raynold

profile
name; raynold l'vert
gender; male
background; french/old english
species; "afflicted" (vampire)
age; 200+

height; 6' | 182.88 cm
handedness; left
religion; atheist
occupation; assassin for hire
sexuality; polyarmorus | pansexual
partner; multiple

likes & dislikes & hobbies
likes; hunting, taxidermy, wood smoke, cigarettes, bleeding hearts, vulnerability, passion
dislikes; water, ignorance, selfishness, loneliness, holy relics, being hunted
hobbies; survivalism, hunting, reading

trivia
- turned in the 1800's
- can speak french, english, latin and asl
- blood must contain no drugs or alcohol upon consumption
- cannot swim, lead in water
- superhuman speed & strength
- can regenerate his body from severe wounds
- loves to smoke and drink, but rarely
- hearts are the ticket to his stomach
- plays with his food occasionally- predatory in a nsfw way
- fights and brawls are a favorite past time
- magic cast or otherwise just makes him nauseated
- easy to excite
- has a thing for red heads

Raynold L'vert sneers at his prey, pinned beneath him like a terrified mouse in the claws of a starved cat. His eyes glint a dangerous amber, his lips twisting up into a crooked smile. It's apparent he's got a look of hunger in his eyes, the way they flick to roam along the exposed flesh under his pointed and sharp claws.

"Can't wait t' have fun wit cha, mate. Gonna get real close, eh?"

His voice drawls as he regards his prey, frozen under piercing nails that prick the skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make them stop squirming. Raynold leans in, breath hot against their face, a purr rising in deep in his throat. He's playing with his food, as he does. A hand quickly making a grab for their neck, gripping it tightly enough to cut off oxygen. Turning blue, the prey starts to gasp. The free hand moves to grip the hilt of a beloved blade, his kukuri, in which he brings down.

C R A C K . . .! Bone easily breaks like a terribly manufactured color pencil's lead. Blood lightly sputters, but it's not enough to cause an explosion of red. He does it once more, drawing it downwards to cut his prey open. By now, they're lightly convulsing from the sudden pain and lack of oxygen. He laughs softly.

"Now let's see wut yah been hidin's from meh. Heard dat pretty 'art o' yers from across t' bar."

The afflicted coos, moving to dig his hand in once he's done with the blade, plucking out the pumping muscle like a cherry off it's stem. Licking his lips, he eagerly bites into the meat, feeling the freshest blood pool into his mouth.

"Mh. Rude of yah t' just keep it all t' yahself. Too bad it hadta end dis way. Wasn't very noice o' yah t' shoot me in t' first place."

Blood is running down his chin to his chest, painting it a lovely cherry color. He smiles down at his dying prey, the pulse long since disappeared the moment the heart was removed. Now all that lie below him was a corpse with a hole in its chest. Raynold looks to his shoulder where a fresh puncture wound was nestled into flesh and fabric.

"Ruined m' damn good shirt too. Was m' favorite."

He tsks, but lets out another laugh, standing as he wipes his hands on the front of his shirt, stooping down to grab his kukuri and hat, placing it on his head with a hum.

"Thanks for t' date, luv."