name :: Velouria

player :: Upon [[uponthoufaircat]]

position :: THE ONE, THE ONLY, THE UNDENIABLY HALF-DRESSED AND BEAUTIFUL VELOURIA,
GREATEST SWORD SWALLOWER TO GRACE THE THREE RINGS OF ASILE!!

group :: Asile

Appearance.

Heh, I have no qualms about your attitude towards my appearance. So I’m a dark, disfigured wretch of a human, so what of the tattoos that dot the landscape of this ruined body? Try and figure out their pseudo-intellectual purpose. I couldn’t give a shit.

Background.

I had a psychotherapist tell me that the reason we all seek acknowledgement from mother is that the primal mind tells us that her disapproval would mean a cessation to our immune system. Without her, the nourishment that squirms through the umbilical cord isn’t to be, without her, I’ll die. Fuck that. Maybe my way of coping is idiotic? I’ll pop these three anti-depressants every morning, I’ll stare at the bloodied sun, I’ll sing and vainly raise my spirit. In the end of the day, I’ll merely be miserable, drunk, and desperately clawing at the sheets, wishing for home.

I left “home” at an early age, and never looked back. I have a fascination with the joy of destroying my own flesh, feeling the sting of stainless steel as it cuts through my arm, nurturing and treating my sharpened blades as if they were my children brings me a sexual pleasure unattained from any human partner, nay, their bite is as comforting as a lover. And guess what? I’ve made a career of them, my precious knives.

Activities.

Take that first shot of vodka when I awaken, feel it burn its way down my quivering throat, train. Take one last shot of lukewarm liquor, fall into a deep sleep.

Ideals/Motivations.

Father is always with me. Whether he was chopping wood, drinking wine out of a burlap-coated silver jug or relaxing in his stained leather chair, I will always aspire to live up to his ideals, as fucked up and irrational as they may be.

Attitude.

Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulcra regionum
Coget omnes ante thronum.

- Mozart’s Requiem