(!) Ira van der Moer

[stranger]

The basics!

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Full Name;; Ira van der Moer
Preferred Name;; Ira
Title;; Njal pack alpha wannabe
Age;; 26
Gender;; Male

Part of the puzzle...

Pack;; Njal
Rank;; Alpha wannabe
Mate;; None. Ever. Seriously.
Offspring;; None

Reflections

Breed;; Grey wolf; melanistic variant
Appearance;; Wiry and gaunt, Ira resembles an animated skeleton, clad in sinews, muscles, and shaggy fur. He stands taller than many of his peers, with a swaying, hypnotic sort of long-legged balance that speaks of speed and agility rather than brute strength. The glossy pelt is dark black like a raven wing, reflecting iridescent, metallic green-black hues. Deep-set eyes are glittering pale-green and sultry, with an odd, rapid flickering gaze that is unsettling. Not exactly handsome, Ira is nevertheless compelling to look at.

Wear your heart on your sleeve...

Personality;; Vulgar, rude, and foul-mouthed, Ira finds nothing wrong with colourful language; he certainly uses it frequently enough. His mood changes abruptly, from the promiscuous and indecent to flippantly playful to flashes of murderous rage.
He is a virtuoso of sexual innuendo, and takes misogynistic delight in being crude to women. Addressing females by crude endearments, his actions seem entirely chauvinistic. Not to say that taunts girls exclusively. His harassment extends to nearly everyone, and he flaunts bigotry, racism, and general indecency as a few of his many discriminatory practices. Ira trespasses on implicit laws of normal compassion and sensitivity - yes, he laughs at cripples and takes advantage of them.
Many consider him "creepy", which is partly just him and partly an intimidation mechanism. He needs to be in control, to be feared. Rather than showing weakness or submitting to someone stronger, he avoids the confrontation and takes his wrath out on inferiors. The power-complex explains much of his behaviour: the rudeness, the arrogance, outbursts of anger, his tendency to show off and his refusal to admit weakness.
A significant head-case for his superiors, Ira resents and defies everyone of higher status than himself. While he cares little for societally defined ranks, he has to grudgingly accept the right of might, though he's not above under-handed and unfair attacks, often dealt with shockingly casual cruelty. Never the type to hold back or take the higher ground, he exploits weaknesses and aims not to injure but to kill.
Traits;; covered under personality, I believe
Strengths;; Intellect being one of his main weapons, Ira is furthermore resourceful and does not hesitate to hit below the belt. He also specializes in poisons - toxins from either herbs, serpents, or other sources are well-known, nothing new to him, and he has utilized them many times in his battles, tipping his claws with the deadly venoms. For a sickly pup, such protection, defense, call it what you will, was particularly essential. Having been exposed to almost all the venoms in his environment, he has developed exceptional immunities towards most of them.
Weaknesses;; Ira has weak lungs. While it's not a problem if he engages in low-cardio activity like running, anything that really gets his heart pumping causes him to become short of breath rather quickly. Considering his height, he also has proportionally less muscle per mass, which can prove problematic if push comes to shove. He tries not to let that happen. Most importantly, Ira doesn't have as long to live as he should (though this is a well-kept secret). The poisons that seem to taint the very aura around him, combined with his weak constitution, eat away at his life, reducing his lifespan.
Fears;; Dying, being weak, not being in control
History;; Ira was a weak pup, the runt of the litter, and the youngest, only brother amongst many sisters. His siblings were all outspoken, strong, independent females, and he loathed them all equally and blindly. While they weren't cruel to him, they were much more interested in vast, abstract concepts like "the Clan" and "honour" and "glory" than to spare thought to their own blood and flesh.
So he killed them, out of jealous, out of wrath, and because he could. His hatred of women started then, and has not abated since - if anything, it's gotten worse. Much worse. Ira thinks its absurd that the Njal pack is being led by a female. He plans to either challenge her, or fight for position of alpha and bully her into submission. But he won't tolerate it. And if it's his last action, he'll appoint a male heir and leave a legacy of proper patriarchal domination to the pack.

Survey time!

How did you find us?;; Wren and Peach (Skre?) both invited me. :3
Roleplay Example;;

The elevator waited patiently for its fare, moving down as soon as the pressure lock was undone with the weight of the individual. Mecha had thrown out the safety precautions so the lift appealed better to his patience. Only a little, though.

Doors slid open at B1. A shelf on two wheels was knocked over on its side. The cylinders it had been carrying were punctured, with a clear liquid (probably some fuel) puddling underneath the open mouth. Another tangle of wires, clamps, poles nearby was the only remnant of something that might have once been an engine. Most of the strange objects were works in progress, abandoned by the fickle whimsy of the mechanic who had wounded the contraptions in fey fits of rage, kicking them pathetically across the floor.

In the next room though, after Mecha had unlocked the metal door and shunted it open, the working space was surprisingly large, as though it took up the same space as the whole first floor, there were tables littered across the back, with endless rows of spare parts all categorized, some connected to other devices, some not.

Several vehicles were propped against a wall. Old motorcycles, bicycles, and several scooters with engines. Most were skeletons, their hulls tossed in a pile of colourful plexiglass in the corner. On the opposite wall, a long row of computers and complex drives took up the left side, only 2 of the 7 screens appeared to be off, the rest all had data running across them. Nothing especially interesting; some showing internet connections, others explaining their own contents.

Nestled in one corner was the second lift. It was such an antiquated elevator it had no door; just a wire mesh cage which tremblingly lowered to the second sub-basement. B2. Since the building was renovated, the shiny new elevator installed, B2 had been abandoned. Mecha had taken up residence here, however.

Stepping off into the low-ceilinged area, the room was as large as the first, dimly lit. Two tables occupied the centre of the room. An old, creased map of the sewer system, which crossed this part of the sector, was splayed on one table. From the looks of the scribbled sketches and markings covering the paper, Mecha had used this system to his advantage, all to reduce the costs of running this apartment complex. The money he saved was his rent, more or less.

The other table held various items. Several glue guns, a couple of old hammers and saws with modifications and reinforcements, and a heap of scrap metal. On closer inspection, most of it was armour, robotic machines, things that could be used to enhance his own mechanical arm. For such an old room, it was surprisingly brightly lit. Wires ran across the ceiling, connecting to an odd dozen or so overhead lights suspended from the steel beams. Mecha picked up a blowtorch, and set it down after a few minutes.

Irritable, he got back into the cage and ascended to the first basement floor, where he perched over one of the monitors, typing away with impressive ease, considering his mechanized arm.

Trivia;; will edit

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[Bassie]

I'm moving this to Pending, since it doesn't look as if it's been accepted yet. Is it finished?

[xx !kumori]

It looks finished to me ! It doesn't say W.I.P or anything, so if you don't mind Bassie, I'll move it to Existing.

Accepted

[Bassie]

I'm going to have to bump this back to pending - 26 isn't an appropriate age for a wolf.
Sorry for the confusion.