Average only gets you so far in Sinifer. If you can't fight, there are enough predators stalking the shadows to make sure you don't last long. A lone, unempowered human with not a drop of abnormal blood in her lineage, no training in magic or arms, and equipped with little more than luck and a savage wit simply can't survive unscathed or uncollared.

The woman before you used to be average. In most counts, she still is, really; persistent and creative magical experimentation on her has led to some interesting developments, but none that particularly set her too far apart from that perfect average range she once claimed. Horns jut up from her forehead, sliding smoothly back along her skull in a graceful curve. Their surface is ridged and rough, just the right size to offer perfect handholds should one find her head in the right place, though they smooth out to wickedly sharp recurve points at their tips. Eyes that glow a hellish crimson are hidden by azure lenses, the heavily tinted spectacles ever present upon her face; whether or not she actually needs them to see is a matter up for debate, but it seems to be the case. Her lips, painted a deep blue to match the glasses, are often wrapped snug around a thin, black cigarette. They're kissable, perhaps even cute, but one can hardly say more.

Almost average breasts that measure just below a D cup are kept in check by a tight layer of clinging fabric beneath a heavy leather jacket. Pockets line the inside of the garment, but never seem to break the smooth outline of the outer surface, even when their contents should. Close examination might lead one to note its fastenings resemble teeth, and the leather seems a few degrees warmer to the touch than it has any right to be. Either symbiotic or parasitic, the thing is almost certainly alive, and very fond of its wearer. A belt wraps around her waistline, holding up a thigh-length skirt over loose jeans that run down her unremarkably average legs to heavy soled, black leather boots. The doubled layer of clothing makes her gender impossible to discern from sight alone, but given her partner's propensity to adjust her body on a whim, you're probably better off not knowing.

Partner..? Well, perhaps that's overly generous. Owner is a more specific term. Snug around her throat is a thin band of seamless black leather, no clasps seemingly present on the perfect circle of dark material. It bears no markings, and no obvious way to be removed, almost certainly meaning it's a slave collar - though a very tasteful, and surprisingly high quality one. If she's a slave, she's a well kept one. Given the general attitude she displays, and her unchecked smartass remarks, her relationship with whomever placed it on her would seem.. unconventional, to say the least.

In combat, for she's finally gotten around to learning to defend herself after a chance encounter with a particularly murderous hat, her attire is only partially changed. Her soft walking boots are changed out for a pair of steel-reinforced combat ones, buckled in place and sporting heavy armour at the heel and toe.

Strapped to each thigh is a curved plate of metal, perfectly shaped to fit her legs. A chain shirt has been tugged down over her chest, but the leather jacket remains in place. Her tail, unable to hide under the skirting she favours in casual clothing, is left free and able to help her keep her balance. The general appearance would be the archetypical demon's tail, tipped in an adorable, flexible spade, but much like her groin, the appendage is the subject of constant, radical changes on a daily basis.

Her fighting style is.. strange, to say the least. Self taught, and that very, very rapidly, she's been forced to figure things out wholly on her own. While her body has been enhanced in various subtle ways, none of it is natural, and even her newly grafted instincts can't cope with the sheer breadth of alteration she's undergone. The unconventional, near-random movements paired with demonic reflexes make her surprisingly difficult to actually land a blow on, with even solidly connecting hits seeming to skitter and slide off her body before they bite too deeply. Combined with the unnerving and near-constant mixture of terrified cries and scathing comments punctuated by the much less frequent cackle of delight as she actually manages to score a hit herself, fighting the woman is disorienting at best and an utter nightmare at worst.



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When it comes to lights, server standard I suppose is the hip and urban way to go. I'm not overly fond of men, shemales, or herms, but I guess that goes under a yellow rather than a hard red. As for greens, well.. pretty much anything, really! It's hard to find something I won't be interested in, so don't be ashamed to ask. Not that shame is even vestigal around here.

If it isn't clear though, her gender is in constant flux and I actually only have limited control over it; she might have a horse cock like every other purportedly female character, or she might not, and it's entirely someone else's decision, which is a surprising thrill. If you want to know her current bodily configuration, send a tell. I don't mind OOC communication in the slightest! And while she might be collared she's still a free spirit so don't feel put off by it if you want to try something with her - and don't forget that her saying no isn't the same as me saying it, though be ready to face the consequences if you ignore her protests. That goes for the constant barrage of hurtful comments she puts out too, they're aimed at your character, not you. You are a wonderful, beautiful person, and people probably say nice things about you. Unless you're not into that, in which case fuck you with a table saw, bitch. The safeword is Banana, now bend over.