Misha
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Five-foot-four is nothing to write home about, but something about the way that Misha moves and carries herself lends weight to the idea that she's a predator wrapped in human skin. Features are sculpted, refined, off set by mismatched eyes in light blue and ambery-green. In dim lighting, they flash gold like an animal. More often than not, she can be found wearing steel toed black workboots, faded black jeans, and a dark tee with a leather jacket atop it. The jacket has cracked painted occult symbols on the back - the classic goat's head pentagram with extra circles layered with different symbols - most of protection. The only jewelry she seems to wear is a broad choker of tightly woven dragonscale chainmaille in stainless steel. Wide enough to almost double as a posture collar, but far more flexible and without the hindrance to movement. She grew in Evanston, not too far outside of Chicago proper. Single dad died when she was six in an industrial accident and she did the foster home game for twelve years. Shortly after she turned eighteen and got a decent trust fund from her dad's death, she caught a bad case of the Wolf-Blooded. And in the last six years, she's sopped up an awful lot of learning about ghosts, spirits, wolves, and ephemerals - learning how to fight them on her terms.
Alex - Graveyards are good hunting grounds.
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