Frankie Lunamore

WIP

## Bio

Frankie was born in Sha'an but was scarcely in one place more than a year. His mother was an ocelot Beastkin and his father was a snow leopard Beastkin, his fluffy tail the only trait he inherited from his father. He was the middle kit of a litter of three; not that litters were necessarily common for Beastkin, simply that his mother had a freakish ability it seems. He was not the first batch of kids nor would he be the last, regardless it was rare for them to welcome solely one child into the family. His parents had always dreamed of a large family, especially because of their specific occupation; they were a band of traveling entertainers. Forced into this life by the time he was six, he'd despised it from the first day. Forced to contort his body into awful positions, jump at terrifying heights, and get all too close and personal with breaths of fire. Any attention he and his littermates had was soon vanished at the birth of new children for their parents to dote on and, eventually, begin to train.

Well, by the time he was eight Frankie realized how absolutely bullshit his life was. He'd begun to engage in the shadier aspects of business such as passing himself off as a young prodigy shaman that could read your fortune or practiced his begging skills on the streets of wherever his family had set themselves up. Pick-pocketing became a hobby for Frankie. Now these things, those were fun unlike the farce that his family and the general populace thought was entertainment. The worst was when his parents forced him to dress up in oversized clothes and slathered cosmetic paints on his face, parading him about like a fool. Sometimes the patrons would even throw rotting fruits at him, and sometimes they'd hit him. Nobody could understand why he complained, everyone had to do that job eventually and it would only be a little while longer until the littler ones would take his place; they were a family, they were born into this, they were all in this together.

What bullshit. Frankie ran away when he was twelve, stealing a good amount of money and supplies from his parents whilst they slept. He felt no remorse for this and scarcely thinks about them anymore, though he wouldn't be surprised if one of his siblings eventually showed up; Six knows he has a million of them by now. But, as Frankie quickly realized, pretending to be a beggar was different than actually being a beggar. These people were better attuned to sticky little fingers and cons. Frankie grit his teeth and bore it, anything was better than going back to some traveling freak show. He simply got better, more adept, quieter, stealthier, more cunning. Everyday was an opportunity to better himself, and better himself he did until he was certain he was better than any street urchin.

Frankie, much like before, was constantly moving and ended up in Lesicia when he was sixteen. The Elves were stuck up and the Humans were brutes, but both often had supple coin on them so Frankie played them. Throughout his years, Frankie's had many run-ins with shady businesses and even shadier people, so he decided to arm himself with the only weapon he thought suited him; a bow. It allowed him distance and, if need be, the chance to run before they ever caught up to him. For this, he was dubbed the Longshot Coward though it was often shortened to one or the other. Frankie would be long gone before anyone was able to grab him by the scruff. Maybe it was cowardly, Frankie could care less because he was alive and he was going to stay that way. Despite that, he could be charming, he could make connections which was vital to his survival. Sure his friends were just as shady as he was, but he still ran in a crew and trusted them. Trusting people was necessary in this world, making connections made it all the easier to live; they were strong people just like him of all creeds and all races.

When he was eighteen, he'd skirt the Treaq border a little too closely and pissed off the wrong Elves. Unfortunately for him, Elves don't mind the idea of slave and a slave he was taken to be. Due to his build not being suited towards labor, he was sold to be a "luxury" slave; a way to show off their status. How fucking pathetic. From the get-go, Frankie was uncooperative, belligerent, and on the receiving end of many beatings. He never found camaraderie in his fellow slaves, simply wanting to be angry at them for being just as weak as he was. So he played their game, he'd be good and bide his time, he was smarter than the others. There had to be a way out, there was always a way out. He'd be under the ownership of a High Elf for two years, and despite everything he'd prepared for she was kind to him; he was a gift to her for her 100th birthday from her father. He was a household slave, bringing her food and drinks and books. She'd read to him while he rested his head in her lap. She'd let him walk by her side when in the gardens, they really were quite beautiful even Frankie had to admit. It had been three years since Frankie was made a slave, two since he'd been made hers, and she took him for a visit in De'peshe Forest; she knew he mentioned missing the smell of the forest because he'd told her that he did. That night he slit her throat and slipped away into the night. What a shame, a slave owner's still a slave owner no matter how gilded.

Despite all the criticism, Frankie considers himself a success due to the fact that he's twenty-five and still breathing. Doesn't matter how he got there, just that he got there. The mark of a slave still burns his skin and he hides it without fail especially with how contested Lesicia is becoming. He doesn't hesitate to say what he wants to say and holds a particular hatred for Elves. He will verily fight any Elf that enters his purview, even half-blood mutts. Though, if it looks like the fight is not going in his favor, he will attempt to flee.

For the most part, Frankie spends his time traveling and despises spending too much time in one place. Though he keeps his wits about him, he'll frequent taverns due to it being a good hunting ground for unsuspecting drunkards. Frankie doesn't drink, never touched a drop.

## Personality

Frankie is loud, rude, mouthy, and loquacious especially with his insults. He doesn't hesitate to say what he thinks even if the situation doesn't call for it in the least, which often gets him into trouble. When Frankie realizes that he's bitten off a bit more than he can chew, he finds no shame in running away and recuperating. His three years as a slave has made him unable to trust and while before he might've been charming, seeking out personal connections to further his own desires, now he pushes everyone away. He hates being touched, especially on his head, and it'd be a huge sign of trust if he let you anywhere close; no one has ever gotten that close to Frankie in a good couple years now.

Despite how rough around the edges he seems, he can be an actual genuine person sometimes. Sometimes. He enjoys romantic novels, especially the steamy ones, and prefers tea over any other drink. If you can get that close to him, he gives wonderful romantic advice and can mediate expertly due to his experience at manipulating people.