R A Y N E [cassidy] s m i t h

[cloudkit]

R A Y N E

Shapeshifter Form.

.OOC Information.
OOC name -- Cloudeh
Activity Level -- eh... depends. i can usually get on monday-friday
Current Characters-- none
How you found Wasted Skies-- i was poking around *pokes* just like that.


.Character Information.
Full Name -- Rayne Cassidy Smith
Nickname -- Rayne
Gender -- Feminine
Age -- 17
Job --
First Form -- Eurasian Lynx
Second Form -- Australian Cattle Dog
Last Form -- Black Jaguar

Likes --

• Music
  
• The Rain
  
• Dahlias
  

Dislikes --

• Humans who hunt her
  
• The extermination of the Shapeshifters
  
• Egotistical jerks
  

.Character Appearance.
Eye Color -- A luminious aqua
Eternal Trait -- Eye color
Height -- 5 '3
Weight -- 110
Overall Appearance --
Rayne is lithe, like the jungle cat that takes her first form. Her muscles are lean and hard, and despite her fragile apearance, are actually quite stable. Her build is almost petite, but due to her puffed hair, ranges in the low normal catagories, saving her from being teased about being short. Her legs are slim and defined, bulging slightly at the thighs as all healthy females do. She's not overly curvey, but walks with enough grace to stun most guys.
Rayne's hair is a shade of almost alabaster gold, hiding the chocolate tones that lirk beneath, and framing a dazzling face. Her skin tone is pale, yet creamy and unmarked, allowing her deep blue irises to jump out. Her eyebrows are low, and cocked in an almost perpetual grimace. Rayne's lips are a pale shade of pick, and large and full.
Rayne's wardrobe mainly consists of black, blue, and grey. She also has lots of t-shirts, all of which have a band's name or emblem on them. Her shoes of choice, are normally her black Converses, though she sometimes where here blue and black Vans. One thing she almost always has on her, is her hoodie. Her pants mainly consists of either skinny jeans with rips and tears, or baggy pants with chains.


.Personal Character Information.
Personality --
Rayne is a complex person, not to mention she is bipolar, which only amplifies her complexity. Because she is so complex, she tends to not have any close friends, though their are people who would swear on there lives they knew exactly who she was. She goes through spells of deep depresion, and has tendancies to cut, or otherwise mutilate herself when she's feeling down. Her life as been hard, and since she hates people who through there problems out to the world, as if the world would care, finds her own methods to deal with issues.
Throughout her mood swings, wether they be depressed or happy, her mp3 player is her best friend. She turns to music instead of medicine to stabalize her mood, and odd thing is it works. Whenever she's feeling super down, she can pop in her head phones and get her mind off of things.
Rayne's view on life is kind of grim. Her whole persona echoes the fact that Death is Tragic but Life IS Miserable. She really wants to be understood, and find a true conection with someone. Sometimes she hates that she's a shapeshifter, because it just makes her life that more confusing. Not only does she have to deal with normal things, but shes got to keep her identy concealed too, or else die. Though dying, to her, seems like a pretty easy thing to do sometimes.
History --
When she was born, her mother left her on the doorstep of what appeared to be a happy young couple, because she was being tracked, and couldnt take care of Rayne while she was on the run.
Growing up, Rayne lived with an alcoholic and abusive father, and a mother who was too scared to stand up for her. She lived like that for ten years. When kids would ask her why she was all bruised up, she'd say I fell, or something to hide the fact of her father's abuse.
A few months after her tenth birthday, Rayne's dad came home drunk and angrier than usual. Him and Rayne's mom got in an argument, and he slapped her. She told Rayne to go to bed, so Rayne went into her bedroom. Her dad started yelling about how Rayne's mom was a slut, and kept cheating on him. Eventually, after the argument got heated enough, he went to the kitchen and came back with a knife. When she heard her mother's screams, Rayne left her bedroom. She was holding a loaded and cocked gun in her hands. The sight she stumbled upon was gruesome, Her dad had pinned her mom, who was still alive, to the couch, and was repetively stabbing her in the gut and face. He stood when he saw Rayne, and started coming toward her. "Who's basrard child are you?" He yelled, intent on forcing Rayne into the same grim fate of her mother. Rayne fired four times, only one of the bullets missing their mark, which was her fathers chest. He fell back, and bled today moments after. Her mom was dead when she went to the couch.
The cops found her huddled in a corner, caked with blood from both her mother and her father. They took her into custody, and after deciding that she had acted in self defense, and dropping the murder charges, she was sent to a foster family. For little over a year Rayne refused to speak. When she finally did speak, she started to rebel from her foster parents, and sneak out (mainly to practice shifting, she was never popular enough to be invited to parties). They were enraged, and she was juggled from foster parent to foster parent as she rebeled from each of them.
As soon as she could, she moved out, and moved here, hoping to start a new life, since her old one was so horrible.


.RP Example.

I stood quietly, eyeing the mare carefuly, not daring to utter lyrics until i had first decided wether or not the mare was comfertable with my prescense. The mare uttered a few notes, her musical unsure, wary, even slighty afraid. 'Hello, my name is Dances With Wolves. What may yours be and also where am i? I am kind of lost because i have just came back from.....' Her song frayed off into an abyss of unfinished thought, her nervous eyes shifting down, and her whole persona etched into prey mode. Momentarily i pondered the fact that if i took a step foward, the mare would be off in an instant, flints dragging her away in a heedless gallop.

Though, that wasn't such a bad thing. The mare, or Dances With Wolves as she tagged herself, didnt know where she was. For all her thoughts could believe, she could be in a branch of the forcer's grounds, or whatever death laced title they claimed in these lands, and I could simply be a bastard coming to rid her of both her innocense and her freedom in one sadistic attack.

"Fear not Dances, I come in peace, I'm simply a young gypsey in need of a little equine conversation. You've tred upon the Starshadowed Forest, which i believe is the match-making terra of these lands. You need not fear me, I protect not harm, and you need not fear anyone else whose flints or claws tred this terra with ours, for I would never stand by and watch one creature harm a fellow one without fair reason, and even then I would have to turn my head in the shame bestowed upon me by watching the cruel fruitless behavior. As for my tag, I was deemed Red Rum at birth, but since then i've picked up many titles, the most common being Murder. Call me what you wish though, but I do not answer to Red."

My lyrics were rusty at first, entertwined with misuse, but few words into the musical surge, I found myself, and my gruff yet poetic tune caught my throat. Upon uttering Red, my thoughts trailed off for a breif moment, thinking back on that single mare who had ever called me that title. Hurt washed on the under belly of my composed mask, flitting up to the surface, and yet not breaking it. The only place sorrow showed was in my hard, saddened eye.