Name: Michelle Darrens 
Breed: Homid 
Auspice: Ragabash 
Tribe: Get of Fenris 
Rank: 2nd Rank 

[Hider=Gifts]
Level 1:
Climb Like an Ape
Blur of the Milky Eye
Swallow Rage

Level 2:
Blissful Ignorance
Wearing the Bear Shirt
[/hider]

[Hider=Appearance] 
[img=http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/139/d/c/baby_rose_by_pvs_digitalart-d50av24.jpg][/hider]

[Hider=Biography] 
Once upon a time there was a little girl who ate a man. The end. 

Nobody can quite say where things went wrong with Michelle. Born to a golddigger who bounced from meal ticket to meal ticket and a runaway garou who she still has never met, Michelle was angry, neglected child from round one. Her mother was a professional floosie, the kind of woman who didn't turn tricks because she was gorgeous enough not to have to--she worked her way from boyfriend to boyfriend and was none-too-thrilled to have to drag a midget along for it now. She did her best to at least pretend to care, but Michelle's always been a smart girl. Always at arm's distance, always aloof and removed, her relationship with her mother was as strained as her relationship with other children who she just could not get along with. Instability does not a happy childhood breed, and even with the handicap her mother as in fine form--shunted to living rooms while the grown-ups 'talked', left with free reign to do what she wanted as long as it didn't cause a fuss, it was no wonder she was an angry little thing, and at least when she lashed out at school her absentee mother had to pay the hell attention for a little while. How long this would have gone on for was anyone's guess until the fateful day she caught her mother's newest boy-toy with the kind of pornography that makes thirteen year old girls extremely uncomfortable. 

That wasn't so kosher. 

So she did what Michelle's do best and flipped right the hell out. Three hours later when she finally came to she was shaking, crying, and vomiting bits of someone into the u-bend while a pair of men argued behind her. Even then she knew one of them was ready to kill her, a beast of a man with a gun in hand and a mustache that quivered as he spoke. He was saying something about 'wyrm-touched' and 'corrupted' when the second man slugged him in the stomach pointedly. With long dark hair down to his waist, the man very calmly asked if he was being challenged. Mustachio gave him a look to kill but, after a few seconds, decided that maybe he didn't want to pick now to get into this little spat. As he walked away, Thunder's Teeth stepped into the stall beside her and told Michelle the truth, and the whole truth, for the first time in her life. That she was a werewolf, part of a tribe of proud warriors, and that all was not right with her. Something called 'the Wyrm' had taken to her during her first frenzy, and he was afraid that this would always be the case for her. It was a horrible thing to have happened to her when they needed her the most, but a life as its thrall would be worse than death. Would she, he asked her, prefer to die now in honor or to live a life proving him wrong? 

Maybe it was his way of being motivational. Maybe it was because he was a lupus and had no idea how to console children. Whatever it was Michelle chose life, of course, and in many ways the rest from there is history. Long, sad, painful history. She was told of her heritage, what it meant to be get and what it meant to be an ahroun and what it meant to fight in service of Gaia and then sent to join a pack fighting against a Hive in Boston who desperately needed the help. And she went, because where else was she going to go? In the end it turned out to be the happiest time of her life--a group of Get working alongside a small Glass Walker caern, they were working to limit the damage done by a small Hive of Black Spirals turning some of the worst areas of the city into their personal playgrounds. If she was still taciturn and shockingly, violently angry, her pack gave her focus and even a bit of friendship. They fought back and they fought back hard, and for almost a year it seemed they were gaining on the true location of the Hive and a way to hit them where it hurt. They planned and schemed, but in the end they'd been deceived--with the help of some of the local vampires the Spirals had set a trap, and when they arrived to finally put an end to the menace they found only Cecelia Torhild and her pack waiting for them. They were cut down to a man, Michelle only surviving because she was jettisoned from the fight into the swirling sewer torrent below and swept away still-frenzying. When she came to they were gone--when she made her sodden way back to where the hideout had been she found only police cars and the torched remains of the apartment they'd been renting. 

In a fit of rage she attempted, for at least a little while, to rouse the local Bone Gnawers against the Hive. If only for fear of her they agreed, and the next six months of clawing and snarling at anything she could find of the vampires of the Black Spirals ended as one might expect of a newly fledged ahroun trying to pull together a war-pack in the middle of the city. After a particularly severe strike on a local drug dealer's operation, an invested lick pulled together enough man-power to have the Pack hunted down and dealt with. As they picked off her allies during their moments of weakness she became increasingly unable to keep herself or her little pack together, the remainders of the group eventually splitting from her and leaving her alone to fight back against them. 

Whatever happened after that is pretty much anyone's guess--she dropped off the radar for a spell. What is known is that she forcibly switched her auspice, swearing off the warrior's path and instead forcing her ice over into that of a New-Moon, and that she continued her pogrom against the Black Spirals with sociopathic fervor. She was awarded the rank of Fostern for her hunting tails by a passing group of garou and learned that the Garou were active in the New Hampshire caern. She sent them a message some time ago: 

"Come on down when you want to take the fight to the Spirals. I'll be on the front lines."[/hider]

[Hider=Personality]
Nobody has ever accused Michelle of being pleasant.

From the word 'Go' her life has been defined by the simple fact that she's a monster in disguise. Looking back on it, it made all the sense in the world that she would one day explode into a ten foot killing machine since that's how everyone treated her at the best of times--for the vast majority of people, and even most supernaturals, it is incredibly difficult to be in the same room as Michelle and [i]not[/i] fear for your life out of the simple fact of who she is. She came out of the gate with enough Rage to make an ahroun blush and her road to learning to control it was extremely difficult, especially when much of it felt quite justified. 

But she's cooled since then in some ways. What was once a roaring blast furnace has been molded and tempered into a welding torch, a bright little fire ready to cauterize the night. She still hates, she still rages, she's still the same angry, confused girl she's always been, but now she's channeling all of that to a much finer point. In many ways she's as bad as the monsters she kills, merciless and vicious and poisonously, viciously bitter, but hey.

Nobody said you had to be the good guy to do a good thing.
[/hider]