Petra McCray

[Petra McCray]

I. general --

NAME: petra mccray
AGE: fourteen
GENDER: female
SPECIES: shapeshifter
ANIMAL: mountain weasel
JOB: waitress

II. physique --

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: petra isn't quite a normal girl -- but then again, she's not supposed to be. she's petite [probably due to her small animal side of her] and a decent amount shorter than most people her age. there is little muscle on her, but she isn't quite lanky; in that department, at least, she's average. her skin is fair to the point where she can never get a tan, because she always burns instead. ever-so-slightly wavy blond hair falls just a little past her shoulders. depending on her mood, she'll style it either free flowing, in a back ponytail, a side ponytail, or two matching pigtails tied up with a small bows[usually black, blue, or red/pink; but it can also vary]. petra's eyes are an auburn color that quite often look red, giving her an interesting contrast compared to her otherwise-light complexion. her appearance gives off a stereotypical cute-ditsy-blond kind of look that usually makes it easy for her to find a job.
CLOTHING STYLE: tanktops or t-shirts and shorts/bermudas/capris, with bracelets/jewelry and hair bows
EXTRA: Anything else.
SUMMARY: Petite teen girl with shoulder-length blond hair and auburn eyes.

III. persona --

LIKES: daydreaming, nighttime, staying up late, imagination, singing, "happy endings".
DISLIKES: extensive sunlight, getting up in the morning, reality, large crowds/lots of people, being the center of a lot of attention, "unhappy endings".
FLAWS: naive, has difficulty focusing for long periods of time, afraid of reality and "creates" her own instead.
PERSONALITY: on the outside, petra looks fairly stereotypical -- a ditsy, unfocused, cute blond. she tends to get easily flustered by large crowds or lots of people around, and prefers to keep to herself. she tries to pay attention, but her own heart won't let her. why? she's simply afraid of reality. it's why she seems to always daydream and be off in her own world; because of her past and her own shapeshifting power, she's afraid of people, and of the world around her, because she doesn't feel safe around so many humans [really, she doesn't feel safe anywhere]. so instead, she makes up her own reality in her own mind, full of happy endings and no troubles to fit what she yearns for. if something contradicts that dreamworld, she denies its existence, and rather tragic habit that by now she does without even being conscious of it -- she truly believes her own little reality is in the right, and is existent outside of her mind. another hobby of hers, though, is singing; and although she's usually quite timid and never lets anyone hear her sing, she's actually quite talented. also, probably because of her weasel traits, she's not at all a morning person and tends to prefer the night world over the daylight.

IV. history --

PARENTS: alice & stefen mccray [status unknown; probably deceased]
SIBLINGS: none known
HISTORY: petra was born a little over fourteen years ago to alice and stefen mccray, two individuals whom she remembers little of. only slight snippets remain of them, if even that -- because when she was four, suddenly she was thrown into a foster home. the reason why she never quite discovered, because she'd been told the building was merely a place she'd stay for a few days until she was picked up. well, her parents never came back for her, but they were still right; she was picked up within a week, but by a mysterious-looking couple who seemed to have -remade arrangements somehow. they took her to a world full of white labcoats and strange and painful experiments; this was her home for four long and horrifying years. needless to say, she hated it there. but what could she do?

then one day sirens were going off inside the facilities, and chaos broke out: the captives were escaping. as miserable as she was with her current situation as she was, she practically had to be coaxed by a fellow experiment to leave -- the idea of change horrified her further, and she was afraid to face the unknown world outside that she remembered very little of. but eventually she did escape with them, and the person who had helped her escape looked after her for awhile. but that didn't last long, either. as soon as the extermination order was finalized, everyone was in danger. her companion died early, she presumed, because he left one morning for food and never returned. petra was nine now, and she knew she somehow had to take care of herself. her residence became the back alleys of lakyra city, where she slept each night in her weasel form to avoid detection. as she grew older her own realities, which had began in her years in the labs and grew after her escape, quickly grew finalized as she realized just how cruel the world was to her kind now. still, though, her way of coping seemed to let her survive free of detection. by the time she was twelve, she was able to look for work -- often busy businessowners would give her simple work with garbage disposal or street advertisement to lure in customers for a meager pay that would help her pay for food [and hey, if she didn't get that, there was always dumpster-diving, which she was accustomed to]. as she got older, shops or restaurants began to overlook her apparent young age for her cute, petite, blond features that they thought would lure in consumers to their businesses. and that, in a simple sense, is where she is today.

V. other --

THINGS WE SHOULD KNOW: her face claim is lucy from fairy tail
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:
Well, jeez. Hadn't it been only mere months ago that he was walking these streets as a resident? It sure as hell felt like it, and already they were back. Well, not all of them -- evidently Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery were to be far too busy with other tasks to accompany their Colonel on a trip east. So it was him, First Lieutenant Hawkeye, and her loyal dog who had been sent all the way out here. Hmph, like they really needed to. After all, the Eastern troops had nothing to do as it was because the Central forces had stormed in here and taken the rebellions in Liore into their own hands. Even now, as he walked down streets, off-duty soldiers were lounging around and watching him with a vague interest as he passed. So why were they here, when East City should have been able to handle its own problems?

The answer was simple: Scar. The damned Ishbalan with the x-shaped mark on his face seemed to have taken a favor to this particular area for the time being, and had been poaching resident State Alchemists in the city. And on top of that, the newly-promoted Colonel that had taken his place after his transfer to Central had turned out to be an utterly incompetent buffoon -- he'd personally gone out to Liore to witness the alleged uprising, and made himself an easy target to some of the more bloodthirsty civilians there. Now he, being the last person to hold the position and actually do it well, had been sent back until they shipped out a replacement all the way from the West Area. At least they wouldn't be here long, and he had to admit -- there wasn't a shortage of single women here.

Roy Mustang was walking rather briskly down one of the cobblestone roads with his long black overcoat billowing out behind him as he suddenly stopped, halted by a familiar smell. Death. it was faint, but anyone who'd been as involved in the Ishbal rebellion as a State Alchemist had would pick it out. And death meant an incident, which meant a possible lead on Scar -- the man he was looking for in the first place. He turned sharply after a moment and headed into a side-alley. Now, the smell of alcohol was evident, and it only took a moment to find the source of all the stench. There, slumped down in the corner, was a man who had quite grotesquely been stabbed in the gut with something large and sharp. Well, it didn't follow any of the trends of a Scar-presumed murder, but that didn't mean it was something to be ignored.

"Looks like we've found something, Lieutenant," The Colonel remarked, wrinkling his nose as he gently nudged the man with his boot. "He hasn't been dead for long, so the killer can't have gone far." The man's onyx eyes narrowed slightly to better focus on a small feminine purse dropped carelessly not a foot from the corpse's hand. So, this man was a thief, and probably a drunk one at that... Which made his death obnoxiously broad in terms of cause and motive. Ah, damnit... This would mean more paperwork for him later. Sighing, he took a step back and looked over at the blond-haired woman standing not far behind him. "What do you think?"