Birth Name: Aleksandra Alexeyevna Volkov Other Names: The Wolf of Novgorod
Gender: Female Age: 26
Rank/Titles/Social Class: Countess, currently living on Prague on her own but heiress to her family’s estate.
Appearance: Standing at an impressive 5’ 10” Aleksandra can easily literally look down on most others she meets, be they male or female, and takes great pleasure in doing so whenever possible. Her body is an unusual combination of lean corded muscle from many hours of intense exercise and combat training, and a softer figure owing to her ability to afford as much food as she needs. Her prematurely white hair is held behind her ears and allowed to fall into a mess of wavy locks down her back, the front bangs being permitted to hang free for the most part. Her face is smooth, with slight cheekbones and tawny eyes that burn with a fierce intelligence. She disdains dresses, instead preferring the coats men tend to wear, and has become adept at concealing firearms underneath them, and has many coats tailored to her figure in various weights so that they may be worn year round.
Excellent for concealing pistols, ammunition, and looking like a goddamn badass.
Personality: Aleksandra doesn’t just go against the grain for what is “good and normal” for a woman in 1890s society, she completely and utterly ignores it, and happily flaunts this and her opinions favoring women living in society with the exact same power and responsibilities as their male counterparts. While clearly a woman of high birth, she has a tendency to not keep her nose stuck up, preferring to see where she’s stepping. A brilliant scientist, she has a tendency to become completely and utterly fixated on one particular subject, be it scientific or not, to the point that she might forget to eat, drink, sleep, or relieve herself, instead working for literally days on a project before simply collapsing from exhaustion. Despite this, she is not unapproachable, especially if one has some matter of interest to discuss. An experienced fighter as well, she takes care to be armed every moment of the day, shashka worn openly on her hip and pistols concealed under her coat, and she has over time come to be constantly on guard and rarely relaxed. Even so, there is a reason for her reputation as a sexually free spirited woman, regardless of the sex of the other (idk where else to put this).
Psychic Talent: Aleksandra does not have a psychic power in the sense that some might think of it. Instead, her psychic ability allows her to detect the use of other psychic abilities, be they speech suggestion, someone reading an aura, detecting the history of an object, she simply knows it’s happening and more often than not, who’s doing it. In addition, she finds herself able to shrug off such things as suggestion or what-have-you, seeing straight through other types of psychic deception as well.
Skills: Aleksandra, whilst born into high society and expected by most to be groomed for such, has little if any skills required to function in such society, instead finding herself most at ease with soldiers and fellow scholars. While she speaks two languages, neither of them (English and Russian) are particularly useful in the city of Prague, and she struggles to learn Czech as well, her mind being attuned to different things. Where she truly shines is her skill at arms, and her prowess as a metallurgist and materials scientist in the burgeoning field that is genuine science. Enrolled in Moscow’s State University by her father at her continued insistence, Aleksandra quickly rose to the top of her field, demonstrating a blinding intellect and remarkable skill in the field, with a seemingly innate knowledge of mathematics, inorganic chemistry, and most particularly, anything involving metallurgy. Having trained her mind from a young age with strenous mental conditioning, she has developed an adamantine will and mental discipline. She also developed a rather nasty reputation as a woman unrestrained by the social norms of her time, and… tales, of her skills beneath the covers became a mythos uttered in muted whispers whenever the older population was not around.
Weapons/Fighting: Aleksandra is an excellent shot with both rifle and pistol, disdaining the more ornate versions reserved for dueling in favor of rugged and chunky models intended for genuine combat, and has two revolvers in particular based on the Colt 1889, these however are custom ordered models in .45 Colt, with an extra two shots per cylinder due to the extraordinarily strong materials she provided them with to make the guns and are consequently capable of withstanding immensely powerful smokeless powder loads. She carries both of these revolvers and on a leather belt beneath her coat, along with huge amount of ammunition for it. She has practiced extensively with the pistols and used them in actual combat and has never been failed by them. She also carries a well used Cossack shashka, having been taught anything and everything in the use of the savage weapon, and garnered plenty of firsthand experience in training bouts and genuine fights to the death.
Born into a very wealthy and eccentric if somewhat obscure on the political stage noble family, Aleksandra never knew her mother, who died a few days after childbirth from an infection. From day one, her upbringing starkly contrasted with the norm for noble girls, instead of being taught to be unquestioningly obediant and to do housework, Aleksandra was instead taught to read, write, do mathematics, and speak English from a young age. In addition she was given rigorous training to hone her mind to a razor keen edge and strengthen her will into wolfram, the exact reasons were never given, but her father always provided the answer, “You’ll know some day.”
She also developed tastes in literature, enjoying the short stories and poems of Edgar Allen Poe, The Vampyre, Dracula, In A Glass Darkly, The Picture of Dorian Grey, The Devil’s Elixirs, The Turn of the Screw, Frankenstein, and a special place in her heart for Wuthering Heights. A fascination with the dark and the macabre developed early on in her life, and stayed with her throughought and to the present day, as shown by the silver memento mori-esque necklace she wears.
Her father was the very definition of absent minded scholar, rarely leaving his study except in the evening when he and his daughter would discuss various matters, increasing in relevance as she grew older until they were having intense sociopolitical debates nightly, or arguing over the proper method for the synthesis of sodium barbiturates by the time she was fourteen. Her father was delighted at this and needed little in the way of encouragement to browbeat his way into securing an education in Moscow’s State University for her at the age of eighteen.
During this time she was not idle, and practiced extensively in less refined forms of martial art. Pulling strings with her father’s influence she secured for herself a set of revolvers which she practiced with daily, soon becoming remarkably adept with the weapons. While her father initially disapproved of this, he eventually relented and retreated back to his studies, giving his daughter a hand wave of defeat. From that point on little if anything could stop her, and she found her way into the tutelage of one of the Imperial Russian Army’s Cossack warriors, who, after much pushing and exchange of coin, agreed to teach her everything he knew in the use of the traditional and lethal shashka. She grew to be a formidable opponent with the blade, almost matching the old Cossack himself and easily exceeding him in agility by the time she reached twenty two. While such activities as becoming a deadly shot with the pistol or a master of a less… refined blade such as the shashka were intensely frowned upon by almost everybody else, she developed her trademark unconcerned air during this time, content in ignoring such things.
In Moscow, she discovered both her remarkable affinity for metallurgy, eagerly forging ahead in the field of metallurgical science, and her own psychic talent. One day a man accosted her in a hallway, a not unusual occurence, but something was… different. She felt an unusual presence in her mind, and mentally poked at it, finding it somehow linked back to the man in front of her. Further investigation revealed the purpose behind this intrusion into her mental space, and she hurriedly threw whatever the mental equivalent of a brick wall was in its way. She all too clearly saw his intent to influence her thoughts and the direction of the conversation towards… stereotypically male ends. While she was used to such attempts at this point, what struck her was the probe in her mind she had felt, and she entered into a studying spree, entrenching herself in the library of the university in an attempt to glean what she could from the multitude of dusty tomes.
Gradually she came to know all the contents the library had on the matter of psychic powers, and the notion intrigued her to no end. She would set out at night through the streets of Moscow, sword at the ready in case of trouble as she sought out the various “psychics” that proclaimed themselves in the streets, finding the vast majority to be frauds and scam artists, and the genuine few to be disreputable sorts who also attempted to scam, charm, or simply psychically influence her out of her money, time, or clothes. She quickly grew disgusted with such people, and began to seek out like minded individuals who studied and investigated these psychic powers. In this time she returned to Novgorod, living in the family manor and conducting her own research, psychic alongside metallurgical, and while the latter yielded wonderful results, the former remained infuriatingly mired in mystery.
She acquired the anonymous nickname “The Wolf of Novgorod” among some circles during one of her nighttime expeditions, which never ceased even when she returned home, when she stumbled across unusual markings on an old dilapidated house some distance from the city center. Slowly pushing her way inside, she came to realize that she had stumbled across a cult of some sort, and as she soon realized, a cult headed by a psychic with powerful abilities of suggestion. Had she been a more foolhardy type she might’ve attacked then and there, but instead waited and listened, learning their plans as well as some names and information she tucked away for later investigation. Over the next month she systematically tore the cult to shreds, tripping a cultist on his way to an assassination, a small dart with a small amount of sodium pentathol in the neck of a cultist making a speech, and then watching as he lost any and all ability to lie, and soon, simply killing them in one on one duels in a back alley or wherever. By the end of the month she was able to walk straight into their now much emptier headquarters and gun the remainder down in a quick but brutal gunfight. In doing so she too was shot, giving her a noticeable limp and a bloody hole right through her side. She survived thankfully, and abstained from further cultbusting antics, instead devoting herself to researching such things even further.
One day she recieved a letter addressed to her in English, inviting her to a manor in Prague, a certain House Ianus, in order to discuss matters of import, matters she knew instinctively the topic of. Of course she was very familiar with the House and knew some of its doings, but not nearly as much as she would’ve liked. Jumping at such an opportunity she packed her bags and set out for Bohemia, arriving in relativelty short order. At this point her father had given up all hope of keeping her in Novgorod or Moscow to study, and simply sent his blessings.
After a couple months she was fully settled in and becoming restless, instead of prowling the streets like she was accustomed to, she took to the various mysteries the Society dealt with, and delved into the wealth of knowledge on psychic phenomena the Society had amassed.
Random:
In case it wasn’t obvious, she’s openly bisexual and doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
Origin: Half Apache, half Scottish. Former Confederate sniper.
Current Occupation: Gun for hire.
Appearance: Not what most would consider a classical Hellenic beauty, Dahteste is powerfully built, an upbringing with an unconventional father and a martial mother assured that. She stands at five feet seven inches, with strong shoulders and clearly defined muscles evident along most of her body. Rough, calloused hands are if anything more muscled, used to handling the kick of a rifle, the snap of a pistol, the impact of a knife with its target, and before that - the thud of a pickaxe against soil, and the reins of an ill tempered horse.
Her features are an interesting mix of Scottish and Apache, but they still share the same eyes and high cheekbones that come from a life living out among sand storms and scorching desert sun. Her hair is thick and black, cascading in waves down her back like a stygian waterfall. Skin tone is also a midway point between the Scottish fair skin, and tanned Apache color.
She dresses for trouble, with two heavy leather belts crossing each other, and physically sewn together where they meet in the middle. They also have the holsters for her pistols, and plenty of premeasured paper cartridges sitting in pouches along the length of the belts, and still more stashed in a larger pouch, with several extra large ones in loops on her belt for her rifle. The belt also has a sturdy sheath for her short broadsword knife. She wears a heavy matte brown leather duster, cut short to just above her knees and bristling with interior pouches, pockets, and holes from myriad fights.
Dahteste is heavily armed by any metric, carrying the deadly accurate Sharps rifle with a scope, and two customized third model Colt 1851 Dragoons lovingly inlaid with simple yet elegant designs and the names of her parents; and a wickedly large Bowie knife -more of a short sword- strapped to her thigh. Personality: Redacted.
Skills/Abilities: Dahteste is above all, known for her skill with a gun. Rifle, pistol, shotgun, if it goes boom, she has an almost supernatural skill in connecting it with her targets. That is not to say she can’t miss, but she rarely does.
Dahteste is passable when it comes to melee combat, relying more on physical strength than skill, and if she wasn’t able to pick them off from a distance, something is wrong.
Survival skills that come from growing up in the desert, especially with a native mother.
Skilled rider.
Fluent in English and the Navajo/Apache language, basic working knowledge of Spanish.
Miscellaneous: Bisexual, but not openly. She doesn’t beat around the bush about not being a proper lady though.
Has a deep and abiding hatred of the Union and its soldiers, one that will almost certainly never cease.
Is racist towards black people (yes, I’m playing this realistically for the character, no, there will be no n-word usage. Yes, it makes me personally uncomfortable too.).
Backstory: Dahteste was born in 1844 to a Scottish immigrant father and an Apache mother. Originally born in the then independent Republic of Texas, she grew up very atypically, at one point moving to California with her father and mother during the California Gold Rush, even though at the time she was only four. Where other girls might’ve been taught to sew and cook, her mother was an Apache, and her father seemed to have never heard of the concept of femininity.
From an early age, she was taught to read and write, and then to ride and start a fire, and then how to shoot and survive in the wilds of the desert. She showed skill at all of them, like her two brothers, and her parents. However, it was shooting at which she excelled the most, and almost as soon as she had shot her first rifle she seemed to have some innate connection with any firearm she held, and an unerring aim. Her father was delighted at this, and not only encouraged it, he bought her a rifle of her own with money earned when he struck it rich during the gold rush in California, which the family had moved to all the way across the country for, helping to pan for gold while her parents and older brother swung a pick, and were she older, would’ve done that too. Her father and mother showed good business sense, which they passed on to their children, not relying on gold to make their fortune, and investing a good sized chunk of their profits in the stores that made a killing selling tools to prospectors.
Even though the gold had long ago dried up, Dahteste built her strength and endurance swinging a pick for long hours. She continued to shoot as well, and could handily outshoot any of the men in the camp by the time she was fourteen.
Her mother too played a role in her upbringing, in addition to knowledge for the western world, which her father also taught her, she taught her all the customs of her people, and their language, and learned the music of the Apache as well. She taught her everything there was to know about survival and hunting, how to find food, how to get water. And then how to deal with white men, and women, how to not simply be dismissed as an ignorant savage.
Eventually her mother wished to return to her homeland and a compromise was struck, for a few years the family would return to Georgia where her father had first arrived and lived in the United States, where he could gather what he had left and sell his property before moving back west to Texas, which by now had joined the Union. This plan was all well and good, but not a few months after they had returned to the state, the American Civil War had broken out. While normally they would’ve left straight away, they were kept in Georgia by extenuating circumstances, waiting out the years until everything blew over and the Confederacy was either conquered or succeeded in its independence attempt. While Dahteste thought it hypocritical that a country that only existed because it had seceded was now invading one that was trying to do the same, she and her family avoided taking sides.
That all changed in 1864, when, during Sherman’s invasion of Georgia, when both of her brothers were executed by Union scouts for being suspected rebels. At one point, searching for them, she saw across their corpses hanging from trees on the road, guarded by a lone soldier. Her first impulse was to scream, not in grief, but rage, but she quickly conquered that instinct, instead hefting the rifle she had brought with her and creeping to within a stone’s throw of the soldier, putting a single minie ball between his shoulder blades and, when he didn’t immediately die but lay feebly calling for help, slit his throat with a knife. She dragged her brother’s bodies back home, and from that point on her side in the war was decided, and both her father and mother immediately began sheltering as many Confederate injured as possible, and donated much of their fortune to the war effort, saving some for retirement and their only child left alive - a child who immediately set off to war under cover of darkness.
With the same rifle she carries today she arrived in Virginia on the eve of the Battle of Spotsylvania Court House disguised as a man, marching straight up to the nearest officer she could find and insisting that she be allowed to serve as a sniper in the army, giving a quick demonstration of her shooting skill. The officer even provided her with a scope, the need for warm bodies to man rifles was pressing enough that he didn’t particularly care about anything other than that.
The next day, during the battle, she shot and killed at least twenty if not more Union soldiers, including as far as she could tell, General Sedgwick himself. Her rifle had gone off, and not long after the man had crumpled with a bullet hole in his face.
Her vengeance would be short lived however, as within the year, Sherman’s army had marched to the sea.
She watched Atlanta burn, powerless to do anything.
She ran the whole way home, arriving at a scene of carnage and a charred ruin. Judging by the bullet holes in what parts of the walls remained and the bodies, the occupants had not gone down without a hell of a fight. Within the burned out walls, she found the bodies of at least twenty Confederates, many still with the charred remnants of bandages and splints on them - and no sign of her parents.
However, when she opened their hidden safe in the basement, she found a note, a small fortune in gold, and the two Dragoon pistols with their names etched on either one. The note left things ambiguous, and to this day she has no idea whether her parents made it out in time, went down fighting and were lying amongst the bodies in the house, or were taken prisoner. She’s still keeping an ear open, and her gut tells her they’re still alive somewhere, but the world indicates otherwise.
She knew the war was over, no point in fighting it anymore. Immediately she set out west, taking everything she could, and not looking back, helping what Confederate refugees she could, and killing any Union soldiers that were unlucky enough to be alone or with only one other person. Eventually she arrived in Texas, and invested much of the gold and money she had in various companies and stores, making a tidy profit. However she grew bored, and unholstered her guns in ‘67, adding to her income by killing people who needed killing. Her latest bounty has led her straight to Laredo.
Secrets: If she told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore!
Relations: If anybody wants to have prior relations with her just lemme know.
Origin: Half Apache, half Scottish. Former Confederate sniper.
Current Occupation: Gun for hire.
Appearance: Not what most would consider a classical Hellenic beauty, Dahteste is powerfully built, an upbringing with an unconventional father and a martial mother assured that. She stands at five feet seven inches, with strong shoulders and clearly defined muscles evident along most of her body. Rough, calloused hands are if anything more muscled, used to handling the kick of a rifle, the snap of a pistol, the impact of a knife with its target, and before that - the thud of a pickaxe against soil, and the reins of an ill tempered horse.
Her features are an interesting mix of Scottish and Apache, but they still share the same eyes and high cheekbones that come from a life living out among sand storms and scorching desert sun. Her hair is thick and black, cascading in waves down her back like a stygian waterfall. Skin tone is also a midway point between the Scottish fair skin, and tanned Apache color.
She dresses for trouble, with two heavy leather belts crossing each other, and physically sewn together where they meet in the middle. They also have the holsters for her pistols, and plenty of premeasured paper cartridges sitting in pouches along the length of the belts, and still more stashed in a larger pouch, with several extra large ones in loops on her belt for her rifle. The belt also has a sturdy sheath for her short broadsword knife. She wears a heavy matte brown leather duster, cut short to just above her knees and bristling with interior pouches, pockets, and holes from myriad fights.
Dahteste is heavily armed by any metric, carrying the deadly accurate Sharps rifle with a scope, and two customized third model Colt 1851 Dragoons lovingly inlaid with simple yet elegant designs and the names of her parents; and a wickedly large Bowie knife -more of a short sword- strapped to her thigh. Personality: Redacted.
Skills/Abilities: Dahteste is above all, known for her skill with a gun. Rifle, pistol, shotgun, if it goes boom, she has an almost supernatural skill in connecting it with her targets. That is not to say she can’t miss, but she rarely does.
Dahteste is passable when it comes to melee combat, relying more on physical strength than skill, and if she wasn’t able to pick them off from a distance, something is wrong.
Survival skills that come from growing up in the desert, especially with a native mother.
Skilled rider.
Fluent in English and the Navajo/Apache language, basic working knowledge of Spanish.
Miscellaneous: Bisexual, but not openly. She doesn’t beat around the bush about not being a proper lady though.
Has a deep and abiding hatred of the Union and its soldiers, one that will almost certainly never cease.
Is racist towards black people (yes, I’m playing this realistically for the character, no, there will be no n-word usage. Yes, it makes me personally uncomfortable too.).
Backstory: Dahteste was born in 1844 to a Scottish immigrant father and an Apache mother. Originally born in the then independent Republic of Texas, she grew up very atypically, at one point moving to California with her father and mother during the California Gold Rush, even though at the time she was only four. Where other girls might’ve been taught to sew and cook, her mother was an Apache, and her father seemed to have never heard of the concept of femininity.
From an early age, she was taught to read and write, and then to ride and start a fire, and then how to shoot and survive in the wilds of the desert. She showed skill at all of them, like her two brothers, and her parents. However, it was shooting at which she excelled the most, and almost as soon as she had shot her first rifle she seemed to have some innate connection with any firearm she held, and an unerring aim. Her father was delighted at this, and not only encouraged it, he bought her a rifle of her own with money earned when he struck it rich during the gold rush in California, which the family had moved to all the way across the country for, helping to pan for gold while her parents and older brother swung a pick, and were she older, would’ve done that too. Her father and mother showed good business sense, which they passed on to their children, not relying on gold to make their fortune, and investing a good sized chunk of their profits in the stores that made a killing selling tools to prospectors.
Even though the gold had long ago dried up, Dahteste built her strength and endurance swinging a pick for long hours. She continued to shoot as well, and could handily outshoot any of the men in the camp by the time she was fourteen.
Her mother too played a role in her upbringing, in addition to knowledge for the western world, which her father also taught her, she taught her all the customs of her people, and their language, and learned the music of the Apache as well. She taught her everything there was to know about survival and hunting, how to find food, how to get water. And then how to deal with white men, and women, how to not simply be dismissed as an ignorant savage.
Eventually her mother wished to return to her homeland and a compromise was struck, for a few years the family would return to Georgia where her father had first arrived and lived in the United States, where he could gather what he had left and sell his property before moving back west to Texas, which by now had joined the Union. This plan was all well and good, but not a few months after they had returned to the state, the American Civil War had broken out. While normally they would’ve left straight away, they were kept in Georgia by extenuating circumstances, waiting out the years until everything blew over and the Confederacy was either conquered or succeeded in its independence attempt. While Dahteste thought it hypocritical that a country that only existed because it had seceded was now invading one that was trying to do the same, she and her family avoided taking sides.
That all changed in 1864, when, during Sherman’s invasion of Georgia, when both of her brothers were executed by Union scouts for being suspected rebels. At one point, searching for them, she saw across their corpses hanging from trees on the road, guarded by a lone soldier. Her first impulse was to scream, not in grief, but rage, but she quickly conquered that instinct, instead hefting the rifle she had brought with her and creeping to within a stone’s throw of the soldier, putting a single minie ball between his shoulder blades and, when he didn’t immediately die but lay feebly calling for help, slit his throat with a knife. She dragged her brother’s bodies back home, and from that point on her side in the war was decided, and both her father and mother immediately began sheltering as many Confederate injured as possible, and donated much of their fortune to the war effort, saving some for retirement and their only child left alive - a child who immediately set off to war under cover of darkness.
With the same rifle she carries today she arrived in Virginia on the eve of the Battle of Spotsylvania Court House disguised as a man, marching straight up to the nearest officer she could find and insisting that she be allowed to serve as a sniper in the army, giving a quick demonstration of her shooting skill. The officer even provided her with a scope, the need for warm bodies to man rifles was pressing enough that he didn’t particularly care about anything other than that.
The next day, during the battle, she shot and killed at least twenty if not more Union soldiers, including as far as she could tell, General Sedgwick himself. Her rifle had gone off, and not long after the man had crumpled with a bullet hole in his face.
Her vengeance would be short lived however, as within the year, Sherman’s army had marched to the sea.
She watched Atlanta burn, powerless to do anything.
She ran the whole way home, arriving at a scene of carnage and a charred ruin. Judging by the bullet holes in what parts of the walls remained and the bodies, the occupants had not gone down without a hell of a fight. Within the burned out walls, she found the bodies of at least twenty Confederates, many still with the charred remnants of bandages and splints on them - and no sign of her parents.
However, when she opened their hidden safe in the basement, she found a note, a small fortune in gold, and the two Dragoon pistols with their names etched on either one. The note left things ambiguous, and to this day she has no idea whether her parents made it out in time, went down fighting and were lying amongst the bodies in the house, or were taken prisoner. She’s still keeping an ear open, and her gut tells her they’re still alive somewhere, but the world indicates otherwise.
She knew the war was over, no point in fighting it anymore. Immediately she set out west, taking everything she could, and not looking back, helping what Confederate refugees she could, and killing any Union soldiers that were unlucky enough to be alone or with only one other person. Eventually she arrived in Texas, and invested much of the gold and money she had in various companies and stores, making a tidy profit. However she grew bored, and unholstered her guns in ‘67, adding to her income by killing people who needed killing. Her latest bounty has led her straight to Laredo.
Secrets: If she told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore!
Relations: If anybody wants to have prior relations with her just lemme know.
Adèla walked alongside Calder, keeping a steady eye on the hard light projection surrounding her armor. As it was, she looked to be the spitting image of a Stygian heavy, an image she wasn't eager to see fail.
She prodded Calder with an armored boot, grunting menacingly, "Move it, shitbag." She looked over to the other "guard", "Sounds like the diversion's begun, we need to hurry." She whispered urgently. "Faster, pretty boy, move your ass or I'll do it for you."
As they neared the prison, she noticed the guards standing there seemed particularly nervous, evidently unsure of what was going on beyond gunfire. "Hey!" She barked, moving forward, "Prisoner transfer to cell block A, authority level Beta, transfer code BL175KR139." She paused, "Need to get him inside and respond to the disturbance in H wing."
One of them nodded and hit a button to his right, typing in a code and standing back as the door began to grate open. Adèla and Crow walked Calder through the gate, Adèla taking a moment to widen the projection to hide what she was doing as she took two pads and quickly placed them on the wall behind either guard, letting the extended projection drop once the explosives had changed their colors to match the background.
Hurrying through, she broke her stern attitude immediately, whispering to the other two, "You'll know when to start the party." And slipping off.
Some random internet fuck with a keyboard and too much free time.
[center][img]http://orig01.deviantart.net/e4bd/f/2012/174/9/8/i_have_done_nothing_productive_today_by_hewhoerasesmost-d54iygf.gif[/img][/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Some random internet fuck with a keyboard and too much free time.<br><br> <br><br> <br> <br><br><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://orig01.deviantart.net/e4bd/f/2012/174/9/8/i_have_done_nothing_productive_today_by_hewhoerasesmost-d54iygf.gif" /></div></div>
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kapuchu
