<b>Character Name: </b>Petya Tomlin/Peter Thompson<br /> <br /> <b>Breed/Species: </b>Russian Silver Fox (dog-like mannerisms)<br /> <br /> <b>Personality:</b> Silver-tongued and smooth, Petya isn't one to allow something as trivial as morals to dampen his performance in the court room. He is a lawyer first, in much the same tradition as snake-oil salesmen of the Old West. Despite his lack of longterm experience, the 29-year-old often seems too confident in himself, making it difficult for some to question his often preposterous courtroom claims.<br /> One to follow trends in order to use them to his advantage, Petya comes off as very shallow. His attention is all over the place, and his energy levels are often too much for many others to want to handle...especially when given a specific task upon which to focus. This stubborn work ethic and drive is, of course, how he manages his hectic and stressful living, but the need to please is what really drives him; if he thought it would get him anywhere, he would beg for approval. Seeing as how that's not what his clients are after, however, that's not on his to-do list. And, boy, does he have to-do lists.<br /> Obsessively organized and aggressively private about his work, Petya is more than a little neurotic at times. He tends to set his goals unrealistically high, then fall into crushing depression and bouts of alcoholic self-depreciation...only to turn around and work even harder to "fix" his mistakes. <br /> In a nutshell, he'll probably stress himself into a heart attack before 50...if his liver lasts that long.<br /> <br /> <b>History/Back Story:</b> As a teenager, Petya immigrated to the United States eager to see this land of opportunity about which his father would ramble endlessly. The reality, however, was that Petya - now Peter or Pete in public - watched his small family struggle to make ends meet week in and week out. His father's twinkle-eyed optimism slowly pushed Petya further and further into a bitter anger at the country he secretly blamed for the uprooting of his childhood.<br /> When Petya aced his way into law school, he seemed to have finally found his life's "calling." No other student seemed able to match his ability to woo jurors and teachers alike, and - despite his technical jurisprudence knowledge being only average - he earned the attention of several large firms and started an internship straight out of college. The lack of pay cost him many luxuries, and he turned to small-time drug peddling (mostly prescription pills) to pick up the slack.<br /> The firm with which he signed was heavily involved with mafia dealings, mostly meaning they tried to get certain people off certain hooks with certain tactics, be it bribery or the tongues of lawyers. When Petya showed promise at being able to change the minds of his peers without actually resorting to drudgery such as facts, they noticed; his ability to speak Russian and empathize with the culture while still fitting into American society nearly seamlessly was a plus.<br /> Now, 3 years after his "graduation" from bumbling intern to overworked lawyer, the job is the only thing keeping him going day-to-day...despite the fact that he's quietly terrified of the dealings he's often found defending.<br /> <br /> <b>Mafia Member or Civilian?:</b> Not exactly a mafia member. He's a lawyer who works with and for them.<br /> <br /> <b>Reference Image:</b> <a href="http://i51.tinypic.com/2rpczki.jpg">sketch</a><br /> <br /> <b>RP Example: </b><br /> The frantic crinkling and sorting of papers could be heard from the front of the truck stop, causing many of its patrons to pause and lean 'round the corner in curiosity and - often - dismay. The odd man at the rear of the diner had come in sometime around midnight, and now he sat rifling through files with the ease of someone far too used to spending nights at his desk rather than in his bed. He'd not said much to anyone there, other than asking for a steady supply of coffee, creamer, and sugar. <br /> So they gave him what he asked for, and he used it to fuel what they all assumed was a psychotic break...but he didn't seem to be hurting anyone by being there, so they mostly let him be.<br /> <br /> Petya wasn't having the best of nights, by any standards. He couldn't stay home, because his bed was at home, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. His desk chair was too comfortable. His own lights weren't bright enough, and his coffee was...<br /> "...not burned rocket fuel," he mumbled, eying the questionable contents of the styrofoam cup he'd been given by the curly-haired cashier. It was <i>probably</i> coffee, but maybe just barely.<br /> Glancing at the watch he still wore mostly out of habit, the fox's ears flattened in annoyance and alarm; the seat across the table was still empty, and his cell phone was still silent in his coat pocket. This was a business meeting, in the strictest of senses, and he had to be on his best behavior. But the bags under his eyes were evident, and his tie wasn't precisely straight, and maybe he should have used some more visine because he could just <i>feel</i> how bloodshot his eyes were...<br /> <br /> Removing his round glasses, he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes roughly, rubbing furiously as if it would help him in any way. Sitting back heavily, the young (ish) lawyer eyed his papers apprehensively before replacing the small spectacles back on his nose. With a sigh that seemed more complete and utter exhaustion than exasperation, he slumped in his seat. Nothing to do but wait now...and maybe just...catch a couple of minutes' sleep...

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Just poking this with a stick.

Character Name: Roscoe<br />Breed/Species: Tufted Deer<br />Personality: A bit cocky and arrogant, Roscoe's ego got him in trouble often when he was young. As he grew older and was forced to deal with more difficult situations, he grew calmer and much quieter. He still has an air of a large ego, but he no longer goes out of the way to get it stroked. Roscoe has very little faith in society, and he first looked toward the mafia when he was in his teenage years. Not very friendly is an understatement for him. The only people that could get away with directly insulting him are those he respects or those that rank above him. He has a very short temper. Fairly stealthy when he needs to be, he can move quickly and gracefully. Not a clutz in the slightest. He also loves riddles, and tries to incorporate them into any casual conversation that he can. Very rarely does he actually have feelings towards anyone, but if he does, he turns into a hopeless romantic around them. He tries to separate emotions from his tasks to avoid situations like that. He is subject to paranoia, but he does not let it show.<br />History/Back Story: When Roscoe was a fawn, he did have an easy life compared to those around him. He lived with his biological father, his mother and his grandmother. His family wasn't rich by a longshot, but the certainly managed to survive better than the rest of the people they knew. So, the first eight years or so of his life, things went well for him. When Roscoe was almost nine years old, his mother started to act different, towards both Roscoe and his father. In response to her wild mood swings, Roscoe's father, a cop, would spend more and more time at his job before he didn't make it home until Roscoe was asleep. Therefore, Roscoe was left home alone with his mother and grandmother, the latter of whom usually stayed completely silent in a corner and was almost always saved from her raging outbursts. Roscoe was left to face the brunt of her moods and mood swings. One moment she would be smothering him with love and affection, and the next she would be hitting him for not answering one of her questions immediately. Over the next few years, her affectionate moods turned more seductive until they finally turned sexual. Roscoe then had to put up with her sexual abuse for a year, too ashamed to tell anyone, until one day his father walked in on her forcing herself on Roscoe. He forced her off of him and nearly killed her in the struggle. By the end of the night, he had forced her out of the house and into the streets, never bothering to look for her again. The only time he saw her again was when she got arrested for assault a few years later. Roscoe and his father moved into a smaller apartment shortly after, placing his grandmother in a nursing home. Things changed and his father rarely talked to him or looked at him. Roscoe grew used to it and fell into a routine, trying to force the abuse behind him. Over the next few years, he forced himself to become stronger, never letting anyone beat him up or insult him. It was around this time that his ego really started to blossom, along with his intelligence. Roscoe was finally kicked out of his home when his father found him one night with a male prostitute when he was 17. He had it rough on the street at first because of his ego, but when he finally managed to suppress it, he found life on the streets to be a fair deal easier. He started stealing to supply food and other things for himself. For a while, he took to stealing whatever small electronics that he could manage to and selling them on the streets for a profit. He’s had to fight his fair share of fights to survive, and he usually comes out on top, even if he’s had to resort to dirty tricks and fighting below the belt. Roscoe doesn’t have an aversion to killing if he has to, but he’s never been fully comfortable at the idea. He is now 21 years old and is still young enough that he feels he could take on the world and win if he needed to.<br />Mafia Member or Civilian?: Mafia member, theif<br />Reference Image: No available image of Roscoe himself (may be one coming someday soon), so instead I’ll just leave a picture of a regular tufted deer: <a href=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c0/Tufteddeer-2.jpg/220px-Tufteddeer-2.jpg>Clicky.</a><br />RP Example: Roscoe sat on the bottom step of the stairs, his gaze focused at the item in his hands. He curiously looked the small electronic over, not entirely sure what its use actually was. “Ah well,” he muttered, pocketing it again and standing up. ‘Figure I can still sell it for a decent price to some idiot,’ he thought with a grin as he stretched. Roscoe glanced down the street behind him, letting out a sigh of relief when he noticed nothing strange. He stuffed his hands in his pockets after a moment before he started walking, sticking close to the wall, knowing that his ratty clothing would leave him sticking out like a sore thumb.<br /><br />After a few minutes of walking in relaxed silence, Roscoe looked casually over his shoulder and perked up curiously. He spotted a German shepherd in a dark coat in the crowd behind him, a man that he could have sworn he’d seen a few blocks back. Roscoe looked ahead nervously, instinctively walking a bit faster as he tried to make himself disappear in the crowd. A few blocks later, he looked back to see that the German shepherd was still tailing him, their eyes locking momentarily. Roscoe felt his heart catch in his throat and he thought, ‘Well, I think subtlety is going out the window now.’ He dashed down a side street, making several turns to the point he wasn’t even sure where he was going. All he knew was he had to get away from his tail.

<img src=http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs332.ash2/61229_125998250783877_100001211078283_164778_5735552_n.jpg><br /><br />Character Name: Onyx Zelena<br /><br />Breed/Species: Melanistic (black) cheetah.<br /><br />Personality: Onyx is a provocative, stealthy killer. She lures in her victims with extravangant flirting, then ends them brutally with much satisfaction. She speaks with a thick Polish accent. She's a coldblooded killer who has never regretted anything, and won't hesitate to do whatever dirtywork is at hand. She's incredibly good at seeing in the dark - nighttime is her domain. She's professional when she needs to be and always does her best to accomplish the missions she is given as quickly and effectively as possible. She has little capacity for love, though she has few precious people in her life that she would gladly die for.<br /><br />History/Back Story: Onyx was born in Krakow, Poland. Raised by her drunk father after her mother died when she was only 2 years old, she was forced to grow up fast and take charge of situations. When she was 10 years old, her father drank himself to death and that is when she began living on the streets, fighting and killing her way to survival. At age 14 she began selling herself on the streets for money and food, but eventually decided that the work she was doing wasn't worth the risks that accompanied it. At age 16 she met her faithful avian companion, Eagle Eye. Eagle Eye is her 'pet' peregrine falcon whom she almost devoured but decided not to at the last second since she could see that he had potential. Since then, Eagle Eye has helped her overcome countless challenges. When she was 17, Onyx stole a crossbow from a victim who tried - and failed - to defend himself with it. She's used it ever since. Onyx is currently 18 years old, but is far more skilled and mature than she looks.<br /><br />