Hi there. I'm Tornado, and I was summoned in 1962 to be Papa Nihil's air ghoul. I, of course, play piano. I also paint, crochet and play kalimba. I've been keeping up the library and gallery for the Ministry.
A Tumblr blog seems like a good way to express myself and look at pictures.
Feel free to ask questions :)
What do they look like?
They're 5,11" (180 cm)
They have feathers like that of a Tawny Owl
They have goat ears and horns. Their horns are a bluish grey and are thin but sturdy. They have goat legs
They have the air alchemy symbol on their forehead, where the third eye goes. On their cheeks are false eyes
Those false eyes are also on the backs of their ears and their wings!
They also have feathers for hair
They have a staring habit
They're like if an owl and a goat had a baby and it was an air ghoul
Their facial structure is kind of like an owl's
What is their personality?
Personality type is INFJ-T
Very anxious - gets stage fright and feels like everyone's eyes are in them (think fluttershy in that one episode)
Prefers to stay on task but will follow along if someone asks them to do something unrelated
They like to make sure all the books in the library are ordered efficiently and that the gallery is clean
They like to read and paint as hobbies other than piano and kalimba
They prefer to do landscapes and still lifes
They also prefer to read classic literature
Enjoys doing makeup for others - it's like working on a canvas
Prideful of their feathers
Non-binary (using they/them pronouns)
They like to wear skirts - long ones that cover their legs to the ankles because they're insecure about the goat legs
NSFW is allowed but I'd rather we take it to DMs. Anything out of character will be marked [OOC///]
winged whumpee whose wings are rarely groomed, and when they are, it's with cold hands and with none of the comfort that comes with the act of familial or pack grooming. whumper likes to mock them— telling them all about how ugly their wings are, while plucking out feathers bent or out of place as whumpee squirms in discomfort. there's a void opening it's maw wide within them as they struggle to stay still and not exacerbate the agony, tears sliding down their cheeks as they dig bloody crescents in the meat of their palms. they can't do this on their own. they've tried, they really have— but their hands never reach the plumage properly, and they often end up causing more harm instead of good.
so they tremble through the threats of a broken wing bone as whumper plucks the wings out after ruffling them all wrong. they clench their jaw and they don't scream, waiting for it to be done so they can curl into their bare corner— void of blankets and pillows and little trinkets they used to collect. whumper is only going through the trouble because a bad molting is even worse to deal with. infection may set in, and no one wants to spend that much time or energy on whumpee.
and if they curl their wings tighter around them while slumped on floor, carding fingers through the feathers— well, nobody has to know.