Difference between revisions of "User:Taggart"
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| − | + | What Taggart was and what he has become have changed drastically over the time he's been in Fairhaven. Once human, then commonly wolf, now human again. | |
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| − | + | The human he is and once was, stands a few inches below six feet in height, and his form is dense, but lightly muscled. A fighter, but he seems more adept at dodging to the side of a blow, rather than taking it full force. Who knows for certain, though. Once radiating strength and cool dominance, he know appears more relaxed, a soft and quiet somber note in his bright emerald eyes. He smiles on occasion, flashing white teeth with canines just slightly longer than they should be. | |
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| − | + | His shoulders are slightly slumped, as if from wear and tear upon his soul, but also in a half-boxers stance, the harsh life he's been leading training him to be ready for a fight at a moments notice. A calloused hand, knuckles slightly out of place from being broken too often, slips up and pushes back golden-red bangs, keeping them from his eyes. When he speaks, it's obvious he's not a native of the States, his almost outrageous and thick Irish accent lilting his voice. | |
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| − | + | His clothing is dusty, obviously prefering modesty over walking nude, a change from a handful of the other humans walking about. He favors darker clothing, and it appears cleaner than most, even washed, from time to time. A shoulderstrapped bag, seemingly an old World War 2 relic, hangs at his side, with the snaking string of a pair of earbuds drifting up to his ears from inside. He still keeps his dark, blackthorn shillelagh on a leather thong over his chest, opposite the back, as well as a scoped hunting rifle on his right shoulder. A small, pump shotgun sits in a hip holster as well. | |
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== Recent History == | == Recent History == | ||
| + | How this Irishman came to find himself in Fairview is only known to him. However, he seems to quickly have turned it into his new home. The day he woke up in Triage as the wolf he'd become, he'd thrown gurneys and nearly killed the medic who had saved his life. After calming and dutifully apologizing for the damage, Taggart made it known quickly that he was a fighter and aimed to put fist to face for his cause. Whatever that might be, it seemed to coincide with Zephyr's idea of being a field agent for the time being. Not to mention needing a way to pay for the damage he'd caused. | ||
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| + | The large wolf quickly made himself known around the Zephyr building for being a brash thug-of-sorts, with no tolerance for the many public displays of sex that seemed to be a constant around the place. In stark contrast, he seemed to be distilling his own liquor and passing it out for free for awhile, sure to encourage the behavior when he wasn't looking. A dizzying dichotomy of feeling and emotion, Taggart would flirt with the best of them and then immediately turn about and chide whenever someone tried getting into his pants. | ||
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| + | Then, came a night to change it all. That day when a young, human Russian-girl, Raifuru, caught his eye and he'd decided to chat her up. He'd admired her strength and fire, her willingness and almost eager need to fight. Another in the Lobby had noticed the same, the then-gryphon named Lyria. The relations that grew from that... well. To top it off, a third caught his eye for the very same reason, resulting in the twisting of chaotic emotions that resulted in the strange and drastic series of events that followed in the next few weeks. | ||
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| + | Taggart, Raifuru, and Lyria spent quite a bit of time together after that, for various reasons and with different results. The wolf constantly struggled with what he was, the creature driven with the need to breed, but trying so hard to hold on to the man that he was before and forsaking such things. Not to mention, trying to remain friends with someone who chose to go feral. His mind and feelings in constant torment and struggling with each other, it wasn't long before he finally snapped and when on a rampage through the city, slaughtering and raping ferals by the scores. | ||
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| + | (More to come soon.) | ||
== Origins == | == Origins == | ||
Latest revision as of 20:04, 10 August 2011
Character Details
Nickname: Irish
Real Name: Taggart Vallon "Green"
Age: Twenty-seven
Nationality: Irish
Allegiance: None
Occupation: Bar-owner, distiller, soap-maker, drunk... to list just a few of his many wide talents.
Preferred Strain: Wolf Beast
Characteristics: Irish through and through, this one was. He enjoyed his whiskey as much as he enjoyed a good laugh and a good fight. Taggart is usually seen watching and talking with a snarky grin on his muzzle, cocky and dominant in just about every action that he takes. Quick to anger and fiercely territorial, he seems to be a creature easily ruled by his heart. It isn't until after his loud outbursts that he tends to think things through and realize the error of his ways. However, that cool rational mind does tend to drive from time to time, often directing others who seem lost or confused and in need of guidance.
Default Appearance
What Taggart was and what he has become have changed drastically over the time he's been in Fairhaven. Once human, then commonly wolf, now human again.
The human he is and once was, stands a few inches below six feet in height, and his form is dense, but lightly muscled. A fighter, but he seems more adept at dodging to the side of a blow, rather than taking it full force. Who knows for certain, though. Once radiating strength and cool dominance, he know appears more relaxed, a soft and quiet somber note in his bright emerald eyes. He smiles on occasion, flashing white teeth with canines just slightly longer than they should be.
His shoulders are slightly slumped, as if from wear and tear upon his soul, but also in a half-boxers stance, the harsh life he's been leading training him to be ready for a fight at a moments notice. A calloused hand, knuckles slightly out of place from being broken too often, slips up and pushes back golden-red bangs, keeping them from his eyes. When he speaks, it's obvious he's not a native of the States, his almost outrageous and thick Irish accent lilting his voice.
His clothing is dusty, obviously prefering modesty over walking nude, a change from a handful of the other humans walking about. He favors darker clothing, and it appears cleaner than most, even washed, from time to time. A shoulderstrapped bag, seemingly an old World War 2 relic, hangs at his side, with the snaking string of a pair of earbuds drifting up to his ears from inside. He still keeps his dark, blackthorn shillelagh on a leather thong over his chest, opposite the back, as well as a scoped hunting rifle on his right shoulder. A small, pump shotgun sits in a hip holster as well.
Recent History
How this Irishman came to find himself in Fairview is only known to him. However, he seems to quickly have turned it into his new home. The day he woke up in Triage as the wolf he'd become, he'd thrown gurneys and nearly killed the medic who had saved his life. After calming and dutifully apologizing for the damage, Taggart made it known quickly that he was a fighter and aimed to put fist to face for his cause. Whatever that might be, it seemed to coincide with Zephyr's idea of being a field agent for the time being. Not to mention needing a way to pay for the damage he'd caused.
The large wolf quickly made himself known around the Zephyr building for being a brash thug-of-sorts, with no tolerance for the many public displays of sex that seemed to be a constant around the place. In stark contrast, he seemed to be distilling his own liquor and passing it out for free for awhile, sure to encourage the behavior when he wasn't looking. A dizzying dichotomy of feeling and emotion, Taggart would flirt with the best of them and then immediately turn about and chide whenever someone tried getting into his pants.
Then, came a night to change it all. That day when a young, human Russian-girl, Raifuru, caught his eye and he'd decided to chat her up. He'd admired her strength and fire, her willingness and almost eager need to fight. Another in the Lobby had noticed the same, the then-gryphon named Lyria. The relations that grew from that... well. To top it off, a third caught his eye for the very same reason, resulting in the twisting of chaotic emotions that resulted in the strange and drastic series of events that followed in the next few weeks.
Taggart, Raifuru, and Lyria spent quite a bit of time together after that, for various reasons and with different results. The wolf constantly struggled with what he was, the creature driven with the need to breed, but trying so hard to hold on to the man that he was before and forsaking such things. Not to mention, trying to remain friends with someone who chose to go feral. His mind and feelings in constant torment and struggling with each other, it wasn't long before he finally snapped and when on a rampage through the city, slaughtering and raping ferals by the scores.
(More to come soon.)
