Vaughn stands at about five foot seven, Vaughn is a fox-morph of middling stature and disposition. His russet coat of fur has seen better days, what with the whole war thing and all. Had life been kinder to him - and if he could be bothered to care for it, of course - Vaughn might have had a sleek and glorious coat of fur, but as it is, he’s a lost cause. Not dirty, of course, just coarse and rough.
His clothes are simple and utilitarian - a short, sleeveless vest, followed by a cotton undershirt and leggings cut from coarse fabric. Since he’s on the clock at the moment, the above has been supplemented with various odds and ends of protective gear: scraps of ringmail and leather, and of course, a pair of padded, open-fingered gloves over his hands and sturdy boots on his feet, covering the natural “socks” of deep black fur that cap his limbs.
The only truly distinguishing pieces of clothing on him might be the flat, broad-brimmed felt hat perched on his head to keep the sun off and his ears against his head, as well as the plain white neckerchief that sits on his collarbone. You get the feeling that those have a bit of history attached to them, and perhaps you should ask about them when he’s in a chatty mood. Crinkled brown eyes stare out from beneath the brim of his hat, and they follow you inquisitively as you continue taking him in.
“Eh, I’m nothing fit to look at,” Vaughn says with a sigh, rubbing his muzzle and the rough, silvery patches of fur that he’s been trying to cultivate as stubble of sorts. “Gone hungry one too many times in my life, broken a few too many bones that never set completely right, too many scrapes. The years in between me being branded as a deserter and ending up here… well, they were hard, to say the least. No one wants to hire a deserter, even if it happened years ago. Don’t blame them.”
You dismiss his concerns with a wave and continue studying him. Vaughn’s body is slightly toned, as should be expected of anyone accustomed to physical labor, but he’s anything but buff. Actually, it’s more the kind of muscle that one might expect from someone who would ordinarily be lithe and lanky, built from overuse and slight underfeeding.
All in all, Vaughn is quite the kind of fellow you wouldn’t take an extra gander at if you met him on the street, and would be hard-pressed to describe later if asked to. Mild and placid to the point of being occasionally being soft-spoken, one can never be entirely sure if he’s just at peace with the world at large, or if he’s just saving up to be extremely nasty when the situation calls for such.
- The war
- His engineer job
- Deliver thief tools to Elodie at the castle
- Plant evidence at the barracks in Rigard
- Poison Lady Heydrich at the Lady's Blessing (Between 5 at night to midnight)
If you have big breasts, he can titfuck you anytime after midnight