Author Games: The Absent Empress

Slot Eighteen: Animalis

Roar. Now, did that scare you?

Name: Timothy Ecclest

Alias: Animalis

Age: Thirty-Four

Gender: Male

Nation of Origin: Australia

Appearance: Timothy appears primal, beastly, and animalistic, but in the most refined and gorgeous way. He's like a swirled whisky or mixed vodka, powerful in such small doses, arsenically tasteful!Sour and brine! His bright hair falls both thin and long, vibrant against the backdrop of pale skin and shallow, colorless eyes. His facial hair encases a fine pair of lips, a trimmed redness framing such delicate pink. Timothy stands tall- now, never mistake these weak adjectives for the whole truth, because often does one go entirely senseless in his presence- and his voice resembles that of a mute lion. Mute, you ask? How does one roar with no throat, no sound?

Oh, there's a way.

Personality: As an artist, Timothy prefers lonesomeness and the quiet, choosing silent nights over bustling city-outings every week of the year. Energy surges through him when everyone else has already gone to sleep; he awakes as the world snores. He's prone, however, to drinking alone, smoking alone, screaming and having sex alone, actions and habits counteracting his otherwise nurtured species. He's nasty, rough, and taken in by the natural instincts that make humankind animals. Despite this, he's articulate (in the rare occasions he speaks) and has an expensive taste in art, music, food, and clothes. He banters between slouching and slithering with a straight spine, smiling and grimacing with sharp teeth, laughing and snarling with a saliva-shut mouth; it's these contradictory lifestyles that keep him moving from day to day. Simply horrid, hoarse, human, inhumane.

Superhuman Abilities: His art transforms. With a mortal paintbrush and canvas, his hands have the ability to weave artwork to life, his fingertips like puppet strings to control them beyond their creation. The colors and images are sewn with breath and life, simultaneously given the ability to go back to their lifeless position at Timothy's command. Call it standby. However, not just anything can be created, and he's found only animals expand off the pastel surfaces- lions, tigers, bears- and they may only act at the most primitive level of consciousness.

Equipment: Timothy has a collection of white tote bags, a couple dozen all hanged from hooks in his home. They appear so normal, so common, lined along the same wall in the same hallway. Most have no design, no pattern, no logo. For now, they're empty. The hollow ones are full of promise, waiting to be painted upon and given color, loudness, an image of his next animal companion. And, because his creations have the ability to return to their two-dimensional state, he carries them around like they're an accessory, so he'll always have one in an emergency. He's saved some of the tote bags from previous battles, keeping the most valuable animal allies around- perhaps he's grown to love them. There's an attachment there; no human, no animal. Existence in its dumbed form, all beings born together.

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