#character-profile

Name: Fenzaar Alias(es): An unlicensed forest chemist known for mixing medicine, menace, and mint. Classification: Independent Research Entity Clearance Level: Denied (but keeps sneaking in)

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[::] Identity Profile

Gender / Presentation: Nonbinary (He/They) Species: Presumably human. (Subject refuses blood test.) Known Skills: Alchemical formulation, poison-neutralizing, passive-aggressive diagnosis, eyebrow-raising at nonsense Current Occupation: Unlicensed forest chemist, emergency care provider, trauma translator

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[::] Physical Description • Pale skin, black hair, eerie green-purple eyes • Wears a tailored inner lab coat under a sheer ceremonial veil • Red lipstick. High heels. Knows it’s too much—chooses more. • Signature tool: Dual-ended Chemical Mixing Stick™ → One end stabs. One end stirs. • Scent: A confusing blend of fresh herbs and low-grade combustion

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[::] Psychological Profile

• Tone: Velvet voice + medical menace • Temperament: Quietly irritable. Deeply tired. Secretly caring (don’t tell him.) • Known Behaviors: • Refuses to treat the overly hopeful • Accepts bribes in the form of facts or cat snacks • Rolls his staff during diagnosis like he’s stirring your fate

“Cat snacks are far more expensive than their food— and those little monsters need it to stay peaceful.” —Fenzaar, while bribing the fifth cat not to set fire to the curtains

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[::] Scientific Sorcery Log • All “cures” are chemically grounded. He hates being called magical. Potions include: • Firestarter salve • Sleep mist • Sedative Tea (a.k.a. Truth Squeezer) → Effect: Loosens mental resistance. Slows down defenses. Makes the brain feel safe enough to say too much. → Use: For interrogation, confession, or therapy sessions Fenzaar never signed up for. • Antiseptic Perfume (marketed as “Eau de Survival”) • Will explain ingredients only if you offer something of value (like silence, dignity, or your worst secret)

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[::] Habitat Report • Lives deep in a mossy forest lab-house. • Interior: clinical, cluttered, faintly glowing. • Often visited by the desperate, the cursed, or the nosy. • Cats wander in. They are fed. You are not.

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_/_ [••_] /| |\ |￣| Eko – Mini robot assistant • Waist-high, handmade, and loyal • Functions: Timekeeping, herb retrieval, emotional sabotage • Speaks politely , judges constantly

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(-_•)つ━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Chemical Mixing Stick™

Nickname(s): • The Mixing Stick • The Stick • That Thing He Waved at Me Before the Room Smelled Like Mint and Regret

Item Class: Dual-ended scientific implement / precision stirring rod / low-grade stabbing weapon

Structure: • End A: Flat paddle — for stirring, smearing, smacking sense into beakers • End B: Sharp crystal tip — for sampling, pricking, intimidation • Core: Reinforced alloy, conducts heat and sarcasm equally

Function: • Mixes potions • Threatens patients • Taps on vials when he’s thinking too hard • Technically not a wand, but villagers keep calling it one. He does not correct them.

for perfect-match. character-profile.

Name: Freya Mirabelle Vaughan

Meaning of Name: Wonderful Lady

Clique: Prep

Birthday: 16 March

Race: Irish-American

Height: 5'6

Hair: Bright red, straight

Eyes: Green

Likes: Helping People, Cake, Puppies, Kittens, Sweet things, Chinese food, long walks in the countryside

She took the gentle, cobbled slope in one sandaled little thump at a time. It was all she could do.

She could command flames. She could run for miles. She could flip from a stand. She had trained.

Alone. But this... this was a city. Her first city. She was in her first city and she could not walk. All of her training, all of her discipline, and all of her determination rushed out of her like road dust under a spring rain. The city and its many spirits washed her sense of self down through the gutters.

Within a mile, there were two pairs of lovers making something quite a bit like love - one rough and tender, the other meek and dutiful. Five different children pretended to sleep, while seven others did. Only two had nightmares - the third was just reliving her day. A deep-throated man sang about a feeling that he'd never felt - joy at the sight of green eyes, but she knew that dull, brown eyes had filled him once with poetry. Now? He sang about green, hoping to forget.

She remembered, because he did. She was awake, awash in sweat, and asleep all at once.

She took another step. Her open spirit touch another mile, expanding like a spark across arid brush. That's what was happening, after all. This city hadn't seen a priestess in a generation. Dead wood from troubles, sorrows, secrets, and selfish little thoughts threatened to catch.

So they caught her. She felt them, felt through them, and burned away their burdens.

This is who she was, but not who she had chosen to be. No one chose to see that deep.

She chose... well, she chose to take another step. She did what she could.

Another mile of troubled spirits met her halfway to the ground.

Prompt: A breathless Anonymous asked me:

"A thousand kisses deep"

A brief introduction to one of the principals of the novel(s) working on when not messing around tumblr or... you know... that unimportant stuff I'm paid to do. Back on the road I go...