Ghabriel
Legacy Name: Ghabriel

Your pet has changed into a Graveyard Lasirus!

Changed on 18th of February 2010
Potion gifted by the most amazing, awesomest kitsche! ILY ;_____;

Ghabriel Randall

A man of great romance. A Pioneer, he travels the world, healing and teaching as he goes.
He's a travelling surgeon, preforming miracle surgeries around the world. He travels alone, though he used to have a nurse accompanying him. He never speaks of her.
Though, unknown to most, he has a little trouble with nerves and enjoys a little smoke of some illegal substances to calm his nerves before an operation.

He likes to stitch things together. Makes strange hybrids of dead creatures; never anything living. Its a little something he likes to do. A hobby, almost.
And these creatures and not just animals. He's not above digging up fresh graves; though thats usually for cadavers to practice his surgical skills on. He doesn't want to get rusty after all.

He lives in a battered up old VW TI Type 2 Camper. Its a hideous lime green machine, scratched and dented and slightly rusting; it probably wont last much longer but he doesn't mind. He loves the damned thing far too much to ever let it go.

There's something about him, a calm aura that makes people trust him. It might because he is a doctor or the way his voice has a genlte, fatherly reassurance to it. Might be his soft features and honest eyes. Or it just might be his whole laid-back demeanor just draws people into his light-hearted world.

Soft wisps of smoke drift into the air, clouding up the small confines of the van. He can feel his muscles loosening, feel his mind drifting. Weight isn't a thing anymore. It doesn't exsist to him. He's like a gas, drifting, floating amoungst liquid colours. The world is bright and beautiful.
And then boom, boom, boom, and the door flies open. He blinks, stares bewildered at the bloodied face of an angry man and suddenly reality is crashing down. The weight is back and now its suffocatingly heavy on his shoulders, on his chest, his heart.
The man is speaking and dazed, he nods, catching the gist of what he's saying. There's one sentence that seems to hang in the air like the smoke. "You're the only one who can help her."

He follows the man, his vision returning, the colours fading. The world is coming back and reality is harsher than he remembered, but that doesn't matter now. There's a woman dying apparently, and she needs his help.
His legs still feel like the clouds but he's sober enough to operate. He's sure.
As he preps himself in the warehouse, the bloody guy from earlier carries a petite woman in, fear making his eyes wide and his movements sharp, paranoid. "Just keep her alive, alright guy? We'll pay ya good."
He doens't reply, just hands the man a surgical apron and examines his new patient. Early twenties, athletic. Pretty little thing, hispanic, no wait, dominican heritage, seen in her facial structure and beautiful skin. He sighs and hooks her up to the IV and transfusion packs after giving her a round of pre-op injections. Always the pretty ones. She was probably a whore, dissapointed her pimp or client and was 'taught a lesson' as they say, he thinks absently as he slices into skin, widening the already gaping wound on her left shoulder. He can see the bullet now, is pleased to note it hasn't touched nerves or arteries, but has torn a decent amount of muscle. That arm was going to feel like a log of pain for a few weeks. Poor girl.
He finishes up quickly, the stitching a little off as his mind is still a little distracted. She's still breathing by the end of it and thats a good thing, especially as the colour is returning to her skin. Tells the guy that he's keeping her here for a while, doesn't want her to leave so soon. She's still very weak, teetering on the edge. She's lost a lot of blood and all that jazz. The man merely nods, takes a seat and looks down at his hands still dripping with her blood. He can't help it. He has to ask.
"Did you do this to her?"
And with the blink of an eye, the man is on him, bloody hands around his neck and those frightened deer eyes now narrowed with a rage so cold that it makes him look empty. And now any lingering effects of the hash is gone because he's fighting back with adrenaline speeding around his veins. They tussle for a while before the man lands a good shot to his stomach and he's doubled over on the floor, struggling for breath and unable to move. He shuts his eyes, worried about what will happen next, but all he hears is a rustling and then the flutter of something almost like paper touching his skin. A voice echoes from the other end of the warehouse as the door opens. "Thanks doc. Next time, don't ask questions you shouldn't know the answer to."
Ghabe is sure to remember the advice.

ARTS

Amazing picture og Gabe and Gari by Boofrickityhoo
Ref for Formal Clothes
X by RipfangDragon

If it can be broke then it can be fixed, if it can be fused then it can be split
It's all under control
If it can be lost then it can be won, if it can be touched then it can be turned
All you need is time

We promised the world we'd tame it, what were we hoping for?

A sense of purpose and a sense of skill, a sense of function but a disregard
We will not be the first, we won't
You said you were going to conquer new frontiers,
Go stick your bloody head in the jaws of the beast

We promised the world, we'd tame it, what were we hoping for?

Breath in, breath out

So here we are reinventing the wheel
I'm shaking hands with a hurricane
It's a colour that I can't describe,
It's a language I can't understand
Ambition, tearing out the heart of you
Carving lines into you
Dripping down the sides of you

We will not be the last.

Originally coded by: dreamsky
Edited by: User not found: kohiru