( DACRE MONTGOMERY / Trans Man / He/Him ) — CYRUS RIPLEY has been living in Port Leiry for 3 YEARS. They currently work as a PART-TIME EMPLOYEE AT RETROCITY and a PART-TIME BARTENDER AT INFAMY, and are 28 years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a WEREWOLF or if they’re connected to the EVENTIDE PACK. They tend to be quite VAIN and SARCASTIC, but can also be OPEN-MINDED and DEDICATED.
FULL NAME: Cyrus Ripley
AGE: 28 Years Old
GENDER: Trans man
PRONOUNS: He/Him
SEXUALITY: Pansexual
HEIGHT: 5'7"
TYPE: Bitten werewolf from Eventide
TIME IN PORT LEIRY: 3 years
OCCUPATION: Part-Time Arcade Employee, Part-Time Infamy bartender
Full biography under the read more. Please be aware of all trigger warnings before proceeding!
TW: transphobia, violence
Cyrus grew up in a strict family and excelled in athletics at a young age. Growing up as a teenage girl, he played softball and was a likable, somewhat popular kid.
He broached the subject of his gender identity a few times with his family throughout the years - his parents would ignore it for the most part, telling him it was a phase, yelling at him, and ignoring any type of name change or try towards an understanding of his being trans.
Finally, after he graduated from high school, Cyrus grabbed his old shitty toyota and left town with whatever savings he had. Knowing he had an aunt in Port Leiry, he decided to head there - starting a cross-country road trip to get there.
On the way, he got side-tracked. Stayed a few years in a few places, meeting a few distant family members he hadn't seen in a while. He slept in his car a lot, he made money anywhere he could. An errand boy, a call-boy, a cam-boy. Cyrus threw all his money towards getting testosterone, and getting top surgery.
After finally feeling more like himself, Cyrus was out at a party one night, close to Port Leiry. There was an incident he can't fully remember- but he ended up bloodied, bitten by something, and left out in the woods. Running off to find help, he was found crazed and injured, waving down a car on the side of the road in the dead of night.
Cyrus knows now that he'd been bitten by a werewolf. Even more eager to finally settle down in Port Leiry where he remembers some air of magic and supernatural to it, he gets there finally, with barely any money left.
He takes on multiple jobs, sleeping out of his car. After a few years he's finally been able to get a dingy little apartment - and now he's been trying to figure out what happened back then. Had he hurt anyone? Killed anyone? Who bit him in the first place?
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"Alright, let's go then." She says, pulling her minute frame up, up, up onto and over the bar, where she snatches a bottle of expensive whiskey from the top shelf and slaps her card on the counter before working her way back to the customer side. "Put it on my tab and cash me out, I'll be in the car."
= = =
The Ocean's licking at the Serval like a tender lover, and it sets a chill mood as she sits on a log they've dragged out of the woods and onto the beach, a little bonfire burning there - they've picked a couple others up on the trek across town - it makes her smile and remember simpler times, before loss turned her into whatever this person she is now. It reminds her of time spent amongst the old Ryan pack, in a time that's just... back then now.
Bobbing her head to music on somebody's car radio, she bursts out a laugh when she remembers something. "I tell you I put the fear of god in a woman the other day? Hoo boy, I still kinda feel bad about it honestly."
He doesn't know half the people there any more - but that's just how it goes. Cyrus chats to everyone, he invites everyone, and after drinking and working, whoever's there is just... whoever he and Flick had rambled to on their way.
Now he watches the moonlit crests of waves, and listens to the warm crackling of the fire. Reaching for the bottle she'd paid for, he downs a good swig of it and holds it back out as he leans into her where they sit on the old log.
"I'm afraid to ask, babe. What'd you do?" He settles his head back, staring up at the moon.
"I'm not paying for your shot, no matter how much of a pretty boy you are. That is unless, you're gonna cover my rent?" Lis asked, a smirk on her lips as she knocked back the tequila shot, the glass slamming back down on the bar before she wrapped her hand around her whisky glass. Staring at the amber liquid for a moment, the hunter couldn't help but chuckle at his response about caterpillars. She forgot what sort of people lived in this fucking town sometimes.
"No, capillaries. The smallest blood vessels in your body are called capillaries." Annalise educated, rolling her eyes. "When your eyes go all bloodshot, that's your capillaries bursting."
"Not gonna make you pay for it- and I definitely can't cover your rent... but nice try." Cyrus can't help the quirking of eyebrows and a little shy grin at being called a pretty boy. His favorite kind of compliment. "I pay for my own shots... or I just down a bit of booze when no one's lookin'."
Still, he listens as he learns a new word. "Ah shit.... so when you're really tired, you got these uh, things bursting in your eyes? That's hardcore as shit."
"Well, I don't really like beer and anything other than wine and uh..." She trails off, chuckling to herself softly as her cheeks reddened slightly. "I guess wine just let's me at least stay in control of my actions but still have a good time." Marisol clarifies, thanking Cyrus for the drink as it's slid over to her. She picks it up, sipping from the glass. "If you can find pretzel sticks, I'd love them. And throw on a side of those mozzarella sticks, why not." She was suddenly realising that she couldn't remember eating lunch, so they wouldn't hurt. "You seem to really like working here. I mean, you just seem so comfortable. Is it as fun as you make it look?"
Cyrus chuckles at that, moving to the touch screen of the register by his side to double check that he can get the mozzarella sticks ordered. "Enough wine and you'll be out of control just like any other drink... but I admire the restraint. Sophisticated, for a place like this." He can't help but tease, a hand on his hip. "I do. I get to meet a lot of nice people. Fast-paced, a lot of free drinks... good tips, if someone thinks I'm cute..." Cyrus walks to the side, checking under the bar before he pops back up with a bag of pretzel sticks.
He dumps them into a bowl and sets it in front of her. "My treat, in return for your name. I'm Cyrus."
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"I think maybe it's less the scent of burnt potato and more the idea that something was burning overnight, sweetie."
Cyrus is incensed; not entirely uncommon, but she does pout around the straw in her drink at the idea that it's weighing on him so heavy like.. He continues his anti-authority rant and she lifts her glass in mock support. "They SHOULD." She barks in agreement.
She says, half slurring through a night's worth of pounding down enough hard liquor to euthanize an elephant. It's got her drunk, but only just so - she's very much still got her wits about her.
Finishing her drink, the straw chortles at the lack of liquor and she smacks it down onto the bartop and moves to the jukebox, slips her card in, picks a few tunes. "Iono, what's still open? Could always go... I donno. Hahaha. We could go to Theo's place. Do you know Theo? Ahahaha. Augh, wait no, she's got a baby. I do NOT want to be near a baby right now, I'm liable to eat it."
"Yeah, we're not hangin' around with a baby right now. We'd wake 'em up, too." He stretches arms over his head with a groan, shooting her a look and a half-hearted shrug. Seems to think for a second, before a little smirk forms. "I could grab us a few bottles of somethin' and we could go drink near the Serval? Out on the shore, or near the ports?"
Cyrus always loves drinking out late. Getting wasted with someone he's close to, getting giggly and stupid. And he's eager to get the fuck out of this place. "C'mon, babe. I'll even let you wear my jacket if it gets cold, huh?"
He frowns, knowing that it was going to be somewhat of an uphill battle. But he's grateful that despite being here, he can't be tempted by the sight of it all. Surely, that would send him spiraling - though, his imagination is much, much worse. Is he talking to someone who's wearing much of anything? Is he staring at him? Looking him over, like a piece of meat to be devoured? It's too much. And not worth the trade off.
His fingers twitch at his side, shame and fear rolling together. Trying to keep composure, he moves to take a card out of his suit pocket and slides it over the bar. "Jonas Harding, of Harding Investigations."
The pet name makes him sweat.
"I'll have a water if that would allow me to take your time."
Cyrus is looking, in fact. Taking in this man who's popped in and started asking questions. Handsome, and an absolute fish out of water. "...Harding, huh?" He can't resist, a dumb grin on his face. "You comin' into this place, trying to do some private investigating with me, Mr. Harding?"
The wolf watches him for a long moment. Seems to contemplate, before leaning against the counter. He can tell that this Jonas is blind, and it intrigues him that he's here at all.
"A water." He repeats back. Bright blue eyes blink and he can't help a soft laugh. "Alright, sweetheart. A water it is. Maybe I can convince you to take a shot with me, after you ask whatever it is you gotta ask, Mr. Harding."
Tequila was nobodies friend, but she needed a fucking drink. Infamy was loud, it was busy, an easy way to quieten her raging mind and numb her feelings. So much had happened, and so much she was still trying to work out, come to terms with, push down... It was never ending. "I'm getting fucking tired." She spoke, slamming the shot glass back onto the bar, though she didn't mean tired in the typical sense. She was tired of constantly being on edge, but that was the life she had made for herself. "It's like, the capilleries in my eyes are bursting, you know? And somebody I once thought could be my fucking saviour just—." she stopped herself, knowing she shouldn't say too much even with the alcohol in her system. "It's just all day, every day. And the silence is fucking haunting." a beat, "Another. And a whisky, double. Cheapest shit you have."
Cyrus isn't sure if she's talking to him. Half the people at the Infamy bar start chatting with whoever's around, and sometimes the scrappy werewolf is the earpiece, other times not. He carries over the whiskey to pour it in front of her. And a tequila shot, accompanied by one for himself. "Havin' a rough one, babydoll?" He fills up the glass nicely with an easygoing wink, settling the glass down. Then, he knocks back his own shot.
"You got caterpillars in your eyes? Shit, you definitely got it bad. Uh, I dunno how to help with that, but I feel like being at a club doesn't help too much with that. You seen a doctor? For that, and the sleep problem? Probably because of the caterpillars, though."
galena: what it’s like to be in a relationship with my muse
"I mean, I try to be a pretty fuckin' good boyfriend. If I'm loyal, I'm loyal, you know? Plus I like to tell people how hot they are, so. Expect a lot of compliments. A lot of hyping you up. Biggest thing I ever learned is you catch more flies with honey than salmonella. So you gotta do the work. Communicate, all that shit. I admit I like to flirt around and eye up an occasional person but. I'm good, for the right person. Promise."
SEND A CRYSTAL - ASA // OZ // ASHWIN // AVIEL // CYRUS
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"It's bullshit, Flick. Absolute bullshit." It's nearly closing time, and Infamy's quieted down considerably. Just a few old gays chatting quietly at one end of the bar, a couple making out on the dance floor and swaying to music that really isn't sway-able. Cyrus is used to it all by now, far more focused on his annoyance. "Like... I already do so much around here. I'm taking on extra shifts all the time. So why can't I be a fuckin' keyholder? Because of one time I left the oven on and made the whole kitchen smell like burnt tater tots for a week? Like, it smelled good. They should've thanked me." He tosses the rag against the counter with a sigh, running fingers through a messy blond curly mullet. "Where're we going after this, anyways?"
She looks a bit nervous - and Cyrus can't blame her. The place is overwhelming on a good night, with the loud music and the bright flashing lights. And so many people dancing and chatting and making out. He grabs up a bottle of white and a glass. "Not a lot of folks ordering wine at a club like this... got a real aristocat over here huh?" He gives her a generous pour, and slides it over with a wink. "Yeah, we got a few things. You want somethin' substantial but pricey, like mozzarella sticks? Or something free, like peanuts? Bet I could find pretzel sticks though... what's your pleasure?"
Sat at the bar wasn't somewhere you would often find Marisol; she was much more of a drink wine at home whilst listening to a podcast kind of girl, but she needed to get out. She had been shut-in for long enough working on various projects, and recording and editing her own podcast that it actually drove her to go somewhere out of her comfort zone. "Wine please, whatever the house is." She wasn't made of money, and she had a budget. Marisol didn't think this place was too bad, Infamy she thought it was called, but she bet she still looked like a fish out of water.
This was the exact last place he'd like to be - not only did the music set him on edge, but the proximity of everything he'd chased off about himself has him reeling in a way that sets him off kilter. But this is where the trail leads, and if he wants to get paid by the client, then he needs to continue following it.
Swallowing hard, he allows himself to be lead towards the bar, where he asks around for whichever bartender had blonde hair. Once found, hopefully having the right person, he has to talk louder to be heard over the blaring, ear-numbing music.
"Excuse me. Is there some place we can speak that's quieter? I'm with an investigations company and have some questions."
Cyrus likes keeping busy- and Infamy always has something for him to do. If he's not making drinks, he's chatting up patrons. Or he's pouring rounds of shots, or telling the gays in the corner to get a room. Tonight is just like the rest - a muscle tee and tight-ass jeans, his mullet in full effect and a cocky grin on his face as he does a generous pour on a vodka lemonade, sliding it down to a particularly cute individual with a wink.
He's always got eyes on the place- and he can see this guy being led around, asking questions. Cyrus keeps himself cleaning, taking drink orders, swiping cards... but then this guy wants him. And the werewolf's brows knit together at the mention of an investigation. "Cute. Could do some investigating of my own- like, who the hell are you? I'm on the clock, baby. You gotta order a drink first."
A sideways glance to the only other person in the room with him. "You want a hit?" The bathroom window's open, so it's fine. Cyrus lets the smoke from the joint billow out from his mouth as he blows it intentionally towards the ornate looking window in the far too fancy lavatory. His mask is off, because it's stuffy as shit in this place and how is anyone supposed to see his gorgeous face and want to buy him a drink and take him home? "Just weed, I promise." He winks.
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"Fuck. Yes." She says, similarly admiring her many reflections in the mirror, peaking deep into the eye-openings of her gold-laced and ebony mask to make sure her perfect wings have survived.
They have, because of course they have. "Fucking love Chappell. Saw her live not too long ago."
One last close inspection of her lips and squeeze of the sisters to make sure her push-up is doing its work. "I will evoke her as a patron saint of getting lit and laid tonight."
She turns to Cyrus, smiling, smelling a fellow wolf in man's clothing, and extends a shimmering, black-gloved hand. "Charmed beyond belief, oh handsome and mysterious stranger."
A laugh, as he gives a lick to his pinky and thumb and runs them over his eyebrows to smooth out any little hairs. But it looks good - of course it does. And the mask is pulled back on.
That drink in her hand was only a prop. She'd nursed a flute of something expensive for the last hour and would continue to do so until the end of the evening. Having her mind clouded would only get her in more trouble, than she wished to be in tonight, and would make her work sloppy — and Anika took pride in her work; her observations, her hunt.
Work — it's what she was here for. Dressed in something far less comfortable for a hunt. She'd hate to get blood on a dress that costed half her rent.
A slender finger came up to wipe a smudge of lipstic at the end of her lips. She might have overdone it with the red.
The other seemed preoccupied with his own staring at a reflection that needed final touches, she supposed. "Try tipping them." a joke, yet thinking about it — she wouldn't mind a nice, little switch to something more rock and roll.
"Ballroom dancing not your thing?" she let slip casually, eyes still focused on her mouth.
Tipping... yeah, that's probably the easiest way to do it. "Nothing beats a good bribe, you're right." Cyrus could probably stare at his reflection and fix little imperfections all night. He never feels adequately ready, especially when there's a thousand eyes always looking around. Everyone is in their lavish clothes and here he is.
"More of a 'dancing at the club' kinda guy, myself. Not used to all this uh... fancy shit, you know?" He feels a little underdressed, a little vulnerable. But the vulnerability doesn't show. There's a cocky grin on his face already. "What about you? What's your gorgeousness doing away from the hustle and bustle, huh?"
