Anwei Ayles

Anwei Ayles, the character/puppet:
Anwei is an alien woman approximately 40 years old. After a deeply traumatic childhood, she left her homeworld and joined the Vizsnunishne Mercenaries, where she worked in the clerical division. A slightly NSFW short biography is here.
Anwei is not a know-it-all, but the slightly less dangerous know-about-it-all. She is incredibly self-obsessed and (thanks to being accompanied most of her life by a very indulgent AI named Horanckk) has the blithe certainty that everything she does and feels is of paramount importance. Feel free to call her out about that.
She looks like a very well-muscled human woman in her thirties, about 5' 6" tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes; the most obvious signs of her alien nature are eyes that sometimes do not move in sync, forty teeth that are all sharp-edged incisors, and an unnaturally wide mouth.

Terry2, the player/mun:
I'm new to RP and RP culture and sometimes still makes mistakes – corrections and advice are always welcome. I am most likely to be tagging between 4 PM and 10 PM EST. Email or DW messaging is the best way to contact me.
Email: Horanckk (at) hotmail.com
Plurk: Terry002
AIM: T3rryTwo

Threadhopping with this character?: Please ask first.
Backtagging with this character?: Absolutely!
Hugging this character?: Approved in advance.
Giving this character a kiss?: Please ask first.
(Something more intimate?): Not likely, but negotiable. Please ask first.
(Relationships?): Always welcome - let's talk!
Punching this character (provided they can fight back): If you're willing to risk getting bitten. I'd appreciate your asking first.
(Injury?): Please ask.
(Death?): Please ask.

Is there anything you do not want mentioned near this character?: No.
Is there anything you need us to know about interacting with this character?: She has alien opinions and attitudes that are often off-putting.
Anything else, please mention here: N/A

Anwei Ayles was bouncing off the walls; eyes twitching madly, knees and elbows drumming an impatient beat against whatever surface was closest to her.

Good thing the gravity was off.

"Where is he?" she muttered to herself, her words sounding close and muffled. "We're been here for minutes!" She spun in midair, looking around her tiny shuttlecraft, as though thinking she'd missed the signal that she'd been detected as she re-entered Vizsnunishne–controlled space.

She could have returned straight back to Earth, but she hadn't; she'd had herself and Mar'Rho swept up and brought here. Whatever she could have gotten on Earth from Dracula would be surpassed a hundred times over from the information she had with her: diagrams, reports, charts, papers, detailing energy systems and cloaking devices and medical advances that would change the universe.

And there was Mar'Rho. She shoved away from the controls and drifted back to where he was perched, metal claws locked firmly into the mesh of a cargo-restraint. She clicked her nails in a familiar fashion against his metal carapace, smiling.

To most people Mar'Rho would have looked like a rather sinister toy: a thick crab-like shell, multiple metallic limbs tipped with pinchers or less identifiable tools, startling blue eyes on stalks. But to her Mar'Rho was pure beauty, pure potential. He'd been no more than a semi-sentient hatbox when she found him, and through will and code and long, long weeks of patient talking and coaxing and therapy she had made him whole and strong and self-contained. A fully sentient AI. She'd freed him from every chain on him, which was supposed to be impossible. But she'd done it.

Now she waited, signals blipping into the local communications net faster than she could blink –'URGENT return request rendezvous with HORANCKK ASAP' – and felt her heart pound so hard in her chest it might burst.

(to be continued)

Once upon a time, a magician grew so strong and so arrogant that he challenged God to a contest. God obliged the magician by appearing to answer his challenge. God took up a handful of dirt, and turned it into a swarm of butterflies that fluttered away.

The magician complimented God on this display of power, and reached down to take up some dirt and equal - or better - God's miracle. But God raised a hand to stop him.

"No, no," God told the magician. "Make your own dirt."

No writer is an island; all stories show reflections of other works. I thought it might be nice to gather together some of the influences that went into creating Anwei Ayles of the Living People, and her AI companion Horanckk.

( Read more... )