So I Have Written A Way Indepth Study And I Don't Want These Tags To Get Lost For Obvious Reasons XD

So I have written a way indepth study and I don't want these tags to get lost for obvious reasons XD

So it would seem she hasn't lost her allure completely. Although now it easily could be chalked up to her...condition. Her shadows stretched curiously at the creature, the last rays of sun and the lit oil lamp causing his to overlap with hers as he reached her lone table.

It wasn't often Karma got the chance to try this trick with supernatural entities; eyes averted as he spoke, hidden under the brim of her hat, well aware how her eyes will shift even more.

Churning sea soon to be colored crimson. A merciless father leading to extraordinary career heights. A pirate, mischievous, unfairly handsome with glinting dark eyes and messy hair filled with softly clinking trinkets. Trickster, thief and crafty, but not a cold blooded murderer. A young woman of high status, beautiful, a damsel at first then...a snarling pirate. But she never lost that air of haughty superiority that came with her birth. Brown doe eyes that seemed kind at the first look, yet such deception lurked underneath. And an another woman at last; a pirate just like the man but she was...vicious; like storm was forced into a human shape. Emerald eyes so bright, flashing like steel, insanity and intellect shining equally prominently. A greedy Brit dwarf thinking himself to be the king of the seas while according to myths it already had its Goddess and Devil. Creatures, more than fish than human led by the one resembling to an octopus.

His memories sharp and crystal clear like reflection on lagoon surface. Aching for telling, understanding and absolution. How...strange the contrast.

“It was an observation, vampire.”

Said so confidently yet casually as she raised her poison eyes to meet his again at last with a small smirk of ink lips.

“Worry not, vampire hunting isn't my work. Too many crosses facing the right direction and too many encounters with priests.” for further strengthening her point, she raised her jacket high enough for the metal fringes to be seen; the crosses at the ends were inverted.

“Sit” perhaps a bit too long fingers gestured to the unoccupied chair a bit further from her right, porcelain skin rivaling with her hair regarding color

“For the first time, I have a question.” it may have been a little rude to look into his memories without asking, at least she was courteous enough to not stay for his death

“You may not talk, but your shadow does. Surprisingly talkative in fact. It showed me three people who were very important to you, they must have been if you still remember them this sharply.” Karma mused out loud; the pattern was the same. Parent then loved one. She had seen two occasionally, but never three. She decided to gloss over the fact that the last woman, the swordfighter, the killer had the same eyes she once had.

“Which one did you truly love?” came the piercing question laced with genuine curiosity

“The black eyed pirate, no-” an another detail fluttering across her mind, causing a softer smile “The black eyed sparrow, the deceitful doe or the wild jaguar? Only one of them would've returned your affections with undying loyalty.”

(Yes you reblogged memes but...sort of wanted an official meeting ask before the dynamite coffin🤣)

Springrose became a ghost town after the Orphan returned to take revenge on the superstitious townfolk encouraged by their preacher to murder her family. They long forgotten her name, her face; nobody knew Death was riding into the town on an oil slick black horse. Most tales focus on the spreading fire; just like how her house burned. Others lay the weight on the act of hanging the preacher. Some mention both. What remains the same in each version is the endorsed murder, the arrival of the gunfighter more than a decade ago to settle a long overdue debt and her disappearance after.

Springcreek was established around 50 miles away, survivors afraid of her possible return even though it has been over a hundred years. Many swore they saw a ghost, a wraith with the same horse as the orphan turned gunslinger in the abandoned town. A few, extremely brave people has left flowers, small trinkets near the once beautiful burned down house as condolences.

“I have seen men almost driven mad by lust.” the voice mused from a shadowy corner of the saloon after observation, one loud clank of steel heels as the other foot was set down

“Also familiar with the phrase ‘good enough to eat’, but.” there was always a but whenever she intervened “You seem to take that saying quite literally from what I see in your gaze.” and the woman leaned forward, pure ivory strands of hair falling from her hat, her eyes perhaps too bright emerald that almost seemed to glow in the setting dusk.

“It couldn't be that long time, stranger.” it could be said the newcomer can be considered a fine man appearance vise, surely working girls would even fight for his attention in any establishment. “And this area has an already bloody history, sure the locals already told their ghost stories. No need to add an another one.” soft spoken yet firm, not a threat, barely skirting a warning. Only her stare was akin to being caught in the crosshair, quite literally with the scarring around her right eye.

Inhuman green eyes people watched as if he were looking over feast instead of human beings. Yet, a voice managed to reach him through the noise of the ruckus. He sat with no drink infront of him, but full glass of water untouched. ( Un touched water.. in the desert??? )

Tortuga or Tombstone, Norrington saw these rowdy folk the same as pirates. They were the same rogues and ne'er-do-wells, just with a different accent.

Yet someone had noticed the vampire, her voice was exotic and cut through the minutia.

He listened to her words, each one a precise observation that struck at the heart of his condition. The mention of men driven mad by lust and the unsettling glint in her eyes spoke volumes about her experience and the battles she had fought.

Approaching her table, with a deliberate grace, the floorboards creaked under his boots. His gaze met hers—bright emerald eyes that seemed to pierce through the dusk matching the neon of his own, brought out by her very presence, the vampiric nature of him .

"I appreciate the poetry, Miss, but I'm not in the market for a lecture on my appetites, literal or otherwise."

He crosses his arms leaning back, hat tipped back. His voice-- accent too posh and English to be a cowpoke.

"Your insight is sharp," he admitted, steady and measured. " I've no doubt this town has seen its share of darkness, but I assure you, I am not here to add to its legends." Although the lost Dutchman mine in the superstitions did pique the pirate he was once and he would be adding to the blood spilled. There was no getting away from that.

Life was a blur due to her lifestyle. Despite always going for the highest bounties with a famous catchphrase of ‘I don't get out of bed for less than $3000’ (which was only partly true), she wasn't collecting the money to settle. Most of the time she didn't even sleep in hotels, saloons but out in the desert instead. Money was spent spoiling her horse (Akhal Teke being a high maintenance breed) with quality grains, good equipment, if she liked something she bought or commissioned it and simply gave away what wasn't needed. Tipping mariachis, paying more than supposed when she felt the business owner is struggling, generously paying prostitutes even if she didn't sleep with them; acts of kindness everywhere. And it was natural to do so: those people needed money and she could always hunt down an another criminal to get paid a small fortune.

Karma was always fascinated by heartbeat, how a simple muscle kept someone alive, how the pulse spiked in certain situations. She loved to listen, to kiss and nibble at pulse points, as time went on stronger the strange craving became. His heart sounded like thunder, like a hundred men marching and she was lost in the sensation, only realizing what transpired when it was quiet. Too quiet. She had taken his life without intent and a weapon; her horror only heightening upon feeling her previously stiff joints work like a freshly greased machine.

She doesn't remember when she stopped aging. Doesn't remember when the shadows' whisper became audible words. When she started seeing things no human eye could. She only knows when her human time is about to end because she is cursed with a feeling of withering away alive, an unquenchable famine soothed only by an another life. It is usually drained by prolonged physical contact or through a deep emotional bond, the latter getting more rare since Karma figured out it also counts.

She can take by her usual means, it took a while to master. While otherwise immortal, she still can be wounded, the healing can be sped up by the process she reserves as last resort, the ability so strong to be able to fully restore her vitality even if the wound is fatal. Karma also can give. She doesn't fully understand how her curse sometimes can act as a gift, healing others similar way she would've taken their life.

Because of her bond with Villám, both the curse and the life force she takes is transfered into the horse as well, her weapons also tainted by it. More she was forced to take, more her appearance changed till her hair became bone white, eyes emitting an unsettling light in darkness, lips permanently tinted black. People began to whisper about a legend, an immortal gunslinger haunting certain places even into the 21st century. They say, unlike in the Bible, Death rides an oil black horse.

Karma has been dead in a way since she was accidentally fully given the Blessing of Death when trying to heal her from a deadly illness; one of the most powerful curses from an ancient coven originating from Mesopotamia worshipping Nergal, God of Death, Pestilence and Plague. Karma doesn't have a soul but a perfectly balanced essence between what divinely deemed good and bad. A true neutral. The hollow feeling during her first life was kept at bay by the constant adrenaline, risky behavior and sex. But her time had ran out and getting close to being done, the curse defends itself by hungering for an another life.

With her abilities sharpening, she also began to hunt the harmful supernatural entities as well as humans. Ghosts, ghouls, creatures from folklores; which one of them wouldn't leave when Death herself asked them to? And if they don't, well, her quickdraw only became more faster and lethal with the weapons absorbing her powers. Being around supernatural creatures cause her own features to surface even more: her sclera tainted dark poison green, ability to manipulate and transform into shadows or even the unique ink black and seafoam green decaying mist, move, shoot faster than sound & even curve the shot.

She cannot take a demon's life passively to add it to her existence, while she lacks a soul she doesn't need it, yet the victim must have one for her to be able to sustain herself. Trying to perform it on, let's say a vampire would feel like running into a wall, the channels of life flow are blocked/protected from her touch. But not from her bullet.

𝕍𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕤

Alternative modern verse/Cryptid Ghost Hunter

After death/Hazbin-Helluva

Modern verse

Spiderverse ➡ @venomtorn

Apocalypse

Mafia

Your real life sirenita has arrived👄

About Karma's wardrobe, behavior & the reasons behind them turned into a half character study thesis.

One word: outrageous.

From her weapons, wardrobe, horse and behavior; Karma is absolutely outrageous. She is more than aware she's very attractive, beyond talented both as a marksman and as a rider. She is a mystery, but not many people stop to think about exactly who is she, where did she came from, why, what's her true name because Karma stifles those questions with blinding flair before they are formed. She doesn't hide what defines her: she kills people for a living, she's fast with perfect aim, great with horses, she swings both ways, doesn't mind more than one person with her in bed.

So many scandalous facts that nobody has any of those crucial questions, only wondering how the hell is she still alive. She's wondering that too. She doesn't speak too much, actions are much louder, flashier: be it a trick on a horse or hitting a seemingly impossible target or seducing a married woman.

Her clothing, all custom made and it shows; not only she wears pants in that period of time, somehow she managed to have that fact the least extreme as her wardrobe consists of:

As expensive as it looks and it never fails to have its effect, the initial shock, the double, triple takes usually earning a smug smirk from the decorated woman.

However, Karma isn't the only showstopper, her horse, Villám is a star on her own:

A half Lipizzan, most importantly half Akhal Teke pure black mare with a coat that seems to glisten like oil. Agile, slim with defined muscles, elegant and intelligent; the unique racehorse is a fitting companion for a woman so...bold. Villám is a beauty, a definite rarity probably only seen on the ranches, estates of the richest. Their bond is outstanding, shining the best when Karma decides to entertain curious children (and adults peeking from curtains) with her esquetarian skills and she isn't the only showoff in this duo. Just like owner or more akin to friend, Villám is proud, mischievous, playful and loves the attention.

The less trained eyes notice her dual revolvers last. 10" Colt Buntline, with decorated grips and the trigger guards missing from the frames (although that little detail goes undetected); basically rifles in quickdraw holsters.

The reactions are mixed depending on the people: fear, outrage, intrigue. Whenever she only wants to die dressed like that, the experienced ones recognize the challenge she radiates with each thundering step of steel heeled boots, others want her story, some wants to see if she's up for sex. Karma aims for intrigue and she never misses her target. She doesn't tell anything that isn't directly asked, her voice is soft, melodic, pleasant to listen to, with a musical lilt when speaking Spanish. Her smile is bright and sparkling but her eyes are sharp, barely hiding the black mamba she actually is.

She came to turn the town upside down, be the gossip of the month, be remembered for years, the reason old ladies clutch their rosaries tighter when she saunters by. Her walk is confident, proud with a sharp sway of narrow hips; head turning for many reasons.

Local races? Shooting competitions? By all means count her in! What do you mean by women can't enter? Now there's a previously hidden rattlesnake shot dead in the grass a few yards distance. Was the demonstration enough? If not, at least the very manly men will have fun watching a girl struggle with those activities. And despite fitting the rich poser category so perfectly, the men doesn't get their amusement because all flair she carries is backed up by tremendous amount of talent. Best, fastest shot, deadly accuracy even from horseback, winning every race riding without spurs, riding crop and sometimes even without a saddle; the crosshair eyed woman keeps upping the stakes so effortlessly.

Karma is only in for the thrill and the applause. She is magnetic, a siren, challenging, tempting anyone to chase after her achievements, take bigger and bigger risks, try to follow her blazing lead. And when they thought they gave it all, is when she uncovers she is perfectly ambidextrous, exactly how long range can that modified Colt cover, how fast Villám truly is; leaving everyone lured into the death of their ego while she victoriously gallops away into the desert where she emerged from. After all, she's in for a good not a long time.

Why. Why would an unmarried lone woman live in a way that would still earn many eyebrow raises even nowadays? Why would she take on the most dangerous bounties, kill in cold blood and then give the orphaned kid $100 from the bounty she collected? As mentioned previously: thrill. Adrenaline at all cost. To live, to feel alive. Karma feels extremely hollow, as if she had died already (she, in fact did.), only the fiercest desert heat can warm her up, the split second of tranquility before pulling the trigger and adrenaline strike after like lightning. Risky sexual encounters that make her blood sing, an other person's strong, quickening heartbeat against her usual lazy, steady rhythm. Feverish pulse points, roaring life, the standing ovation and screams of amazement after an especially risky trick; she lives for it. Exists to live, chasing life in the rarest form while corpses line her path.

After all, she isn't a savior no matter her good and selfless deeds. Taking a life comes just as naturally. She is a killer, not lurking in the darkness (...not while having a vacation after a job), not even hidden in plain sight, but blinding most with her looks, mannerisms, skills, sexual liberty. She makes it seem you know her. But exactly what do you know? That she fucked the handsome ranch hand? And the sheriff's mistress? That she paid the old man's tab at the saloon who got injured in the war? That she seems to spit on everything the Bible and the preacher say? But have you noticed how her eyes linger so sharply; looking for her next target, her next pay? Where is she from? Do you even believe she was telling the truth when she said she's a bounty hunter? What kind of name is ‘Karma’ anyways? Have you asked about the scar forming a crosshair around her eye, how she's gotten it? Of course not. Have you seen her shoot a man faster than eye could follow and walk away completely unfazed, as if it's an everyday occurrence? Did you think that was normal?

Her radiance obscures her shadow of death, almost too long, spidery fingers compensating for the length of the ten inch barrels when it comes to draw. Her kindness towards the less fortunate hides her searching cold gaze for the ones responsible. Her encouraging dazzling smile eager for drunkenly spilled stories, secrets given so freely in hope to impress.

At the end of the day, she is just a strange attractive woman with pricey custom tailored clothing and an even more expensive horse. You have nothing to worry about! You aren't the one responsible why was Mrs Jackson widowed and violated at such young age, are you?