NORLING, AMÉLIA - Loner - F- Green Eyes

Name; Amélia Norling

Wolf Name; Green Eyes

Face; Merethe Hopland

Age; 24

Height; 5'7

Pack; Loner affiliated with Kalecto

Appearance; As a human, she is skinny and muscled, with pale skin and cropped, pale-ash hair. Her eyes are an unassuming grey-olive. Her fingernails are chewed down, and her hands and arms riddled with scars. She has rough edges, but her facial structure is delicate- those olive eyes big, her cheekbones high. She is still a pretty woman, for all that the cares little. Her favorite physical features of herself are her hands- too big for a girl, perhaps, and homely from the marks on them and the nubby ends from being gnawed on, but they are deft and steady- good for sewing wounds and throwing punches and adding one last streak of color on a painting. They always do exactly what she wants.

As a wolf she is tall and trim, with white fur smirched with grey and black and brown. her tail is a little short, her claws black and long, and her eyes a shocking emerald green- her lupine namesake.

Personality; Amélia is solitary and not of many words, but she is not meek or shy. Just quiet. Brooding like smoke and rain in a city sky. Grim like those hours at night when the the thoroughfares feel like dark alleyways and the skyscrapers tower like judgmental gods. She is the watcher in the crowd under the man perched on his window ledge about to jump who does not call for him to keep hope, or silently hope for him to fall. She is the one who watches like it's a coin toss, knowing the world will be no different no matter how it falls. There is a soft bitterness to Amélia, and a distance. She feels like the world is out of her hands. She is not where she dreamed she would be, and is resigned to this, but there is a distinct lack of hope or ambition in the air around her. "What's the point in making fancy plans?" She thinks. Chance will twist them into comedy in the end.

Powers; Any green eyes that she draws or paints, she can see through. How well depends on how well they're drawn, and how intact they are. When the drawings get wet and blur, are torn, or are painted over, she can no longer see through them. Looking through drawn eyes is just as easy as looking through those on her body. However, opening more than two eyes at a time, or eyes that are in different locations, gives her a splitting headache.

History; Her mother and father met at the hospital. She was a doctor, and he was a nurse. They bought a small, beautiful apartment, where they spent very little time. It was always every clean. The Norling's only had time for one child- and even then the nanny did most of the raising. Their daughter, Amélia, grew up a serious, affectionate child, who drew on everything- pictures of her future. Crayon drawings of her in a white lab coat holding a syringe matured into ball-point sketches of gleaming scalpels on her biology homework, evolved into realistic pencil sketches of sutures in skin filling the margins of her lecture notes.

In her third year of pre-med, she slipped and scraped her knee walking home under the full moon with a boyfriend of hers, and a young werewolf waiting at a bus stop caught the scent and lost control, biting her savagely before he somehow muscled himself back into human form and fled. Her boyfriend got her to a hospital quickly. She survived the bite, closely monitored.

Her university warily allowed her to return to her studies once she had recovered, but Amélia dropped out after a few months. The sight of blood and bone made her uncomfortable. It made her mouth water. It made her hungry. So it made her hate herself. She left, staring balefully at fate. The wolf who had bit her was caught and executed under the 'Do no harm' legislature.

Her life had been a forward drive toward medical education, but now she was listless and alone. Her parents wouldn't give her any allowance since she quit school. They didn't understand her sudden aversion to human blood, and Amélia was unwilling to explain it to them.

She stumbled into a job painting a mural on the wall of an old neighbor's gift shop. After that, she was able to make enough money from commissions and murals that she was able to quit her day job; it seemed fate, who had shattered her future with an errant flick, was now trying to make amends with her. Her parents, in some bout of kindness and nostalgia, gave her a whopping lump of money to start off a new life. She used it to buy the intact half of a crumbling old brick factory. Her parents have not spoken to her since.

Amélia has filled the rooms with cots and old mattresses, and spray painted the walls in wild color and shape- scalpels and angels and window ledge leapers, faces and poetry and coins. And green eyes, a huge pair of emerald eyes on a wall of each room. She painted those eyes on the back door. Word of mouth, she spread it around: If you are in a bad place, go down the old textile mill on 54th street and wait on the stoop. Green Eyes will give you a place to sleep ind suit you up if you're broken.