[hider=Val the Raver Alchemist]
[b]Name:[/b] Valentine "Val" Kerensky

[b]Age:[/b] 25

[b]Appearance:[/b] A dervish of excited energy and alchemical science, Val does her best to dance through the bubbling arcane cauldron that is her life. Her hazel eyes shine bright with intelligent mischief and mystical hallucinogenic distractions. Lightly chewed on lips, oscillate wildly between expressions depending on the present company and the current amount of drugs she has coursing through the blood in her veins. She has shoulder length the color of midnight that is dyed an ever shifting range of colors. Any effort to blend in is purely accidental and Val prefers to surround herself with color. Her skin is pale and it is clear that she spends a minimal amount of time outside in the sun. Terrified of boring others, Val keeps her lips and nails painted in in dark shades or vibrant hues of neon. 

An esoteric dresser, Val favors t-shirts bedecked with a kaleidoscopic array of neon colors, short skirts, and fashionably torn fishnet stocking. She has a penchant for accessories and pairs her clothing with florescent jewelry that dances with color when hit by artificial light. Favoring the elaborate, her footwear of choice remains black hologram platform shoes that sparkle brightly in the night.

In a professional capacity, Val replaces bright colors with minimalist black, pairing a closet stuffed full of black t-shirts with slim black jeans and unremarkable canvas sneakers.

Across all domains of her life, Val believes in wearing cool jackets and her prized possession is a well-worn leather jacket embroidered with a black cat and words in a very faded French. 

[b]Concept:[/b] Val is a self-taught alchemist of the "do it yourself" variety, unburdened by things like wizard councils, other stuffy professional organizations, and safety regulations. Increasingly afraid of the things that go bump in the night, she has had particularly poor experiences with vampires, having found herself captured and drained of a significant portion of her blood by coven of vampires preying on the local rave community. Escaping with no small amount of trauma and an unfortunate addiction to vampire blood, Val has taken to burying the memories from her unwilling jaunt into the darkest shadows of the supernatural night through self-medication, imbibing in drugs both mundane and magical whenever the opportunity presents itself. Running scared, Val shares few of the lofty goals of other magical practitioner. Although discovering the philosopher's stone and achieving immortality through perfect alchemy still holds an inescapable appeal to the young woman, most days Val simply aspires to get paid and to stay beneath the radar of the terrible monsters that she knows are lurking just beyond the light.

[b]Powers/Skills:[/b] Val is a skilled chemist and alchemist. To pay her rent, she operates as a professional alchemical consultant, offering her services to private individuals and organizations willing to pay in hard cash or precious metals. In her spare time, she is the creator of an exponentially growing number of extremely potent magically infused drugs that she reserves almost exclusively for her own use. Gifted with a mercenary mentality, Val avoids asking too many questions of her diverse clients, especially when it comes to love potions or the occasional poison. A combatant only in terms of creativity, Val prefers to run from trouble.

[b]Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):[/b]
Val would love to discover the philosopher's stone, attain immortality, and escape the clutches of her recent unwanted vampiric overlord. However, having long abandoned hopes for a happy ending, she'll settle for enough money to buy more alchemical ingredients.

[b]Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):[/b]
Adventure, spooky stuff, and cool character interactions are all things that I desperately want to see happen in character. I'd love for Val to at least try to overcome her addiction to vampire blood and for her to become a slightly more responsible person. Related, I would very much enjoy seeing her past come back to bite her, be it through the aforementioned vampire blackmailer or a past customer.

[b]Writing Sample:[/b]
I felt a need to write, so I wrote this writing sample, which is really more of an introduction post, but them's the breaks.

[hider=Potion Brewing]

The door to the small shed opened with a weary protest of wood. A cauldron bubbled in a corner of the room, pouring thick tendrils of smoke in the room. Val didn't bother looking up, she already knew who it was. Instead, she remained huddled over the repurposed wok pan that she had bought for $20 at a garage sale, saying hello wasn't worth setting off an explosion. Her hands moved carefully, slowly stirring the concoction in front of her with a wooden spoon. Flashes swam through the thick liquid within the cauldron, filling the room with a strange, dreadful light that danced off the mason jars that lined the crumbling IKEA bookshelves that were hammered into each wall and each centimeter of free space of the gardening shed. A small fortune in arcane ingredients laying in glass, protected by nothing more than 1-inch-thick boards of lumber, a combination lock, and a string of arcane curses.

"What do you need this time, Schultz?" The alchemist said once the mixture began to settle. Arcane energies that crackled with power as they ionized stray oxygen atoms faded into a rolling slumber.

"A simple potion, a potion guaranteed to leave a troll sleeping for...four...let's say six hours," the planetouched mobster said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of shack with a broad smile on his lips. Smouldering coals of flame shone from beneath the iron mask he wore.

"Nothing you ask me to make for you is ever simple. What's weight of this troll?" Val scoffed.

"Above average, I haven't asked, but let's just say he's got a robust figure," Schultz said with a low, shaking laugh that threatened the shelf closet to him. "How much is it gonna cost me this time?"

"Same as always, $1500 now, $500 when it's done"

"That's a lot of money. How about we say $200, for old times sake?"

"How about you find someone else to do it for you then? Just don't blame me when your friend wakes up after five minutes and tears your arm off before he uses it to beat you to death."

"Now, now, don't be cross, I was only teasing, Val," the gangster chuckled. "Your work is top notch and I wouldn't dream of frequenting a different alchemist. Besides, trust is all we have in this business. I trust you to keep your mouth shut, so I come back to you with new business. You trust me, don't you Val?"

"Yeah, sure, I trust you, Schultz," Val agreed. "Well, as much as I trust any man who's paid to break bones for a living, but do you know how hard it is to find Pixie Dust in the middle of winter?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Of course I will," Val huffed, waving the wooden spoon angrily at the mobster.

"By the by, I heard a strange story from one of the boys. He said he'd seen someone that looked just like you at the Pyramid Club." 

"I thought you were done with Cara?

Val shot him an angry glance.

"You know that it's a bad idea"

"You're one to talk"

"Hey, you only get this wise by making a lot of mistakes"

"Yeah, well, no one is paying for advice from the guy who had to make a deal with an elemental from the plane of Fire because he ended up owing money to the [i]Chechenskaya mafiya[/i]," Val said, rolling her eyes.

"You win some, you lose some when you play a game of poker with those guys," Schultz said with a shrug. "You know you can't trust her, right?"

"I know."

"Then why?" Schutlz said running a hand wearily across his scalp. Val wasn't sure what expression he made beneath his mask, but she knew it wasn't a good one. She didn't like it, she couldn't stand his feigned concern, but he stopped himself before she had to hurl a beaker of glass in his direction. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Val replied, fighting the pang of fear that coursed through her, the visions of sharp teeth and blood that swam through her mind.

"I suppose I don't."

"Hey, Schultz."

"What?"

"Fuck you."
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