[attr="class","rcappleftic"][attr="class","fa fa-user"]

[attr="class","rcappleftnick"]

BIG BAD WOLF

[attr="class","rcappleftstuff"]

AGE: twenty five

DATE OF BIRTH: july 27

HOMETOWN: berlin, germany

GENDER: demiboy

ZODIAC SIGN: leo

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:[break] single

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:[break] asexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:[break] panromantic

OCCUPATION:[break] freelance artist/enforcer

[attr="class","rcappleftfc"]

[b]SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN, jean kirschtein[/b] as [i]morgan wolf[/i]

[attr="class,"rcappper4"]

They don't see the wolf, they see a sheep, just one of the many in this mindless flock. Content to play follow the leader with no qualms about being run into the ground with not so much as a moment's notice. Content to go on with a meaningless, grey existence devoid of colour. Then he dons the mask and it is a skeletal one, white against an absolute black, a grinning skull from which a rich voice all but purrs out vicious threats. But yet that is he, the monster under the bed, clothed in shadow and bathed in blood.[break][break]

He's the big bad wolf, he's out to get you so you better run.[break][break]

CHARACTER TIDBITS[break][break]
- morgan is one of the few people in the world with synesthesia (chromesthesia, specifically)[break][break]
- he's wanted a pet ever since moving here from berlin, but hasn't gotten round to getting one yet. he misses the family dog, who goes by the incredibly creative name of ben, terribly.[break][break]
- though not without a martial arts background (picked up some time between the ages of twelve and eighteen for a duration of approximately three years), his interrogation methods are effectively mainly due to a love for theatrics and an uncanny amount of strength, the latter of which can be attributed to both frequent visits to a nearby gym and good genes.[break][break]
- owns a kawasaki motorcycle mainly because it looks really cool.[break][break]
- tends to pick out vibrant colours in terms of his attire, and will on occasion dye his hair some garish shade. most of his 'home clothes' have splotches of paint just about everywhere, though. a camera slung around his neck normally completes every outfit.[break][break]
- with his mixed german-chinese parentage, morgan speaks english as his first language, but is also fairly fluent in mandarin and german as well. an accent is barely noticeable, with only the most discerning of listeners being able to pick it apart. he can, however, pull off a rather impressive (if not silly at times) scottish accent.[break][break]

[attr="class","rcappbio2"]

VERMILION

Pulled away, no, broken free. New wings spread wide, a warm draft carries him far, far away from the bustling city he calls home. Across an ocean - he looks out of the plane window, noticing that it is far, far away and very, very blue - and into a new land, one they call America. There is a gentle pat on his shoulder and he turns back, back to the idle conversation which his mother insists on. It is so very boring, so he simply nods and smiles, but his hands are busy, a rough sketch of an endless ocean soon forming on the sketchbook before him. [break][break]

Varying shades of grey, blended effortlessly to create rolling waves, the sunlight reflecting off the shimmering surface. His fingers are darkened by the charcoal but he doesn't quite mind, rolling his shoulders and slouching back into his seat, neatly picking up the offered tissue to clean his hands. A quiet word of compliment reaches him as the stewardess who strides past sneaks a look and he grins, a smile sharp and fleeting and proud. He tucks away the sketch carefully, kicking his bag back under the seat in front of him as they prepare for landing. [break][break]

AMARANTH

The sound of rain, grey and dull, peppered by the occasional pinprick of blue. He closes his eyes and colours dance in the darkness, slow and soothing. The cafe is not without the expected murmur of conversation, warm hues of orange and red that meld together in the background. Another voice, that of a young girl, adds itself to the mix, vibrantly coloured - amber and gold, cheery and carefree. He smiles then, no more than a contented quirk of the lips before he opens his eyes and begins to paint once more. [break][break]

He's not quite the model student, but he's on everyone's good list. Well, almost everyone. Not quite all too popular but neither was he a lone wolf by any standard. It is all very simple, there's a single goal to work towards (which is acing his exams) and he feels absolutely fine. His classmates are not as colourful as he might have liked, but he does have a few good friends here and there. When he knows what to do, everything is absolutely perfect. [break][break]

CARMINE

A little disappointed in his choice of pursuing arts instead of a viable career in medicine, his parents do sit him down for a rather serious discussion one day, lamenting the lost potential of their single son, who cares so very little for the large paycheck or prestige of those possibilities. They remain as that, possibilities, as he devotes his time instead to art. Flowing brush strokes on a plain canvas, a brilliant swathe of mauve and coral the sky, the sun a bleeding orb of crimson. [break][break]

Deadlines and the omnipresent pressure of upholding standards press in on him and he wonders why any child is ever in a hurry to grow up. Sometimes, he misses the Berlin of his childhood, though less of the city and simply its people - the friendly family down the street that baked the best cookies ever, his family's ever cheerful border collie, the rowdiness of festivals during winter months. There's something off about this city he stays in, where people speak in sickly green shades and anything vaguely brighter is hard to come across. Rehearsed, monotonous, everything is black, white and grey and there is no life.[break][break]

The lack of colours is not what scares him, but it is the sudden realisation that he, too, is fading. He might just become one of them, and he can't stand it a second longer.[break][break]

BLOOD

There is no clear purpose now, his vision clouded and dulled by the daily bustle. He is bored, and yet even the idea of relief dangles just beyond his fingertips. A twist of fate, but the sun starts to shine a little brighter on him. It is not the politician's reedy voice that draws his attention (eggplants and olives, he thinks, but maybe that is just because he's feeling a little peckish), but another, shouting above all others in a red, red voice that he simply cannot ignore.[break][break]

Flames, carnelian and coquelicot, curled around an unmistakable blade of black - absolute, unyielding. Dominating, presence threatening to swallow all others.[break][break]

Who is he to resist such a calling?[break][break]

Beginning a new canvas, hidden from the public eye. Being a spy would be more suited to his profession, gathering information, working to supply the revolution with the weapon of words and intelligence. Yet he dives down a different path, one where he simply knows what to do, where he once more has a purpose. Sometimes, people are not quite keen on divulging information - they just need a little push in the right direction. He throws off the mask and bears a vicious smile.[break][break]

He is the big bad wolf, painted in shadows and blood.[break][break]

[attr="class","rcapprp2"]OTHER CHARACTERS

[attr="class","rcapprp4"]