Reach Out.  Touch Faith.


Power.  Wherever she came from, whatever her origin, her purpose was clear from the start - Squeaks is an instrument of war.

Standing over eleven and a half feet tall, though she'll gladly lie and call it an even thirteen, Squeaks sports a long mane of raven hair trailing well past her rear and only occasionally tamed into a long braid.  She is also bone-white.  With skin pale as snow, Squeaks is colorless but for the accenting of her cherry-red painted lips and her eyes of bright scarlet, though these she oft hides behind the glasses perched upon her nose; opaque lenses of black suspended by delicate frames of silver.

Her build evincing a lifetime of physical exertion, Squeaks is a lithe mountain of muscle - or at least appears to be through the ever-present cling of her armor.  Predominantly form-fitting, the details of Squeaks armor may change but the substance rarely does.  Her armor does not squeak.  She claims it might.  In any form failing to conceal the swell of Squeaks' fittingly massive chest, her armor attempts to and seems only barely to succeed at constraining the warrior's heavy, milk-filled bosom within steel plates or chainlink.  So Squeaks wears a scarf, a ragged old thing of faded black that leaves only barely more to the imagination.

Rising over one shoulder is the hilt to a common man's greatsword, wielded by Squeaks in one hand and ever kept in an ancient-looking scabbard of mahogany and gold.  Slung across her hips is the toolbelt of a traveller, namely a belt heavily laden with knives of a dozen fashions and uses, along with sundry small pouches.  The spare blades and utility do little to hide the shapely curve of her rear, nor the strong, long legs wrapped in steel that follow...

Having examined her so thoroughly, one might notice Squeaks watching in turn.  A brief flash of crimson before she pushes her glasses back into place.  A small smile.  Then its back to reading her book, or watching the bobbing heads of the crowd passing below, or perhaps just napping behind those dark spectacles.

Update.

As with all stars, Squeaks has observably red-shifted over time.  With her change of uniform and the dying of her long unruly tresses to match, has come the notable absence of her mighty sword- or weapons of any sort for that matter, not that she would appear to need any were her ire aroused.  

* ~ Stats ~ *

Name: Squeaks.
Race: Chained Archon of Arkady.
Gender: Female.
Age: Ancient.
Skin: Snow white.
Hair: Raven black.
Eyes: Crimson.
Natural Height: 11'6"
Feigned Height: 8'4"
Weight: It's the armor.
Bust: Massive.
Accent: Hard Mode.
Favorite flower: Daffodil.
Caution: Product contains tentacles.


~ Green ~

Roleplaying that makes some sense.
Accepting actions lead to consequence.
Friendship.  Kindness.
Romantic blindness.
Demons.  Celestial.
Humans terrestrial.
Corruption.  Redemption.
Extra-planar intervention.
Domination.  Submission.
People with some intuition.
Engaging creativity.
Notable authenticity.


~ Red ~

Anything that comes out of your ass.
Piss and bile, being crass.
Rapists really should fuck off.
Pedophiles can go get whooping cough.
I'm not solely here for ERP.
So if you are, don't bother with me.