D2 :: Beretta Corléon

[L△LIA]

Name: Beretta Corléon
Age: Eighteen
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 2
Appearance:

She is firey, filled with passion and stubbornness enough for a small army. She is the fire to the others, a guiding light as much as an eternal hazard because sometimes you just didn't know when she was going to flame up. Her passion gives her a quick mind and she uses it to focus on the things that need her attention - just about everything to do with the others - so she can keep an eye on them. There is no doubt she is in charge there, and through a lot of... persuasion she had managed to have them refer to her as the Queen. Of course, there could be no royalty without the others holding some title, but those she had made sure to personally dictate. She and [Lust] have a very much on-again-off-again thing between them and she can go from hugely protective over him to raging mad at him with little warning.

Personality:

I like the idea of her being the spoiled, entitled, rebellious daughter of a mob boss. A brat with a wicked edge, because she's grown up seeing too much and being told it's all okay. Her wrath is a product of that mindset, of being raised to believe that it's perfectly acceptable to break a few fingers to get what you want from a person — broken fingers are totally on par with a slap on the face, right?

At the same time, she was just as quick to learn that you can't back down from threats. Empty words hold no power and if you're not going to see something through, then you shouldn't bother from the start. When she was younger, that was always how she got her way. "Daddy, I won't love you anymore if you don't give me a pony." "Daddy, I'm never going to see you again if I don't have that dress." And the vicious, cruel man who only knew love when it came to his daughter would give in again and again. Until one day he didn't.

So she walked out on him, knowing far too well how to conceal herself in the shadows; how to break a few fragile bones to make sure people remembered to respect her properly; how to chase a family from their mansion so she wouldn't have to resort to anything less than what she deserved. Her fellow devils keep the boredom away — sweet, devious, entertaining sinners that they are. She knows it's good to have people around to bend to your will, knows that each of them will inevitably find a way to be useful to her in the future, whether or not they realize it yet. Even the weakest of pawns is worth watching over, so you can be certain they meet with the most opportune time to fall.

As it is, it's not an easy thing to confront that unsettling stare of hers, so shamelessly strange and feline. The others don't cross her often, knowing her violent temper all too well and perhaps having an inkling that when things seem too easy — like finding a vacant mansion, perhaps — it's because they are. Don't ask where the house came from. Don't ask where the money they live off of comes from. Don't ask about the servants. The Queen will not answer you kindly.

History:

Codeword: SILENCE, PEASANTS.
Comments/Other:

Wrath & Diligence in the Seven Devils plot.

[L△LIA]

Girl, you've got the devil in you and don't you know it. Whether it's the blaze of the sun across your deceptively flawless skin or the night's shadows tagging along at your heels, both the light and the dark feel like the work of his cruel hands to you. Hellfire and the cavernous depths of the earth don't strike fear into a soul like yours however, that kind of ravenous cruelty just riles you up and makes you want to wield it for yourself. You have no intention of becoming a possessed plaything for sinners or simple imps, not when you're so perfectly positioned to take the underworld's throne for yourself. Daddy devil has taught you well — too well — and so one of these days you'll grab that sunshine scorch within your iron-lock fist and show the world all your careful, deadly little secrets.

For now, you keep quiet and await the storm, calculating odds and placing your bets on the heads of those around you. Precious pawns. You have a talent for identifying the worth in people — making the most of their skills while positioning the nearly useless ones to bite bullets for you, a series of impending sacrifices that you'll never feel against your own flesh. Intelligence is a mighty weapon and those in the know realize that nothing guarantees safety quite like a human shield and you... darling, you're building yourself an army. The evil that raised you was only ever a fool for you and you've always recognized that, wringing out knowledge between your greedy threats for dresses or sweets, because while you want what you want, you know that in the end you'll always want more. It's alright if no one really loves you, so long as they do what you say.

Be it from respect or fear, your word is the darkest of laws. Defiance is not tolerated. Time and time again you have witnessed the importance of following through with threats, of making certain your tongue is not the bearer of empty promises. Just like the king of hell, you are something to be believed in. Have faith, because you speak truths, not stories, and the apocalypse is no myth. Unbelievers should watch their step, so as not to break their legs... fingers, jaws, ribs, kneecaps, or any of two hundred and one other unfortunate accidents that might befall the ignorant. With a wicked grin — sharpened teeth and a ravenously wide mouth — you'll make certain they learn the error of their ways. A little blood is the secret to beauty after all, and you like to keep some on your manicured nails at all times. Lacquered in the same shade of red you paint your serpentine lips with, it's not just a warning, it's a kind of brutal honesty.

This is your vanity. Danger is enough to make a heart flutter and you like the way so many of the boys who look at you can't tell the difference between their fear and their sense of attraction. Fire-tongue, you lick at their idiot moth wings until they're crippled for you and it's too late for them to contemplate what they thought they once saw in your strange eyes, because you are not beautiful. You are well kept. There's a difference. Pale skin, high cheekbones, and a phenomenal smile (except those teeth, darling, are too sharp for your own good) are not enough to distract from those bizarre, feline eyes of yours, so you keep every detail of your appearance in perfect order to compensate for such a... defect.

When you were born, the first person who held you screamed. The next day your father made certain that nurse would never utter a sound again, but the truth is that from the very first time you opened your eyes, those slurred pupils of yours gave away the demon in you. The boys you seduce whisper here kitty, kitty into your ear as if you've never heard such a clever line before and you meow back at them like you're playing along and not simply confessing. Pretty kitty has claws too. Pretty kitty also knows how to use them, kneading at their soft skin until their bodies unstitch themselves for you, like cheap toys coming undone at the seams. With bits of stuffing scattered across the floor, you find yourself looking out across the scene with a curl in your wicked lips, because no matter what you've done, the screams don't bring offense anymore.

It's a thrum, echoing through your bones. This is the purr and so you don't mind when they spit nasty words or cry, because it's what they're meant to do and you, you're meant to enjoy it. Your whole life, this is what you've been raised for. From the very beginning, daddy devil showed you not only how knives belonged in your hands and terrible sounds were meant for your ears, but how all of it would wash away clean, never staining such pristine skin. Despite the way other people look you in those smudged eyes and see this horrifying flaw, when you study the mirror, all you find is stand-out perfection. You alone are beautiful in this dim light.

Yet, while the Corléon name you bear is not a secret here, it is so much more than your own. It sounds too much like daddy devil's name and you are too selfish for that, wanting nothing more than to live up to your own singularity. That is why people ought to stare as you walk by, not because some part of you belongs to someone else — a cat's eyes or a father's reputation of crime. Notoriety is more than just your birth right and the time is coming for you to prove that you are not simply the continuation of a monster's dynasty. You are the beginning. You are the middle. You are the end.

If you have to bring down the devil himself or end the entire world to prove it, then so be it.

ain’t shady baby
i’m hot like the prodigal son
pick a petal, eeny meeny miny mo
and flower, you’re the chosen one

[L△LIA]

Omfg I'm so late, but M-Band and Devils and it's finally time to cause some havoc okay.

OHRIGHT. P.S. — Odair.

[sbeeg]

Accepted!