Kilala stalked into the slave shop, the door left swinging open. The city smelled of smoke and burnt flesh, and was eerily quiet. Her car, a simple red, four-door pick-up truck, was the only one on the one-way street. So the war was starting again.
The building she stepped into was dim, but she could see fine. And what she saw was an empty store - no employees to tend to the products, or customers. How strange. This had been the last one left in town. Was there none left at all anymore?
"Damn extremists," she hissed under her breath. But she decided to look around anyways, and made her way into the back rooms of the shop, and found a hall of kennel-like cages, each holding human and lycanthrope slaves. Some of the bars had been torn and bent out, blood coating the sharp edges in brown clumps. She stepped into the center of the hall so that she could see almost all of them, and wondered which one to choose.
Kilala was tall, and lean, almost willowy. Her skin was ash white, her hair a gleaming silver, and her eyes a pale grey. She wore large leather hiking boots with thick, silver buckles. Heavy, tight jeans held up with a leather belt, and a white wife-beater protected her skin and served as insulation. A leather trench coat with a high collar, cinched tight at the waist and buckled, kept her warm, with the help of some leather work gloves. The clothes were clean, and while they showed signs of wear, were well taken care of, the leather cleaned and the metal shined.
"Who here likes travelling?"
(( I know it's really long, and I apologize, but I figured I'd just introduce the character like this. I don't usually write this much. >.< ))((Kilala is looking for a male slave, human or werwolf, preferably with a little bit of a stubborn or arrogant-like personality))