Canis RPG - Profile of Vere

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Vere is currently away. Returns: Unknown
— tenatively back, but a lot going on so might be slow/on-and-off

Stardust Threadlog

Vere

Played by junes

Name
Vere (veer)

Height
Short

Fur Color
blonde, taupe, cream & white

Sex & Gender
Female — transmasculine

Weight
Very Light

Eyes
fiery amber & ghostly blue

Age
5 years (2019-04-06)

Build
Scrawny

Species
wolf

Warning

vere's threads and history might contain triggering material such as abuse, kidnapping, dubious sexual consent, unwanted pregnancy, sexually explicit themes, violence and similar. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ roleplay partners preferred.

he/him · chaotic neutral · gay

Appearance

he could be handsome, under other circumstances, but years of malnourishment and a questionable ability to hunt have left vere scrawny, small, and struggling to fix it. he tries to keep himself groomed and clean, in an almost obsessive fashion when he's stressed, keeps his fur soft and shiny, seems to have a certain dislike for dirt. vere is blond, growing lighter into creams and whites in his unders, faded taupes ticking his highs, with lean muscle and a striking, fine-featured face. his eyes are large, calculating, and a strange mix of amber and pale blue; the right half of his face has a growing white band, extending past his eye and turning half of his nose pink.

Personality

a walking contradiction. fierce and short-tempered, but contained and subservient. determined and bold, but easily restrained and a follower. family-oriented but family-avoidant. observant, but saying little. spirited, but humorless. vere is unlearning a long time of conditioning and repression, and his behavior may be unpredictable.

History

[box=400]

i. the softmouths

childhood is a muddled lake, and he recalls little of it. a mother's smile. the low rumble of a father's voice. the feeling of their names in his mouth, although he can't quite recall what they were. it seems so far away now, ghosts in the water.
vere and his sister verity were their parents first and last pups, two little bundles of liquid sunlight taken form. they're not sure which one came first, sister or brother, and no one would ever tell them; the adults delighted in their childish rows and playfights of seniority, the hours spent grilling for information. the softmouths were more commune and less pack, members coming and going. vere's early months were filled with nothing but laugher and twinkling eyes, full bellies and warm nights pressed against a loved one's coat. they never wanted for anything.

vere and verity grew quick and they grew loved, from chubby puppies to gangly children to awkwardly proportioned teenagers, all strange long limbs and big ears. they begun their hunting lessons under the watchful eyes of their guardians, caught their first prey together, teeth in the same throat, same blood in two mouths. they feasted that night, drunk on their first steps into adulthood, talked and joked and lived well after the moon was high and the others were gone, and vere fell asleep with his face in verity's fur, feeling her breath tickle the hair of his neck, and everything was right.

the next day, the colna notch came.

ii. colna notch

you hear tales, when you live as freely and peacefully as the softmouths, about what goes on beyond. about cannibal wolves and blood, death and pain, about the cruelty of others. about unimaginable grief. most of the time, vere did not believe them. most of the time.

there was grief, when the colna notch came.

the softmouths were not fighters. they went quickly. never before had vere realized how dead bodies are all the same - warm meat and little more, wolf and deer side by side, barely distinguishable. the colna notch were big, and they were muscled, with scarred faces and rippling bodies, shinning red droplets falling from their jaws. vere did not see his parents fall, but he knows they must have. he knows a lot of things must have happened, but he remembers little of them; he remembers pressing his flank close to his sister, haunches high, remembers braving a snarl. remembers fiery eyes and gore-covered teeth. remembers when they were gathered, all the young ones, into a group, and taken away from the plains and hills they had called home, walked and walked until the green turned brown then grey then red and soft grass turned into rock and gravel and dust. the walk is blank in his mind. many things are blank in his mind, from that beginning, from those first few months. war spoils, the colna notch called them, but vere knew what they really were. when they stuffed them into a den, he did not fight. when they barked orders, he did not fight. when they threatened, he bared his teeth, but another captive tried to land a bite and it took vere two hours to wash all their blood away from his fur. after that he did not risk it again.

the colna notch had hard lungs from the dust and calloused feet from the climbing. the colna notch made them all live in a crowded little den in the coldest part of the camp. the colna notch lived in holes in the rock faces that they called their homes, filled cracks and dried creeks, decorated hidden tunnels in the hardness of their dens and met in the middle. vere got lost seven times before they finally allowed verity to teach him how to navigate them. the seventh time he remained lost for four days. he does not remember being found, but he remembers the dehydration, the hallucinations that came in the dark. going into the sun again felt like being lashed. verity lay close to him that night, bringing water-soaked moss to his lips, covered in dust, and when sleep finally came it was restless and fitful for the both of them. he would not have survived those first few months, he thinks, without her by his side. in the endless days and too-short nights they were there for each other, getting used to the choke of the underground and the hardness of the rocks on their pads. they spent their turn from puppies into yearlings huddled close together in a crack in the rock face, a scrawny mouse to share between them, a cheap and lonely celebration. they had not hunted again, since their first hunt.

they learned how to dig tunnels. they learned how to haul rocks, and clean the dust from the fighters' dens, and when they neared their second year, they learned how to bathe them, too, how to be good and quiet and unobtrusive as they moved, how not to eavesdrop - or at least how to pretend that they were not. vere learned a lot of things about himself, during that time. that he had a short temper that he could never show. a strategic mind that he could not put to use. quick eyes, that he could. he couldn't say what he was even doing, with the things he saw and kept inside. the fact that one of the fighters favored his left side and walked with a limp. the way another squinted, just the slightest bit, an old wound at the stomach of another. all their eyes, either leering or indifferent or hard, but never kind. the way they made his stomach churn and knot until he was too tense to even eat. vere learned to keep his head low and eyes averted and burned fiery with every second he had to.

and he aged.

iii. verity
sexual themes

vere and verity reached their second year under no ones celebration but their own, a happy birthday mumbled quietly between them, a licked ear. the fighters' eyes changed, as they grew. not all of them, but vere would watch them looking, sometimes, either with intrigue or with disgust, eyeing his face, where the white mask had been spreading since his puphood. somewhere along the line some of the disgust got tinted with something else, something unknown that had vere's pelt tickling in discomfort even in its foreignness. most of the time, he wanted to hide away where they could not see him, could not eye him in that strange way of theirs. but he saw how they eyed verity, too. so different from him. appreciatively, sometimes, some others in a way that made him want to snarl and spit and snap his teeth. she spoke nothing of it to him, but he knew she noticed. saw the way she shied away and turned herself small. it was not only them, of course; many of their group had come of age alongside them, and vere could feel the strange energy in the air, the powder keg pressure of both reception and rejection. he stayed on the sidelines. vere was not the kind of spoil they were looking at, anyway.

it was strange, when their overseer hurried them out of their den and into the springs, but not alarming. strange when she watched them wash and made sure they were more thorough, strange when she put them in a line, inspected them one by one and made them tidy their fur, and then his brain caught up. they were not the first batch to come of age in his time in the colna notch, after all, and there was rarely a thing in the pack that went unnoticed. and so he held his breath, and he let himself be guided, side by side with his sister, side by side with friends and strangers alike, into the unknown.

the room was wide, and spacious, and smelled of the fear and stress of multiple confused young adults. he remembers its name: the chapel of prospects. he remembers the rippling murmurs from left and right, quiet whispers as others realized, and the air around them took on a different weight. they all fell silent when the warriors begun to trickle in. small groups, at first, then a few lone ones, then too many at once to be able to tell; some excited, some more hesitant than others, but all with appraising eyes, piercing gazes. for once vere did not know whether to keep his face averted or take them head on. if they'd take his avoidance as shyness, as something attractive, or if they'd take his boldness as a challenge. he stayed at the back of the group instead. watched silently as the fighters appraised them, some striking up light conversation with their prospects, some inspecting them from every side and angle, all in ways that made vere's fur threaten to stand. for the most part no one paid him much mind. the widening white band across his face had begun getting him more than a few cautious stares, and he assumed that whatever exotic intrigue it might have brought, none of the warriors wanted to catch it. that suited vere fine. he had no desire to be a part of that sort of game, no matter the change of life it'd offer him.

they looked at verity, though.

verity, with her downturned gaze and well groomed fur, verity steady on her legs, verity who did not shy away from their eyes even though vere knew exactly how scared she was. he admired her, he did, but in his head he could see it play out second by second. and it did, warriors coming up to her one by one to check her out, chat with her if they so wished, see if she was to their tastes or their needs. he could not see which of them spoke to their overseer, after, could not make out their words or pinpoint who had asked for who. afterwards, when the visitors begun to finally trickle out, the spoils were herded back into their own quarters, confused and with no more info than they'd had when they first left. vere stuck close by verity, but she seemed distracted, her eyes restless, body tense. she didn't sleep by him that night. she didn't sleep at all, he thinks. he woke up alone the next morning, did his chores, tried not to worry over the multitudes of missing numbers of his denmates. the air had begun to cool by the time they found their way back, some of them quiet, some chatting idly among themselves, some even looking a bit happy, and within them verity, still looking tired and worn and almost resigned. she did not want to speak, and he left her to it, gave her her space, and when night came by he pressed himself next to her to sleep, wordlessly. his name is klei, she finally whispered, in the early hours of the morning. the warrior who asked for me. and vere had nothing to say, no comfort to offer, and so he licked her cheek and held her close and stayed quiet.

verity still had to attend her duties, but she was given time off, after that. vere knew she was not given it to rest. he'd catch glimpses of her, sometimes, accompanying a large grey wolf, his muzzle scarred, his eyes uncomfortably colorless. vere did not see verity talking once. she did not talk much about klei, but there was not much to say, anyway. their say in the matter was limited. but vere could see no bruises on her body, no blood or wounds, and in their rank, that would have to be enough. and even though he did not want to be parted from her, when the time came, and she moved away to be with klei, vere would find comfort in knowing that she was physically sound, if nothing else.

and they waited.

they stayed together until their first heat came. verity was first, but vere saw the signs, could feel the build up and knew it would not be long. he could smell it on himself. so when they came for verity, took her away, her eyes big and her jaw tight, he could not follow. could only sit, and wait, and know that the next time he saw his sister she would not be sharing his den. he could hear them, their jeers and their whoops and their laugher, all the way from the ceremony cave. he didn't need to see it to feel sick with the knowledge of what was happening. the publicity of it. officiation, they called it, some twisted version of marriage, the consummation in front of the eyes of the group, and vere lay in his den alone and boiled and boiled and boiled. the fact that he had not been chosen by anyone was a small mercy. he had always been one half of a whole, and now they were both alone.

verity was quieter, after that.

iv. the red crag

with adulthood fully embraced and the chapel of prospects rejection full, vere was moved in with the older spoils, in the work in progress tunnel formation affectionatelly dubbed the red crag. they were more spread out across the camp, focused more on the physical labour; they were still not allowed to hunt, but he found some joy in being watched less closely, having more freedom to make friendships and spread his duties across the day and even laugh, sometimes, with the others in the same position as him. he missed verity something terrible, and the few chances they had to be around each other were brief and quiet—her new husband liked having her around, showing her off, and vere was quickly losing the ability to read how she felt. her face remained schooled and neutral. her body movements calculated. she slipped further away from him by the second. but if she was alright, he could live with that.

some parts of his new life were worse than before. vere got used to living in dust and dirt, his blond pelt often red-hued with it, when he emerged from the tunnel in the redrock after a day's digging. the hierarchy ladder between the adult spoils was brutal, and he tried to stay off it as much as he could, keep to himself, have his own corner. he saw wolves wooed by fighters that had no intentions of taking them as mates, only to watch them crash and mourn when their bellies begun to swell with pups that would never be more than servant orphans. and the entertainers, how they had him nauseous. the spoils that had gotten tired of being just spoils, and so they placed themselves into the arena, fought and fought and fought for the chance at some respect, better food, some privacy. it's not that vere did not understand. he did, and that was the worst of it. he understood full well why they would do this. maybe, if he had been a weaker man, or maybe a stronger one, he would have done the same.

the days blended into each other, after a point.

somewhere along the line verity had started getting slower. a little thinner, at first, then evening out again, looking just a bit ill, her eyes tired, the color of her fur duller. trying to get her alone was a fight he was not managing to win. when her sides begun to grow distended and her flesh a little darker, he did not know if he should be happy for her or terrified. he settled on both. the congratulating was brief, once, when he managed to find her by the pond, and her smile did not quite reach her eyes. when he told her she seemed tired, verity pressed her head to his flank and stayed there for a minute. and then they were apart again, and he was watching her from the sidelines, klei always by her side, showing off. it bothered vere in a way he could not quite place.

he could not be there, when her time came, but he paced the area around her den at a distance and waited and waited. he waited when her puppies came, and he waited as he watched the visitors trickle in, klei's friends and siblings in arms and teachers, and he waited for three days until klei finally grew tired of doing nothing and returned to his duties and finally, blessedly, left verity alone. vere went to her with a rat dangling from his jaws- it would have been his own lunch, but she needed it, he figured, exhausted and hurting as she was. she did not look better, her fur still dull, the bags under her eyes pronounced, but she smiled when she saw him, her gaze soft, and there was nothing more he could ask for. there suckled two at her belly, one with the colorless pelt of its father, one red and orange in a way that made vere's brain tickle with the memory of a parent he had not seen in longer than he could remember. this is seisa, verity said, the first thing she had since he came, and the affection in her voice was enough to relax every muscle in vere's body, and this is naisa. two, just like they had been. and for the first time in a while, vere smiled.

v. damaris
sexual themes

seisa and naisa grew fast, and vere was in love with them. klei stayed away a lot more, after the birth of his children, and even if there was a part of vere saddened by it he would not complain for the time it allowed him to spend with his sister, with his niece and nephew. they grew from tiny nothings to chubby little puppies to youngsters that tangled around his legs and could almost speak full sentences. they were warrior pups, not spoils, but with verity's permission he was allowed to take them around, provided he did not go very far, babysit them when she and klei needed him to. there was nothing he enjoyed more. their smiles and their laugher made it all worth it, it felt like, all the dust and the ache and the loneliness. verity was still weak, but she came back to herself gradually, regained strength; pregnancy had not come easy for her, but there was something to be thankful for, in that both her and her children were okay. smart, and bold, and loud, and vere has never been religious but if anything was listening he thanked them anyway, because they would never need to know the life he did. klei barely acknowledged him, and vere was used to it; the fighters' disdain was something that he welcomed, after so long. life begun to take a shape that was almost pleasant, despite their situation. he woke up, he did his work, he babysat his relatives, he went to bed exhausted but usually alright. he supposed he could not ask for much more, in the colna notch.

the more the children grew, the rowdier they became, the further away vere got to take them. they were curious, and inquisitive, and a hit among the other warriors. that was the discomfort of it- how in the center it had placed vere, without him realizing, how so many warriors now knew him by looks and by name. most of them left him alone, but he could see it in their eyes when they wanted more. he tried to keep his distance - he had seen one too many spoils end up in places they did not want to - but it was difficult, when his wards were part of them. it was easy to forget, sometimes, even though he tried. he was always brought back to reality violently, when one of the warriors greeted the babes by name, or asked about their father.

or when someone knew their mother, and their father, and vere, too.

naisa had ran off on him, not for the first time, but this time the pup had been a bit too fast and a bit too bold and found himself face first against the legs of a stranger. vere had apologized, scooped seisa back as he waited for naisa to return, intended to take them to their mother; but then the stranger said hello, naisa, the stranger said back to your father and mother with you now, the stranger said i think your uncle here will be very angry, if i keep you from him, and he looked up at vere, meeting his eyes, and his gaze was twinkling and mischievous in a way that made vere's fur prickle. he doesn't remember what he said. all he remembers is bringing the children back to verity, and going back to his den, and feeling the stranger's eyes on him the whole night.

it was easy to distract himself, the next morning. throw himself into his work. the uneasiness was still there in the pit of his stomach, persistent and inexplicable, but he had almost forgotten about it by the time he emerged from the crag. almost forgotten it, until he emerged and there was the stranger, right outside, as if he had been waiting. his eyes still twinkled, his muzzle in a slight smirk, as if he knew something vere didn't, as if he was in on some sort of joke only he was aware of, and all vere could think of was how aware he was of the red dust covering his fur. the stranger was tall, and dark, unscarred and handsome in all respects, and vere realized, finally, that it was no stranger at all, even if they had never spoken. his name was damaris, and vere knew of him, even if they had never spoken. had heard about him, about his skill in battle, his diplomatic silver tongue, his strategic mind. as far as vere knew, damaris had been away for a long time, expanding the colna notch's name and control - codewords for what vere assumed meant pillaging and kidnapping, along with the other warriors. he was spoken highly off, within the pack, with some admiration, for he had never gained a scar in fight; no one had ever been able to wound him that deeply. vere wondered if he had offended him in some way. but damaris did not seem angry or tense, even as his eyes born into vere. and finally he flicked his tail, cocked his head, and said only two words:

come along.

vere liked his voice. clear, leaving no arguments but not overbearing. that was a rare trait, between people struggling to prove themselves; and damaris did not need to prove himself, vere realized quickly, aware of how naturally his eyes stayed on damaris, how naturally he picked up on damaris' cues. he answered damaris' questions carefully, but honestly as he could, about his niece and his nephew, his sister, himself, the whole time expecting damaris to make a move that he never made. and when the night finally came damaris took him back to the crag den and bid him farewell, the smirk never leaving his face, the twinkle still in his eye. vere was left confused and alone. when he showed up to work the next morning, the overseer sent him away. damaris has asked for you. and the confusion only deepened, as he went outside to meet him, damaris still in the same place as before, and off they went, out of camp and walking the length of the territory. vere burned from ear to tail when damaris eyed the red dust on his fur with disgust, took him to the river, and there damaris ordered him and washed him, not with love but with demand, but vere still shivered. he had not felt kind touch from someone that was not his relative since he was a pup. he expected it then, after he was clean and dry and out of the water, expected damaris to push him down and take what he wanted right then and there, because what other reason did he have for this? but damaris did not touch him again tha day, just eyed him appraisingly, nodding to himself when he deemed it satisfying enough. vere was lost. he was lost, and there was nothing he wanted more than to see damaris nod his approval again.

it became a strange routine. damaris picked him up in the mornings, and vere worked less than he used to. he came to both long for it and despise it, despise the uncertainty it brought, made him want to anger damaris until he snapped and did- something. anything. he tried and tried to jostle him, without much success, vere complaining and talking back in ways that would never be allowed to, were anyone listening, and the whole time damaris just smiled his knowing smile and let him. he did not react, for the most part, when vere started jabbing him, either, well-covered insults and insinuations and disrespects. did not react, until one day he did, and vere does not know what it was that was his final straw- one moment he was saying something, a sting in his voice and the next moment the sting was on his cheek where it was pressing against the ground, his front legs gone from under him, damari's heavy paw keeping him firmly down, and vere was suddenly aware of how small he was, how miniscule next to damaris' impressive figure. how easy it would be, if damaris wanted, to snap his spine like it was nothing. but damaris' voice, even in command, was still steady when he leaned close to vere's ear, rumbled do not poke me, pup, and vere's legs were weak and trembling when he stood again. seeing damaris' smile gone had vere's heart hammering, and shamefully, terribly, all he wanted to do was go low on the ground in his most subservient fashion and beg until damaris forgave him. he did not do that, and he stayed quiet the rest of their trip, and so did damaris. vere was certain it was over after that, and yet again the next morning damaris was there, waiting for him.

damaris pointed out emergency herbs to him until vere memorized them. damaris tested vere's sparring abilities, which were minimal, because no one had ever taught him how to fight. damaris took vere hunting, his paw low on vere's back to adjust his crouch, and vere had not felt such freedom since before the colna notch came. he was a lousy hunter, but they still dined together on their catch that night, vere high on this forgotten feeling, and every time he went to sleep he grew more stressed and more bitter. he enjoyed this new life, and he hated how it depended on damaris. once damaris was bored, or had gotten what he wanted, what would become of him? and it did not matter, in the end. vere's say in the matter was minimal. so he tried to keep it inside, and tried to enjoy the little freedom he had, the little rest, and tried not to feel too disgusted with himself when he begun to look forward to seeing damaris' form approaching.

damaris showed him parts of the territory that vere had never seen before. sharply ending cliffs covered in stick-like rocks and disgusting wet bogs, plains of grazing herds, forests with trees so tall that vere could not see the top of them. cascading waterfalls where they washed, damaris' making sure vere's work was adequately to his tastes. he had begun to touch him more, as the weeks passed, arranging vere's fur as he liked, removing the leaves and sticks caught to it, pressing against his side when he moved to get something. vere did not remember the last time his stomach did not feel tight with uncertainty and fear, and waiting. he did not doubt it would come. his only question was why it was taking so long. but when damaris finally took him there was no such wait; no long drawn out courting or gifts or sweet words, no love there, just damaris coming up behind him and saying one thing or another in that languid tone of his, and then just the weight of damaris on his back and an ache that didn't leave his body for a week. he thought that was that, then, the climax and the end, but damaris came back to him the next day and vere could do nothing but follow.

vere bribed the medics, after that first time. half his days' rations for just a bit of those herbs they had for the warriors, the ones that helped them not conceive. it was the first secret he had ever kept; and his first little act of rebellion.

vi. vere
sexual themes

he did not feel loved. he felt owned. he supposed that in the colna notch one was not too far from the other. damaris had not let up after their first tryst, and often vere found himself sporting signs or light bitemarks, not to wound but to warn: taken. he wasn't sure if he liked it or if he despised it. he had been an object his whole life; this one was not so different, and still vere felt uneasy, wanting to both run as far away from damaris as he could and stay stay as close to him as possible at all times. he enjoyed the having a purpose. damaris moved him to his den, and vere had his first taste of sleeping without the sound and heat of another hundred bodies in years. of sleeping where the fresh air could reach. he did anything damaris asked of him, and he knew damaris never once thought he would say no. that was what real power is, vere thought: knowing that you will be obeyed, not because you force it or because you leave no other option but because those around you would never think to do anything but obey you. vere had to admire that. damaris' ability to be a leader no matter the situation. and despite himself, he was growing just a bit more comfortable with the situation, if nothing else with his new rank. damaris had not forced him to marry him. vere was sure he knew he would not have to.

when verity came to him one day, shaking and distraught, it was the last thing vere expected.

she told him of her pregnancy, then, of how weak and sick it had made her, of the nightmares, the pain. how she could not eat and could not sleep and felt like she could not rest. of how she had prayed to die, when labour came, and how it had felt worth it when she looked at her children, but how she did not think she would survive it a second time. how she had begged, and pleaded, and with her face staining tears into the ruffle of his neck, how she was expecting again regardless, and how she didn't think she could do it again. vere was numb with it. he would have helped her, if he had known earlier, would have given her some of his herbs, but in the privacy of the shadows he held his sister until she calmed and he kissed her head and whispered comfort and then they had to part. he watched her go and felt dizzy. he didn't know if he should pray for her survival, because he loved her, or for her death, because he loved her.

the days passed thick as blood, and often vere was not in his head. most of his time he spent with damaris. things had lulled more, now, and often he would be alone in damaris' den, keeping it tidy, or getting him food instead of tending to the same work as other spoils. they would still go out, a lot of the time, and often things turned to the physical, and vere had lost track of his own mind. he did not know how to feel about anything. when verity begun to show he left damaris' den late one night, while damaris was asleep, and found himself inside the cave of ceremony. slowly walked around the vast expanse, heard the way it echoed, eyed the circle in the middle where he knew a couple would be. wondered, for the first time, if he should have wished that it had been him instead of verity that klei chose, and what it said about him that he didn't wish it. he did not notice damaris until the man spoke, voice echoing in the room, asked him what he was doing. and vere did not want to talk about it. vere went to the middle of the circle, and lay himself down, and let damaris take whatever he wanted to take from him.

afterwards, laying next to him by the entrance, he watched as damaris raised his head and eyed the wedding circle. you know, he told vere, if i get you pregnant, your children will be slaves. but if you marry me, our children would be warriors..

vere thought of verity's sunken eyes and swollen stomach, and suppressed a shiver. he did not want damaris' children. he did not want anything, right then, and so he pressed his face into damaris' fur and said nothing.

he thought he'd have more time, you see. more time to think, and to act, and to decide what direction his life would take- if he would fight it or let it come, if he would resign himself to it, if he'd try to carve something else. he thought he'd have more time, to come up with a way to help verity. but three days later damaris deposited his stash of herbs right by vere's feet. three days later he looked at him with no smile, his paw over the green leaves, and he ground them into nothing. three days later damaris told him not to keep secrets from him again, because he would not like the consequences, and as he walked away vere caught verity's eyes from across the camp, and verity nodded at him. three days later vere found damaris approaching him with fervor, in their den, his eyes blazing and his body huge and demanding as he put vere between him and the wall, and vere knew that if he let damaris have his way that night he would not get the choice again.

he reached out and slashed his nails across damaris' skin.

violence, vere would tell you, is not so much injury or threat as it is interruption — of one's being, one's course, until there comes a day where they no longer recognize themselves in their actions, until they betray their own substance. until, one day, in their own crooked twisted actions, they annihilate any possibility of their own continuity.

vere had never existed in a situation that was not violence.

damaris' blood was still on his nails, when he ran.

vii. the fire, the flood

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Relationships

family

mother & father — i wish i remembered more.
verity - sister — i'm so sorry. i hope you're at peace.

seisa - niece — i miss you.
naisa - nephew — i miss you.

unknown nieces and nephews — i dont know what to think.

intimate relationships

danaris - vere's... something — i don't like that i think of you.

friends

x - x — thoughts

enemies

klei - 'brother in law' — i have dreams where i castrate you.

acquaintances

alexei - x — pending
daighre - x — pending
sabira - x — pending

Pack History

the softmouths (birth — 9 months)

colna notch (9 months — 3 years)

loner (3 years — )

Recent Location

Vere has most recently been in Bluewater Lake, Cloudrest.

Recent Threads

08-13-2022 swim within my bedsheets in Bluewater Lake

Last post by Alexei (08-28-2022)

08-11-2022 i'll stop when it's no more fun in Cloudrest

Last post by Sabira (08-17-2022)

08-13-2022 my boy builds coffins in Bluewater Lake

Last post by Vere (08-14-2022)

Skills

Achievements

Art Gallery

Fun Facts

info
· all characters from vere's backstory are adoptable — send me a dm!
· vere has vitiligo. it will spread as he ages.

playlist
· magpie - the mountain goats
· doomsday - lizzy mcalpine
· ruin - the amazing devil
· cherry wine - hozier
· this is love - air traffic contollrer

art credits
· phobicart - signature
· self - rest

Played by
junes

Local Time
05-02-2024 at 11:13 AM

Posts
7 posts

Member Since
08-08-2022

Other Characters

junes Rex