Zeinken Fiere St. Cerveaux
![Picture](/uploads/1/7/9/6/17960521/6072419_orig.jpg)
Godfather of the St. Cerveaux Family
Aura: 00CCEE cold silver blue smells like pine
Ability: To sense the world and people as they are in relation to him
Tattoo: Infinity symbol on the back of his neck
Kin: St.Cerveaux bloodline
Age: 25,
Appearances can be deceiving, but so can what’s inside us. It is strange how simple human beings are and yet how hard they are to understand. How our similarities hide us, how our ability to layer lies and truths together makes us opaque to inquisitive eyes. And how all it takes to understand is one little idea hidden in plain sight. We are everything. The masks and lies, those are just as much a part of our identities as the parts we hide, perhaps even more so. If only we could all understand this, life would be so much easier, for Zein most of all. Zein was raised in a bubble, taught all his life that his secret isolated him. He was told he didn’t need to be with anybody else, he just needed to keep quiet, keep from shaming the family. Zein was the first born, his father’s pride, so it was especially painful when Dialbo's ideals came crashing down. Zein was a disappointment, a personal humiliation. To think that the first born son of the Godfather of St. Cerveaux would be like this. Dilapidated. Blind. Zein was born blind. He only ever saw color and beauty in his dreams. And yet he couldn’t show weakness, all he could ever do was try to make up for it. He couldn’t feel sorry for himself, he couldn’t falter or he’d be left behind, alone. Diablo pushed his eldest son far harder than any of his other children; even though he said Zein would never be godfather. But his cruelty was actually hidden kindness, because Zein did become Godfather, and then every one of his lesson became valuable. Zein has no choice but to rely totally on his power now. It's what made everything possible. Because Zein has the power to sense the world around him, as it relates to him. He can tell where walls and chairs and buildings and people are. In a way he can see more that anyone who can see. He can tell when somebody is hiding in the shadows and when they are sneaking up behind him. Zein can tell where people are when they are around corners or on different floors. And he can tell what they are thinking about him. He knows people plans and opinions and ideas, if they involve him. If they don’t then he won’t know a single thing, but if somebody starts thinking about him, even a stranger wondering about his clothes, then he can tell. Zein's power was never ‘undetermined’ it was active from the moment he was born. When he was younger it gave him horrible headaches and made his nauseous because of the sensory overload, but he refused to try to turn it off, terrified that it would leave him completely stranded and blind. When he was a child he didn’t quite understand the differences between his senses yet, he though turning off his power might turn off all of his senses, might make him deaf and numb as well. If there was ever any way to give himself a rest, to turn off his power, Zein has long since forgotten it or hidden it deep in his mind. His power is a constant part of him. Turning it off would be like cutting of his hand. So he has mastered it. He has more control over his power than many theias will ever have over theirs, and he is much stronger, he’d have to be, to use it constantly. Zein got his tattoo when he was young, a silver infiniti symbol on the back of his neck. His aura is a cold, steely silver blue, and apt color for the frosty Godfather. Its scent of pine reminiscent of a winter forest, a place Zein would fit right in. Zein’s skin is pale, burning easily in the sun, and accented by the dark colors he prefers for clothes. His eyes are a bright, electric blue, darker and more striking than his aura. Vague, and yet able to bore into you, they have none of the cloudiness that usually accompanies blindness. His features are sharp and defined, his hair a soft looking pale straw blond. Diablo always made his him keep it cropped short, but after his death Zein grew it out so it could fall down and cover his eyes. Even though he is the oldest, Zein was only the tallest or biggest for a few months, before his brother caught up. Like his power, most of Zeins strength came from inside himself. He's is muscled, but lean and fast. Since he was little he has been taught to fight, to use his natural talents and his powers to make himself better. Zein learned much of his education on his own, from private tutors and his parents, when they could spare time. From his father, and his isolation, Zein quickly learned to shut himself off. He became cold and sharp tongued in an effort to defend his secret from people, even his own sibling didn’t know. The only person in the Family who found out about it was Xena, who overheard him and his father one day. And she lived under Diablo’s power, forcing her to tell nobody for the rest of her life. Zein was the oldest child by only a little bit, and his father always pitted him against his brother Dilgan, causing friction. It also taught the both of them strength and determination. Dilgan learned to hate his brother. He could tell there was something Zein was hiding. And Zein reacted with the same animosity. But Zein’s anger and stubbornness were aimed more at his father. He was determined to prove Diablo wrong, that he wasn’t worthless and he could be the Godfather one day. He was tired and bitter of hearing people whisper about him, criticizing him for something he couldn’t help. As a child he would grind his teeth and close sightless eyes as he heard people say, “he’s not fit to be godfather” “He is weak and stupid.’ “He will never be…” Far from breaking him, the comments made Zein rebel against them and defend himself. Zein became proud. His father couldn’t hide how far he had come, how much he had accomplished even compared to other heirs. “Look at Loki and Angel and Easter.” Diabo would say, and Zein would say, “I have done just as much as they have.” But to this day, Zein despises criticism. Even if it’s right he will tell them to shut up, and only go and fix it when nobody is looking. But Zein would grow up to be even more insightful and ingenuitive than his father, no matter how cold and disdainful he acted, he was more accepting of others, less strict. Zein loves his Family and he will protect them to the last. As a young Godfather he was struggling to keep authority and take care of his Family and he didn’t have time for emotion, nor would he have known how to show them. Until Xena came into his life. As a boy he had done his best to avoid her and ignore her after she found out his secret, but as the Godfather he could do neither. It was actually a relief to talk to somebody who knew his secret, even if at first all they did was fight. Xena made his see that there was more to life, she helped him melt, helped him open up.He learned he likes strawberry snowcones. Zein has been a very private person, the one thing he really enjoyed was music, playing it and listening to it. His sensitive hearing helped him overcome any handicap his blindness would have provided. His acute hearing always has been a gift. True, it let him hear the snide remarks of the people around him, and it didn’t do anything to abate the sensory overload of his gift, but Zein saw it as compensation and of all his senses he’s always trusted his ears the most. Xena wouldn’t let him alone to enjoy his music in private though, she dragged him out of his seclusion, and if anything, made a better leader and a better man out of him. Zein had never been a bad person;he had just been hidden under caution and bitterness. With Xena neither was necessary. She already knew about his secret, and she didn’t expect anything from him except being the Godfather he already he was. Zein learned that with his father gone, he didn’t need to be bitter. And it was easier than he though to hide his blindness. Zein is the little boy still inside him, and the rebellious teen, and the Godfather who just wants to be a good leader, he’s the frosty, proud, bind boy and the clear-sighted Godfather. Zein is the person he shows to his Family, and the fierce fighter he shows to rivals, the trusting man who let Xena lead him forward and he’s everything else that only he knows. Appearances aren’t deceiving, blind or not, Zein is exactly who he appears to be, exactly who he shows you.
Aura: 00CCEE cold silver blue smells like pine
Ability: To sense the world and people as they are in relation to him
Tattoo: Infinity symbol on the back of his neck
Kin: St.Cerveaux bloodline
Age: 25,
Appearances can be deceiving, but so can what’s inside us. It is strange how simple human beings are and yet how hard they are to understand. How our similarities hide us, how our ability to layer lies and truths together makes us opaque to inquisitive eyes. And how all it takes to understand is one little idea hidden in plain sight. We are everything. The masks and lies, those are just as much a part of our identities as the parts we hide, perhaps even more so. If only we could all understand this, life would be so much easier, for Zein most of all. Zein was raised in a bubble, taught all his life that his secret isolated him. He was told he didn’t need to be with anybody else, he just needed to keep quiet, keep from shaming the family. Zein was the first born, his father’s pride, so it was especially painful when Dialbo's ideals came crashing down. Zein was a disappointment, a personal humiliation. To think that the first born son of the Godfather of St. Cerveaux would be like this. Dilapidated. Blind. Zein was born blind. He only ever saw color and beauty in his dreams. And yet he couldn’t show weakness, all he could ever do was try to make up for it. He couldn’t feel sorry for himself, he couldn’t falter or he’d be left behind, alone. Diablo pushed his eldest son far harder than any of his other children; even though he said Zein would never be godfather. But his cruelty was actually hidden kindness, because Zein did become Godfather, and then every one of his lesson became valuable. Zein has no choice but to rely totally on his power now. It's what made everything possible. Because Zein has the power to sense the world around him, as it relates to him. He can tell where walls and chairs and buildings and people are. In a way he can see more that anyone who can see. He can tell when somebody is hiding in the shadows and when they are sneaking up behind him. Zein can tell where people are when they are around corners or on different floors. And he can tell what they are thinking about him. He knows people plans and opinions and ideas, if they involve him. If they don’t then he won’t know a single thing, but if somebody starts thinking about him, even a stranger wondering about his clothes, then he can tell. Zein's power was never ‘undetermined’ it was active from the moment he was born. When he was younger it gave him horrible headaches and made his nauseous because of the sensory overload, but he refused to try to turn it off, terrified that it would leave him completely stranded and blind. When he was a child he didn’t quite understand the differences between his senses yet, he though turning off his power might turn off all of his senses, might make him deaf and numb as well. If there was ever any way to give himself a rest, to turn off his power, Zein has long since forgotten it or hidden it deep in his mind. His power is a constant part of him. Turning it off would be like cutting of his hand. So he has mastered it. He has more control over his power than many theias will ever have over theirs, and he is much stronger, he’d have to be, to use it constantly. Zein got his tattoo when he was young, a silver infiniti symbol on the back of his neck. His aura is a cold, steely silver blue, and apt color for the frosty Godfather. Its scent of pine reminiscent of a winter forest, a place Zein would fit right in. Zein’s skin is pale, burning easily in the sun, and accented by the dark colors he prefers for clothes. His eyes are a bright, electric blue, darker and more striking than his aura. Vague, and yet able to bore into you, they have none of the cloudiness that usually accompanies blindness. His features are sharp and defined, his hair a soft looking pale straw blond. Diablo always made his him keep it cropped short, but after his death Zein grew it out so it could fall down and cover his eyes. Even though he is the oldest, Zein was only the tallest or biggest for a few months, before his brother caught up. Like his power, most of Zeins strength came from inside himself. He's is muscled, but lean and fast. Since he was little he has been taught to fight, to use his natural talents and his powers to make himself better. Zein learned much of his education on his own, from private tutors and his parents, when they could spare time. From his father, and his isolation, Zein quickly learned to shut himself off. He became cold and sharp tongued in an effort to defend his secret from people, even his own sibling didn’t know. The only person in the Family who found out about it was Xena, who overheard him and his father one day. And she lived under Diablo’s power, forcing her to tell nobody for the rest of her life. Zein was the oldest child by only a little bit, and his father always pitted him against his brother Dilgan, causing friction. It also taught the both of them strength and determination. Dilgan learned to hate his brother. He could tell there was something Zein was hiding. And Zein reacted with the same animosity. But Zein’s anger and stubbornness were aimed more at his father. He was determined to prove Diablo wrong, that he wasn’t worthless and he could be the Godfather one day. He was tired and bitter of hearing people whisper about him, criticizing him for something he couldn’t help. As a child he would grind his teeth and close sightless eyes as he heard people say, “he’s not fit to be godfather” “He is weak and stupid.’ “He will never be…” Far from breaking him, the comments made Zein rebel against them and defend himself. Zein became proud. His father couldn’t hide how far he had come, how much he had accomplished even compared to other heirs. “Look at Loki and Angel and Easter.” Diabo would say, and Zein would say, “I have done just as much as they have.” But to this day, Zein despises criticism. Even if it’s right he will tell them to shut up, and only go and fix it when nobody is looking. But Zein would grow up to be even more insightful and ingenuitive than his father, no matter how cold and disdainful he acted, he was more accepting of others, less strict. Zein loves his Family and he will protect them to the last. As a young Godfather he was struggling to keep authority and take care of his Family and he didn’t have time for emotion, nor would he have known how to show them. Until Xena came into his life. As a boy he had done his best to avoid her and ignore her after she found out his secret, but as the Godfather he could do neither. It was actually a relief to talk to somebody who knew his secret, even if at first all they did was fight. Xena made his see that there was more to life, she helped him melt, helped him open up.He learned he likes strawberry snowcones. Zein has been a very private person, the one thing he really enjoyed was music, playing it and listening to it. His sensitive hearing helped him overcome any handicap his blindness would have provided. His acute hearing always has been a gift. True, it let him hear the snide remarks of the people around him, and it didn’t do anything to abate the sensory overload of his gift, but Zein saw it as compensation and of all his senses he’s always trusted his ears the most. Xena wouldn’t let him alone to enjoy his music in private though, she dragged him out of his seclusion, and if anything, made a better leader and a better man out of him. Zein had never been a bad person;he had just been hidden under caution and bitterness. With Xena neither was necessary. She already knew about his secret, and she didn’t expect anything from him except being the Godfather he already he was. Zein learned that with his father gone, he didn’t need to be bitter. And it was easier than he though to hide his blindness. Zein is the little boy still inside him, and the rebellious teen, and the Godfather who just wants to be a good leader, he’s the frosty, proud, bind boy and the clear-sighted Godfather. Zein is the person he shows to his Family, and the fierce fighter he shows to rivals, the trusting man who let Xena lead him forward and he’s everything else that only he knows. Appearances aren’t deceiving, blind or not, Zein is exactly who he appears to be, exactly who he shows you.
Kanna Rhode
![Picture](/uploads/1/7/9/6/17960521/641631596.png)
2nd class hunter
Aura: 0B243B, blue grey and smells like soy milk
Ability: accurate aim
Age: 17
Kin: Beth (Mother)
Kanna has worked for the Norcross her whole life. her mother, a lone Theia, brought her there to be trained and now she works for them. She's simply a fighter and will follow the godfather and the higher-ups without questions. She has no larger stake in things. Kanna can be grumpy and lazy, like a normal teenager, but she wouldn't be straight up insubordinate without a very good reason. She's a nice enough girl and fine looking, but she's not to be underestimated. She's nearly always got her gun on her, and she doesn't miss.
Aura: 0B243B, blue grey and smells like soy milk
Ability: accurate aim
Age: 17
Kin: Beth (Mother)
Kanna has worked for the Norcross her whole life. her mother, a lone Theia, brought her there to be trained and now she works for them. She's simply a fighter and will follow the godfather and the higher-ups without questions. She has no larger stake in things. Kanna can be grumpy and lazy, like a normal teenager, but she wouldn't be straight up insubordinate without a very good reason. She's a nice enough girl and fine looking, but she's not to be underestimated. She's nearly always got her gun on her, and she doesn't miss.
Old Fin Kayaichar
![Picture](/uploads/1/7/9/6/17960521/3194417_orig.jpg)
Void
Aura code: 31B404, Grass green
Aura scent: smells like grass
Age: 12
Ability: To turn into small animals
Tattoo: none
Kin: Mac Kayaichar (Brother)
Fin’s a scrawny kid. He’s a little taller than average with stringy muscles from running a lot, making him look long, if not tall. He’s bony, his joints sharp. His hair is pale blond and long as well. It hangs almost down to his shoulders. While Mac made him get into the habit of washing regularly, it’s still usually impossibly messy. Fin’s skin is pale and covered in scrapes, bruises and sunburns. He has pointed features and large, vibrant green eyes, perfect for the puppy-dog look. Fin grew up to be wary, but not scared. He’s not fazed by much and has turned a bit cocky in time. He’s got a big mouth and an avid sense of curiosity to go along with it. School would bore him to death, but the morbid secrets of the families would pique the interest of any 11-year-old and Fin has the means to investigate them. He can be downright annoying when he puts his mind to it, but he can also be the sweetest and most adorable kid ever. Combined those two traits make him a fair hand a persuasion. There’s a darker side of him too, the void within him. Fin had no idea what was happening to him for a long time. When he did he was scared and worried, naturally. But he got along okay by ignoring it for the most part and rationalizing away the rest when he had to. Things developed slowly enough for him to adapt, to get used to the blood and eventually, to the killing. He tries to be nonchalant about it, at least outwardly. As immature as Fin can be, for an 11-year-old, he’s gone a long way. Fin’s life was never plush and warm. But he never knew to complain about it either. On the move with Mac was all he knew. Mac told him, briefly after much pushing, that he had taken Fin away from their parents when Fin was three and Mac was ten. Fin thinks he can remember a house and their faces, but he isn’t sure. Mac always provided for Fin while they were on the go, even if he acted strange sometimes and left suddenly for days. Fin had food and a bed, or at least a safe piece of grass to sleep on. He was never too cold or dehydrated, and his brother taught him everything he could remember from school. What’s more important, Mac taught him how to survive on his own. A feat most “regular” people don’t learn until they are forced to move away from their parents. Mac knew people who helped them, who got them jobs. For the most part it was Mac doing the jobs and Fin never learned what Mac was doing. But in the end that didn’t really matter. It got them food and shelter. They were doing okay. Then, after six years of doing fine on their own, Mac started acting worse. He was gone more and when he was there, he wasn’t himself. He was scary, bloodstained, angry and sad and insane in turn. And then he disappeared. He hugged Fin one last time, told him he was sorry, and left. Fin was left alone, unsure where to turn next. By some miracle he found Cole, who helped him back on his feet, and helped him understand what was happening. He told Fin that he was a theia, that his strange dreams of turning into animals weren’t dreams. Over the next year Fin learned to control his power the best he could. He was growing, becoming better, until he started to lose control. Until his powers started to spike and diminish and great hungers would build in him until he woke up later with memories of blood. Cole explained what being a void meant, but that helped little. Fin started losing his sense of who he was, since his aura started to disappear. He’s small and the corruption hasn’t gotten far in him yet, he’s still mainly harmless, but it’s only a matter of time and Fin knows it. Fin’s most prized possession is a frog hat that Mac gave him for winning a bet. It’s started as a joke and but Fin loved it and collected other frog things to match. With Mac gone, it has a lot of sentimental value as well. He’s tried to shift into a frog, diligently working towards it, but as of yet his efforts are still disappointing
Aura code: 31B404, Grass green
Aura scent: smells like grass
Age: 12
Ability: To turn into small animals
Tattoo: none
Kin: Mac Kayaichar (Brother)
Fin’s a scrawny kid. He’s a little taller than average with stringy muscles from running a lot, making him look long, if not tall. He’s bony, his joints sharp. His hair is pale blond and long as well. It hangs almost down to his shoulders. While Mac made him get into the habit of washing regularly, it’s still usually impossibly messy. Fin’s skin is pale and covered in scrapes, bruises and sunburns. He has pointed features and large, vibrant green eyes, perfect for the puppy-dog look. Fin grew up to be wary, but not scared. He’s not fazed by much and has turned a bit cocky in time. He’s got a big mouth and an avid sense of curiosity to go along with it. School would bore him to death, but the morbid secrets of the families would pique the interest of any 11-year-old and Fin has the means to investigate them. He can be downright annoying when he puts his mind to it, but he can also be the sweetest and most adorable kid ever. Combined those two traits make him a fair hand a persuasion. There’s a darker side of him too, the void within him. Fin had no idea what was happening to him for a long time. When he did he was scared and worried, naturally. But he got along okay by ignoring it for the most part and rationalizing away the rest when he had to. Things developed slowly enough for him to adapt, to get used to the blood and eventually, to the killing. He tries to be nonchalant about it, at least outwardly. As immature as Fin can be, for an 11-year-old, he’s gone a long way. Fin’s life was never plush and warm. But he never knew to complain about it either. On the move with Mac was all he knew. Mac told him, briefly after much pushing, that he had taken Fin away from their parents when Fin was three and Mac was ten. Fin thinks he can remember a house and their faces, but he isn’t sure. Mac always provided for Fin while they were on the go, even if he acted strange sometimes and left suddenly for days. Fin had food and a bed, or at least a safe piece of grass to sleep on. He was never too cold or dehydrated, and his brother taught him everything he could remember from school. What’s more important, Mac taught him how to survive on his own. A feat most “regular” people don’t learn until they are forced to move away from their parents. Mac knew people who helped them, who got them jobs. For the most part it was Mac doing the jobs and Fin never learned what Mac was doing. But in the end that didn’t really matter. It got them food and shelter. They were doing okay. Then, after six years of doing fine on their own, Mac started acting worse. He was gone more and when he was there, he wasn’t himself. He was scary, bloodstained, angry and sad and insane in turn. And then he disappeared. He hugged Fin one last time, told him he was sorry, and left. Fin was left alone, unsure where to turn next. By some miracle he found Cole, who helped him back on his feet, and helped him understand what was happening. He told Fin that he was a theia, that his strange dreams of turning into animals weren’t dreams. Over the next year Fin learned to control his power the best he could. He was growing, becoming better, until he started to lose control. Until his powers started to spike and diminish and great hungers would build in him until he woke up later with memories of blood. Cole explained what being a void meant, but that helped little. Fin started losing his sense of who he was, since his aura started to disappear. He’s small and the corruption hasn’t gotten far in him yet, he’s still mainly harmless, but it’s only a matter of time and Fin knows it. Fin’s most prized possession is a frog hat that Mac gave him for winning a bet. It’s started as a joke and but Fin loved it and collected other frog things to match. With Mac gone, it has a lot of sentimental value as well. He’s tried to shift into a frog, diligently working towards it, but as of yet his efforts are still disappointing
Morgana Machiavelli
![Picture](/uploads/1/7/9/6/17960521/762028457.jpg)
Aura: CC4400 a surprising shade of warm auburn red that smells of cherry wood
Tattoo: none
Ability: Ability: to sense an objects past or future with physical contact
Kin: Roman Machiavelli (brother)
Age: 26
Story: Morgana doesn’t know who she is anymore. Once she was innocent and beautiful and then they made her into a weapon, a hateful, brutal soldier. She knew her place and who she was. Taking orders, giving them, attacking and killing. She was Neo, almost a wolf, and then she touched her brother’s knife and saw it killing her. Morgana became a frightened soldier, a liar and a deceiver within the walls she had grown up in, within her own mind. She had been taught to hate and fear theias. Was she wrong to hide herself? She was confused and scared and angry. And then they found her secret and self-preservation ruled over all that and made her into a fugitive, estranged from her family by a power she hadn’t asked for and couldn’t control and estranged from those who could help her by her former family. She became the prey, not the hunter, alone and sickening. When she made the choice to go to the Families she also made the choice to leave everything else behind. She couldn’t be Morgana Machiavelli. They would kill her on first sight. So she lost her name. She couldn’t really call herself Machiavelli anymore anyway. She couldn’t be Romans little sister. She had nothing to call herself, no idea who she was. But she wasn’t a clean slate, able to remake herself. She was a mess. That self-preservation kicked in again and kept her going. She became a robot, hollowly going through the motions. She moved through the streets, calling on old contacts who hadn’t heard the news and stealing when she had to. she likes blueberry snowcones. She became Mora or Morgan. She didn’t know who she was or what to think, so it was apt that others were confused by the two names as well. When she finally made her way to the families it was to St. Abbots Cathedral where she could find shelter and gather her strength before she went to talk to the godparents. They offered her a deal. Return to the Venatium and spy for them in return for some protection and a spot in the Family should she be compromised. Morgana, Mora, Morgan, Neo, Wolf, liar, fugitive, traitor, prey. The one things that had stayed the same, the one thing that she did know was that she wanted to stay alive. Even when she was unraveling, when she hated and feared herself her drive for survival never faltered. Looking out for number one had been her purpose. And this job was the opposite of that. Walk back into the arms of the Venatium, where her brother might as soon kill her as look at her. Persuade them that what? She wasn’t a theia? She’d pretty much proved that when she ran. Morgana was raised to have a soldier’s pride, but somehow the thought of being called a cowards didn’t matter. She didn’t think it was little of her to save her own skin first. She hid, back on the streets, indecisive until the Constantine's called her for a report, demanding to know what she was doing. Then, especially after the Norcross and Pendragons attack she had no choice but to slink back even if they made her a bloodhound. And to her surprise things got better after that. Despite everything else she was and wasn’t Morgana remained an individual, with little quirks and preferences like any person. That is what kept her together and sane when she was confused and lost. And in time she came to realize that that were what made her Morgana or Morgan or Mora. They would all be relatively the same person in the end. Morgana is tough. Physically and mentally she’s hardened to the world. She can take a lot. Pain, fatigue, insults, humiliation. Her time with the Venatium numbed her. It was inner turmoil that they didn’t prepare her for. Morgana was so sure of herself, cocky and proud. She thought her ride to power was assured, she had the skills and connections. Theia powers put a stop to that. Things had happened before, flashes of an unknown scene but she’s always ignored it, written it off as fatigue or a trick of the light or natural intuition. When she was her own death she was forced to admit to herself what was really happening. When she touches an object she can see flashes of its future or past. She can’t tell which and it doesn’t work on animals yet. But when she stopped trying to avoid it and started training she got much better. It was easier to guess past or future and Morgana is convinced it’s only a matter of time before it works on humans. Morgana has always been perceptive, about people and situations. She’s a quick judge of character. Not because she’s biased, but because she picks up on the little things. She’s learned to make assumptions automatically, and she’s usually pretty accurate. It’s not a perfect thing, or even very useful all the time. Sometimes the little things she realized about a person don’t matter and sometimes she can’t get enough information no matter how much she watches. And a lot of the time she doesn’t care enough to even try to pay attention. Morgana can be a very self-centered person. She was never very emotionally attached to her family and she had few close friends. Her priority was always herself. If didn’t help her she didn’t really try. She just got good at bullshitting stuff. Even so she Morgana can be charismatic in a strange way, on the few occasions she decides to try. She’s patient, calm and willing to listen with an endearing smile, when she manages one. She was Romans envoy, the one who talked to the people. She was the “pretty one”. Morgan and Roman were always striking side by side. Roman was so pale and Morgan was the opposite. She has the same eyes as him, piercing, icy, hawk-like. But they are a much deeper shade of blue. Her skin is a dark tan, darkening in the sun when Romans didn’t. Its color hides some bruises, but not blood. Her hair is dark ginger, feathery but thick, falling to midback. It’s her pride and she hates cutting it, preferring to put it up in a bun and cover that with a hat. Morgana is just a tad on the short side, her build wiry but solid. She moves with purpose and precision, not the grace of her brother, but coordination she’s learned with practice. She’ll never be as strong as most men and makes up for it with bigger guns and speed and caution. When she was younger she used to chew on her nails, a nervous habit. She stopped herself, but not all the way. She always has a lollipop to suck on or a toothpick or gum. She let that habit stay, something that stayed constant when she left. If she has nothing else, bad habit as it is, as least that is still part of who she is.
Tattoo: none
Ability: Ability: to sense an objects past or future with physical contact
Kin: Roman Machiavelli (brother)
Age: 26
Story: Morgana doesn’t know who she is anymore. Once she was innocent and beautiful and then they made her into a weapon, a hateful, brutal soldier. She knew her place and who she was. Taking orders, giving them, attacking and killing. She was Neo, almost a wolf, and then she touched her brother’s knife and saw it killing her. Morgana became a frightened soldier, a liar and a deceiver within the walls she had grown up in, within her own mind. She had been taught to hate and fear theias. Was she wrong to hide herself? She was confused and scared and angry. And then they found her secret and self-preservation ruled over all that and made her into a fugitive, estranged from her family by a power she hadn’t asked for and couldn’t control and estranged from those who could help her by her former family. She became the prey, not the hunter, alone and sickening. When she made the choice to go to the Families she also made the choice to leave everything else behind. She couldn’t be Morgana Machiavelli. They would kill her on first sight. So she lost her name. She couldn’t really call herself Machiavelli anymore anyway. She couldn’t be Romans little sister. She had nothing to call herself, no idea who she was. But she wasn’t a clean slate, able to remake herself. She was a mess. That self-preservation kicked in again and kept her going. She became a robot, hollowly going through the motions. She moved through the streets, calling on old contacts who hadn’t heard the news and stealing when she had to. she likes blueberry snowcones. She became Mora or Morgan. She didn’t know who she was or what to think, so it was apt that others were confused by the two names as well. When she finally made her way to the families it was to St. Abbots Cathedral where she could find shelter and gather her strength before she went to talk to the godparents. They offered her a deal. Return to the Venatium and spy for them in return for some protection and a spot in the Family should she be compromised. Morgana, Mora, Morgan, Neo, Wolf, liar, fugitive, traitor, prey. The one things that had stayed the same, the one thing that she did know was that she wanted to stay alive. Even when she was unraveling, when she hated and feared herself her drive for survival never faltered. Looking out for number one had been her purpose. And this job was the opposite of that. Walk back into the arms of the Venatium, where her brother might as soon kill her as look at her. Persuade them that what? She wasn’t a theia? She’d pretty much proved that when she ran. Morgana was raised to have a soldier’s pride, but somehow the thought of being called a cowards didn’t matter. She didn’t think it was little of her to save her own skin first. She hid, back on the streets, indecisive until the Constantine's called her for a report, demanding to know what she was doing. Then, especially after the Norcross and Pendragons attack she had no choice but to slink back even if they made her a bloodhound. And to her surprise things got better after that. Despite everything else she was and wasn’t Morgana remained an individual, with little quirks and preferences like any person. That is what kept her together and sane when she was confused and lost. And in time she came to realize that that were what made her Morgana or Morgan or Mora. They would all be relatively the same person in the end. Morgana is tough. Physically and mentally she’s hardened to the world. She can take a lot. Pain, fatigue, insults, humiliation. Her time with the Venatium numbed her. It was inner turmoil that they didn’t prepare her for. Morgana was so sure of herself, cocky and proud. She thought her ride to power was assured, she had the skills and connections. Theia powers put a stop to that. Things had happened before, flashes of an unknown scene but she’s always ignored it, written it off as fatigue or a trick of the light or natural intuition. When she was her own death she was forced to admit to herself what was really happening. When she touches an object she can see flashes of its future or past. She can’t tell which and it doesn’t work on animals yet. But when she stopped trying to avoid it and started training she got much better. It was easier to guess past or future and Morgana is convinced it’s only a matter of time before it works on humans. Morgana has always been perceptive, about people and situations. She’s a quick judge of character. Not because she’s biased, but because she picks up on the little things. She’s learned to make assumptions automatically, and she’s usually pretty accurate. It’s not a perfect thing, or even very useful all the time. Sometimes the little things she realized about a person don’t matter and sometimes she can’t get enough information no matter how much she watches. And a lot of the time she doesn’t care enough to even try to pay attention. Morgana can be a very self-centered person. She was never very emotionally attached to her family and she had few close friends. Her priority was always herself. If didn’t help her she didn’t really try. She just got good at bullshitting stuff. Even so she Morgana can be charismatic in a strange way, on the few occasions she decides to try. She’s patient, calm and willing to listen with an endearing smile, when she manages one. She was Romans envoy, the one who talked to the people. She was the “pretty one”. Morgan and Roman were always striking side by side. Roman was so pale and Morgan was the opposite. She has the same eyes as him, piercing, icy, hawk-like. But they are a much deeper shade of blue. Her skin is a dark tan, darkening in the sun when Romans didn’t. Its color hides some bruises, but not blood. Her hair is dark ginger, feathery but thick, falling to midback. It’s her pride and she hates cutting it, preferring to put it up in a bun and cover that with a hat. Morgana is just a tad on the short side, her build wiry but solid. She moves with purpose and precision, not the grace of her brother, but coordination she’s learned with practice. She’ll never be as strong as most men and makes up for it with bigger guns and speed and caution. When she was younger she used to chew on her nails, a nervous habit. She stopped herself, but not all the way. She always has a lollipop to suck on or a toothpick or gum. She let that habit stay, something that stayed constant when she left. If she has nothing else, bad habit as it is, as least that is still part of who she is.