Ilani Moonblood - The Biker Chick Apr 29, 2011 9:23:26 GMT -6
Post by Ilani Moonblood on Apr 29, 2011 9:23:26 GMT -6
Ilani Sunshine Moonblood
Baby take a seat, eyes on me, this is my show
Your one and only pleasure
All decked in lace and leather
Fantasy, courtesy... on me, baby let's go
Watch me apply the pressure
All decked in lace and leather
Full Name: Ilani Moonblood
Nicknames: Lani, Moonie, Crazy Lady, ‘Madame Serene’
Physical Age: 27
Date of Birth: July 11th, 1982
Hometown: Brooklyn, New York
Current Residence: New Orleans, Louisiana
Occupation: Owner of the notorious biker bar, ‘The Pit’
Relationship Status: Head over very high heels
Character Type: Psychic
Hair: Depends on her mood. Normally, it’s earlobe-length black and sporting various color streaks and beads. The only constant is the tattered eagle feather that’s always present over her left ear.
Eyes: She likes to describe them as the color of ‘melted chocolate.’ Aka, light brown, with speckles of gold mixed in around the edges.
Weight: ”Don’t make me smack you.”
Body Type: Deceptively slender and a bit on the small side…though, her mouth more than makes up for her lack of muscles.
Best Feature: Her smile, as wild and sometimes painted on as it may be.
Worst Feature: Definitely her cutting tongue. As if she fears nothing, Ilani has no problem with telling a person how much they annoy the ever living hell out of her, and doesn’t hold back by way of advice.
Wanted or no.
Even though she’s not living in the diverse culture of New York City, Ilani still manages to maintain a very…unorthodox style. A fan of the bikers who breeze in and out of her bar, she is almost always seen with an array of leather; jackets, boots, bracelets and, sometimes, chokers, all seemingly adorned with the same logo: ‘The Beijing Butcher.’ She’s also almost always caught wearing a pair of skull-and-crossbones heeled boots, and has more piercings than any good girl should.
Face Claim: Olga Kurylenko
Abilities: (She can see, hear and talk to the unhappy dead, much to her annoyance. And, if prodded or paid enough, she can even go Exorcist and let the undearly departed talk to those looking for answers.
Ilani also has extensive knowledge of Native American beliefs, tends to favor a shotgun over any other weapon, and, according to her, ‘can kick anyone’s ass in T-minus ten…unless they’re Travis Fimmel. Then I can definitely be panty-less in under five.”
How could one describe the wind? Or, hell, forget the wind; how can one describe a hurricane gale that sweeps in and destroys everything that isn’t lucky enough to be tied down? Loud, obnoxious, rowdy and not in the least bit shy, Ilani is the epitome of your average uncouth party girl.
Though, if one wanted to find their hair still attached to their head, and/or their balls right where they left them that morning, one would not, EVER, call her a ‘party girl.’
Proud of her Native American heritage- to an extent- and of her natural street smarts, she is a completely independent woman, trying to make her way in the 21st century in the only way that she knows how:
Making friends and selling booze.
At the same time, however, if one were to catch her on an ‘off’ day, Ilani can be very serious and down to earth. She’s fiercely protective of her loved ones, wouldn’t blink an eye at breaking the law- or a leg or two- to help out a friend, and has a strange, undying hatred for all things gang-related.
• Rock Concerts
• Being the center of attention
• Drooling over her ‘love cabbage’s’ behind
• People she deems as ‘stupid people’
• Being ignored
• Wife beaters
• Can keep a secret
• Can kick butt and take names
• Doesn’t believe in lying
• Isn’t easily surprised
• Derek DeVoux
• Chocolate strawberries
• Nickelback songs
• Chances to jump on a table and dance her little heart out
Mother: Running Wolf Moonblood-Buchannon, 30, deceased
Father: Jimmy Buchannon, 46
Siblings: Storm Buchannon (deceased), Darien Buchannon
Born to the Cheyenne-Arapaho Tribe of Oklahoma, Ilani’s mother was raised amongst the old myths and legends of her father’s people. Being the latest in a long line of powerful women in the tribe, she was a kind of ‘Shaman-in-Training,’ second only to the current spirit-healer.
And, according to Ilani, was quite the little flirt, when she wasn’t talking to the spirits and helping those who had crossed over find eternal rest. How the hell else could the small, quite woman she remembered calling ‘Mama’ have attracted her bear of a father?
Seemingly dragged out to the reservation by his anthropologist father, Jimmy Buchanon was a rebel and a hothead, with a temper the size of Texas. But when he met little Running Wolf, he seemed to lose a bit of his steam, and vowed to make her his. After a heated romance that was looked down on by both sets of parents, Jimmy and Running Wolf, later converted to ‘Mary,’ eloped and escaped the seemingly oppressive arms of their elders, in favor of the big, wide world.
Aka New York City, where Jimmy planned on becoming the next Jimmy Hendrix. Not exactly the most humble dream, but his nonetheless.
…It was safe to say that a ratty apartment in Brooklyn and three jobs was what reality offered, and they took.
After trying- and failing- to have music support his family, now consisting of Running Wolf, Ilani and her two older brothers, Storm and Darien, Jimmy gave up running a band in favor of running something a bit less frustrating, and a bit more fun:
His own gang, known amongst native Brooklyn-ers as ‘The Butchers’.
The Butchers did not discriminate when it came to members; it accepted anyone with enough balls to perform any and all acts that their leader demanded, and not enough brains to figure out that, at the first sign of trouble, they’d be left in a prison cell to rot. Specializing in drug running, petty theft, kidnapping and, sometimes, a bit of murder every now and again, The Butchers quickly earned the title of ‘one of the worst gangs to ever surface in the Brooklyn/Queens area.’
A title that her father reveled in, as far as she could tell.
Growing up amongst the tough, streetwise men that her father recruited, Ilani naturally fell into the dark, dangerous underground that the city harbored. She was stealing food for the table at seven, was helping her brothers mug unsuspecting couples in the parks at age ten, and assisted with a few inter-gang wars by the time she was in high school. Respected and feared for her ‘Daughter of THE Butcher’ status, she went through life thinking nothing of her situation, and even finding pleasure in the danger.
That is, until she met her ‘spirit guide’, as her mother called it; an eternally twenty year old man-boy who went by the name of ‘Cash,’ and nothing else.
Oh, how she missed those old, seemingly happy days.
Just as all the women of her mother’s line, Ilani had been gifted with the revered ability to see, hear, speak to and help the dearly departed in finding their place in whatever waited after life. And as such, it was her duty to assist the damned spirits in any way that she could, in order to assure they got where they needed to be.
…Well, that was the plan. But Ilani, as it’s well known, was not one to sticking with plans.
After having the crap scared out of her by Cash’s sudden appearance in the girl’s bathroom- an appearance that none of the other girls could see, confirming their suspicions that the local bad boy’s little girl had one or two screws loose- screaming about being blind, Ilani spent the rest of her high school days trying to avoid the ghosts and angry spirits who intended on using her to achieve their afterlife. After a time, she learned little hints to who was dead and who wasn’t, and tried very hard to ignore them, while still having fun with the gang.
Then her eldest brother, her protector and her best friend, Storm, got himself killed in a drive by shooting by the brother of a girl that he and some of the other members- her father included- had brutalized and killed a month earlier.
Talk about a five o’clock wake up call.
After the burial, it didn’t take long for Running Wolf, mourning the loss of her beautiful son and the love that she’d thought she’d found on the Oklahoma reservation, to succumb to death herself. And, after putting the two people she loved the most underground, it didn’t take Ilani long to hate her father, hate the Butchers and gangs in general, and hate the current life she lived. So, with a tenacity that shocked the hell out of her classmates and old friends, she graduated high school with a passing GPA, moved out of the house, went to night school while working as a bartender at a small nightclub, and got a degree in business management, all the while abandoning her promise to ignore the dearly departed, helping only those she deemed 'help-able'.
Not wanting to have anything to do with her family, her friends in the gang, or old boyfriends who came sniffing at her door when they smelled greenbacks, she packed up her things and moved out to Louisiana, opening her own bar, where she could control the world, the atmosphere, and earn her own reputation away from the disgusting face of her father.
And, in the end, New Orleans is where she chose to open up the now notorious ‘The Pit,’ catering to the rough and rowdy with one single warning tacked up on a piece of old driftwood above the door:
’Make trouble, get burned.’
Ah, the smell of dirt, mold and decaying things. Just the things that any red blooded girl needed to replace coffee, to make her morning complete. Not to mention that ‘morning’ really meant ‘3 freaking AM,’ but she SO wasn’t going to go into that one without throwing an unholy fit.
Resting her forehead against the tombstone in front of her, Ilani resisted the urge to start banging her head against the cold stone. New Orleans’ main cemetery was old, mysterious, large and filled to the seams with ghosts, ecstatic to see a psychic in their midst. She’d only gotten ten steps through the large iron gate that marked the entrance of the cemetery before she’d been surrounded by ethereal figures of men, women, children and animals, all clamoring over each other to catch her attention.
In short? It was a freaking horrible way to start off what was quickly becoming a horrible day. Thank all that was holy that she’d managed to snag Cash and her Confederate buddies, or she might have gone stark raving mad right there.
Talk about a bad time to forget one’s banishing potions. It was a good thing that the soldiers knew self defense, and Cash had the know-how to manifest certain weapons to keep the ghosties in check. Man, this was like tossing her brain into a piranha pond…but hey, needs must.
But back to the work at hand. Straightening, she looked down at the small grave in front of her knees. The dirt was without grass, brand spanking knew and sporting carnations and pictures of the poor, dearly departed. From a wreath of red roses, a little girl’s smiling face seemed to grace the depressing atmosphere of the cemetery, ethereally lit in the soft glow of candles below.
She really did hate this part of the whole ‘help the ghosts’ game. As if being thrown around a room wasn’t enough; now that she was recovered enough to realize that the spirit was angry enough to lash out at her boyfriend, she knew that the only way to understand what the thing wanted, was to go to it.
Aka, traipse around a cemetery in the ass crack of dawn, hoping that the caretaker was asleep and there weren’t any orgies going on where she had to set up shop. Man, talk about really awkward…who the heck would want to get it on in a CEMETARY, she had no idea, but after finding a mass of naked bodies and black robes, she’d made it a point to bring a baseball bat with her, during these morning excursions.