[hider=Dumpster Fire Ahoy][center][h1]Cirillo Bianchi[/h1]
[img]http://data.whicdn.com/images/291269593/large.jpg[/img]

"Don't take life so seriously. 's not like you're getting outta it alive, anyway."[/center]
[sub][b]Name[/b][/sub]

[indent]Cirillo Bianchi, but he's also used to responding to "Cyril", "Ciri" and "You little shit"[/indent]
[sub][b]Age[/b][/sub]

[indent]16[/indent]
[sub][b]Gender[/b][/sub]

[indent]Male[/indent]
[sub][b]Birthplace[/b][/sub]

[indent][i]PSR B1257+12 A/B, commonly [b]Draugr[/b], People's Union.[/i]

A small planet far from the stability of the Solaris Accord's core, Draugr is distinguished by its indistinguishability. It played a relatively small part in the war, and though it is recognized as an official part of the People's Union, it is far from the center of political discourse. It has traditionally been self-sustaining, and both immigration and emigration rates are low; those who were born there seem mostly content to stay, while residents of other planets are in no hurry to move to the quirky, distant little rock. Especially since Draugr comes packed with quite a reputation. 

The planet contributed little to the war effort, but that did not mean its people stood united. Quite the contrary; conflict among citizens persisted far past the declaration of peace, particularly among the young and the able who felt robbed of a chance to fight for their beliefs. The planet teetered on the edge of a civil war. The circumstances gave rise to crime that grew more and more organized by the day; until Syndicates, as they were referred, engulfed the entire celestial body.

To this day, it is these Syndicates that hold all the real power within society, their influence undeniable and omnipresent. At the same time, it is these very organizations that uphold peace and order, swiftly taking care of those that seek to stir trouble or threaten the system. As such, organized crime and corruption are seen as regular parts of every day life. Sometimes, people simply disappear - it's a fact of life. Unfortunate for certain, but so are thunderstorms and floods; yet there is little anyone can do to stop any of them.

It is generally understood that as long as one keeps out of the shadier parts of cities and towns, does not involve themselves in anything illegal or try to show opposition to the powers that be, they are able to live out their days in peace. It is the loons and the fools that find themselves in trouble.

Incidentally, Cyril is the latter.[/indent]
[sub][b]Appearance[/b][/sub]

[indent]One need not hear Cyril speak to understand just what kind of a person he is - for better or for worse. Standing at a rather regular 5'11, he carries himself with misplaces confidence that doesn't quite befit a boy from a backwater planet. Worse, no matter the circumstance, you will rarely find his face in a frown - unless it's a heavily exaggerated one, most commonly followed by a snide remark or an attempt at a joke. 

In fact, that's what life seems to be to him; a joke, not a thing to be taken seriously. Mischievous smiles, hands moving to the lazy rhythm of his words and a complete lack of posture; those are the cornerstones of what make up one Cirillo Bianchi, and you're entirely forgiven for finding it infuriating. He's like water; calmly flowing through life without a care in the world, yet never completely still. He does have a goal, after all. He just doesn't entirely care whether he reaches it today or next year. He's dead either way.

In short, he has quite a punchable face. 
[/indent]
[sub][b]Personality[/b][/sub]

[indent]
Cyril is, essentially, [i]that [/i]guy; the one that can't help but offer his commentary and crack unsolicited jokes at whatever topic is at hand, regardless of its gravity. Laid-back to the point it teeters on unnatural, he seems entirely unconcerned by things most people would find troubling. He's either unable or unwilling to read the mood, and seems to miss social cues many would consider obvious. Often, people simply label him an idiot and move on - and that is definitely not an inadvisable tactic.

However in truth, he isn't as stupid as he makes himself out to be (he wishes). Contrary to popular belief, he's actually quite perceptive; able to read people better than anyone would think to give him credit for. It's thanks to that, in part at least, that he's also able to be quite charismatic when the need arises. Yes, him. This guy.

Though he often wields them for stupid purposes, he [i]does [/i]have a way with words, honed by years of practice. He can talk himself out of many a bad spot, and it helps that he has an uncanny ability to keep his calm even in the face of danger. He has no pride to be wounded, and his life is forfeit anyhow; what is there left to be angry or shaken about?

Unfortunately, this does mean that his sense of self-preservation is low and his priorities rather messed up. Underneath the laid-back disposition is a defeatist, a boy who's very much resigned to his fate. The dark humour is a coping mechanism, as is the devil may care attitude. All the same, it's a genuine part of him now.

To sum the boy up, if he isn't busy having fun, getting in trouble, joking or flirting up a storm, he's... probably asleep - or [i]dead[/i]. Like, literally.[/indent]
[sub][b]Background[/b][/sub]

[indent]Cirillo's life [i]could [/i]have been easy enough. He was born into an entirely average home with two hardworking parents and a family dog with the most pretentious name imaginable. The quintessential middle class home, one could say. Being the only child of a couple that had wished for kids for years, Cyril was spoiled to the extent his parents' salaries would allow. He wasn't given [i]everything [/i]his heart desired, but there was no lack of love, toys or games during his childhood.

In retrospect, perhaps that was a bad thing. Perhaps things were made a bit [i]too [/i]easy for him; to the point that on some days - weeks, months - Cyril was almost bored by the normalcy.

Either way, like most things in life, it did not last. Draugr was hit with recession, and it didn't take long for its effects to reach the Bianchi household. Cyril was around ten when his parents came home downtrodden, with furrowed brows and tired eyes. The plant they had been working in until then had laid off workers.[i] In favour of magitek[/i], many said in angry, hushed whispers, [i]it's the very thing that sparked the war the last time! [/i] 

But though rumours circulated, none dared try and ascertain the truth underneath Syndicate's ever-vigilant eyes. Instead, it was taken as simply another thing that happened and had to be overcome, not by fighting against it but by finding a way around it. Cyril's parents set out to look for new jobs, be that those were not an easy find at the time. They did eventually land something that paid a few bills, but the pay was only a small portion of what they'd earned prior. More was needed, if they were to uphold their quality of life. And it would need to be an endeavour shared by the entire family.

Though still young, Cyril was ushered to try and find a part-time job to help support the family. Reluctant at first, the preteen did as he was bid and set out, eventually landing a job as a delivery boy. The pay was as poor as could be however, and once his father fell ill and was rendered unable to work, the pocket money Cyril brought home was like trying to apply a band-aid on a gash. Cute, but effectively useless.

And yet, his mother was soon granted a promotion, and his father's condition was stable and not at all life-threatening. The financial climate was slowly changing. If only Cyril had stuck delivering food a few years longer, things could have perhaps returned to the way they were. 

But the young boy was filled to the brim with impatience and frustration, and from those circumstances came the worst decision he ever made.

It happened one day on a bustling market as he returned home from work. Caught in the crowd and unable to push past all the people much bigger than him, Cyril found himself bumping into backs and pockets left and right, until someone's wallet threatened to spill onto the pavement. Thick and filled to the brim with cash, it was an opportunity all too tempting to pass up on.

Cyril brought home an exceptional sum of money that day; a bonus for work well done, he said. The next day, he brought home almost as hefty a sum, as he did the few days after that - though he'd stopped showing his entire haul in case it might rouse suspicion. And, just like that, gone were his problems. He could once again afford all the things his parents had bought him in the years past, be that some he had to buy in secrecy. He no longer had to go to work, when he could earn much more in a much shorter time.

For a long time, it was simply pickpocketing. Then it was counterfeits, sold with the most charming smile he could muster. And when that became all too boring, he trafficked illegal goods, broke into homes and menaced people he was paid to target, all for the sweet promise of money and excitement. He no longer needed the games and goods he'd originally missed so; he had something much more exhilarating now, a thrill unlike any other.

Then, one day, that thrill became a thriller.

To Cyril, the man had been but another target; just someone who wore an archaic gold watch that someone else wanted. He'd moved in with practiced charm and dexterity, smiling at the stranger one minute; gone with his belongings the next. By all means, it had been a success. The money the watch fetched him was exceptional, enough to support the entire family for... for years, he bet.

The warning bells did not ring in his head until a gunshot rung in his ears. The man had caught up with him, and slowly the gravity of the situation dawned on young Cyril. This was no ordinary Joe; this was a man held in high regard by one of the largest Syndicate families, and he was [i]not pleased.[/i]

Cyril thought he would die there and then, but he did not. [i]Not yet[/i], he was told; he would not be going anywhere until he'd paid back the full sum of the watch he stole. Which, according to the man, was far greater than what he'd been told by his contractor. The watch had been a MAID; he would be paying back his debt for years until he'd be allowed the peace of a grave. If not through money, then through blood; of those, Cyril reluctantly chose the latter.

After three years of working for the Syndicate, Cyril was informed that he would be sent away. To where and for what purpose, he did not know - but he'd long since learnt that refusal was not an option. So, all he did in the wake of the news was cross his arms, cock his brows and ask with the deadpan tone only a dead man walking could muster: [b]"Should I bring sunscreen?"[/b]
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[sub][b]Statistics[/b][/sub]

[indent][b]STR -[/b] ▰▰▱▱▱
[b]DEX -[/b] ▰▰▰▰▱
[b]CON -[/b] ▰▰▰▱▱
[b]INT -[/b] ▰▰▰▱▱
[b]WIS -[/b] ▰▰▰▱▱
[b]CHA -[/b] ▰▰▰▰▰[/indent]
[sub][b]M.A.I.D.[/b][/sub]

[indent]Cyril's MAID takes the form of a ring, usually worn in his left middle finger. It's a fancy-looking thing of plated gold that paints him wealthier than he really is. Usually, his MAID allows him three distinct forms of attack.

1) By snapping his fingers (with the finger the ring is worn in, of course), Cyril can create a spark of static electricity that then gets picked up and amplified by the MAID and his own magical prowess. This allows Cyril to shoot out blasts of electric energy from his fingers with a snap. These blasts may stun targets or interfere with less complex electric devices upon contact (MAIDs are unaffected).

2) Similarly, by utilizing electric magic, the ring allows Cyril to essentially turn his hand into a railgun. He can pick up small objects such as rocks, and then with a snap of his fingers, fire them off at such high velocities that they essentially become makeshift bullets.

3) Finally, the ring is able to give Cyril's punches quite a [i]shocking [/i]edge. Channeling energy into his very fist, the MAID can enhance the power of his punch and, upon impact, release magic straight into the target's body. Needless to say, this is particularly useful when he's forced into close-quarter combat. 
[/indent]
[sub][b]Miscellaneous[/b][/sub]

[indent]♟ He's kleptomaniac, and cannot help his impulses sometimes. It's best to keep your valuables close by - or if not, at least your weapon; so you can whack him when he tries to reach for your stuff.

♟ it's past 5 am but i did it i finished i hope it makes sense i need to proofread and maybe reword stuff later i'm half asleep gotta cra[/indent][/hider]