Esche, used-to-be god, once-upon-a-time iron-fisted fascist father-figure, self-made man. His own efforts brought him up from nothing, and his own efforts sent him crashing from the pinnacle of law and reason, into a smouldering crater of humiliated ruin. Disgusted with the rigid tenets of his own government, he allowed himself to slide into decadent excess, re-creating his own body from the disgraced remnants of himself.
He is universal. He could have been any man, from any regime, from any place in history or existance. And he has probably been a great number of them. And now he is a demon. While the morality that created the seven capital sins may not be extantly present in Puzzlebox, Esche is still an embodiment of them, for they are the only true human nature. At his heart he is nothing, a core of bleak, all-consuming nihilism, around which a thick robe of decadence is wrapped. He is always hungry. Always.
No more lies, no more deceit. No longer does he deny the base human urges that make him, no longer does he pretend to be something more than what he is. Instead, he is a self-made god of capital sin. Almost forgotten is his self-imposed exile into the austere realm of denial and order. He is a creature of soaring highs and gut-wrenching lows, but he regrets nothing, and is shameless as a virgin soul before judgement.
But like so many of the Mess, it is only a mask.
"Mother is as much a mask as I," Inhatti giggles.
Onya snorts at Inhatti, loudly. "Indeed, and as much of a mask as anyone else in this Mess."
Chris chuckles, more to himself, adding nearly under his breath, "And I'm becoming a mask of myself..."
Esche chortles. "Masks. What is a mask, if there's nothing behind it?" he muses, shifting in discomfort atop his floating cable, the tattered fabric of his kilt doing nothing to hide what's underneath it, now that what's underneath has decided to stir. ".. oh my," he comments, unconcerned, as he nestles Inhatti against him, turning his head to kiss with syrup-sticky lips across the crown of her head, murmuring sweetly. ".. you feel so pleasant inside, so cool and alive.."
Floating indolently on what seems to be a hybrid of oversized IDE cable and magic carpet, is Esche.
He's a decadent, round-bellied humanoid thing, with pale skin and sunken, shadowed grey eyes. Hexagonal silver-framed glasses rest low on his nose, his septum pierced by a titanium ring. Nubbly, gnarled horns curl up from his forehead; the right one has a decently-sized ring through it, the left has a thick metallic band wrapped around its base. Lanky black hair shaven into a chin-length mohawk drapes over his face.
A stained used-to-be-white wifebeater is stretched over his rotund gut, riding up to his chest as he slouches back on his magic cable. His preferred pose seems to be half-reclined, with one arm tucked behind his head. A thatch of musky-scented dark hair adorns his exposed underarm, and he seems somewhat proud of showing it off. Various tattoos of angular black vaguely-human figures adorn his bare biceps, and a vibrant chemical-flame phoenix is inked across his chest, rising up from its own ruin. Clunky rings encircle each of his fingers.
One of his legs dangles lazily off the edge of his cable-carpet, thighs parted indulgently. An oversized black combat boot adorns each foot, though the one on his dangling leg seems dangerously close to falling off. A tattered black kilt drapes over his lap, though it does little to hide the grungy pair of boxers beneath, which barely contain his inordinately oversized junk -- junk of both sexes.
He reeks of methamphetamine sweat and masculine musk, and he curls his tongue over his upper lip, drooling and gurgling contently in some sort of chemical haze.
I made a God out of blood Not superiority I killed the king of deceit Now I sleep in anarchy
He is fond(?) or as fond as one can be of Inhatti. Their first 'date' involved not one, but two instances of Inhatti being completely consumed by the demon.
Tweek is his former aide, from what/when/where-ever, and he is almost paternally protective of the rabbit.
He is intensely fond of females in general. Tsk, womanizer.