She hates this place. It is too small, too cramped. Too full of people, and by that she doesn't only mean humans - in the most relevant ways they are the smallest issue. No. It's too full of kindred and lupines and God knows what else, too, she is sure. There is no way to run, really, and not enough places to hide. No matter if you go into the farmlands or the city, the park or anywhere else. Her only solace are dark corners and the abundance of free patches of earth, and that is about where it ends. She has to be eternally careful about feeding, here, too. Can't alert anyone to her presence - she doubts that that will work much longer, though. It would help if she knew anything about the politics and society of this place, but she doesn't, and she has no clue how she should find out without well, being noticed.
No, this place is no good for someone like her, who can't risk being noticed and really can't melt into the masses anymore. Trees are welcoming, the roofs of houses are welcoming. She would prefer to run on the ground, or even below the ground, but ever since she came here it has felt safer to stay where few will look (and most people rarely look up) and nobody with better abilities at hiding than her will reside. She hasn't made up her mind yet if she wants to run into any Nosferatu, but until then she'll avoid it.
So she feels as safe as ever after having hidden as high up as possible in the thickest part of this tree's the crown, dodging the decorations and what of the wheels she could, and is now moving to cautiously poke branches of the tree into one of the wheels. Maybe that will give her some idea about what they are, and maybe that in turn will grant her a way back home. Not that home is good, but it is at least not as bad.
Anyone who happens to look up will see a large shadow balancing easily on one of the branches, a long tail and wings of perhaps a metre wingspan each moving slowly to even out gusts of wind or movements of the thick branch she's sitting on.
Wildcard
In a dark alleyway, behind a few garbage bins, what looks like a beggar has set up camp for the night, huddled against a wall. A huge coat is covering the oddly shaped chunk of person entirely, hood drawn deep into their face to conceal it. A sensible nose will, over general smelliness, notice the thick musk of wet fur.
The scene is given an odd note by a laptop sitting in front of the person, a film flickering on in near-silence - the sound is minimal, though existent. Someone with sensible ears and some pop cultural knowledge will notice that the thing being watched is Star Truck, an episode from the early 2000s.
[Will match format, just reply in brackets if you prefer that.]
Malin Lindberg | Vampire: The Masquerade (no icons yet, sorry)
She hates this place. It is too small, too cramped. Too full of people, and by that she doesn't only mean humans - in the most relevant ways they are the smallest issue. No. It's too full of kindred and lupines and God knows what else, too, she is sure. There is no way to run, really, and not enough places to hide. No matter if you go into the farmlands or the city, the park or anywhere else. Her only solace are dark corners and the abundance of free patches of earth, and that is about where it ends. She has to be eternally careful about feeding, here, too. Can't alert anyone to her presence - she doubts that that will work much longer, though. It would help if she knew anything about the politics and society of this place, but she doesn't, and she has no clue how she should find out without well, being noticed.
No, this place is no good for someone like her, who can't risk being noticed and really can't melt into the masses anymore. Trees are welcoming, the roofs of houses are welcoming. She would prefer to run on the ground, or even below the ground, but ever since she came here it has felt safer to stay where few will look (and most people rarely look up) and nobody with better abilities at hiding than her will reside. She hasn't made up her mind yet if she wants to run into any Nosferatu, but until then she'll avoid it.
So she feels as safe as ever after having hidden as high up as possible in the thickest part of this tree's the crown, dodging the decorations and what of the wheels she could, and is now moving to cautiously poke branches of the tree into one of the wheels. Maybe that will give her some idea about what they are, and maybe that in turn will grant her a way back home. Not that home is good, but it is at least not as bad.
Anyone who happens to look up will see a large shadow balancing easily on one of the branches, a long tail and wings of perhaps a metre wingspan each moving slowly to even out gusts of wind or movements of the thick branch she's sitting on.
Wildcard
In a dark alleyway, behind a few garbage bins, what looks like a beggar has set up camp for the night, huddled against a wall. A huge coat is covering the oddly shaped chunk of person entirely, hood drawn deep into their face to conceal it. A sensible nose will, over general smelliness, notice the thick musk of wet fur.
The scene is given an odd note by a laptop sitting in front of the person, a film flickering on in near-silence - the sound is minimal, though existent. Someone with sensible ears and some pop cultural knowledge will notice that the thing being watched is Star Truck, an episode from the early 2000s.
[Will match format, just reply in brackets if you prefer that.]