a punk and a secret-keeper


The first thing you notice about Elu is her arm. She’s got one. Just one. You can’t help it. You don’t expect a teenage punk to only have one arm. It just doesn’t match with the multiple piercings and black leather. Once you get over that, there’s the hair: Cut short, streaked with purple on black, and wildly spiky. You’ll also notice how sharply her cheekbones jut out from her face, her olive toned skin stretched over her gaunt, almost skeletal figure. Her black, native eyes appear sunken. Cops often mistake her for a heroin addict, but everyone else knows better.

That’s the mask, at least. What the humans get to see. The real thing is far less pleasant. Under it, her skin pales; Her wiry hair, actually the color of dried blood, winds down her spine and grows from the back of her arm and legs. A rack of antlers, sharp, sprouts from her head, coming to 4 points. Ear piercings now run up pointed, furry ears that twitch in the air. Both her teeth and fingers are too long and sharp, making them more like fangs and claws.


Not much is known about Elu. Even knowing her name is more that most get. They say that she collects secrets, and doesn’t let many escape. Some say she lost her arm in the war. Some say it was a dog attack that went bad. Some whisper that it was the one that took her that took it. Either way, when anyone gets up the courage to ask, she’ll give ‘em a look that makes them remember that they have some urgent business to attend to and really don’t have time to chat.

Like many of those who call the streets home, no one knows quite where she came from (other than a reservation), or quite when she showed up. She often wanders among the homeless, the crazy’s. Trading the word on the street for the chance to hear their ramblings. A stupid trade, but she insists that it is only fair.

Some people whisper that the reason she is so skinny is that she can only eat human flesh. That is one of many things that will get you punched in the face. People know she has a short temper. Her rage will make her fly into brawls at the drop of a hat. She usually doesn’t hit hard, but she aims at the right places and is near impossible to put down. Still, people insist that she never really MEANS to hurts the people she’s fighting. At least not TOO badly.

Due to those fights, you can find her in holding at least one night a month. It’s never for long. She’s a native, and those involved never press charges. They always check her for drugs, but she’s always clean, so she’s usually out in 24 hours. Some have heard her call the station a “shitty hotel.” Elu’s current place of residence is Troll Village in the East side. She’s taken a territory claim/protective roll for the homeless who live there.

People also know she’s scared of something. Some have seen her wake up, screaming in terror, and brandishing a knife. Her eyes are haunted, like some of the homeless vets you also find on the street. Her eyes search the shadows, as her only thumb nervously fidgets with the iron ring on her hand, spinning it round and round her finger. No one quite knows who, or what she expects to find in them.


Viva la Vida fr4k4