their body. Glancing down at the watch on their wrist, Skav documented the current time (1:43 A.M.), and then sought through their foggy brain to remember the pub's closing time (4 A.M.? 5 A.M.?).

Intoxication left them clumsy and easily read. They couldn't leave the pub without being followed, Hell, the probably couldn't even leave the booth without the watchful crowd raising to greet them half way. A part of their mind willed them to take a risk, another told them to stay put and wait for their mind to come back to them. A third voice said rescue was coming. Skav decided the former and latter voices were all too drunk to rely on and instead slumped down in their seat, waiting for some kind of sense to find them.

Hopefully it would come before the dark eyes beyond grew tired of waiting.

Rigor Mortis

WIP

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F U L L N A M E

• Thomas P. Lacer
• Tom

D A T E O F B I R T H

May 5th, 1986. He is 30 years old.

A P P E A R A N C E

Tom is an average soul in both mind and body. With pale skin, thick brows, and a goofy, earnest smile, it's quite obvious he is not the most notable guy out there. Looks are barely anything to someone like Tom. Ever since the end of the world, he has grown a bit loose with staying "prim and proper". Despite shaving at every possible moment, he lacks any real need to cut his hair or straighten out his clothes, and he is much more worried about surviving than cleaning off any viscera off his person. His usual fashion sense consists of thick jeans and long sleeved sweaters and shirts.

Tom stands at about 5'6" in height but looks much shorter due to his slight slouch. His hair is dark brown and wild, easily mussed and easily pulled at due to Tom's anxious ticks. Big, green eyes stare out from below furrowed brows, filled with the compassion most men lose during their first week in this mess. If Tome prides himself in anything, it's his ability to keep a collected face in the midst of chaos. Even if his mind is falling apart his body rarely shows these signs, and his set expression either consists of a goofy grin and bright eyes or a smaller smile to welcome those plagued by worries.

Any scars or tattoos are hidden under layers of sweaters and coats. His knuckles are discolored from old bruises and there is a particularly old scar just above his collar bone.

S K I L L S

• First-Aid Proficient
• Near-Perfect Recall
• Observation

W E A K N E S S E S

• Scatterbrained
• Emotional
• Weak

P O S S E S I O N S

• A warm coat (worn)
• A multi-pocketed backpack (worn)
• A single change of clothes
• Metal canteen filled with water (half-empty)
• Old notebooks
• Various pens and pencils
• Three unopened granola bars
• Quickly diminishing first aid kit (including gauze, painkillers, needles and thread, alcohol, and bandaids)
• Zippo lighter
• Fantasia cigarettes pack (half-empty)
• Pocket knife

H I S T O R Y

Tom was born to a middle class family from Wellfleet, Massachusetts. He was the third son of a baker family, and often spent his days playing out in the streets with friends of examining the many books his father hoarded in the bakery's attic. His love for helping people came from his mother, who often told him tales of kindness and friendliness from her past.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

To be filled in for the other characters in the roleplay, as well as any supporting NPCs/family important to your character.

_{lmao sorry wanted the med character ;*}