claws out | OPEN; INTRODUCTION

[babyface]

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Lestat, truthfully, knew very little about the conflict with the other group - the torture and kidnappings and killings. And he honestly didn't care. It didn't pertain to him, at least not yet. Should he be captured, then it'd be a different story. Or Claudia - as much as he didn't particularly care to travel with her, he felt the need to try to protect her. Maybe here in Flint someone else would take care of her. The thought amused him briefly when he spotted a rather melancholic Andor sitting and staring.

The Frenchman walked over, a swagger in his step as there always was. He had fallen in love with a man who acted quite like Andor was in that moment. Dejected, despondent, depressed. He tried to help him in any way he could -- to make him any less upset was his ultimate goal. But that didn't work; in fact, Nicki had fallen deeper in the pit of depression. Stat swallowed and pushed the thought from his mind.

"You look like you could use some company." Lestat took an uninvited seat next to Andor, a Cheshire cat grin on his features. "I'm Lestat de Lioncourt. It's a pleasure." The last word was said differently, as though saying it was difficult for him.

[spoiler=BLOODLUST -✧- tags][size=8pt]WALKING, WAITING ✧ general
NAME ; lestat de lioncourt
  - NICKNAMES ; les, stat
GENDER ; male
  - PRONOUNS ; he/him
SEXUALITY ; bisexual with male leanings
AGE ; 24
  - BIRTHDAY ; november 7th
ALLIANCE ; flintlock lodge
  - RANK ; member

ALONE WITHOUT A CARE ✧ appearance
HEIGHT ; 6'0"
WEIGHT ; 135lbs
DESCRIPTION ; lestat has thick, curly blond hair that falls to his shoulders. his skin is deathly white and cold. his eyes are gray that seem to absorb the colors around him, making them look blue or violet in certain lights. he's very slim and slightly taller than average, however there's faint definition of muscles under his almost translucent skin. his nose is fairly short and narrow, and his lips seem almost too full for his face.
CLOTHING ; lestat has a wildly varied wardrobe. he always looks good (usually too good for a post-apocalyptic society) because he's very into fashion. he likes wearing luxurious silks and plush fabrics, or leather and mesh. he definitely enjoys the punk movement, wearing heavy metal or rocker clothes. though, it's not uncommon for him to be sporting royal robes and high fashion outfits.
  - INVENTORY ; lestat doesn't usually carry much on his person, except maybe some daggers or food. he's musically inclined and likes having instruments where he goes. he has an old violin from an old lover he took that means a lot to him.

HOPING, AND HATING ✧ personality
POSITIVE ; enthusiastic, bold, academic, fun-loving, altruistic
NEUTRAL ;  fashionable, musical, attention-seeking, philosophical, moralistic
NEGATIVE ; defiant, arrogant, conceited, egotistical
MBTI ; entp
TV TROPES ; anti-hero, badass gay, character filibuster, manipulative bastard, übermensch
ALIGNMENT ; chaotic neutral

THINGS I CAN'T BEAR ✧ interaction + misc
DIFFICULTY LEVEL ; hard
TRAINED IN ; blades
ATTACK IN ; bold #773b53
PM [iomedae] FOR PLOTS
OPEN TO ; nonviolent powerplay
WILL CAPTURE ; WILL TORTURE ; WILL KILL[/spoiler]

[JOSIE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Even though Jo had already met Andor in their meeting, she can't say that she knows much of the man. She's looked at his injuries — quietly, secretly — as they traveled, but otherwise all they've exchanged are names and niceties. Like Lestat, she was new to the area, and to this conflict. It was such a sudden, forceful test of her leadership that she didn't — she didn't know what to do, really. And sometimes the weakness shows in her nervousness, though the young woman is settling in quickly to her position and the people here. Despite the constant changes, she feels safer, more sure of herself. The ideas she wants are beginning to fall into place, albeit slowly. Just — she just has to hope that this thing with whatever they're called, the Group of Captors, doesn't screw it all up. She could handle a shotgun and her own fists, but Jo wasn't much of a fighter. Like Andor, in a way, she worked best with gentler crafts. And she couldn't imagine losing it the way that he had. She's not aware of the thoughts going through his mind; perhaps she would have assured him that he didn't need to be useful, and his experience could always be applied in other ways.

But she doesn't know it so she doesn't say it. Instead, the slight young woman finds herself fumbling for words a little bit as she shrugs off a heavy jacket, shoulders still wet from melting snow. "You already know me," she eventually says with a warm yet tentative smile. "How are you feeling? Both of you? Settling in alright?"

[dannychan]

[align=center][div style="width: 400px; border: 0px black solid; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify;"]ken wasn’t exactly a people person, but he guessed it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try and talk to someone. he had only just arrived in flintlock, and he needed at least a few people to trust. of course- he trusted jo already, she was the leader of this please, why wouldn’t he trust her? oh, that’s right, anarchy was his favourite thing, didn’t like people of power- but that wasn’t important.

as he decided to join the group, he’d stand a bit away, jean jacket buttoned up and his hands stuffed into his pockets, nails digging into scraped palms and sighing. “im ken.” he introduced simply, slouching slightly.

[ajdawny]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; min-height: 25px; border-left: #7788AA 4px double;"][div style="width: 440px; height: auto; font-size: 14px; line-height: 101%; text-align: justify; font-family: times"]It seemed to have been years, decades since he had been in this place, but in reality, the time that had passed between his absence here, and time in the veritable hell that had been the prison in which he had been kept, was not that long. Not even many months had gone by, yet much seemed to have changed, Andor did not know what yet.

His hands were bandaged carefully by someone who actually knew what they were doing, instead of his makeshift attempt at not getting an infection. The badlanders had been good to him, and had done their best, but how the hell was someone supposed to fix two nail sized holes in the middle of hands. It was bad enough that Sheo had driven one of those nails into his hand, not to mention that nail also being driven into a standing structure. But the madman had injured Gilbert... and that, to the wild haired man, was unacceptable.

He sat in the lodge, a cup of water held between the base of both his hands. His fingers still had yet to truly work. Everything was different. He saw next to no familiar faces... in all truth, he felt alone, again. His shoulders shook as he let his head drop to stare dejectedly at the floor beneath his boot-clad feet. There was little point in existence really, and had he been awake enough, he most likely would be in the middle of an existential crisis.

Grey eyes bored into the ground as though that particular spot had committed a grievous act against him, but that was nonsense. Ellie and Josie had brought him back with them from the meeting with Charlie and Anluan... and part of Andor wondered if anything would ever be remotely the same again. He had minimal control over his digits, and the possibility of ever cooking again seemed slim, if he couldn't do busy work, garden, tend to animals, use his hands... what the hell was he good for?

The man traced invisible shapes in the floor with his shoe, staring dejectedly downwards. Perhaps some person would arrive and help him get out of his slump. That was unlikely, Andor thought.