Angelune is a character I have been roleplaying on and off for a great deal of years, but she's quite a traveller and not very good at making friends, so she may seem foreign or naive. She likes to explore and is often found poking about in various places all over.
She is quite obsessive-compulsive, and wherever she is, she's probably engaged in some activity that will reflect it. This may involve repeatedly checking her pockets to make sure objects are still there (particularly if she is working as a medic somewhere), or fidgeting with the tip of her tail and absently counting the hairs on it.
Heat of the summer months pounds down across the land, but Angelune's coat has shed to reveal her thinner, truer dark coloration, easing the discomfort greatly. It still doesn't help, however, that Angelune insists upon wearing every unattended rag she comes across—life without a home tends to inspire a packrat mentality despite its downfalls.
(Angelune the character does not have any wings. If her avatar has them, it's just because I enjoy them.)
Angie is predominantly raccoon, with what she suspects to be a feline's genes mixed in there somewhere. Being that she can't remember a single thing about her family, she has no idea if those are the only two species in her blood, nor how she got such a strange mix. In result, she has a very cat-like facial structure while her behaviorisms, tail and markings are definitely raccoonish.
Her fur is mostly silver-gray in color, but thin white fur covers her muzzle area, the front of her torso, and longer hairs mark the very end of her bushy tail. Thicker jet-black fur can be found in the form of "gloves" and "socks", on each ear, creating a natural "mask" around her eyes, and three thick stripes along her tail. Her eyes practically glow a wild emerald color, enshrouded as they are in the darkness of the surrounding fur. Her hair, blonde at the roots, fades softly into a sky blue hue as it reaches the very tips at her thighs.
She's often found thin to almost a ghastly point—sometimes losing the struggle to find sustenance, sometimes losing the struggle against intentionally starving herself.
In the colder months (about halfway through October until late March), Angie grows a winter coat. Her silvery fur lightens to snowy white, and her normally jet markings soften to a deep gray. Her hair is the oddest of all, and becomes a pastel pink which gradients to an even softer blue than its ordinary color. This bizarre and biologically impossible color change, she suspects, has to do with exposure to intense magic as a toddler.
Her attire varies when occasion demands it, but for the most part Angie has a "favored" set of clothes and wears it most frequently. It consists of a dark, sleeveless tunic that laces in the front, and a camouflage-patterned, ankle-length skirt. The front buttons shut from her thighs to the end, and can zip off at just above her knees. Although the nature of her skirt suggests otherwise, Angie never, ever shows her shins. She covers her legs in thigh-high legwarmers.
Within one cargo pocket, there is always a ratty old leather flask. It contains whatever alcohol (usually brandy or a white wine) she's managed to get her hands on until the very end of the night, by which time it's almost always drained.
One of the first noticeable things about Angie is that she's painfully shy and timid. She has deep insecurities, and believes that she is hideous, useless, and worthless. Before coming to Kasuria, she once saw her body as a canvas waiting to be painted with her rage and self-loathing, and had used a knife to express that. While she seems to have worked past that in recent years, her tendency to self-harm has manifested itself into different forms instead.
She has what was once described to her as "the patience of a saint", but it's more a curse than any virtue. Be it either working tirelessly on a problem or sticking it out through harsh conditions or coming to equal grounds with difficult people, she pushes through, often while physically and/or mentally incapable of handling it, and even more often in situations entirely not worth the effort. She allows herself to be repeatedly tread upon by abusive people if she believes there is good to be found in them, and she forces herself to continue with things with a determination often confused with insanity.
As such, Angie is incredibly easy to manipulate and take advantage of.
Angie is also an alcoholic. Brandy and white wine are her drinks of choice—but in the end, as long as it takes away the pain of cold and loneliness, it doesn't matter to her what she can get hold of.
At merely four winters of age, Angie's tiny rural village was attacked and ravaged by a large group of furres who were involved in the very profitable slave-trading business. They simply burned and tore down huts and ransacked them for the residents to sell and their possessions to steal. Because the young raccoon was nearly dead upon discovery, she was brought to a healer who performed heavy regenerative magic upon her poor body for weeks on end. Such a strong and prolonged exposure to the magic at such a young age had caused two strange reactions in Angie's body. One of these reactions was a temporary mutation of her hair's pigment from the usual blonde to sky blue, and the other was the sensitivity to magic awakening within her.
Angie spent the following ten years of her life as her savior's house slave. She was young and frail and thus mostly useless to him, except as his own personal outlet for his short temper. But he was elderly and needed medical attention, so he bestowed his knowledge upon her over the years and assigned her as one of his primary caretakers. In her sixteenth year of life, Angie was amongst a small group of slaves who were able to flee and scatter when their master passed away from his ancient years.
She was discovered weeks later by a band of nomadic furres—again on the brink of death. She was brought along with the wanderers, allowed to stay with them in exchange for her skill in healing. Along the way, she was shown more traditional means of tending to the sick and injured—with bandages and medicines both primitive and modern. Eight years later, their migration led them to Kasuria, where Angie departed from the band and sought out a life of her own.
Now approaching 35 winters of age, Angie still has entirely no idea what her true name really is. "Angelune" is merely one that she was given, based on the properties of her talent, by the small colony she traveled with. She is also homeless, but she would never willingly outright admit it for fear of being asked to, what she perceives as, "intrude".