Personal Information

Your name: Viper.
Your age: Dis chick has nineteen candles on her cake
Contact info: PM =3

Character Information:

Full Name: Alchemy Marie Pentameter
Nickname: N/A
Species: [Vampire]
Powers: [Can read Human minds and occasionally she can place thoughts into their heads, though control is far beyond her reach.]

Family:

• Father: Ankh Pentameter is Alchemy's "father". Upon her change she took his last name and was awarded a new first name, her old Human name and father were forced to be kicked to the curb as a sign of her loyalty to Ankh.
  
  
• Mother: Alchemy's birth mother died in childbirth, therefore, she never met her.
  
  
• Siblings: Alchemy was not born with any siblings. However, after her change, she soon gained two brothers: Acheron Pentameter and Mercury Pentameter.

Age: One-Fifty-Two. However, she looks to be about Twenty
Birthday: October 3rd.
Gender: Female
Orientation: [Pansexual]
Status: [Single]
Occupation: [Bartender]
Other: [Alchemy has a pet cat named Anubis that fancies following her around town as well as a pet Hedgehog named Princess Huffington.]
A pretty color: Purple is smexy, yes indeedy roo.

Appearance:

Eyes: Gold
Hair: Cherry red and Black
Body: Slender and never-changing.
Other: [Alchemy has two small puncture wound scars on the left side of her neck from when Ankh changed her.]

Personality:
The first word one should use to describe Alchemy would be ruthless. She enjoys fighting and does it well. She is not oft defeated in wits or brawn and never forgets a quarrel which means she never forgives minor discrepancies between herself and another. Naturally, this was enhanced when she was turned and all of her senses were exemplified.

Alchemy is also, in a word, crazy. She has a problem controlling her emotions, especially as was aforementioned, her anger. She reacts to situations too quickly and without weighing the event properly. Not only do sarcastic remarks infiltrate the air, but more often than not fists, fangs, and Vampiric fury break bones and rip flesh.

Alchemy loves sins of the flesh, and acts on them quite often with anyone whom is willing, male or female. As long as they are not Were, she has no real preferences.

Intelligence is one of Alchemy's strong suits. She finds herself reading in the long hours of the day when she can't sleep. Information fascinates her, as do the human's legends of her people. In all honesty, she probably reads and knows too much. Her mind reading capability also helps her quest for knowledge, though she will never understand "normal" emotions whether they be human or supernatural.

While Alchemy is ruthless, vengeful, and intelligent, she is also fun-loving. Of course, she is never anything but mischievousness. Her fun is generally malicious, terrorizing humans and sending drunkards out of the bar she's working. Naturally, these drunks never leave without some small puncture wounds. Adrenaline is also a motivating factor for her mischievous fun. She owns a motorcycle and when she is not bartending, she's swerving between cars dangerously pretending she has a chance to die at any second.

Likes:

• Cats
  
• Cemeteries
  
• The Moon
  
• Rain
  
• Blood
  
• Cigarettes
  
• Sex
  
• Alcohol
  
• Her "brothers"
  
• Scotland
  
• Languages
  
• Reading
  
• Sketching
  
• Intelligence
  

Dislikes:

• Sunlight
  
• Most people
  
• Werewolves
  
• Her "creator"
  
• Ignorance
  
• Birds
  
• Homophobia
  
• Loud people
  
• Prudence
  
• Little dogs
  
• When people make fun of her name
  
• Flowers
  

Strengths:

• Quite proficient in hand-to-hand combat
  
• Quick-witted
  
• Intelligent
  

Weaknesses:

• Short temper
  
• Acts without thinking
  
• Does not trust anyone
  

Fears:

• Her "brothers" will suffer the true death
  
• She will end up alone
  
• She will never feel like she's worth anything
  

Weapon of choice: While Alchemy often carries around a small dagger from her homeland, Scotland, she oft prefers her own fangs and deadly nails.

History: (optional)

Sample post: The horizon was blue with the rising sun, its light softly caressed the stone buildings surrounding her. It gave them an eerie look, a look of mystery. Trailing along a crumbling wall of brick, Karma traced the disintegrating mortar, suddenly feeling as though she were a character in her beloved gothic novels. Perhaps she could be Jane Eyre, walking around Thornsfield, wondering what horrors would occur around Miss Poole next. Perhaps, she was simply contemplating whether or not to marry Mr. Rochester. If only Karma were so lucky. If only those were her worries. No, her worries consisted of whom was going to put food in hers and her sisters stomachs, were there any other survivors left in the United States, could she remain stable with this absence of narcotics? Her mind swirled millions of questions as she trudged forward, kicking rubble as she went.

Yawning, she suddenly yearned for coffee. They had some at camp, but it was in such scarce supply that it was seen as sacred. This of course meant that little no ones such as Karma Delacour didn't get to touch such beauty. In need of caffeine, or her beloved heroine, Karma began to tap the sides of her thighs as had become habit for her. The more she thought of being full of something, being high, the more rapid her tapping became. She hadn't realized it, but her slow pace had turned into more of a run as her craving worsened. A few times, Karma had ventured into the abandoned hospital looking for a quick fix, only to be thwarted by Rayne and Fayth. One of her fits ensued, of course. She knew her sisters only wanted to keep her sane and safe, but when actively denied that which she wanted to her core, Karma saw no reason, even from her most beloved relations.

The dawn began to awake birds and small animals as Karma was tortured with her thoughts. Sighing, she tried to erase thoughts of needles and Amsterdam. "Damn you, Katelyn," she whispered under her breath. Perhaps Karma should have been thankful to be alive, thankful that she was altered by the bombs, not destroyed, but most days, when she was alone, all she could focus on was the fact that she and her sisters and the rest of the clan were cut off from everyone and everything. She knew that had been left to die. Worst of all, she could have been living in Germany or Romania or Greece with her beloved Katelyn, but no. She had to betray her in the deepest way possible. It was because of her, because of one betrayal that the Delacour sisters lay rotting in the Manhattan debris.

At this point, Karma had long stopped walking. Her back was pressed up against a red brick wall, molding to its cracks and crevices. Her wrinkled blue t-shirt was dirty and smelled of the dozens of people she shared the subway with. All she wanted was a proper bath, with bubbles and candles. For the past three years, no matter how long she scrubbed, she had felt dirty. Maybe it was her surroundings, the filth and dilapidation of the city, blanketed still, three years later in ash white as snow. Maybe it was her cravings for sex and heroine that made her feel filthy. Perhaps it was simply a combination. Whatever the reason, she felt disgusting. Crossing her arms across her chest and rubbing her bare arms with her palms, Karma looked at the horizon, tears pricking her eyes from the blaring sun.

Approved.