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Furcadia
Furcadia

Purry

Played by lilithluna

About

  • Info

    Spoilers hide information you can't obtain except through RP. Don't read them for a surprise.
    Alias: Purry
    Real name: Unknown Kithain Pi'rith
    Gender: Female
    Age: 29
    Sign: Scorpio
    Species: Iberian Lynx
    Height: 5' 6''
    Weight: 143 lbs
    Blood type: O
    Birthplace: Kasuria
    Current Location: Unknown
    Occupation: Mechanic and bandit
    Hair: Crimson
    Eyes: Yellow
    Distinctive markings: Fur pattern on forehead
    similar to a stag beetle. Left ear torn halfway.     		Loves:
    Engines
    Mechanical objects
    Leather & brass
    Her tools
    Fighting
    Sleeping, eating and fucking
    Tricking and cheating     		Hates:
    Wimps
    Slavers
    Dragons
    Losing
    Mushrooms

  • Purry talks about...

    ...the past
    Purry takes a pack of smokes out of one of the utility pockets around her waist. After having tapped the bottom a couple times against the palm of her hand, she rips out the foil with her teeth and spits it aside. All about her gives off a relaxed vibe, from the way she carries herself to how long she takes to finish lighting the cigarette in her mouth with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes shoot up; the observer now understands, if they're a shrewd one, that the feline is just biding her time. Yet her demeanor doesn't change, even as she draws a long puff of smoke and slowly watches it billow up as it leaves her lips.

    Imagine if you will, the sun going around its' merry way along our galaxy, when suddenly he thinks "Hmm, what can I do to fuck some people over today? Oh I know, I'll fall off the sky and just BURN THEM ALL!' That's what it was like, except it wasn't the sun, it was the japs. Or the dragons. Or pirates. Nobody fucking knows. What does it matter if I was princess heir to the throne, a soldier, or a convicted murderer? Nothing. The past was wiped out along with everything else. I'll tell you who I -am-. My name is Purry. If your vehicle broke down, I'll fix it. That's it.

    ...technology
    Purry leans against the tattered saddle of the lowrider motorcycle she'd arrived on... no, one can barely say it earned that name; it was not above being called a ratbike, with its' improvised exhaust, the windshield which you wouldn't be able to see through a truck coming at you, the chains and tape holding it all together, yet the handles were still chromed and if the sun shone on the right spot you'd be able to read some of the raised lettering on the gas tank, even after having been covered with a thick coat of black paint - Harl---Da---son.