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Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi | Discord [Villain]

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Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi | Discord [Villain] Empty Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi | Discord [Villain]

Post by Discord on Fri Nov 16, 2018 8:30 am

Identity: D I S C O R D

Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi | Discord [Villain] ZZhd4qS


Name: Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi
Hero Name: Discord
Age: 29
Birthday: March 13th
Gender: Female
Alignment: Villain


Physical Attributes

Height:  6' 1''
Weight:  Ahahahaha!
Hair: Violet.
Eyes: Teal.
Physical Structure: Ereshkigal is made of curves - thick thighs, wide hips and a heavy bosom. This is distributed across a tall, lean frame that displays the onset of muscles beneath every sensual arch. She not only tends to tower over most people, but take up much more room then them as well; generally in her front and back departments. Her skin radiates warmth, every inch of her tanned form hot to the touch yet soft for more adventurous fingers.

Oh, and she has ears that must belong to some species of canine. They’re terribly expressive, and both flutter and splay bashfully when commented on.

Clothing & Style: For reasons to be discovered further along in this manifesto, Ereshkigal tends to forgo much clothing. She covers up her "areas" for decency, and might don a shawl or coat in the winter because she’s not superhuman, you know, but -- ultimately, her life is easier the more of her skin is exposed. Vibrant exotic silks detail her ethnic features, immodestly cresting her curves like waterfalls of reds and purples. She does try to retain an "industry standard" so as not to cause too much trouble with the local PTA; you can't really make out any details, there's just enough skin showing that she'd be better served as a belly dancer than a deputy mayor.

In private, when she’s alone at home and readying for a relaxing evening, she adores warm onesies and heavy cloth pajamas. She doesn't have a particular enjoyment for a lack of clothing, it's just a matter of efficiency.

Hero Outfit: As opposed to most Villains, who sew outfits to hide their identities - or Heroes, who do it for their insatiable flair for dramatics - Ereshkigal doesn’t have any such attire she would wear for her “dastardly deeds.” Subversively, her common attire - that is, the strips of cloth that hide only the more voluptuous areas of her body - is what could be construed as her “Villain Costume.” This is because it reveals the highest possible amount of bare skin which is exactly all she needs to do what she does.



Psycological Profile

Personality: Ahahaha!

At first look, Ereshkigal is an enthusiastic, energetic, overly-affectionate ditz with the appearance of someone that has just a little too much free time on their hands and an overload of enthusiasm to express it with. She has a significant amount of objective sex appeal from the way she dresses and the shape of her body alone, yet approaches innuendos with the innocence of a teenage girl and doesn't outwardly use it to her advantage.

Yet, the "girl next door, your new best friend" perception is absolutely and entirely an act. Ereshkigal's heart is as black as black could be -- there is no longer a shred of kindness left within her, nothing to hold onto or wish to set free. She hates people. Justifiably, as far as she's concerned, due to growing up as someone who [brings out the worst in everyone she touches.] The darkest natures of others revealed to her so painfully and excessively shaped her own. She has no remorse for the chaos she causes, and instead looks to do so at every opportunity she can - her airhead act and the choice of her attire is so she can slyly bump and brush against anyone at any time and trigger her quirk. Streets are left in riots as she passes; cool, calm offices torn apart in a chance yet accidental meeting. Little is safe from her Discord.

She has dark tastes and guilty pleasures that veer completely north from the idea of company. She's a virgin with no interest in changing that, due in part to the fact that she knew any lover could be driven to harm her the more passionate their embrace; yet also the simple truth that she cares little to nothing for other people on any level, let alone romantically or sexually. She has an almost playful stake in the entertainment her quirk brings her, and seems to enjoy the "chaos for chaos' sake" on that alone. Sweets and cozy nights are things even a black-hearted creature like her is attracted to, while her more hidden secrets involve piles of stuffed and aquatic animals - the only pets she doesn't really *touch!*

Overall, Ereshkigal's "true" personality could be described as unhinged.

Motives:  As far as Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi is concerned she won't be free of her burdens until she's free of the people that have proven theirs to her. Human beings are disgusting, selfish, angry creatures. She can't foster trust or affection for a race that is so clearly ready to wrong her and everyone around them, at the mere shift of a lever on their emotions. It isn't safe. It never will be. So she exists outside of it, the human experience, looking on in mirth while they're driven mad by their own insanity. It's a deserved penance and she shall deal it - who better to expose the darkest heart of humanity than someone who's felt it firsthand?

For these means Ereshkigal works entirely from the shadows, masquerading - yet still vaguely fulfilling her duties - as the Deputy Mayor of LA. Fostering a good relationship with the man retaining the position of mayor and the various governmental aides that flutter around their compound, she has free reign to go pretty much anywhere and do pretty much anything her heart desires. After all, she's the best Human Resources specialist the city has ever seen! ♡

Discord is known in villain circles only as that, through whispers and intrigue and the ghost of a shadow they catch in their side vision during bouts of public distress and the odd riot. A hero or two might have picked up on the occurences as odd - though have you seen football fans after their favorite team loses? - but attributing it to a villain specifically is hard, Ereshkigal even harder as a suspect. "Hiding in plain sight" is incredibly effective.


Quirk: I N F L A M M A T I O N

Quirk Type: Emitter
Power of Ability: Everyone has a dark side, especially under the duress of their emotions - Ereshkigal just has an easier time then most at bringing that out. Inflammation is a quirk that allows its user to forcefully intensify a target’s current emotions through skin contact - what else can truly *inflame* your innermost desires? It cannot mystically create new ones, or manipulate the cause or reason for why they exist or for who; but she can significantly hinder someone’s ability to handle what they’re feeling as it becomes more and more amplified. A single touch causes an "infection" that quickly ramps, while prolonged physical exposure heightens the effect even faster and can eventually break the point of no return. Otherwise, the effect tends to last until the person is jarred from it by whatever circumstances or Ereshkigal leaves their area for a good amount of time.

While growing up and first developing this Quirk Ereshkigal had little to no control of it and Inflamed all those she touched through her youth. These were her formative years of villainy. Now an adult with a significantly greater sense of self, Ereshkigal is able to more accurately control her Quirk and may activate or deactivate it at-will.



History



You're born and then you die.

You suppose it isn't always that simple.

Sometimes you're born and the normal life between "now" and "then" is normal in a world where toddlers spout off fireballs or disappear into thin air. You're born into a world where your mother and father are largely unassuming but superpowered in their owns ways, and the little buddies in your nursery school class are awed and applauded for each new manifestation; yet the day carries on through the bell for lunch. It's typical. It's expected. Everyone gets one, you know, and you will, too. Maybe you won't - maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Every kid wants to be powerful. You never thought "no, maybe not" until much later in your growth.

You got yours. No one really knew. Your eyes didn't glow and your skin didn't frost and you never levitated during naptime - no one really noticed. More attention was paid to you now than before, more then you would have gotten had you shown signs of anything; after all, the person "without" was the outcast. You were strange. But you got yours. You could feel it. You could feel it with fear and confusion and a hitch of frantic concern only the smallest children or the oldest warriors could muster that day you were cornered on the playground. 'Where's yours?,' they'd ask, and they'd jeer and they'd snicker and they'd push you around, waiting for a gush of water from your fingertips or static to send your hair on ends. They didn't get that.

They pushed you over and his - his, you don't even remember his name, just "his" just "him" - grubby little child fingers touched your cheeks and there was only a single moment of silence, a brief and sharp and terrifying second when you felt the warmth of his tips and then the bite of his nails. He wanted to kill you. No, he truly did. He didn't before; he was just annoyed, and indulged, and enjoying the fact that he could pick on this little girl. Maybe he even had a crush on you, in your day to day, the kind of boy to pull your hair on the playground - but it wasn't what he was feeling "then", so instead his pulling turned to tearing and your throat hollowed with screams.

They tried to get him off you. The teachers tried to intervene. It was a disaster. Everyone was crying or screaming or throwing or rocking. You don't forget that day. You hold it in your heart with every touch. It's what dulls your eyes and kills that saccharine smile you plaster on.

Your teachers likely never learned why - it was a confusing time for all, and people not your family actually coming in contact with your skin was rarer than you'd expect, as long as you avoided reaching out. You didn't anymore. You curled inward. It was a freak event, a mishap, an accident, kids being kids and boys being boys and a quirkless little girl finding her place in a society of magic. You weren't, though. That wasn't true.




Your family, ah, yes, that was hard to avoid. Much harder. A Parent-Teacher Conference has your father with your teacher on her desk. You leave the room. You don't talk about it. Maybe your mother learns, maybe it's something else -- but when she goes to take you to her mother's for the night, and she gently grabs your arm to lead you out the door, she whirls around and they're fighting. Really fighting. And you leave the room. You wait it out. Sometimes you go further, walk down the street, testing the limits of your "field of power" and hoping the farther away you go the quicker it fades.

Their marriage falls apart. Maybe they learn your Quirk, maybe they don't, it's never really talked about. Even the most vile of creatures have a hard time turning to their daughter and saying, 'Hey, are you why we beat each other?' Maybe they were kind to you, maybe they weren't, maybe those are memories you block out because you don't remember the times you didn't do your homework and admonishment had to come.

You ruined their lives, yet they might never know that's why. They blame themselves and they fall deeper in despair and they try to seek help and explain why they feel these things so strongly, sometimes, but maybe they're just broken, maybe they're just wicked, and nothing can save them. You don't try anymore. You're too scared to tell them. Even more, you're scared of the people you've seen them as.

Your first boyfriend is lovely and kind and adores you with all of his heart and he hurts you, he hurts you very bad, and you walk away. This time you don't stop walking. Not at the end of the street. Not at the next. Not at the convenience store where you bump into a hungry old man and he goes clamoring in to rob the place or die trying. This could be pinpointed as the moment you "hardened." You were never the brightest, or strongest, or kindest or most interesting person. You had little records or adventures or accomplishments to speak of.




You were just a girl, and now you're not, and sometimes that's what growing up is. You were born and you were hurt and one day, yeah, you'll die. All grown up.

There's something to be said of the seeds we sow.
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Post by Discord on Sun Dec 02, 2018 2:11 pm

This is completion.
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Post by Qrähe on Mon Dec 03, 2018 10:35 pm

Ereshkigal Al-Ahmadi | Discord [Villain] Approv10
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