Post by Marax Titanson on Oct 19, 2017 15:43:16 GMT 10
FLECHE feu LOUP
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:: AGE :: 52
:: GENDER :: Male
:: RACE :: Werewolf
:: FAMILY ::
Vallee Loup- Father, deceased.
Jashe 'Mal' Loup (nee Azraq)- Mother, deceased.
Tala Loup- Older sister, alive.
Avidite Loup- Older brother, alive.
Hache Loup- Older brother, deceased.
Seath Loup- Older sister, alive.
Tonnerre Loup- Paternal grandfather, deceased.
Avidita Loup- Paternal grandmother, deceased.
Batal Azraq- Maternal grandfather, deceased.
Airtafae Azraq (nee Kthyb)- Maternal grandmother, deceased.
I'alach Mavro- Brother-in-law, unknown/presumed alive.
Aiden Mavro- Nephew, unknown/presumed alive.
Saiche Loup-Mavro- Niece, unknown/presumed alive.
Griffith Loup-Mavro- Nephew, unknown/presumed alive.
Tyeryny Loup-Mavro- Niece, unknown/presumed alive.
Meg Winchester- Niece-in-Law, alive.
Zephyr Loup-Mavro- Grand-nephew, alive.
Zeppelin Loup-Mavro- Grand-niece, alive.
:: OCCUPATION/GRADE :: Mechanic
:: PERSONALITY :: Fleche is a stern, no-nonsense man that doesn't tolerate lip or disrespect from those around him. He had the appearance of somebody who might be seconds away from snapping due to his rapidly changing expressions, but on the inside he is quite placid. He thinks fast rather than deeply and replies on his augmented awareness when it comes to both battle and everyday life. Under the hard, brutal exterior lies a man who enjoys laughing and relaxing in the comfort of those he loves. He is not particularly social and indeed drives others away on purpose with his scowl and hard eyes, he has no patience for those he does not already know. He is often found in the engine of a motorcycle, fixing and adjusting motors. If he is not doing that, then he is working on a car. His favorite thing to do is take something apart and put it back together, much improved from its original design. This can also be observed when he is in combat. While most wolves fight to finish, Fleche preferred to play with his prey before ending them. Little by little, he wears them down and cuts them up until they are separated into neat little walking diagrams of anatomy.
Fleche is meticulous with an attention to detail that is unrivaled, and this makes him a viable candidate for delicate tasks; this makes him an excellent diplomat, strategist, and time manager. People often look to Fleche for answers regarding more intellectual pursuits but turn away empty-handed, for he doesn't have time to bother with helping other people that aren't worthy of his time.
Fleche is outwardly rude, callous, intimidating, and possibly blood-thirsty. However, Fleche would much rather use his words than his claws, and so when if he is pushed to physical violence, it is for a very good reason.
:: HISTORY :: Fleche was born the youngest child of Vallee and Mal Loup, two high-ranking werewolves that belonged to Europe's most chaotic, violent, and sizable pack. Outsiders steered clear of them if not outright packing their bags and leaving when the wind blew the semi-nomadic pack their way. To outsiders, they also seemed ridiculously bloodthirsty and remarkably unorganized; the opposite was true. The pack had its own unique structure that kept everything running smoothly, and their bloodthirst was limited to warring rather than random slaughter. Well... for the most part. There was, admittedly, some random slaughtering to be had. Especially within the pack itself. They killed each other with semi-regularity and more often went on impromptu hunts against prey selected at random. Their most popular children's game was called 'catch the vampire,' where two groups of young children would gather and compete to see which collection of pups could catch a vampire first. This particular game was usually a warm-up into a good ole' fashioned game of, 'who can make the vampire scream first.'
Clearly, they weren't the most creative bunch when it came to naming things.
Fleche was born with a very purposeful schizophrenia disorder that was considered more of a blessing among his kin. From an early age, he had voices in his head whispering doubt and dissent to him. As he grew older, the more experienced schizophrenics trained him to hone his 'exalted gift' to be used to his and his pack's benefit. If he was fighting, he was always aware of every little detail around him. If he was observing something, meticulous attention was paid to action, movement, and speed and he was able to read a situation easily. He is so well-practiced now that to an outsider, he almost seems psychic when the reality is that his intuition is simply a degree above most people- and it is only through hard work and years of experience that this was achieved.
While these voices were a blessing in combat and diplomatic situations, they also served as Fleche's greatest burden for no matter how much he was programmed to think otherwise, his subconscious mind would always remind him that the way he lived was not right.
If his brother took an enemy's daughter after battle atop her father's warm corpse, his mind would whisper disgust while the rest of his pack would not think anything of it. If his mother took a child from a village they passed through in order to experiment with her poisons, his mind would cry outrage. If his father beat a young wolf to death for daring to step out of line and question his decisions, the voices would growl. His family- nay- his entire bloodline from the first ancestors to his far-flung cousins, were awful, horrible creatures. Having said that, there was a great chasm of discord between his heart and his mind. Logically, he knew that he should feel nothing but loathing and disgust with his blood; emotionally, he loved his family dearly. His mother's real name was Jashe, but the pack at large referred to her as 'Mal.' It was quite a feat to be nicknamed 'evil,' among wolves of such a savage caliber. By definition and universal standards, she was evil. But, she was also funny, clever, affectionate, open, and optimistic. She gave Fleche goodnight kisses until the day he left at the age of eighteen. His sister, Tala, was considered to be a 'good' person. She didn't like violence, went out of her way to help others, and always had a kind word to say. Having said that, she kept her feelings close to her chest and rarely spoke with true warmth. She was so distant as to be cold. It mattered not what his brutal kin did, for they never turned their wrath onto him and Fleche had a remarkably good childhood.
However, there came a time when he simply couldn't put up with the dual nature of his family any longer. Hismind, such a trusted and treasured thing, told him to leave. He didn't know why, and he'd learned not to question his own subconscious decisions long ago, so he left as quietly and swiftly as possible.
He followed the directions that the voices supplied him with until he came upon a small hamlet in the southern region of Russia, where the voices told him to stay. News reached him quickly of the fate that befell his pack, and though he wished to go back he knew that retribution would swiftly follow for his crime of desertion. He mourned far away from ground zero and didn't come out of the old barn he'd taken shelter in until he felt that he was healed enough to try and function once more.
He made his way to Italy, following the voices once more. Once there, he came to the realization that he'd been following the directions of a long-suppressed memory, forgotten because of how small and insignificant it was. When he was a boy, he remembered overhearing a small group of men at a bar talking about Aermacchi. He was there with his father, who was acquiring casks of alcohol for their autumn feast of bones. Just the word Aermacchi caught his young ear, so foreign and cool-sounding. While his father did business with the bar keep, Fleche crept closer to the table and observed the men's scarfs, their helmets sitting upon their laps, their thick leather jackets, their wind-battered faces. They looked happy and energetic, and they kept saying Aermacchi.
"What is Aermacchi?" he suddenly piped up. The men stopped in their conversation and glanced at the little boy with something akin to amusement. "Why, it is only the finest motorcycle on earth. Made in Italy. Sleek, fast, powerful."
Upon exiting the bar, Fleche saw what they meant when he gazed upon their bikes.
It was that memory, long forgotten, that brought him to Italy in search of something to capture his attention and his passion. He found it. Along with becoming a renown mechanic, he also found Marieen- an Italian werewolf who was as saucy as she was beautiful. She was hot-blooded, yet compassionate and considerate. She could punch his lights out and still make him a delicious dinner an hour later. Fleche was happy in Italy, especially when their first litter was born. Triplets. Two girls and a boy named Sofia, Emma, and Luca. Fleche stayed in Italy and watched his children grow- but then the family ran into a bit of a problem. Namely, Marieen's former beau- Luigi.
She'd been promised to the man long before Fleche came into the picture, but the contract was broken by Marieen's father once she found somebody that she truly loved. When her father died, nothing stood between Luigi and his retribution. He was a bitter, lonely man by that point and he blamed his unhappiness on the Loup couple. He came in the night and cut most of the family down when Fleche thought to take his son out on a hunt for some male bonding time. When they got home and found their women slaughtered, there was no mercy to be had. Fleche was, until that point, a happy wolf who lived peacefully and without the violence that was bred into him. That night, however, every ounce of blood lust he was ever supposed to posses came out. Luigi was dead just as the sun rose, though the fight started well before the midnight hour. He was so far outmatched that Fleche could have laughed and ended it within a few minutes of drawing first blood; he chose not to do that and instead meticulously picked the villain apart until he was little more than a skeletal system with a few necessary organs. It was with a heavy heart that Fleche and his son left Italy. They couldn't stay- too many memories that hurt far too much. Instead, Fleche turned his eyes back home.
He found his mother in charge at that point, thank god. He wouldn't have survived passing the pack borders had the past regime been in charge. He came home to find everything turned upon its head but operating smoothly. The pack was healthy and profiting... though they still enjoyed their vicious pastimes. At least they weren't clubbing each other to death over seconds at dinner and torturing human children for the sake of botanical advancement. It was still cruel, bloody, and brutal- but his mother convinced him to stay and raise his son in the safety of a gigantic pack that would cherish them and protect them always.
Fleche watched his son grow from a skinny pup into a strong brute who soon found his own mate and had children of his own. Fleche himself couldn't take another mate- his biology wouldn't allow it though his pragmatic mind would. He substituted his loneliness with female distractions but always kept it discreet, for it was considered extremelytaboo for a widow or a widower to take a lover. No, once your mate was gone, that was it. Personally, Fleche thought the idea stupid. Time came and left and before he knew it, he was being summoned to America by his favorite sister, the only female littermate he had. The idea of adventure and the unknown roused his old bones and his placid heart. His son insisted that Fleche take his two eldest grandchildren along with him for educational purposes.
So, Fleche made his way to the land of the free with his two grandchildren in tow.
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:: REASON :: Because the world needs him. :: ADOPTABLE :: Absolutely not
