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Selmaina Kamarro
Once a believer in destiny and justice, Selmaina recently discovered the ghosts of her past and was none too pleased with what she found. Now she roams the world, leaving only destruction and confusion in her wake.
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Tauvyr Tavern
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Selmaina
Description
5' 11" and wears a long black trench coat. Her hair is black, shoulder length, and straight as an arrow. Yellow eyes, crooked smile, and a face that betrays absolutely nothing.
Personality
Quick to anger, even quicker to protect those she loves. Dark and broody as well as frighteningly intelligent.
So begins...
Selmaina Kamarro's Story
It is easy to become accustomed to things being a certain way, or being done in a particular manner. When there is something familiar about, the situation immediately becomes more comfortable and relaxed in spite of whatever is troubling one's mind. Thus, whenever one is anxious or unsure of where to go next, they often return to something that is familiar whether or not they realize it.
This was the way Gambit's felt to Selmaina. A place to return for no particular reason other than the simple fact that she'd been there so many times before. There had never been any especially monumental or exciting events, nor had there been any real friendships formed. It was merely a place she knew inside and out, backwards and forwards.
So, it was with this in mind that she stepped over the threshold, bringing thick tendrils of the night with her. Though she had been here many times before, she still seemed so out of place. Tall, thin, clothed completely in black with a pair of intelligent, lupine-yellow eyes glowing from beneath her brow. Her face was stunning to the point of almost being surreal, and the way she moved was more predatory than anything else. No, she could not pass as a common patron no matter how hard she tried.
Flicking a piece of pitch colored hair from her eyes, she strode gracefully forward, one hand lingering in the pocket of her long trench coat, almost as though she were holding onto something important. She found her favorite seat within moments, a small booth by the window, and lowered herself into it, boots making nary above a whisper against the aged floorboards.
This was the way Gambit's felt to Selmaina. A place to return for no particular reason other than the simple fact that she'd been there so many times before. There had never been any especially monumental or exciting events, nor had there been any real friendships formed. It was merely a place she knew inside and out, backwards and forwards.
So, it was with this in mind that she stepped over the threshold, bringing thick tendrils of the night with her. Though she had been here many times before, she still seemed so out of place. Tall, thin, clothed completely in black with a pair of intelligent, lupine-yellow eyes glowing from beneath her brow. Her face was stunning to the point of almost being surreal, and the way she moved was more predatory than anything else. No, she could not pass as a common patron no matter how hard she tried.
Flicking a piece of pitch colored hair from her eyes, she strode gracefully forward, one hand lingering in the pocket of her long trench coat, almost as though she were holding onto something important. She found her favorite seat within moments, a small booth by the window, and lowered herself into it, boots making nary above a whisper against the aged floorboards.
Not a word passed between them, but within a few moments of her sitting, a bottle of particularly old wine was set in front of Selmaina. She glanced down at it, nodded, and silently paid the bartender for his trouble. They didn't really have much of a relationship other than this small exchange, but that was the way she preferred it.
There was little ceremony in the way she drank, and it was almost uncivilized in a way that did not befit her exceedingly poised demeanor. She fixed her teeth into the cork, wrenched it free, spat it onto the floor and immediately took a long drought straight from the bottle's cold lips. The aged liquid was poured down her throat with the eagerness that only clung to those who were thirsty to the point of dehydration. Half the bottle was gone before she finally put it down and began her slow observation of the room. Empty tonight, wasn't it?
There was little ceremony in the way she drank, and it was almost uncivilized in a way that did not befit her exceedingly poised demeanor. She fixed her teeth into the cork, wrenched it free, spat it onto the floor and immediately took a long drought straight from the bottle's cold lips. The aged liquid was poured down her throat with the eagerness that only clung to those who were thirsty to the point of dehydration. Half the bottle was gone before she finally put it down and began her slow observation of the room. Empty tonight, wasn't it?
As she watched from her corner, scents brushed against her nose, a potpourri of unseen colors whispering secrets about all who sat around them. The musky, animal scent of Adrian, the clean smell of washed human, they all blended together in the strange mix that always hovered over Gambit's. The tiniest smile quirked up the corner of her mouth at the repetitiveness of it all.
She sighed and took another pull from her bottle, leaning back in her chair to break the stiff-backed pose she'd held before. It was going to be a long, quiet night from what she could see, may as well settle in for it. Her expression took on a look that belonged on a statue, cold, unfeeling, blank. The cruelly beautiful face looked even harsher as she descended further into thought. It was inevitable of course, since she hadn't initiated conversation there was really not much else to do besides think.
She sighed and took another pull from her bottle, leaning back in her chair to break the stiff-backed pose she'd held before. It was going to be a long, quiet night from what she could see, may as well settle in for it. Her expression took on a look that belonged on a statue, cold, unfeeling, blank. The cruelly beautiful face looked even harsher as she descended further into thought. It was inevitable of course, since she hadn't initiated conversation there was really not much else to do besides think.
Abruptly, Selmaina stood, looking almost as though she had sprouted out of the ground. She started towards the counter, the edge of her coat slapping softly against Adrian's shoulder when she passed him. Normally she wouldn't have made such a mistake, but she was currently occupied with downing the last of her wine. It was reduced to a thin film at the bottom of the bottle by the time she reached Zekil, not the tender she was familiar with, and she placed it on the counter.
She spoke, the low, musical tenor of her voice slipping over the air like sweetened molasses. It held the slightest hint of a Slavic accent, though which country it originated from one could not tell. "Pardon me for interrupting, but if you could get me another bottle of 1774 I would very much appreciate it."
She spoke, the low, musical tenor of her voice slipping over the air like sweetened molasses. It held the slightest hint of a Slavic accent, though which country it originated from one could not tell. "Pardon me for interrupting, but if you could get me another bottle of 1774 I would very much appreciate it."
"Thank you," she replied shortly, placing another bill on the table. Honestly with the way she went through these things, she may have to delve into a certain fund again. Her lip twitched irritably at the thought, and she sat at the bar counter instead of taking the time to go all the way back. All the conversation she could eavesdrop on was over here anyway.
Despite her ability to keep her composure, Selmaina quirked a brow. Vampire? He was certainly behaving oddly for a vampire, even if he was hybrid. Though, that he mentioned it did raise her interest in him. Still, she remained silent, the only noise coming from her area the sound of the second cork hitting the floor as she started on her second bottle.
Selmaina's mood had been gradually declining, and her conscious had slipped into one of a disinterested coma before the snicking of the door brought her back to her senses. She looked up, grip suddenly tightening on the bottle, as it had been slipping somewhat sneakily through her fingers. She blinked a few times, almond-shaped yellow eyes clearing as they locked onto the new arrival.
A sense born from years of watching and experience burbled warily in her stomach, and her expression immediately fell into its usual stone mask. Eyelids slightly hooded, mouth pulled into a straight line, eyebrows raised to make her look almost imperious. Something wasn't quite right about this one, and while she'd yet to find out what it was, there was no use being lax in her caution. Almost absently, her free hand slipped into her pocket, her fingers brushing against a small, folded square of parchment. They shouldn't know.
A sense born from years of watching and experience burbled warily in her stomach, and her expression immediately fell into its usual stone mask. Eyelids slightly hooded, mouth pulled into a straight line, eyebrows raised to make her look almost imperious. Something wasn't quite right about this one, and while she'd yet to find out what it was, there was no use being lax in her caution. Almost absently, her free hand slipped into her pocket, her fingers brushing against a small, folded square of parchment. They shouldn't know.
It is easy to become accustomed to things being a certain way, or being done in a particular manner. When there is something familiar about, the situation immediately becomes more comfortable and relaxed in spite of whatever is troubling one's mind. Thus, whenever one is anxious or unsure of where to go next, they often return to something that is familiar whether or not they realize it.
This was the way Gambit's felt to Selmaina. A place to return for no particular reason other than the simple fact that she'd been there so many times before. There had never been any especially monumental or exciting events, nor had there been any real friendships formed. It was merely a place she knew inside and out, backwards and forwards.
So, it was with this in mind that she stepped over the threshold, bringing thick tendrils of the night with her. Though she had been here many times before, she still seemed so out of place. Tall, thin, clothed completely in black with a pair of intelligent, lupine-yellow eyes glowing from beneath her brow. Her face was stunning to the point of almost being surreal, and the way she moved was more predatory than anything else. No, she could not pass as a common patron no matter how hard she tried.
Flicking a piece of pitch colored hair from her eyes, she strode gracefully forward, one hand lingering in the pocket of her long trench coat, almost as though she were holding onto something important. She found her favorite seat within moments, a small booth by the window, and lowered herself into it, boots making nary above a whisper against the aged floorboards.
This was the way Gambit's felt to Selmaina. A place to return for no particular reason other than the simple fact that she'd been there so many times before. There had never been any especially monumental or exciting events, nor had there been any real friendships formed. It was merely a place she knew inside and out, backwards and forwards.
So, it was with this in mind that she stepped over the threshold, bringing thick tendrils of the night with her. Though she had been here many times before, she still seemed so out of place. Tall, thin, clothed completely in black with a pair of intelligent, lupine-yellow eyes glowing from beneath her brow. Her face was stunning to the point of almost being surreal, and the way she moved was more predatory than anything else. No, she could not pass as a common patron no matter how hard she tried.
Flicking a piece of pitch colored hair from her eyes, she strode gracefully forward, one hand lingering in the pocket of her long trench coat, almost as though she were holding onto something important. She found her favorite seat within moments, a small booth by the window, and lowered herself into it, boots making nary above a whisper against the aged floorboards.
Not a word passed between them, but within a few moments of her sitting, a bottle of particularly old wine was set in front of Selmaina. She glanced down at it, nodded, and silently paid the bartender for his trouble. They didn't really have much of a relationship other than this small exchange, but that was the way she preferred it.
There was little ceremony in the way she drank, and it was almost uncivilized in a way that did not befit her exceedingly poised demeanor. She fixed her teeth into the cork, wrenched it free, spat it onto the floor and immediately took a long drought straight from the bottle's cold lips. The aged liquid was poured down her throat with the eagerness that only clung to those who were thirsty to the point of dehydration. Half the bottle was gone before she finally put it down and began her slow observation of the room. Empty tonight, wasn't it?
There was little ceremony in the way she drank, and it was almost uncivilized in a way that did not befit her exceedingly poised demeanor. She fixed her teeth into the cork, wrenched it free, spat it onto the floor and immediately took a long drought straight from the bottle's cold lips. The aged liquid was poured down her throat with the eagerness that only clung to those who were thirsty to the point of dehydration. Half the bottle was gone before she finally put it down and began her slow observation of the room. Empty tonight, wasn't it?
From her corner, Selmaina casually watched the new arrival,Nick over the lip of her bottle. Though he did seem rather sure of himself, there was an air of healthy wariness about him. She could respect that. Especially considering just how dangerous Gambit's really was. It hid behind a rather harmless tapestry of drinks and food, but she'd seen more fights in here than that despicable UFC. She smiled and took a long drink. Well at least they all knew what to expect from this place
May as well, when was the last time she'd talked to anyone? Abruptly, she stood, looking more as though she'd sprouted out of the ground than anything else. In a few short, strangely graceful strides, she made her way over to Nick and sat herself down across from him. She dropped her bottle onto the table and leaned back against the chair's support. "Someone will get it eventually, I'm sure. Mind telling me what you're looking so anxious about?"
She did not smile back, merely took another long drink from her bottle, draining another quarter of it. "I highly doubt you'll be sexually assaulted. For obvious reasons." When he did not make any response, she shrugged and ran one hand through her ink's blood hair. "You know, because you have a penis." The bored, factual tone she sported did not fit the molasses-sweet tenor of her voice. There was the slightest hint of a Slavic accent, though one could not quite place exactly where it came from.
"And if you're waiting for someone to jump you, well...that sounds pretty anxious to me."
"And if you're waiting for someone to jump you, well...that sounds pretty anxious to me."
"I've been told that more than once, usually after I've done something particularly...unladylike let's say." Her fingers drummed on the counter as the slightest of smiles quirked up the corner of her mouth. This was an understatement if she'd ever given one. Though one thing about what he'd said bothered her. She laced her fingers and rested her chin on them, glaring straight through her companion with her flinty, wolfish eyes. "Last time that happened, I believe someone was stupid enough to call me a name like sweet-cheeks."
There was an inner twinge at his comment, but her face did not change from the flat mask she kept plastered over her cruelly beautiful face. Her fingers detangled themselves, and she leaned back, studying him. He was rather brave, though he called her the ballsy one. There weren't many that would intentionally insult a stranger, especially one with Selmaina's somewhat intimidating aura.
In the middle of her thinking, she glanced down and noticed that her wine had been reduced to a thin film at the bottom of her bottle, and she signaled the bartender that he should bring her another. She sat in silence, still observing Nick with her intelligent gaze, until it arrived. If her companion caught the labeled before she began working at the cork with her teeth, he'd notice it was dated 1764. An oddly specific year for a wine. She spat out the cork, and took a long drink before she finally responded.
"He's no longer with us. And you're rather brave to step into his yet unfilled shoes."
In the middle of her thinking, she glanced down and noticed that her wine had been reduced to a thin film at the bottom of her bottle, and she signaled the bartender that he should bring her another. She sat in silence, still observing Nick with her intelligent gaze, until it arrived. If her companion caught the labeled before she began working at the cork with her teeth, he'd notice it was dated 1764. An oddly specific year for a wine. She spat out the cork, and took a long drink before she finally responded.
"He's no longer with us. And you're rather brave to step into his yet unfilled shoes."
He'd looked at his watch again, what exactly was he waiting for? When he spoke again, she smiled, the top of the bottle balanced against her bottom lip. A low chuckle burbled up from deep in her throat, and she took a long drink before she set her beverage down again. Twin pinpoints of harvest moonlight glittered with amusement as her dark lips pulled wider, revealing her flashing white teeth. "Is that so? And what exactly do you see?" Her tone had dropped from bored, to dangerous. Low, purring, fiercely entertained. It almost sounded like she was playing with him. A huntress glaring down her muzzle at the hapless deer grazing in the field beyond.
She laughed, a real one. It was so deliciously musical, it could have fit right in with a symphony of cellos. One slim, caramel-colored hand reached across the table to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing across his lips. "Oh my darling..." she hesitated, letting the touch between them grow all at once fiery and electric. Her eyes smoldered in a way that was impossible for most women, and the way they glimmered beneath the dim light was almost hypnotic.
Suddenly her lips closed and her smile grew cold, her beauty shifting to something that was all at once wild and wicked. Cruelty sparked in her yellow eyes, and in the briefest moment they flashed a clear, wintery white-blue and back again. Her arm flexed beneath the sleeve of her black trench coat as she drew his face closer until their noses were mere centimeters apart. "My darling, you have no idea how wrong you actually are." And just like that, the moment ended. The hand dropped to the table and wrapped around the bottle's neck, easily bringing it to her mouth and tipping half its contents down her long, graceful neck.
Suddenly her lips closed and her smile grew cold, her beauty shifting to something that was all at once wild and wicked. Cruelty sparked in her yellow eyes, and in the briefest moment they flashed a clear, wintery white-blue and back again. Her arm flexed beneath the sleeve of her black trench coat as she drew his face closer until their noses were mere centimeters apart. "My darling, you have no idea how wrong you actually are." And just like that, the moment ended. The hand dropped to the table and wrapped around the bottle's neck, easily bringing it to her mouth and tipping half its contents down her long, graceful neck.
Her smile did not fade, and her casually mocking demeanor did not change. She tipped the bottle up again, easily draining another half until it stood dry between them. "Oh yes, I've thought about pursuing a profession in acting. I've been told I'd be top-notch at it. But, out of curiosity-" again she waved for the tender, and she paused until he'd brought her the third bottle and whisked away the second. She commenced with the ritual of ripping out and spitting out the cork before she finally continued. "What makes you so certain that I'm putting up some kind of front to hide my wonderfully motherly sweet side?" The last few words came out a bit choked, as she was trying to stop herself from laughing.
Finally, her mask snapped. It broke clean away as if it had been a china bowl smashed to pieces with a sledgehammer. Anger wrenched her expression into a nasty snarl and she almost lunged at him, stopping herself so that only her finger was prodded into his all-knowing, infuriatingly confident face. What in hell did he know? "See, that's where you've made your mistake. You think you're some psychologist, able to analyze every bit of information that's thrown at you, but all you're doing is pulling tricks you learned from some low-budget television show. You didn't take into account that maybe I [i]don't care, maybe I have no feelings to hide. And maybe, just maybe," she stopped, her hand lowering almost wistfully in time with the bitterness that slowly crept into her voice, "I got rid of whatever soft side I had a long time ago, and you don't have the right to assume that I'm identical to every sob story female that drags their sorry behinds in here." Almost unconsciously, her fingers brushed across a crumpled piece of parchment in her pocket, the age muttering to her through the woven material.
She stood up, snatching her bottle up and glaring down at him, suddenly adopting the false politeness of one raised to believe that manners and status are vital to any conversation. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I will go if you no longer want my company." [/i]
She stood up, snatching her bottle up and glaring down at him, suddenly adopting the false politeness of one raised to believe that manners and status are vital to any conversation. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, I will go if you no longer want my company." [/i]
Her grip tightened on the neck, knuckles flaring white and eyes glowing a far more vivid yellow. She could almost picture her hands around his throat. Squeezing until that insolent expression went blue and those falsely accusing eyes rolled backwards into his head. Squeezing until his head popped clean off and rolled across the room.
SMASH! Jerked out of her homicidal fantasy, Selmaina looked down at her hand where the wine had once been. It seemed she'd squeezed so hard, the neck had shattered and the remainder of the drink had crashed into the floor. Glass stuck to her palm and red, pungent-smelling liquid had begun to soak into the wooden boards. The woman sighed, opened her hand and let the pieces contained there drop to join their brothers amidst the mess. Without batting another eyelash, she slipped into her seat, folded her hands and stared across the table at her nemesis.
"I assure you, I'm not drunk, and I don't like chocolate."
SMASH! Jerked out of her homicidal fantasy, Selmaina looked down at her hand where the wine had once been. It seemed she'd squeezed so hard, the neck had shattered and the remainder of the drink had crashed into the floor. Glass stuck to her palm and red, pungent-smelling liquid had begun to soak into the wooden boards. The woman sighed, opened her hand and let the pieces contained there drop to join their brothers amidst the mess. Without batting another eyelash, she slipped into her seat, folded her hands and stared across the table at her nemesis.
"I assure you, I'm not drunk, and I don't like chocolate."
She blinked. He bounced around so damn quickly. That was possibly for her benefit, but it only served to tweak at her already boiling irritation. Still, he didn't deserve her snappishness when he was trying so desperately to diffuse the situation. She sighed and rubbed at her temples with her curiously not-bleeding hand, the other one slipping again into her pocket just to make sure that the parchment was still there. "I just think it's too...something. I don't know. Dark chocolate isn't so bad because it's got that little tang to it, but the common kind is revolting for some reason."
Were they really having a conversation about chocolate? How bizarre.
Were they really having a conversation about chocolate? How bizarre.