Name: Indigo (Indy) Blair

Age: Twenty

Gender: Male

Race: Werewolf

Special Ability: Having all the qualities of any Werewolf Indy is left with the speed, strength, vision, and smell. Though Indy has shown some rather amusing signs of being able feel a little differently then an average Were. He's been known to be hyperaware to physical contact. Making him exceptionally sensitive to movement. Which is one of the reasons Indy has an eye for detail. Rather then that he just has the abilities any Werewolf has. Nothing new.

Description:
Human:

Once the painter has finished his outline he begins to fill the painting in with colour and emotion, thus giving the painting a sort of living quality. With a straight, fine jaw that lines his face and healthy darker tanned skin, the male isn't flimsy, overweight, or any such thing. The skin that covers his lean frame is soft and smooth, where as its delicate nature allows people to know that he takes care of his body on the outside just as much as he does on the inside. It is the shockingly tan complexion that also implies he spends the majority of the day outside, rather than hiding in the shadows (as he often does, lost in the secret folds of his mind). A slim nose covers the center of his face, a thoughtful - though serious - line placating his beautiful features and soft, pink lips covering his mouth, accompanied by his usual flat, platonic smile (or frown). He doesn't remember how he received it, but after finding himself conscious and checking to see if there were any visible injuries on his body, Lucas realized something. He had, what looked like, either a horrible scar or a strange - very odd indeed - tattoo. It [bearing the color of a caliginous onyx] lines made of spiraled shapes that seems to swim, faintly, down the expanse of his right shoulder to create an intricate pattern upon the small of his back. Finely knitted eyebrows lay just above his eyes, with lush cheeks of a pale rosy shade and pearly white teeth hiding beneath his lean face.

The face - his eyes, more so - is where his true charm is found. His eyes are a sparkling hue of silver-blue and appear to dive into the very soul of a person as he looks upon them. It said that his stare has been known to hypnotize women right out of their clothes (Of course only a silly rumour). His eyes - if anything - may be one of the most unique part about this gorgeous fellow. They are unlike both his mother, with her brilliant cobalt pools and emerald orbs that changed colour depending on her mood, and his father with his dark grey pools, flecked with lightest bits of sallowed ebonite. As with most of his traits, it seems that his eyes also come from his father and mother - but in a completely different way. Rarely shining with happiness but instead with unwavering calmness, his deep silver-blue eyes, flecked with the lightest of steely blues or radiant reds, are nearly always cold and warding.

His ruffled hair is stranger than most, being best compared to a scruffy wolf and is surprisingly smoother than most, giving the appearance of a person that seems both serious and dignified though intelligent and dry. It seems to be composed of mainly an blinding honey-white, though there is also streaks of dazzling silver and paler auburn hues hidden beneath. This could be seen as the sloppiest part on Indi, but in actuality it is the most taken care of, but be forewarned that he doesn't take kindly to people making claims that his hair is a sloppy mess.

Though. If you were to look under his shirt upon his chest you would see a long network of elaborate scars. Slithering their way across his cream skin, marring the once flawless torso with white (nearly bleached) disfigurements. The raised puckered skin is not really the most pleasing things to the eyes, more so it is rather repulsive and troubling to gaze at. Because these scar (Not knowing where they came from) are so nicely shown on his cream skin, he has made it a habit to wear at least two tops over his torso to make sure the world is unable to view these horrid blemishes.

Wolf

It's funny how one of the most beautiful animals can be so dangerous. The soft furs that cloak the lean tall body are of a diluted honey hue. Nearly white with streaks of dazzling gold and splashes of vivid auburn make up the complex patterns the pelt bares. Large paws patter the ground silently as onyx black nails scar the earth with indents every step. A shorter bushy tail looks out of place with the long narrow build of the wolf. Accompanied with a long, muscled neck, which holds a small cranium that looks more fox like then wolf. With a lengthy muzzle portraying from the skull. It's a surprise that Indy is not as fast as he is when a human in this form. Considering the body is much leaner and the muscles wrap around the bone more closely. It seems as though this form had taken most of the human aspects with it. The pelt taking on the hair colour while the striking silver sapphire eyes gleam like diamonds within the sockets.

Personality:
Indy's actions cannot be explained rationally and if asked, the only answer he could give - a confused What the heck are you talking about?! in a somewhat shy, obviously disgruntled tone - would be certainly unsatisfactory.

He can, at best, be described as someone who is factual and despite of that, is loved by those irrational people and facts he surrounds them with. Not to say that Indy would not defend a good - a very good - friend of his in a time of dire need, but does not most often act unpredictably. For instance, in a situation where it requires little speaking, he will do as such and when a large bout of charismatic ability is needed, he will accomplish it with no more talking than was absolutely required.

On the other hand, this cream-skinned boy with shockingly light hair, is known to explode into unexpected outbursts of anger and frustration, his usually solemn silver-blue gaze filled with the flickering flames of rage and hate. There have been times when he was expected to take control of a situation as he always does, calmly and reasonably, where he acts irrationally and follows - what, he muses, other people refer to as instinct - his heart. Bah!, they'd say when asked of Indy's emotions. He has no heart, they'd all agree with a nod, as if sealing the deal. So confident and sure of themselves, these people would assure the one asking that they had made no such error -- but ah they have. Indeed, Indy has a heart.

It's just so hard, terribly difficult indeed, to discover.

Far longer than he can remember - now that something has seemed to block all of his memory of the past... well most of them - Indy had been someone different. Yes, every now and then he has that strange burning sensation - as if pushing him to do something dangerous, out of line - but he quickly pushes the (what, he believes, some call courage but he, now, refers to as foolish bravery or rashness, if you will) feeling away. Once upon a time, Indy was charming, outrageous and brave; he's was the type of boy that girls wouldn't mind getting roses from, receiving chocolates from and would laugh about later on. Quite stubborn in his own right, he had been densest - above all - about matters of love, even though he seemed to be smart in everything else. Contrary to his shy, calculative nature now, he was funny and great -- the type of guy you wouldn't mind being more than friends with. Around his friends, he's was always smiling and laughing with a joke here and there. Though people rarely hear it now, the man had (and still has, believe it or not) one of those rare laughs - you know, the ones that start out as a soft, chuckle and then turn into a grinning, throw-your-head back kind of laugh? His is all of that and everything more. Whenever he laughs - a warm, inviting sound - the people around him can't help but join in; his laugh is simply contagious.

Not that he does much of that now.

Back then, it was almost impossible to not like Indy (his smile, his laughter, his grins, his voice and just everything about him was inviting) but now it's quite hard to even enjoy his company. There's always awkward silences that make's the company around him fidget and surprisingly under confident of himself, he's never sure whether he should initiate things like that, break the ice.

One thing that hasn't been lost on him, except his terribly thoughtful nature (which makes him, often more than not, over analyze things), is his being a gentle men -- you know the ones from the medieval times? When they still had knights in shining armour? The kind of boy to open doors for girls, pay for them, push their chairs in? Indeed, Indy is still that guy. Compared to the average man, he can considered to be quite an oddity; something to stand out from the crowd.

And he's still not sure whether he should like it or not.

Background:

This night I will never forget. The sounds, the smells, the sights. It will forever be embossed in my mind as if someone branded it there. These images that haunt me refuse to leave. I'm trapped within my own world. My own hate for what I am. This is my story, well... What I can remember of it.

It all started on that simple November night. My shorts were soaking wet from the melted ice as snow clung to me. The heavens allowed small crystals to seep from its surface and glisten in the moonlight, which coated my home with the most potent and stunning glow. I could smell the snow; it had a kind of tang to it, which I new must be the scent of the clouds. Ah the beautiful scent. My eyes had found my sister, rolling in the snow as if it had been her first time. She was such a small fragile girl. I loved her with all my heart. To see her so happy it just made me feel warm and ever so grateful for my life.

I leaned down, my hands outstretched to the freezing blanket of white. Grasping the icy snow in my hands, already the flakes were melting into liquid as it touched my skin. Then with deadly aim I chucked the snow at my still playing sister. It hit her in the side and she looked up to see me. Her eyes were blazing with determination and joy. My own were shining with mocking laughter. I saw her glance at mom and dad and I just smiled widely, just like she was doing. But as soon as I heard her move my eyes were back on her. Before I had time to register what was happening snow was sliding down my cheek. I was laughing so hard now my gut was hurting in protest. I quickly then wiped the snow from my face and gave chase to my sister. She was a fast little thing, a speedy feline across the ice. I was trying my best to keep up with her eight year old body, but my thirteen year old mind just couldn't force my muscles to go any faster.

But as soon as my sister froze, I did to. What had she seen? Did she give up? That's when I saw it. The lights in the woods. My whole body tensed up and my mouth parted in a gasp but no sound came out. Then I felt my mother's hand, rough on my own, her horrified -disallowed_word-My sister) in her vice like grip. She wouldn't let us go, and by the way her face was twisted in pain I could tell something was wrong.

Someone's there.

It was my sister who spoke first. Her voice so innocent and shaken it made my heart ache. No… She was too young! I couldn't let her be hurt. I could already feel the warm salty liquid building in my discoloured eyes.

Get back in the house."

It was my father this time. His voice was so strict and threatening it made me flinch back. Never had he used that tone before. Then I registered what was happening. Mom was pulling Sage and I back to the house, my father on our heels. As soon as the warmth hit me it felt like a slap across the face, making my cheeks tingle where the snow had touched me. As soon as dad was inside he was locking the door and reacting for his gun… gun? Dad wasn't hunting. He never touched his gun unless. NO! I was surprised I hadn't screamed those words out loud. My knees locked like a startled colt as I started shaking violently. Mother had pulled away from Sage and I, and was now packing quickly. NO! I screamed again in my head. I was unable to force my lips to part so I could speak.

I watched as Sage rushed past me to the couch. Her hands clutched at her porcelain doll. It's blond hair a mess and it's thin body cloaked by a simple dress. Much like the one Sage was wearing herself. I went up to her, ghosting her footsteps. I was to scared to be away from her. I placed my arm around her; I then noticed I was still shaking. My knees were bent awkwardly as my arms locked in place. I couldn't ever begin to describe this pain that was burning through my veins. I had never known hate. I had never tasted it on my tongue as I did now.

Mom had everything packed and was coming towards me and Sage. I saw my sister glanced at dad and I followed her eyes. My father was looking out the window, his own face twisted and marred under his composure. Once he glanced at us I saw him slip, his face was so troubled it made me shake more aggressively. When he nodded my mom instantly started pilling Sage and I to our basement. By rules we weren't allowed down here. I never knew why but I was sure I was about to find out. But when Sage couldn't move I stopped to and watched dad for the wrong minute. The door was open and before I knew it. I could hear the bang and the sound of air splitting. My mouth gapped open in a silent scream. But the scream in the air was not mine.

Daddy!

It was Sage who screamed. It was Sage who couldn't understand yet saw her father be shot right before her eyes, right on the threshold of our house. I could see the tears that were tainting her skin, I wanted to hide her, wipe them away and then kill those men. My sadness was quickly replaced by pure rage. I could feel my skin crawling and shivering with the emotions. I wanted to taste their blood and tear their skin from the bones. I wanted them dead and I wanted them dead now.

The smell of the blood was over powering. I would have lurched forwarded maybe even pucked if my mom had not pushed me to the stairs in the basement. I had seen the horror on my mom's face and I knew Dad wouldn't be coming back. He was really dead…. I didn't look back but I heard mom slam the door shut and lock it. I was running down the stairs. If I stopped for a minute I would lose myself to my fury. But when I heard Sage's body flinging through the air I spun around and locked my hands around her waist. Bracing her weight and quickly checking to see if she was hurt. That was when I noticed my mother was still trying to get the lock to work when I heard footsteps. Before I could scream at my mother to move she was down the stairs curled in pain. It had only been two shots and a scream that was not my own. NO! I wanted to yell but I found my lips closed in pain once more.

RUN INDIGO! SAGE!

Some how my mother found her voice and was yowling at us. Then I smelled it before it was burning my eyes. The oil and smoke, which belonged to the fire. I could hear it eating at the dry woods my home was made of. Who were these people, taking my family and my home from me?! I wanted to hurt something, kill something. I could feel the heat pushing against my skin and I knew I had to get Sage out of the house. Her lungs were smaller then mine. They would surely collapse if she inhaled smoke. I moved my hands to her arms and yanked her towards the escape door .It was instinct for me to pull her in that direction considering I have never been down here before. I was running. I didn't know I had tears running down my cheeks. I was unable to categories the many burnings of my body.

Once we were at the door, I ripped it open and threw Sage into the snow. I heard the bullets and pulled her to the ground. I knew I must have hurt her body, but the bullets would hurt more. I saw her flinch as the snow sprayed up. I did my best to pin her to the ground before I started screaming. I didn't even recognize my own pained voice.

Sage! Run! Sister! RUN!

I had to go back for mom. She was still alive. I couldn't lose her! I wouldn't lose her!. Sage was fast. I knew she could outrun these people. She had to. I could tell by the way she looked at me that I must have looked so hurt. I didn't want her to see this. I didn't want this to be her last memory of me. As she ran I watched her go before I silently blew a kiss. Then I vanished into the building. I ran to the stairs. My mom was against the wall trying to move. I pulled my body under her and was able to get her out the door before... Before that horrid sound filled my ears again. The metallic ring of the bullet being released from the contraption known as a gun. She went limp in my arms. I huddled myself against her. Though... Everything became a blur. My rage, my blood, the smells and sounds. All awareness was stripped from me like the very memories I looked for from my earlier childhood. Why?

I will stop my story here. Stop the night that will never leave me. I can still remember the scent of my mother's blood and the scent of smoke. It will never stop… My past harden me. I was no longer the happy-go-lucky child who smiled and laughed. No I had to grow up before my time. Become an adult in the streets in which could be my death. Here is a new chapter of my story. Another fragment of the puzzle in which is my shattered world.

Seven years of labouring for food, to live each day does things to a man. Makes him think weird and stuff. I'm lucky I didn't fall into that insanity. I found that I had to keep myself isolated from humans, from people. It wasn't long that someone found me. Though, half-crazed and barely lucid from the many problems that had been plaguing my body I didn't know who this person was. Only once medical care and food was properly administered in my body did I become anywhere near aware enough to realize what was happening. Even when I was alert and awake, I had little knowledge of what was going on around me. I felt like I was trapped in a world that had been smudged. A world that didn't make any logical sense.

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