Write a physical description for the above OC

It was another fine day for explorations when Alouise noticed a boy a little taller than her wandering through the streets. Her eyes light up at the sight of him, he was soooo cute! Pitch black fur lined the ears and tail of the boy--reminiscent of the stray cat she found and followed the other day. She excitedly noted that he had two different eye colours, that wasn't something she had seen before! He wore a nearly all-black outfit paired with a super cute collar and white bow near the base of his tail. 

As he browses the selection at the market, she noticed that he was wearing black on his nails! what was it that mom called it? nail po..pol..polish? She had seen mom and other mature ladies wear it, but mom never allowed her to put any on. She said Alouise was too young for this kind of stuff, but it could also be because Alouise had snuck into her makeup drawer and spilled all the nail polish onto the lipsticks. But all the sophisticated ladies wore it, that means he must be sophisticated too right?

Alouise briefly wondered if he wanted to be her friend, he didn't seem scary with his carefree demeanor; but Alouise was never the best judge of character. But she figured it would be worth a try anyway.

Nanamimo-Kun

Xcallion scarcely ventures outside of her own realm much less to a place like Acaivus. She keeps to herself merely observing the world around her and the people it held. One girl in particular catches her eye. This girl is but a child, at the very least she has the height of one. Xcallion smiles to herself, she is an adorable little thing, for a moment she thinks of her own child. But, save for a pair of carefully coiling horns, she doesn't see any similarities between her own daughter and the child she is observing. The child has lovely eyes of a vivid  spring green or perhaps it is more akin to that of a prehnite gem. 

Her hair is a pinkish-peach that some how seems to work well with the green of her eyes. More so, it suits the pink-white dress that hangs loosely over her teeny frame. The collar looks to Xcallion like frilled silk and the hem of it is trimmed with an elegant lace. Overall, the dress is simple. But this is an instance where simplicity seems to work very finely. A ruby colored necklace, adds a touch of extravagance to the child's look. And a gentle arrangement of flowers complete the look. Xcallion has never seen flora like that on her own planet, and she longs to know what name they have been given. 

Most of all, though, Xcallion adores the girl's wings. They are delicate, the color of her dress but with a touch of purple. They appear to be layered with delicate feathers and fan out majestically. Xcallion wishes that she had a set of wings for herself, maybe then she can fly herself free from her strifes. She wonders if all of this realm's inhabitants have wings like those. Mayhaps she will find out one day.  

There was a so-called haunted, cottage at the far end of town. The building was abandoned for years, and yet Salvador found himself there. With a disapproving muttering Salvador opened the window. The window frame cracked as if it tried to warn it's, haunting, inhabitants about the thief. Salvador didn't pay it any mind. He squeezed himself through the narrow gap and landed feet first in the mansion. The floors were made of old stone and wood. Dust hangs heavily in the room. The red curtains shifted by his movement and released more and more dust. Carefully Salvador made his way through the first room. Easy! Salvador told himself. 

He had studied the building's plan for roughly a week. It was a simple heist, just go to the far room in the back, grab the old papers and clippings that lay there and go back. Easy as pie. As Salvador would say. With every step he made, however, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck raised. He knew, that there was no resident here. He knew he was the only living thing, but he had doubts. Doubts that took on a physical form when he finally reached the far back. There was a lady there. A tall one, taller then Salvador. The small bits and pieces of moonlight that crept through the greasy windows and building cracks made this unknown woman almost looks like she was out of this world. So to speak. She turned to Salvador and the poor Halves heart skipped a beat of two. She was beautiful. Her dark skin seemed to shift and change, like water. Or the night sky. It was sprinkled with small frickles that reminded Salvador of stars. Stars were a rarity in the world he lived in. And before seeing her, Salvador didn't know he missed the sight of a sky full of them. Small horns sprouted out of Xcallion shoulders. Like the ones, toads would grow. Beautiful toads. Salvador stared at her, at her short flowing hair, at her eyes. Her eyes. They looked like they contained the whole galaxy in them, stern and yet warm. For a split second Salvador thought of his own mother, a vision he couldnt shake off. He backed off a few passed. But could only stare. Salvador had never seen someone like her. She scared him and yet, he couldn't look away.

He looks like a sophisticated man, perhaps a bit old timey. Bellazhanna isn't sure how to take his fashion sense, at the very least, he is well groomed and put together. He has the appearance of an outdoors man, and she can respect that, though she tends to avoid anything even close to camping. It is his hair that catches her attention though. She has always been fond of red heads and his hair is a shiny copper that catches in the sunlight. He's got a rather bushy mustache of the same color. She thinks that if he slicked his hair back he would look like a real gentleman. In some ways her reminds her of her husband; he is somewhat lanky but strangely short. She is used to longer limbed people being much taller, but who is she to judge? She watches the man stoop down to pick something up and decides that she should probably be on her way before he catches her staring.

"Beliazhanna. The name is almost reminiscent of 'Belaya zhenshchina', 'white woman'. That was my name long ago. Beliazhanna is the embodiment of the beauty I no longer possess. Youthful, proper, unsullied by the sins of the world and unburdened the weight of deeds drenched in blood. Her glossy black hair is like the the tail feathers of ravens that fly in the dead of winter, the trim of her coat like fresh-fallen snow on the barren ground. The accent in her hair is the winterberry-studded branch swaying in the throes of a snowy day. If only I could once again embody what she is the spitting image of now."

The noise of someone passing close by piqued Phoenix's attention, and he looked up from his bowl of beer to study the man responsible as he moved through the pub and out towards the docks. The fair-skinned man wasn't the tallest or most heavily built, but it was easy to see he bore the muscle and grit of a life of hard work. Wavy blonde hair gave way to curly sideburns and thick eyebrows in a golden-brown color that mirrored curiously yellow eyes. The man's face had strong features- Phoenix nodded knowingly to himself as he saw the rough scar intersecting his lips, and the snaggletooth poking out near it- this was someone who had some scrapes under his belt. Sure, the way the man's pointed ears flicked as he turned and vanished from view was a little odd, as was the giant golden orb strapped to his back, but Phoenix had seen far weirder, and been far weirder. Not his place to judge another fellow. He watched the space a minute more before turning and raising his bowl once more, a wry half smile on his lips.  Everyone's got their own story. 

Horen blinks, "dayum." She quirks a brow at the figure on the battlefield. He is very tall, but then, everyone is tall to Horen. Tall and bulky and impressively imposing. She rubs her chin and scans him more closely.  He is an intimidating figure indeed. She can't see his face beneath the horned skull mask. On its forehead is what looks to be a glowing sun insignia. It flares brilliantly upon his head. Horen would wear something like that. 

And his armor! Now that is a sight to marvel at. She doesn't particularly go for black herself. But it suits him well she thinks. Bones jut up from the armor like twin ribcages that match the horns on his helm. The armor itself, is like that of a dark samurai, it almost reminds her of home. The belt buckle wraps around his waist, stark white skeletal hands cover the eyes of a skull buckle. 

Everything about him his pointy really. The arm guards and hand armor. Light glints off of the metal and throws itself across the battlefield. In his hand he holds a luminous battle ax that seems as though it has been crafted from a ray of pure sunlight. It stands nearly as high as the man wielding it. He swings it around, slashing at the air in front of him, a warning shot, no doubt. His motions are surprisingly graceful, almost gentle. This only intrigues her more, she wonders what sort of man breathes beneath the armor. 

Taffy doesn't typically look too closely at people she passes while she's out- something about staring, or whatever- but the raucous energy Horen put out was enough to pique her curiosity. Despite her small stature, she had the proportions of an athlete someone had pasted into Photoshop and scaled down- and the teeth (in a metaphorical sense, Taffy certainly wasn't about to move in to get a closer look.) of someone twice her size. It was clear that she had been told to pick her battles, but she'd simply gone and picked all of them. It showed, too. Horen had the lithe, toned frame and faded scars of someone used to getting into regular scraps and brushing them off as soon as they'd ended, off to chase some other flight of fancy. 

Her fashion reflected it as well. Owning a business popular with alternative-types, Taffy wasn't unfamiliar with unconventional fashion choices, but Horen had made some rather interesting picks. Shaved at the sides but kept long down the middle like a faux-hawk someone had forgotten about, her wispy bangs and the popped collar of her jacket always seemed to draw attention back to her face. The brow and the navel piercing were both places she was accustomed to, but the triad running just off the bridge of her nose to the outer corner of her eye came as a surprise. They drew just enough attention to her eyes to highlight the subtle orange glow, but not so much as to be gaudy. It was rather becoming, actually- not a look that Taffy thought that she could pull off, but absolutely fitting on someone like Horen with a more triangular face. She didn't want to get involved in the business of a stranger, though... As she continued on her way, Taffy resolved to ask her where she bought her clothes if they ever crossed paths again.

AH I LOVE THIS- i'm sorry for her General Presence she tries her very hardest at all times.
and yeah, she/her is absolutely fine! taffy's grasp on gender really boils down to "wow, that's a lot of words that I don't care about!"

EDIT: im glad to hear it! also dw i love her. petrel just has a thing about dragons

(I hope she/her is okay! That’s what he’d assume, but let me know if I should change it).

Rarely did Petrel assume good in others, and Taffy was no exception. He found himself settling into a state of vigilance at the mere sight of her; the first thing he noticed was that she was unfathomably tall, at least from his perspective. He drew back the moment he’d noticed, spurred by something he couldn’t place, until he could. Everything about her unsettled him, but most of all- dragon. He couldn’t place it entirely; she didn’t look particularly fire-breathing, nor particularly holy. Were it not for her height and her tail, he’d likely not have noticed her at all. But her skin was green, and her claws looked sharper than the blade he carried.

Though often poorly-groomed himself, her tangle of long, dark hair only added to the fear he felt, along with the stainless apron she wore at that moment. It all seemed wrong to him, and again, he couldn’t place why. He barely took stock of the light freckles and scars she bore, all seeming light in comparison to everything else he saw; in catching them, he thought for a moment he’d also caught eyes, too many eyes, that he couldn’t tell were red or orange or yellow, that was far too close to flames, and something akin to red meat. Still, she didn’t carry herself like something of his nightmares; in fact, he almost saw himself in the way she did stand.

The sooner he was away, the better.

Since we've been stuck for two days I'll claim 

The first thing that Haimati notices is the man's hair, it is long and lustrous, the color of wheat in mid-July. He has an almost weathered look to him, rough and tumbled and rugged as though he has seen the worst that the world has to offer. She sees it in his eyes, deep and sorrowful looking eyes that have the color of honey. She knows that almost empty look, she sees it whenever she catches her reflection. It is the look of someone who has been beaten down time and time again or perhaps someone who has experienced profound loss or abandonment. Eyes that have seen to much. It is all about eyes, her people have a thing about eyes. Some bizarre obsession with them. There are so many legends about them. It takes her some time to pull her eyes away from his and note his other attributes. 

The stubble on his chin for one thing. It looks well groomed enough so he can't have given up. And his hair, though tousled is orderly enough as well. He is rather tall, nearly as tall as she. He must be around six feet tall. Perhaps six foot two at most. His style of dress is warm, warm enough to last a decent time frame in the forbidding and bone cold landscape of her own homeland. The fabric is a shade of blue with sleeves of faded grey, maybe bleached by sunlight. It has accents of red that she finds to be rather clashing and unsightly. She has never been fond of pops of color. But his furs are nice. She wouldn't wear them, they are too warm for her. But she enjoys the eerie aesthetic of furs. And the eerier aesthetic of a horned mask.

All in all, the man impresses her, she wonders what he has been through, what he has seen. How he has come to be here.