Name: Michelle Darrens
Age: 26
Species: Garou
Breed: Homid
Auspice: Ahroun
Tribe: Get of Fenris
Personality:
"Baby I got a plan, run away fast as you can."
There are some people you just get bad feelings about. The kind that you know have something wrong with them, some kind of mental illness or something. They don't laugh at the right jokes, they laugh too much at the wrong jokes, and when you look them in the eyes all you get is Chianti and fava beans. Michelle Darrens is one of those people on crack.
It's hard to express Michelle's personality because first one has to get over the very certain knowledge that you will still be alive when she starts to eat you. No bones about it, all 'when's not 'if's, the woman sitting across from you is waiting to rip you open by the flanks and feast on your insides like an elk. It's in the twitch of her fingers, the tension in her shoulders. It's right behind those dead-marble black eyes or that sardonic, 'isn't vivisection fun?' smile. Whatever monster there is under her skin wants out, badly and visibly, and it's really a shame because if you got to know her...
Well. She might have been such a nice girl, but life got there first.
Bored as acid and twice as caustic, Michelle is the kind of depressed you don't get better from. The kind that comes from not thinking but knowing that it's not going to be okay, that you will never be alright, and that one day you'll go out like you came into this world--naked, screaming, and covered in someone else's raspberry jam. She's so depressed that she's practically looped around to cheery, the kind of 'fuck it!' nihilism that lets her at least be mad at the world instead of just a mess. And lord is she mad at the world for all of the stupid, awful things it does to all of its stupid, awful people.
If you can get past all that, she's really just wants to look pretty in a sun dress.
Biography:
Once upon a time there was a little girl. Her mom was all sorts of a slut and went through four and a half 'boyfriends' by the time her daughter was eleven, but that's not really important. They were all of them decent enough guys with decent enough money, and if she never bothered to learn their names then at least they never molested her or anything. She never really had friends and never really knew or cared which one was her father, because none of them ever really knew her name or cared if they were her father either. Instead, they spent all day screwing and whatever else it was they did while her mother was off finding her next boyfriend and left Michelle to her own devices, which mostly included reading trashy magazines, making mediocre art, and trying to make friends at whatever school she happened to be at for the moment. It probably would have continued in much the same pattern had she not flipped out and eaten her mother's latest squeeze.
To be fair, he deserved it. Alright, alright, so maybe he didn't deserve it--he was a weasel of a guy with a salary job and a receding hairline, the kind that was always a little nervous but nice enough to make small talk. He was also the kind of guy who kept pictures of under-ten-year-olds doing very naughty things on his hard drive and forgot that his girlfriend's daughter came home early on Wednesdays, and boy was she mad when she found out. Mad enough to huff, and puff, and turn into a twelve foot wolf-monster. When she came to a half an hour later crying and throwing up fingers in the bathroom toilet, it was safe to say that Michelle's days of making fridge art were over.
Whatever happened to her fetch was anyone's guess; it took nearly two weeks for the local garou sept to track her down, during which she ran away from home and put at least one police squad attempting to bring her back home through what appeared to be some kind of blender. When the Get of Fenris finally got a hold of her it was clear enough that she was 'more than favored' by their favorite ferocious mythological wolf--she was barely controllable, the kind of monster that scares other monsters. Fortunately for her, fighting fire with fire was a time-honored strategy among those peerless warriors, and so they put her to work cleaning house for Gaia. And, for a while, she was almost happy.
But that was years ago. Two packs and three city's later, Michelle is pretty much done with pretending she's a monster for Gaia--now she's just a monster that kills monsters and tries not to kill good guys. Among the Get they call people like her Mjolnir's Thunder, homicidal sociopaths out to kill the Wyrm and cut down anything that gets in their way, but that's not quite true of Michelle.
Not yet, at least.
