Demon Realm

May 2017 Featured RPG

Beast

comes across all shy and coy / just another nancy boy
No Content Restrictions

Sekah OOC Information

Created
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11-23-2017
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HELLO AND WELCOME! MY TIME IS EST, I LOVE SMUT, AND I HAVE NO CONTENT LIMITS. PLEASE SEND ALL PMS TO MY ADMIN ACCOUNT, HERE. LOVE AND HUGS, SEKAH.

Character Information

Character Type
Face Claim
Solo Demon
Stav Strashko
Human Pronouns
Human Age
Demon Pronouns
Demon Age
N/A
N/A
He/She/They
18
Faction
Profession
Kairos
Surviving

Character Summary

Woman Man or Modern Monkey




Kind of buzz that lasts for days
Had some help from insect ways
Comes across all shy and coy
Just another nancy boy
Woman man or modern monkey
Just another happy junkie
Fifty pounds
Press my button
Going down


Does his makeup in his room
Douse himself with cheap perfume
Eyeholes in a paper bag
Greatest lay I ever had
Kind of guy who mates for life
Gotta help him find a wife
We're a couple
When our bodies double







What you don't know about Beast could fill a couple of books. They'd be big, and fat, and maybe she'd leave lipstick marks on them, just for you. Her life is written in lipstick marks, in broken things, in the knobby bones on his arm.

Don't be sorry for him. Demons choose their form. He wants to be skinny and he wants to be thin.

Gender is a human construct, and she doesn't abide by its tenets. Usually she'll choose a pronoun for a day, but it might not match the one he uses tomorrow. She often tells people to use the pronouns that appeal—except for it. But some have chosen it, despite her warnings.

She remembers each and every one of those people by name.

In all honesty Beast is a paradox. They were sold to Gula in the Reyes era, but proved too unruly, and were sold afterwards to Mammon, a solo who fancied himself arch-demon of greed. Mammon is dead, though. Another older demon named Altair killed him, and took Beast. But Legion came and Beast was taken to a women's shelter, where he's lived since Altair was taken by the police. He is an angry manipulative survivor, though. Who knows what he'll come to.

What he's done to keep going on this Earth doesn't bear repeating. He's not ashamed of any of it, most of it. If you asked him about it, he'd say he only chose survival.

Beast learned about crow tengu many years ago, and likes to think of himself as one. At times, he grows black wings from his scrawny back, though they never manage to carry his weight.

Beast has never been the companion of a human. He feels disdain for the whole process. To watch some dribbling human baby grow up into a snot-nosed kid? To always be within ten paces of another sentient being? Desire is not the word he feels for that.







Ascensions and Legacies
Dominions
Combustion: Proficient

Character In-Depth







Beast didn't respond to the question, but he'd earned those bruises well: he'd fought, and fought hard. Knock 'em out, drag 'em down fights with the guards. There was something hard on the edges of his soft lips, something that would one day become a sneer. He was more than a hundred years from adulthood but already there was a sullenness to his gaze that would turn sour, if not pruned.

He was a talkative, proud, expressive boy at heart. His emotional life was marked with tumultuous bursts of temper and joy. He was not yet diseased, but the early warning signs of depression and mania were present, to those who cared to look.

When they reached the box, and the steel door pulled back, Beast finished what had felt like a slow walk to the executioner after the slightest hesitation of foot to floor. He didn't want to step forward and meet this new monster. He knew he must, all the same.

Beast's first impression was that the hair was too straight, too careful, a bit lank. His new master looked eccentric, fixing him with holes of eyes, and Beast, who was no stranger to what an eccentric, controlling man like this did to slaves as young and tender as Beast, bowed preemptively.

That skeletal finger curled, and Beast walked forward, his spine straight, pride visible in his unbent back. But the boy's eyes were keen, and bright, speaking of intelligence and a covetous nature, and one almost expected the child to cock his chin and bob his head on his neck like his brethren the crow.

He attempted to smooth the scowl from his face, but did not dare to smile, afraid it would be taken as mockery, when really the boy had grown up smiling for important clients, when they deigned to toy with him. Beast sucked in breath through his delicate button nose and allowed the touching, stroking, fussing, prodding. The guards would beat. This man would extract the punishment for a bite in ways Beast knew he couldn't match, the thought of which made his knees want to knock, though he held his poise. So, he allowed himself to be picked over, holding himself still with an insidious dignity that would be difficult to quench, if only because others had tried to before.

The hands danced over him like creeping insects, the skittering of rodents' feet on Beast's pale, hot, pliable flesh. His bruises were poked at, but they were old and barely ached, so the pain was not unendurable.

At the skeletal man's prompting, Beast's replied, "To keep my eyes on you, sir." And indeed, his gaze was neither an equal's, into the eyes, nor a terrified avoidance of that which he feared. "To address you as befits your station. To walk a pace behind you, and three paces to the side."

He mentioned no bedroom skills. A man who bought a slave as young as him likely wanted at least the illusion he rode a virgin colt, and not a broken yearling. Besides, he had no love of his skill in coitus. A whore's pleasure, anymore than a slave's, was never the point.







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