//slams my fist down
bittersweet nightshade - magica
Name: Indigo "Hemlock" Loveless
Age: 29
Gender: Gendervoid [they/them/he/him]
S.O: androsexual
Personality: Indie is a lot like the flower they so love and tenderly nurtured. The Righen flower, a specialized hybrid bred by Hemlock, is a very pretty flower. Light in color with a sweet odor and slender build. However don't be fooled, it is extremely deadly. It was bred to be used in poisons, a specialized poison that is undetectable in the body post-mortem. Indigo is just the same. Two-faced is a great way to describe the young Plumerian but at the same time no one really knows it. To most they are just a friendly neighbor with a passion for bringing the best blooms to town. The only people that know the true danger that comes from associating with them are those that buys his poisons. They have a cool and direct sense of humor and an underdeveloped sense of right and wrong.
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In. Out. There are only a few moments in everyone’s life when everything seems to come together in just the perfect chorus of events that it’s like an epiphany. And man is it breath taking. Indio struggled to keep his breathing even, keep his hands steady, keep the appearance of the sweet florist on the street corner. His heart beat harder, faster, but his breathing slowed as the lyrics flooded through his ears. He had been struggling all day with a word, a word to describe his newest creation. Such a creation that, when used correctly, caused a deadly insanity and paralysis who’s origins where undetectable in the body post-mortem. He had been trying to think of the right word that described the pale pink and purple plant who sat dormant up on a high shelf, away from the dangers of those that frequented the flower shop. It was quite beautiful and people often asked about it. Was it a rose? A lilly? A tulip? No, no, and definitely not. It was his pride and joy, the source of most of his income and of all his cockiness. It was
Rigen, oh his beautiful Rigen. But back to the epiphany. It took a moment for his words to come back in a faint awed hiss as he looked up at the flower. Bittersweet. What a wonderful way to describe her. She was beauty and she was death.
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