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    1. Sundrop 8 yrs ago

Status

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7 yrs ago
even in times of chaos i cannot resist some dunks
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7 yrs ago
I didn't realize people were visiting my account and I'm sh👀k
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Bio

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Name: Claus Etoria Lendouhyn

Age: Appears 26, actual age 802

Family Role: Father-figure

Appearance: Claus is 5'8", and appears to weigh about 160 lb. His skin tone is a very light tan, right on the line between too pale and too tan. His hair is semi-long and straight, stretching down to halfway below his backbone. His hair is black in color, but also has a faint shade of what looks like brown from afar, but in reality it is a very dark shade of red, much like a ginger-crimson highlight. In addition to this, there appears to be odd, blunt-pointed protrusions at the top of his head, much like horns or a badly modeled pair of cat's ears. The protrusions, in actuality, really are horns being covered up by his own hair being wrapped around them. Because of these, and because his hair in general is long and resembles what the public eye would see as a feminine look, he normally ties it up in a semi-short ponytail to better suit the 'hairstyle' that are his horns. They aren't INSANELY large, so he normally wears a gray cadet's cap to cover them. (Side note- he's got really soft hair. Touch iiiiit.)
To put this bluntly, he looks somewhat generic in the face, having a small nose and thin lips, though he has heterochromia, with his left eye being light blue and his right being emerald green.

Placement and Design of Contract Seal: Similar to a tattoo, there is an upside-down marigold flower design on his chest. Because it is upside-down, its stem trails upward and loops around his neck twice, creating a tightly-wound double helix. In addition, there is also a small, stemless marigold on the nail of his left ring finger. (If you're watchful, occasionally you can see a petal fall from the design and disappear as a new petal takes its place.)

History and Abilities: Claus is a demon of deception, simply put. For about two centuries after his birth, he would visit the human world to cause mischief, both minor and major. Minor as in pulling only-slightly-harmful pranks such as blowing smoke in someone's face and then tripping them, and major as in using his power of shapeshifting to imitate the look of a person in power and act in such a way that started wars between nations. He had only really ever done this out of amusement, but after 200 years it started to bore him, and as the human world modernized, so did he, and he began to migrate, so to speak, with the living qualities of common people. However, he spent much more time amongst other demons in the Underworld. Now and again he would still cause mischief but only do so through semi-playful pranks, opting not to cause mass fighting. He often used his powers to get what he wanted (by which I mean he usually stole things), but this was only semi-often. Though, he had a small disposition that caused him to fall asleep no matter where he was every so often (based on how much he utilized his abilities) and one day he fell asleep in the backyard of a home he planned to steal from. This house belonged to a girl who had lost her parents and had turned to a marigold pact for new siblings, and because Claus was probably the closest demon there, he was one of the first to be chosen. Upon waking, he could feel a burning on his chest, neck, and the nail of his left hand's ring finger, and was promptly informed telepathically that he was now to be the father of a child he hadn't yet met. Now he has to make the best of what he feels is a bad situation, not that he has a choice.

Hey, at least the other demons won't call him 'lazy pretty boy' anymore.
They'll probably just call him 'pretty boy'.

Probably.

An in-depth on Claus' powers below.

Shapeshifting: As part of his purpose of deception, he can alter his look, and change himself to look like anyone humanoid that he's seen at least once before. He can also alter his voice to match that person's voice but he must also hear it at least once. The only flaw to this is that even when his appearance changes, he cannot remove the marigolds or his horns, nor can this power alter his clothing.

Sightshifting: To further aid his purpose, he can briefly make himself invisible and muffle all the sounds he makes. This only lasts a short while at a time.

Power-related deprivation: Though this is not really a power as much as it is a flaw, Claus' energy is directly connected to the usage of his powers. If he doesn't frequently use them, he can go for days without sleep, but the more he uses these powers, the less energy he has and the more tired he can be. If he uses his energy severely exceedingly, he is prone to falling asleep despite where he is to refill the dire lack of energy he has. The only upside to this is that he doesn't have to sleep very long, only needing to rest for an hour at max to be energetic again, however he can wake up whenever he feels like it so if he wanted to sleep for eight hours, he could.

Occupation/Work: Currently unemployed, but that doesn't mean he isn't willing to work. More money = more pudding.

Personality Traits and Quirks: Claus is best described as formal-casual. Externally, he maintains a calm, cool and casual personality while keeping about him an air of sophistication. He tends to have a slight superiority complex as part of his formality, but also is a bit of a troublemaker as part of his causality. In certain situations, though, he can be very nice and show a more polite, obedient and respectful side. However, deep down, he finds a charm in things that are sweet, cute-looking, action-packed, or comedic, though he would never admit this. Because of this, he has an extreme love for two things: pudding and Power Rangers. He is also very eloquent and fluent when speaking, especially when insulting someone, or when complimenting another. He strongly enjoys reading, rhythm-based games, contortionists, and affectionate acts (again, he wouldn't admit that last bit!) to name a few.

And honestly? Sometimes he can be a very easily flustered prude.
I wonder what happened to the others that said they were interested-
"Ah, I see. You're somewhat of a joker."

He had to chuckle, of course. After all, most teenagers were, even back in the eras of his past lives. He hadn't seen many people- especially teenagers- that WEREN'T little comedians in their own ways. Granted, it could have just been like this in HIS world and not others, but he would never know for sure. He took another sip of the strange drink before him, still marveling at how well it resonated with his ghostly taste buds.

For that brief moment he wondered how it was he had taste buds despite being a ghost, but then remembered that he was also harbouring a beating heart and functioning brain, so something as miniscule as this wasn't worth considering as much as other things. He hadn't quite worked his way around what he truly was yet, but with the bizarre people showing up, maybe someone would be able to clarify his form.

Speaking of people showing up, he'd started now to take into account how many people had been arriving. It really felt like a bar now- a community, populous, yet an oddity filling slowly to the brim as did glasses filling to the rim with liquid courage, the cold golden-brown tankards of moonshine and mesmerizers that made one all but forget one's troubles, leaving only a stench in one's breath and a stream of bile in one's esophagus the following morning.

The concept of alcohol was not at all new to Cledwynn. In his own world, it was in fact a law to eat, drink, and be merry.

Or, rather, drink, drink, and be drunk. It wasn't nearly as abhorrent here, though. Not everyone here, in this space, was falling over on themselves, slurring and sounding like they were trying to imitate the sound of a baby pachyderm trampling atop the keys of a broken piano. There wasn't the constant sound of woozy hiccups and grog-laden belches spreading the tasteless stench of 'specialty' alcoholic drinks about the room. There wasn't that one guy in the corner rambling on about wanting to go to the moon to 'slam some awesome crazy lunar dunks that are out of this world' and 'make b-ball pasta' here.

What the hell was b-ball pasta anyway?

He lightly shook the thoughts from his head. The point was that this Restaurant was quaint in its own rowdy way. And Cledwynn enjoyed it. At least for now. There shouldn't be a need for conflict, not in his mind.

"It's well and good to make your acquaintance, Sandra."

Under normal circumstances he would follow with 'well met', or open with it. But this was a teenage girl, and chronologically speaking, Cledwynn had to be somewhere in the hundreds- maybe even the thousands- in age. There would be a generational gap, obviously, and some found that awkward. Who's to say that he didn't time travel between deaths?

Wait. Now that he thought about it, 'Sandra' was the rather commonplace name. She couldn't just be a teenage girl with nothing special about her, right? He'd certainly thought that before, yeah, but his mind ran right back to it again.

And by now he had a few pieces of evidence to support this theory. It felt wrong wanting so badly to know about any powers he was SURE she could have, but he couldn't very much help himself. Besides, it was partly her fault for being so commonplace, not that this was a bad thing.

Still, he felt a little embarrassed at this, and even more so at the hidden thought that maybe, just maybe, he was wrong about everything and would very soon cause their conversation to tip over at the speed of an anvil falling onto the upper end of a see-saw.

And then it'd sink with all the calmness of a currently derailing runaway train that was initially moving at somewhere over some 100 miles per hour.

If ghosts could sweat, he'd have been considered caught in the rain.

Well, perhaps THAT was an exaggeration. But now, considering what thoughts flowed into the mind of the somewhat bashful apparition, he was getting to that state. Not fairly quickly, but getting there.

He hadn't felt this in a long time. That feeling people call panic. It was slight, but he could feel it in his heart, which started to beat a bit more quickly.

It was so tense he could almost hear his heart beating, but he knew that this was just a side effect of panic- thinking he could hear his own pulse. What he didn't know was that, if one were to really listen closely, his pulse could be heard by all. It was faint, but not as muffled as the heart of a living human since the only thing blocking his heart was his clothing.

Thankfully, Sandra was busy with another newcomer, the one eerily clad in fabrics.

He savoured this time, taking it to deeply breathe, and calm himself down. He didn't need his conversational partner to know he was feeling that tense, and luckily he loosened himself up that small amount. It wasn't much, but it was critical.

Needless to say, he felt better than he did a few seconds ago.
@ZeroCuero That's fine! Sorry for the misconception.
Their eyes suddenly latched on to the trail of steam corkscrewing around itself in the air in front of them; it, as well as the intoxicating aroma of...whatever that was, took their eyes to the mug in the hands of the other. There we go. "W-...Where did you get that?" As they croaked out the words it became increasingly obvious that they hadn't had a prolonged exchange in quite some time; their voice was not dissimilar to the sound of an old chair being sat on. The bandanna really didn't help much in terms of comprehensibility with the damper it put on the already weak sound.


@ZeroCuero

Is this part directed at Cledwynn or no?
@Night_ Star Yeah, haha, it's just kinda pooling up inside them~
How well that the two events lined up so perfectly.

With more unneeded tromping- since Cledwynn was still the slightest bit nervous about the whole situation, and about the general thought of being around this many people, he tended to do that- he decisively sat himself down in a seat near the girl. Regarding this girl, Cledwynn somehow didn't feel as detached as he would when it came to others. That is to say, somehow he felt more comfortable with her- probably because of her welcoming demeanour. Perhaps, like the dragon before, she was a clairvoyant? Cledwynn could only assume so. But only if they'd hit it off beforehand, during a time he wasn't within the Restaurant. After all, it was likely that whatever that dragon was, he wouldn't be the only one with supernatural abilities. After everything he'd seen so far, his assumption now was that everyone here had some interesting perk about them. The dragon was a telepath. Something had to be up with the bartender too, since he knew the dragon could read minds. The more he thought about it, the possible answers were, one, that the dragon told him. That might not have happened, since when Cledwynn insisted to know how that dragon knew his name, the only response he got was more proof that the creature was a telepath. Either that, or the bartender deduced this the same way Cledwynn did- through the evidence he was given. The third option was that the dragon was a return customer, which Cledwynn almost completely ruled out as impossible. This place was in the middle of nothing, at the end of everything. It didn't seem like there was any way someone could manage knowing how to get here, but it was entirely possible. It just didn't seem that way to the mechageist, though. Still, if with his own life coming back to fruition as a concept in his memory, he had reason to believe that anything was possible.

Which led back to the unassuming girl sitting before her. There had to be something about her, now that he thought about it. She couldn't just be normal. After all, she was here. And this place was deep in space somewhere.

So how did a girl that looked so genuinely regular manage getting here? There was obviously nothing overly strange about her aesthetically, so by now, Cledwynn knew that if there really was something abnormal about her, it had to be internal- and when it came to internal powers of the supernatural, the first to come to mind was anything mental.

But he wouldn't pry. If he did, there were a few things the girl could do in response- perhaps dodge his inquiry, or answer it truthfully if she were hiding something. He would never know for sure, though, since he wouldn't pry if she didn't want him to. If she were a telepath, though, she was definitely hiding it well so far.

"Thank you again for the compliment about my hair. I don't exactly hear things like that very often, so it came as a bit of a shock to me. Well, initially, anyway."

He was trying his best to speak out as much as he could, but that sociable facade could easily fall rather soon. Not that he wanted that to happen. Knowing this, he figured the best way to keep conversation going was to give names.

"Uh.. My name's Cledwynn. Two D's, one N. ... Wait, no, no, it's the other way around, two N's, one D."

He laughed awkwardly for a moment, pushing his scarf up to cover his mouth a little. It slipped back down to his neck almost immediately, but the premise of what he intended to do was definitely there.

He began to ponder again, this time of what the bartender had told him. 'It's on the house. Everything here is.' He would have to ask the bartender what they served when he was next given a chance. That, and the man's name. Constantly identifying him as 'the bartender' or 'the man' was getting tiring, and it started to feel bland- he knew very well that if he were trying to describe the bartender, or elaborate on his own thoughts about him, constantly calling him what he was and not by his name could easily make listeners- or readers, if he were writing things down- feel like it became redundant and repetitive, much like describing any one thing as both redundant and repetitive since they both generally meant the same thing.

Following his train of thought, however, Cledwynn noticed that he was served a drink in a glass. A clear liquid, lacking of any colour, of smell, and possibly of taste as well.

Water. That was an easy guess, and it made sense to serve him this as a starter. After all, the bartender didn't really know Cledwynn's tastes.

He could certainly use a drink, he was thirsty for some time. He picked the glass up and placed his lips to it, drinking for a brief moment, though when he relinquished the glass, he let out a content yet amazed sigh, his eyes widening a bit.

It became immediately clear that this wasn't water.

It had to be something else, because its taste was off the scale. He couldn't really describe the taste in full, but it perfectly matched what he was craving. It didn't taste anything like any drinks he'd had in past lives. It was something new entirely, and probably the most delicious thing he'd had in quite a few lives. It took all his resolve not to down the entire glass, but as he drank more, his vocals released a gentle yet amiable hum of joy. He would certainly have to get more of this- he hoped it wasn't alcoholic, though..

As he drank, occasionally the sound of scarce amounts of liquid splashing against damp metals sounded forth from his legs.

That was an interesting noise to boot. He hoped the girl before him couldn't hear it.

"And you?"
Nice to meet you, Ink! ~
Really enjoying this RP right now tbh
"Wha-..?"

The sudden, new voice nearly startled the man. It being so close, with its keeper looking directly at Cledwynn's hair, he could only naturally assume that the person who said it was talking to him.

Upon hearing it, he turned to look to the speaker. It was the girl that had been initially chatting with the bartender.. had he interrupted their conversation? From a distance, it seemed like the bartender was managing talking to multiple people just fine, but now it didn't seem that way. Still, if there were a problem, wouldn't this girl have said something?

Speaking of saying something, didn't she just talk to him? The concept of what she had said, for a moment, had initially figuratively bounced right off of him with the intensity of a small child rebounding off of a spring mattress after someone heavier jumps onto it, with the child, of course, surviving, since most people aren't monstrous enough to do that with the intent of harming a child, much like in Cledwynn's case, he wouldn't let this notion fly away from him completely- that is to say, in short, he eventually stopped being so infatuated with the cataclysmic constructs of his carried-over-mind and remembered to give the new speaker his attention.

Though, addressing what she said.. it was getting more difficult to respond to what he realized, now, was a compliment. It wasn't that he didn't know how to respond to compliments.

It was just that, given his past(s), and how little time he'd spent with others due to how utterly repulsive he once was, he was never given compliments.

So yeah- he didn't know how to respond to them. That point was exemplified in his current life as well, given that his hair only vaguely resembled a regular, human hair-like shape- it looked more like a slow-flowing goo. 'Sludge' could have been an appropriate term to describe it, and normally Cledwynn would have elaborated on it with such a word, but with a term like that comes the notion and connotation that his hair, through assumption from the word 'sludge', would smell and/or taste bad. And while tasting hair was a very niche thing to do, smelling it- or, rather, coming into the scent of it by natural 'accident'- was not so niche as the former counterpart.

Then again, perhaps it was only niche because no one had tried it. Hair could, perhaps, taste rather swell. He briefly thought about elaborating on this, but knew he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Finally finding the appropriate wording, albeit seeming the smallest bit bashful about having being complimented since he was now slightly tugging at the sleeve of his clothing.

"Ehm, well, thank you..! That's very nice of you to say, especially given its.. somewhat amorphous look."

He certainly wasn't wrong. The hair of his almost looked sentient, like it would start forming shapes at the snap of a finger.

Though maybe that was why she enjoyed it so? Honestly, Cledwynn internally hoped that this was the case. What he also hoped for, though, was that he could start perhaps an intellectual conversation with her- and perhaps the bartender too, since they shared words only moments before.
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