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YE OLDE CHARACTER SHEETS
For: Godhood Lite: Cradle of the Gods
Name: The It
Domain: Fear, Sadness and Humility
Personality: It tends to be a rather nice person to be around despite the domain it controls. Of course, It also tends to be a bit distracting given sentences are often cut short by interjections of "brilliant" ideas it had regarding more fears. Admittedly it may be strange to speak to a fellow so cheerful while surrounded by the wails and despair of sad people all over the world, but if one looks past it, they'll come to find that The It is a rather nice individual. The It also takes part heavily in visiting the worlds it takes over, intent on learning more about the mortal peoples in order to better its sadness/fear inducing abilities. That, and punishing those without humility by humiliating them is much more enjoyable to him when observed up close.
In some cases, the It will be rather depressing to be around, when a huge part of the people is shrouded in fear and distress. It will also take part in the sadness, its large cow eyes brimming with tears. Even in sadness, the It is energetic.
Appearance: Appears now and again as a really big cow, but rather than spots, is covered with clustered cow eyes. The eyes are filled with the ever changing movement of old universes, as though the cow were simply a transparency being dragged across the scene. Sometimes it takes a humanoid form which is androgynous in voice, actions and body. The hair tends to be black and seems to be a flicker of wailing and strange mortal fears, long and billowing over a covered face. It's eyes are larger than a normal human's, and these eyes, too, mirror the vastness of the universe. It usually uses this face when dressing itself as a human, though will sometimes take to wearing different body types, be it thin and limber or big and brawn.
Symbols: Mostly associated with a single eye with three thick top lashes and a single falling tear drop. The symbol has often been simplified to an upside down triangle with a circle at the tip. Sometimes is connected to the cow depending on the myth.
Trivia: Has a tendency of dressing in frilly dresses while assuming a male body when dressing as a human. It's unsure as to why it assumes such attire given the array of choices, but when asked, will always respond with a change of topic.
The It is also not at all competitive. Like, in a competition of non-competitiveness, It will probably win. /sarcasm
Speaking of competitiveness, one of It's last heroes died for the sake of a competition between It and another god. If the topic is brought up, It will turn rather depressing to be around.
Domain: Fear, Sadness and Humility
Personality: It tends to be a rather nice person to be around despite the domain it controls. Of course, It also tends to be a bit distracting given sentences are often cut short by interjections of "brilliant" ideas it had regarding more fears. Admittedly it may be strange to speak to a fellow so cheerful while surrounded by the wails and despair of sad people all over the world, but if one looks past it, they'll come to find that The It is a rather nice individual. The It also takes part heavily in visiting the worlds it takes over, intent on learning more about the mortal peoples in order to better its sadness/fear inducing abilities. That, and punishing those without humility by humiliating them is much more enjoyable to him when observed up close.
In some cases, the It will be rather depressing to be around, when a huge part of the people is shrouded in fear and distress. It will also take part in the sadness, its large cow eyes brimming with tears. Even in sadness, the It is energetic.
Appearance: Appears now and again as a really big cow, but rather than spots, is covered with clustered cow eyes. The eyes are filled with the ever changing movement of old universes, as though the cow were simply a transparency being dragged across the scene. Sometimes it takes a humanoid form which is androgynous in voice, actions and body. The hair tends to be black and seems to be a flicker of wailing and strange mortal fears, long and billowing over a covered face. It's eyes are larger than a normal human's, and these eyes, too, mirror the vastness of the universe. It usually uses this face when dressing itself as a human, though will sometimes take to wearing different body types, be it thin and limber or big and brawn.
Symbols: Mostly associated with a single eye with three thick top lashes and a single falling tear drop. The symbol has often been simplified to an upside down triangle with a circle at the tip. Sometimes is connected to the cow depending on the myth.
Trivia: Has a tendency of dressing in frilly dresses while assuming a male body when dressing as a human. It's unsure as to why it assumes such attire given the array of choices, but when asked, will always respond with a change of topic.
The It is also not at all competitive. Like, in a competition of non-competitiveness, It will probably win. /sarcasm
Speaking of competitiveness, one of It's last heroes died for the sake of a competition between It and another god. If the topic is brought up, It will turn rather depressing to be around.
For: Azga the Amazing and His Caravan of Misfits
"Yes, I know I'm just an outcast, I shouldn't speak to You.
Still, I see Your face and wonder- Were You once an outcast too?"
D R I N A . T H E . D A R I N G
Still, I see Your face and wonder- Were You once an outcast too?"
D R I N A . T H E . D A R I N G
Clothing usually worn:
When traveling, Drina typically dresses in the same three too-large shirts and a pair of shorts. When it gets cold he typically throws on a pair of pants instead, but otherwise, that's his basic attire. He dresses nicer when walking around town, like wearing shoes, and wearing shirts that fit.
Anything different from appearance than what is seen above:
Drina has several scars on his back, small ones that seem as though made from fingernails. He also had a birthmark on the right side of his hip that looks like a burn. His hands are quite a mess as well, and are often covered in bandages considering they're more often burnt than they are healed.
---
Name:
Djorji "Drina" Merikano
Title:
Drina the Daring
Gender:
Male
Age:
Twenty-four
Country of Origin:
Born in a caravan in the borders of Romania
Race:
Witch
Siphon:
Dipping His Hands in Boiling Water
Magic:
Drina's magic revolves around healing, which is ironic given the scars on his body. From spiritual healing involving a trauma to fixing a broken arm, Drina can fix it. He specializes in mixing his magic with the food, which is why his meals are quite the treat, but is also able to perform direct healing.
Skills:
+Cooking
+Animal Interaction
+Gymnastics
+He plays a mean guitar
Personality:
+Cheerful
+Sexual
+Needy
+Loud
+Surprisingly Religious
History:
Caravan Duties:
Caravan Cook; Part-time Bed Buddy
Theme song:
---
Loves:
+Thrills
+Adrenaline Rushes
+Sex
+Food
Likes:
+Rain
+People Easy to Talk to
+Warm Drinks
+Alcohol
Dislikes:
+Shitty Food
+Shitty Sex
+Bad Pain
Hates:
+Being Left Alone
+Clergy's God
glass
For: The Oddball Apartments
"Have you ever felt so much, your heart beats so fast it seems impossible to breathe?"
Name:
Adonis "Andy" Ring
Age:
Eighteen
Gender:
Male
Height; Weight:
5'4; 125lbs
Years In Blackwing:
Three
Odd Trait(s):
Runaway, Shut-In
Physical Descriptions:
Andy stands at a stiff five foot four, with an average weight of a hundred and twenty five pounds. His young face is often shielded by a mess of creamy brown hair, skin pale and hinted with yellow and blue from lack of direct sunlight. He's been getting used to opening his window, however, and has started getting his colour back. There are hints of past bruising around his neck, all different hues from multiple periods of damages, one of which was etched so deeply it caused a fading scar. Though his forehead and left arm are bandaged, Andy has no open wounds. The bandage on his forehead covers a very simplistic tattoo of the Eye of Horus. His arm covers a tattoo as well, though looks to have been there longer than the one on his forehead, and also appears home-done- a sketchy drawing of the Egyptian god Anubis. He has a birthmark on his right hip that looks almost like a burn.
Background Info:
Young Adonis was born to a beautiful greek mother and her rebellious high school beau. He was, what some would call, an "accident". An unmarried teen rendezvousing with a slightly older man- of course they didn't need a child. Of course he would be called an accident.
Others, however, may call him a miracle.
It seemed as though after his mother cried about her dead childhood, Adonis decided he would become a perfect child. Of course, that is only "seems", given that her mother cried when he was only two weeks in her stomach. But he did seem to be a perfect child- his birth was easy, he didn't cry too hard or refuse to eat. He slept most of the time, and when he woke up, it was by chance also around the same time his mother was awake, so his small cries were easily heard. His father spoiled him to death. A leather-jacket man, if you will, Andy's father was both heavy handed and soft hearted. He punished only when he needed to (was close to never), and loved little Andy with his heart.
His mother loved him too, loved him very much. And when he started walking and talking in full sentences at around his second birthday, the young parents didn't think of it. They were only happy he was talking and it was so much easier to communicate and wow babies were so cute. It wasn't until they hired a babysitter one night that they swelled with pride at the phrase- "Wow! Little Andy's so smart!" After taking him out to the park and mustering up courage to talk to other mothers, they realized yes, Andy was a little quicker at picking things up, and that my how blessed the two parents were at having a child that was barely two and already coherent.
At first, Adonis' parents took this in stride. They treated little Andy the same way they had before. But by the time they entered him into school, it was clear that Andy was more than just "a little bit quicker". The child had an eidetic memory, it seemed, but despite that, never bore of the now worn and old childhood books he read and re-read. He seemed to function on a robotic sense, mimicking other children's actions to enter himself into the groups, at the same time ensuring that his own brilliance shine. He was so good, in fact, at being both lovable while still ridiculously genius, that peers adored him and cried when he went away.
His parents moved, partially because his dad got into some money issues, partially because his mother was freaking out. Apparently his mom had something wrong with her that was causing psychosis, and his dad was having a hard time paying for both her, their apartment, and Andy. So, little eight year old Andy, he entered himself into an official spelling bee. Payed the fee, got himself a little official badge, flipped through the dictionary a bit, got on stage- he decimated the little buggers. The words, as he states in his journal were "painfully simple" and he "totally underestimated my own strength". He entered another contest, with students a bit older, and continued to kick ass. He went beyond spelling bees, to mathletic competitions, debates, the little dude barely graduated out of elementary school and he was a star in the academic world.
So why'd he disappear?
See, Andy's mom was getting to him. Her crazy- as crazy as it sounds- was seeping into the little dude. He was convinced that they were only using him for his little noggin. That he was more loved when they thought he was stupid. That the smarter he was, the more money he raked in. And yeah, he did rake in money, and yeah, his mom was getting kinda jealous that her husband was spending more time with their son than with her. Yeah, her mom sang him to sleep every night about how he was a tool for her and her husband to run away together, that they'd leave him alone, that he was given life to further theirs.
Needless to say, the kid bolted when he was fourteen.
He was celebrating his fifteenth birthday when Jin found him in the streets. The guy took him in, even though Andy was crazy suspicious he was one of his mother's friends. It's amazing Jin's face and arms didn't scar from all the scratching and biting. It was this kind man that gave young Adonis his first shower in forever, and let him sleep in his room without whispering shit in his ear. Andy, at the time, didn't seem too keep in getting himself his own apartment, and stayed a bit with Jin. There he met many a tenants come and go- most of them going rather than coming in the first six months. One particular visitor came regularly, however. A tall- very tall woman with long black hair and signature white three inch stilettos. At first she didn't do much involving Andy, but it was her that got him, how you say, a bit more involved.
She gave him instruments, he played them, mastered them. She complimented him and patted his head. She was frail and thin, her height and physique reminding Andy of a modern, sleek skyscraper. He noticed she didn't eat, that her breath always smelled of breath mints, and that sometimes her lipstick didn't hide that the sides of her lips were chapped and covered in dry blood. Andy knew, through research, that she had a disorder. A mental one. But, given his past relation with disorders, didn't mention it in hopes that she continued to hold and compliment him. It was, what you call, puppy love.
Andy learned when he was a week short of seventeen, that he too had a problem. He'd decided on living in apartment 2B which had just opened up, but found himself unable to walk out of Jin's apartment. It seemed as though while he had holed himself up in the landlord's place, he'd gotten so familiarized with it that everything besides it was... to his head, unfamiliar and therefore dangerous. He told Jin and the woman to take him to his room when he was sleeping, so, they did just that. The kid had a bit of a panic attack, what with waking up in an unfamiliar place, but as Jin supplied the place with mimics of relics from his own place, Andy has slowly gradually gotten used to it. The whole ordeal must've clicked something though, because afterwards, Jin could only get in at night when Andy was sleeping.
He seems to fare much better now, what with leaving his window open now and again.
Other:
+The discover of Daniel's true gender was quite a shock to the lad.
+Though he is named after the mythical beautiful greek male, Andy himself doesn't think too highly of his looks.
+As cool as it sounds, Jin was the one who did his Eye of Horus tattoo. He'd asked for it to be on the spot it is believing it could be easily covered with his mess of hair, but still puts a bandage due to his embarrassment. "Don't get me wrong, it's cool! Just.... weird....I guess."
+Daniel was the one that did his Anubis tattoo. He was just getting into the art of tattooing around the same time Andy dove headfirst into the beautiful Egyptial myths.
+When Andy was thirteen, he frequented in the choking game, understanding that loss of oxygen resulted in dead brain cells. He'd hoped it would make him dumber, or kill him. It did neither, but it did make him more erratic, and sometimes he still plays the game if only when very troubled.
+His affection for Anubis may have affected his affection for jackals and foxes and similar animals.
"I believe in princesses and knights in shining armor.
In red strings of fate and love at first sight.
But I'm also jaded.
I know I'm no princess and I don't deserve no knight."
In red strings of fate and love at first sight.
But I'm also jaded.
I know I'm no princess and I don't deserve no knight."
Name:
Daniel Wordsworth
Age:
Twenty-four
Gender:
Male
Height; Weight:
6'2 without heels; 140bs
Years In Blackwing:
Six
Apartment Number
3D
Apartment Description
Daniel has a bed in both rooms, though fittingly, the large room has a larger bed. The smaller bedroom is quite bare, if you will, filled only with a simple bed, an accompanying little bedside cabinet with a simple lamp. The closet is filled mostly with his simpler attires, full of bland t-shirts and simple coloured jeans. Be it dark, plain, ripped, white washed, Daniel has all the jeans. The more colourful pairs are in the other room, however, because this room is dedicated to simplicity. He rarely sleeps here, but often dusts and cleans it as though it were a display.
The room he does sleep in daily is the larger one, with a Queen sized bed plushed up with rich purple fabric, full with a canopy graced with a sheer purple hue, glittered with silver. The room always smells like him, because he refuses to put on his perfume in the room. The side of the bed closest to the wall has a cabinet, with a lamp close to the bed for some late-night reading, the cabinets filled with thick binders and the occasional paperback. At the foot of his bed is a chest, and upon opening is filled with an array of children's costumes, some of which are unfinished, many having evidence of touch ups. They are what Daniel uses for testing his dresses prior to making them. His closets are filled with clothes, one being full on drag attire, the other holding the more asexual feel. A rack exists underneath all of the hanging clothes, filled with the numerous amounts of wigs Daniel has collected, along with a select number of heels he found suitable enough for his being.
His bathroom is clean enough, spare the sink which is more often than not littered with his cosmetics. Same goes for his kitchen, except less cosmetics and more takeout. It's amazing how after all these years the man still hasn't learned to not order food until he was finished with his leftovers.
His living room is, behind the mess of fabric and mannequins, simple enough. There's a large television hanging off the wall by the larger bedroom, and a matching couch and a loveseat in front of it, separated only by a low coffee table. Behind that, however, is where Daniel does his work, the walls mapped up with designs and sketches, the ground littered with fabric, a desk with a sewing machine was shoved against a corner, against a wall plastered with his work- both design wise and modeling wise. Admittedly, the mannequins and the stray fake head here and there throw him off sometimes, but in the end, he somehow got used to it.
His doorway closet is filled with coats, a vaccuum, and hella shoes. The shoes that aren't heels usually are here.
Odd Trait(s):
Crossdresser, Anorexic
Physical Descriptions:
Background Info: (can be as short or as long as you want,, basic info on the character's backstory)
Other: (Perhaps they like to knit?)
For: The Demon Hunters' Academy
"It's not like I asked to be punched in the face."
I X I O N . "F A R . F R O M . B R I G H T"
I X I O N . "F A R . F R O M . B R I G H T"
Name: Ixion Farbrigth
Age: Seventeen
Race: Human
Height; Weight: 5'7; 162lbs
Primary: Archer
Secondary: Knight
Strengths: +Cheerfully Sarcastic
+Creative
+Curious
+Experimental
+ Stubborn
+Energetic
+Kind
Weaknesses: -Stubborn
-Experimental
-Curious
-Sarcastically Cheerful
-An Idiot
-Dogs
-Asparagus
-The Idea of Being a Leader
Physical Capabilities: Ixion is pretty decent when it comes to his body given he works out any time he feels like working out. That said, while he is an exceptional runner- both in distance and in stamina, he is rather shit at anything involving close combat. Able to run or swim a decent amount, it seems as though Ixion can almost do anything that involves an above average stamina. That said, it is not unknown of him to run- like full on run- four or so laps at the school's track as a warm up, and though his backstroke seems to be as bad as his sword handling, he /has/ passed life guard training so that has to count for something. While these may be exceptional feats of strength, Ixion isn't necessarily super when it comes to weight lifting, the only heavy thing he seems to be able to handle being his weapon. It is curious, considering his exceptional treading abilities, that Ixion can't even manage to carry a box full of books without complaining about the weight. Curious indeed.
Background Info: (can be as long or short as you want- basic info on your characters backstory. woohee)
Other: Originally from Class C, and was supposed to go to the field trip mainly due to luck- in other words, they had a lottery and he somehow won.
A R C H E R . D E T A I L S
Type: Archer
Weapon: Lady Whiplash; A large crossbow not unlike this, which equips to the hand and shields the upper arm. It is a paler, more metallic shade of blue, however and rather than the silver designs, thick black sutras surround the weapon.
Weapon Abilities: It can retract for normal carrying, so Ixion doesn't have to put it away if he doesn't want to, and can just carry it around like some weird robotic arm. That and... Well, it's a family heirloom so Ixion could do the thing if he wanted to, but well, isn't really fit(given his dumb) to do the thing right now? Basically Lady Whiplash is a primarily Exorcist weapon, and you're supposed to chant the written sutras as well as aim for the head of a specific demon to exorcise it. Ixion isn't really too good at reading sutras (or reading in general, however), and uses is basically just as a normal crossbow.
Accuracy: 7/100
Precision: 48/100
K N I G H T . D E T A I L S
Type: Shield
Weapon: No name, and his shield is an old wristband he's worn for a year now.
Weapon Abilities: No cool shit.
Fighting Type: His shield, when activated, protects only a small area, and so is only able to protect himself. Or, rather, his wrist.
S O U L . W E A P O N
Effect: Ixion's soul allows him to use anything at hand as a shield. So far, he can't handle anything bigger than a bracelet and has taken to using the carnival wristband he's kept on for a while. His soul coats the wristband in order to make it sort of invincible, the thin material able to withstand even a mighty blade.
Endurance: He'd be lucky to last anywhere near three minutes.
"Okay, so maybe I threw the first punch. Whatever."
A N G E L ; T H E . M E S S E N G E R . O F . G O D
A N G E L ; T H E . M E S S E N G E R . O F . G O D
Name: Gabriel "Angel" Avlon
Age: Twelve
Race: Human
Height; Weight: 5'0; 99lbs
Primary: Knight
Secondary: Tamer
Strengths: +Thick Skinned
+Honest
+Blunt
+Stubborn
+Excitable
+Loyal
+Trusting
Weaknesses: -Easily Angered
-Young
-Trusting
-Stubborn
-Fears the Dark
-And Heights
Physical Capabilities: Easily capable of running like a solid half a lap. No, not even- like, maybe a quarter if he slow jogs it out in the beginning. With the stamina of a tranquilized mattress, Angel has trouble doing a lot of the physical deeds. It's not a rare occurrence that he has trouble opening a door and walking through it at the same time- okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but Angel really does sometimes have trouble opening doors. The only thing the boy seems to be really good at is holding his breath- with a record of two minutes and six seconds, if you were wondering.
Background Info: (can be as long or short as you want- basic info on your characters backstory. woohee)
Other: To the surprise of many, was just promoted to Rank A before once more being demoted due to a fight.
Is taken by everyone as pretty okay despite wearing skirts more often than pants.
K N I G H T . D E T A I L S
Type: Sword
Weapon: Maria; a stringless electric violin. The strings that do appear are a light blue hue.
Weapon Abilities: Upon reciting the Hail Mary, strings appear on the violin. Angel's playing summons notes that literally stab at the opposing demons. Only works as far as the demons can hear the music, which is why he's a Knight as opposed to an Archer.
Fighting Type: Angel's motto is- the one to strike first has the best chance. Plus he's an overexcited twelve-year-old, so.
T A M E R . D E T A I L S
Type: Classic
Detail: Typically summons large, easily controllable demons that move fast. Usually used for transportation, so.
Summoning Capabilities: He can summon up to five if he wanted, but why the fuck would you need five rides.
Tool(s): He usually makes a bunch of copies on his own, and only carries the finished 1:1 slips of paper with the circles on them.
S O U L . W E A P O N
Effect: Turns the bow part of Maria into a rapier like blade, his hand covered in the same light blue hue his strings were. By gripping the middle part of his now stringless violin, it turns into a slightly more indestructible violin, which can also be referred to as a shield.
Endurance: Twenty minutes if he stays unscathed.
For: Guildfall: The Darkness
"Yeah okay so I'm gonna stand here until someone tells me to do something."
Name: Eiffle L.
Alias(s): fickLe, Fee
Age: Seventeen
Height: 5'4
Weight: 130lbs
Hair Color: Dyed brown with a blonde ombre
Eye Color: Dark brown
Race: Magical Girl Human
Job Role: Researcher (Or rather, an intern.)
Physical Appearance:
Small and lanky, what bit of weight is on Eiffle is divided between muscles and his hair- which, by the way, he always air dries and always ends up a fluffy mess. Everything about him is slender, even his muscles are only barely there, his (attempt at) daily work-outs making zero effect on his stomach, flat spare for a little tub. His fingers are long and slender, in contrast to his legs with thicker thighs than he'd like and smaller feet than he would appreciate. Eiffle's face, pictured, is often graced with black glasses that I'm not skilled enough to draw lmao, almond shaped eyes featuring no double eyelids and carrying with them deep brown eyes that space out more often than focus.
Attire:
He wears, typically, either black or white. Black turtlenecks paired with dark-washed or black jeans, or a white shirt with black bottoms, or a white shirt and a white skirt- he mixes it up. Two things that're constant are his red bookbag, filled with questionable objects like extra shirts and a box of plastic gloves, and his red shoes. He's often also one for wearing disposable white gloves, and a mask if he's feeling especially needy.
Personality:
Eiffle tends to be quiet around strangers, but turns into a chatterbox once he's comfortable. That might be a good or a bad thing, given that while he is much more easy to talk to, he's also quite the liar. He likes not listening to people, though his obedience to rules would say otherwise. I.e, if he's told not to do a thing, there's a chance he'll do the thing, he'll do the thing and act as though he didn't, or not do the thing by doing another thing he wasn't supposed to do. Simple commands, however, like "Be quiet" or "Fetch that thing" is more receptive in positive response. It's those real repetitive and in-depth commands that has him zoning out and saying, "im gonna do the thing".
Weapons & Equipment:
Like the standard magical girl, Eiffle carries a gem on him which transforms into a weapon. Said gem is located on a necklace which is always wrapped around his right wrist, so that the gem always touches right above the back of his hand, more often than not covered by gloves. Upon releasing, the gem turns into a staff as tall (if not taller) than he is, doubling as a yellow double headed axe with a second release.
In his bookbag, he carries a number of water bottles and chocolate, so there's that. Plus, he also almost always has a pen (black) and a pencil in his pocket- but never an eraser.
Ability:
Due to size and inexperience, it's almost already a given that Eiffle won't be much help and his abilities do him no good either. He's very good at memorizing things, and even better at rewriting or reciting them speedily. That said, he's become quite good at reading scribbles and bad handwriting.
His staff-slash-wand helps him more defend himself. Wind-based, the staff (lovingly named Lady Whiplash, Lady for short) creates magic circles upon being slammed on the floor, the largeness of the circles depending on the intensity of the smash. It's very handy for clearing debris or a (very, very) quick hairdrying. Upon a second release, it excretes a yellow light at it's top that shape a double headed axe which can cut through bricks or frozen butter.
Brief History:
Eiffle was raised by his older sister of thirteen years, barely remembering what happened that made them the duo they came to be. Often searching through the streets for games to play or places to sleep in, the two had started off in the Free Section but worked their way up to Casual as Eiffle grew to be more adventurous. As Eiffle continued to press for working their way up to be Advanced, along the way his sister got caught up in some shady deal. Forced to deal with the sudden responsibility of being a magical girl, their journey upwards were slowed down. Moreso when she disappeared, leaving behind only the necklace that caused her a lot of trouble and a coin with a misprint on it.
He took charge of the gem instead, remembering the summons to release it, and finding it cool especially when the whole outfit change didn't apply to him. Probably because there weren't sizes available in whatever place costumes came from. It was only a few days after his sister's disappearance did news about the outbreak start to spread amongst the people like ripples in a pool. Rather than join the ranks, he made his way to the researchers, sure he would be much better help there (especially given he felt like he had a much higher chance on being alive), and besides, pocketing some stuff from the lab would be much easier if he actually worked there.
He started practicing more with his new weapon and even took up exercising, often jogging around to see if anyone needed help with simple things before heading back to work. He payed much closer attention in listening in on conversations, waiting for anyone to mention a girl with her face marred by a birthmark.
Relationships:
He pretty much respects anyone able enough to go out and do shit, often admiring them from afar. From scientists to people who're absolutely ripped, Eiffle kinda has a part of him that thinks, "I wanna be that". (will be edited later probably lmao)
For: Two Lame Naruto RPs
Claws of the White Tiger
Generic Information
Name:
Oukami Anei
Age:
Sixteen
Birthplace:
Unknown, Presumed to be Konoha
Clan:
The Oukami clan is relatively small compared to other great clans, but have at least a handful spread in many of the other villages. Most of this is madeup of the fact that many of their members are orphans adopted from their respected villages, or children bred by said adopted orphans. A people whose origins were rooted in betrayal, they are raised to lie and cheat, and while they may pledge allegiance to their respective homes, their final loyalty stands with their family. As such, the clan is often taught at a young age to think ahead, to plan routes that will in the end help more than harm their people, if not affect them at all. Though they do not have any Kekkai Genkai to be known of, much less known at all by the populous, their line has become famous for trickery and lies.
Weight/Height:
100lbs/5'4
Squad:
Squad Two
Combat Information
Kekkei Genkai:
N/A
Chakra Nature:
Water Release
Techniques:
Anei has learned the standard Academy techniques including shunshin, and is currently being trained to learn Suiton: Teppōdama
Weapons/Tools:
Anei carries the standard ninja tools and is especially adept at the wire and senbon, but has been trained as a(n even younger) child to use his own hands. His nails have been sharpened and he has several hidden packs of poison on his body which he can easily stab into, thus making his own hands poisonous. It's troublesome to use when he has a cold, let me tell ya--
For emergencies sake, he carries two small knives on him, one hidden on his right leg, and another on his left arm.
Weaknesses/Strengths:
Due to much practice, Anei has gotten adept with sleight of hand and lying, and has managed to slowly work it up so that even by simple body movements he can make himself "disappear" while actually simply tricking the eye. His stamina is not one to be joked about either, spending many days nonstop jogging to keep himself at tiptop shape, making up for his slightly smaller chakra pool. Although his chakra pool is much smaller, he makes good use of what he has, careful only to use it when he feels the need, otherwise using tricks or bukijutsu and taijutsu to help himself. Along with others in his family, he's been trained at acupuncture, and is slowly becoming more and more accurate with his needles but is obviously heavily reliant on his nails and close combat. He, noticeably, is also rather petite and while it makes for swifter movements and he's handy with his claws, would be quite easy to literally break in half.
Personal Information
Personality:
Anei is the poster person for averageness. He laughs in crowds and is silent when the situation calls for it, his eyes and ears sharp in social cues. He's very easy to befriend, as his interests seem to always match with yours, and just when you want to introduce him to your friends, you realize too late that you never knew his name and that whatever he said was always whatever you said, but just worded differently.
He's not exciteable to say the least, but is very good at faking it, and is also very good at faking solemness or respect. There's not a trace about him that reeks of untrustworthiness, his small and simple presence almost a relief to be around. Anei always smiles when he can basically, and is a generally happy kid, but it's obvious when his family is mentioned or if he's in front of them he's a bit more professional- which is kinda backwards but hey.
Backstory:
The earliest memory Anei has of his past is crying when he skinned his knee after being pushed aside and having his dinner stolen. He was a doorstep baby, raised by the orphanage and though many past memories of his melted into a haze, this one memory is the clearest. He was adopted at the age of four, along with two others a year older than him, by the Oukami family. It was then that his life truly started.
Upon arrival at his new home, he was greeted by a decently sized family, and for the first year he had fun and felt loved. Even the other kids he'd been adopted with, who had once bullied and pushed him around in the orphanage due to his size, ended up becoming close friends. When he was five, he and his two "siblings" were taken to the basement. This was a mystical place, for in the year they had lived, people always went to the basement to train, coming up exhausted but with smiles so kind. So, obviously, the kids were excited.
Arriving at the basement, the three found four other children their age, with eyes as wide and curious as theirs, locked into a room. They spent some time in there, a long time, and soon the basement felt more a prison than a room of wonder. All attempts of escape were found futile, and soon tears started to be shed, some complaining about hunger. When this started, a stranger opened the door and beat them into silence.
This continued for how long, the children fed only water, and only if they answered questions that were similar to the lines of, "Who in the Oukami clan gives the warmest hugs?" that slowly lead up to, "Who in the Oukami clan is worth dying for?" The children, who had been so thoroughly loved before, used these questions to remember the warmth, always answering one or two people before agreeing with the conclusion that "All of them, everyone is worth dying for".
It seemed like ages before their first experience at the basement ended, and they learned why everyone always looked so exhausted and happy- it was a relief to see the familiar kind and loving faces instead of the large stranger that beat them.
Training continued in this way, and when Anei was eight, he and his "siblings" were given their weapons, Anei's involving senbon and poison. Creative boy he was, he suggested the use of his nails, to which his family lauded him on and supported him, giving him nail files to sharpen his claws, training him for a fitting regime. In the basement, his training escalated as well. As he continued to grow, he was forced to read through scrolls about acupuncture points in the body, and to practice with increasing speeds at slashing at a dummy.
The stranger changed every few months, so that Anei never got comfortable enough with one, each of their regimens varying in degrees of pain. One of them was a man who enjoyed torture, and when Anei was twelve, he was the one that said for every strike against the dummy that Anei missed, he would have a needle struck into one of his pressure points, to send inside him pain. Anei got much better at using his claws after that.
With age obviously comes the need to go to school, and when Anei did so, his basement trainings refocused on loyalty. When being whipped from the back, the strangers would ask him personal questions- no more of warm hugs, but more about if so-and-so had done something or if Anei had ever caught whatsherface doing another thing. They were all truths that Anei had learned to deny or agree, his mind being melded to find a way to cause the least damage to his family. He learned this lesson after his first mistake, admitting that he had in fact seen dubious documents in his auntie's room, to which the lashing he received was so rattling he accidentally recieved a killer scar under his left eye.
Thankfully it didn't damage his sight, but he was taken out of the basement afterwards, coddled by the very aunt he had outed. Immediately a rush of shame overflowed him- how could he have betrayed her like that?- and it was then that his loyalty to Oukami was fortified. His basement trainings afterwards lightened up on the loyalty training, focusing more on poison, Anei training by lying in bed and intaking a number of his specified poison in small doses, hoping to train him into not dying by his own hand.
At the moment, Anei resumes poison and loyalty training, the latter during only every few months or so. He still gets a bit of a numb sensation if he accidentally intakes his poison, but at least doesn't straight up pass out and vomit like the first time around.
Upon arrival at his new home, he was greeted by a decently sized family, and for the first year he had fun and felt loved. Even the other kids he'd been adopted with, who had once bullied and pushed him around in the orphanage due to his size, ended up becoming close friends. When he was five, he and his two "siblings" were taken to the basement. This was a mystical place, for in the year they had lived, people always went to the basement to train, coming up exhausted but with smiles so kind. So, obviously, the kids were excited.
Arriving at the basement, the three found four other children their age, with eyes as wide and curious as theirs, locked into a room. They spent some time in there, a long time, and soon the basement felt more a prison than a room of wonder. All attempts of escape were found futile, and soon tears started to be shed, some complaining about hunger. When this started, a stranger opened the door and beat them into silence.
This continued for how long, the children fed only water, and only if they answered questions that were similar to the lines of, "Who in the Oukami clan gives the warmest hugs?" that slowly lead up to, "Who in the Oukami clan is worth dying for?" The children, who had been so thoroughly loved before, used these questions to remember the warmth, always answering one or two people before agreeing with the conclusion that "All of them, everyone is worth dying for".
It seemed like ages before their first experience at the basement ended, and they learned why everyone always looked so exhausted and happy- it was a relief to see the familiar kind and loving faces instead of the large stranger that beat them.
Training continued in this way, and when Anei was eight, he and his "siblings" were given their weapons, Anei's involving senbon and poison. Creative boy he was, he suggested the use of his nails, to which his family lauded him on and supported him, giving him nail files to sharpen his claws, training him for a fitting regime. In the basement, his training escalated as well. As he continued to grow, he was forced to read through scrolls about acupuncture points in the body, and to practice with increasing speeds at slashing at a dummy.
The stranger changed every few months, so that Anei never got comfortable enough with one, each of their regimens varying in degrees of pain. One of them was a man who enjoyed torture, and when Anei was twelve, he was the one that said for every strike against the dummy that Anei missed, he would have a needle struck into one of his pressure points, to send inside him pain. Anei got much better at using his claws after that.
With age obviously comes the need to go to school, and when Anei did so, his basement trainings refocused on loyalty. When being whipped from the back, the strangers would ask him personal questions- no more of warm hugs, but more about if so-and-so had done something or if Anei had ever caught whatsherface doing another thing. They were all truths that Anei had learned to deny or agree, his mind being melded to find a way to cause the least damage to his family. He learned this lesson after his first mistake, admitting that he had in fact seen dubious documents in his auntie's room, to which the lashing he received was so rattling he accidentally recieved a killer scar under his left eye.
Thankfully it didn't damage his sight, but he was taken out of the basement afterwards, coddled by the very aunt he had outed. Immediately a rush of shame overflowed him- how could he have betrayed her like that?- and it was then that his loyalty to Oukami was fortified. His basement trainings afterwards lightened up on the loyalty training, focusing more on poison, Anei training by lying in bed and intaking a number of his specified poison in small doses, hoping to train him into not dying by his own hand.
At the moment, Anei resumes poison and loyalty training, the latter during only every few months or so. He still gets a bit of a numb sensation if he accidentally intakes his poison, but at least doesn't straight up pass out and vomit like the first time around.
Allies:
His loyalty will always stand with the Oukami clan, but will also become an ally to any who ask of it. It is more whimsical, his allegiance with others, able to turn on you in mere seconds after finishing a deal. He is more likely to be loyal if he's made to sign an actual agreement instead of just saying it out loud.
Enemies:
Anyone who stands against his ally.
Other:
clothes wip
Oukami Takara
Generic Information
Name:
Oukami Takara
Age:
Thirteen
Birthplace:
Unknown, Presumed to be Konohagakure
Clan:
The Oukami clan is relatively small compared to other great clans, but have at least a handful spread in many of the other villages. Most of this is madeup of the fact that many of their members are orphans adopted from their respected villages, or children bred by said adopted orphans. A people whose origins were rooted in betrayal, they are raised to lie and cheat, and while they may pledge allegiance to their respective homes, their final loyalty stands with their family. As such, the clan is often taught at a young age to think ahead, to plan routes that will in the end help more than harm their people, if not affect them at all. Though they do not have any Kekkai Genkai to be known of, much less known at all by the populous, their line has become famous for trickery and lies.
Weight/Height:
92lbs; 4'9"
Rank:
Genin (D Rank)
Combat Information
Kekkei Genkai:
N/A
Chakra Nature:
Water Release
Techniques:
Takara has learned the standard Academy techniques, and is close to mastering Oboro Bunshin no Jutsu
Weapons/Tools:
Takara carries the standard genin tools, and like most Oukamis has above average knowledge on the usage of senbon. It is not his primary weapon of choice, however, as the Oukami has assigned him with two iron fans. The ends are sharpened tips that can be precoated with poison, hidden packs of which are hidden on his body. For emergencies sake, he carries four small knives on him, one hidden on his right leg, another on his left forearm, and two small blads that can be kicked out from either the front or back of either of his shoe soles.
Weaknesses/Strengths:
As can be identified by the above, Takara is very weapons-based, and all weapons involve close combat. Due to having been taken out of the Academy for a year, Takara got extra practice on the use of his weaponry, thus making him more fluid and adept at his motions. That said, the Oukami is not well known for their ninjutsu practice, thus having Takara lag behind even the younger members of the Academy. Not only that, but his frail frame is evident in comparison with other students, easily snapped in half if caught. Thankfully, Takara is quick on his feet, not to mention is getting better at sleight of hand or tricking opponents' eyes into his "disappearance". Though Takara has mastered lying as most children easily do, he still has much trouble with his deceitful movements, his strides often too wide or his breathing too loud.
Personal Information
Personality:
Takara is the poster person for averageness. That is, he would be if his appearance were not so effeminate, and his size so petite. Besides that, he is easily agreeable, laughing with the crowd, and silent with them as well. His eyes and ears have been trained to pick up on social cues, so that speaking with him is easy and comfortable, to the point where he even mimicks your actions and nuances. This makes him easy to befriend, as his interests seem to always match with yours, and just when you want to introduce him to your friends, you realize too late that you never knew his name and that whatever he said was always whatever you said, but just worded differently.
He's not exciteable to say the least, but is very good at faking it, and is also very good at faking solemness or respect. There's not a trace about him that reeks of untrustworthiness, his small and simple presence almost a relief to be around. Takara always smiles when he can basically, and is a generally happy kid, but it's obvious when his family is mentioned or if he's in front of them he's a bit more professional, his beautiful smiling face replaced with stoicness and calm.
Backstory:
The earliest memory Takara has is being told that his name meant "treasure" while the orphanage head touched his pale skin, searching for clothes that fit him. The second earliest memory he has is how cleanly the man's hand was sliced off, a spatter of blood barely touching him. It was on that same day, at four years of age, he was adopted from the orphanage along with another girl. Both had been touched inappropriately by the man in the orphanage, and both were wary of the adults. This changed almost immediately, however, the two finding themselves enveloped in the warmth and love and kindness.
A year after this, when he and his "sister" were five, the two were taken to the Basement. Needless to say, it was exciting for the two of them, as all of the shinobi that walked out from the room often walked out exhausted but even more loving than before. They wondered, much like innocent children often do, what wonders awaited them. Upon arrival, they were greeted by two other branches of Oukami children around the same age, both branches having three children each. A total of eight children found themselves locked into a steel room, barren spare a small window above the steel door, which none of them could reach due to their size.
The children had fun at first, sharing their experience with the Oukami home, speaking with crude language about their past orphanages, small whispers in their sleep having bred the children to despise their lives before Oukami. After a while of sitting and laughing, however, the children grew bored and tired, calling out for food, trying to bang on the steel walls or door, some tears being shed. At this, the wave of water began from the small window, rushing too quickly to be natural, rising quickly from their ankles to their knees, and soon, their waist.
The first child to go under was Takara, the water having formed into five respective clones, all of which were more water than person, one of which pulled down the blonde child underwater. Needless to say, basic instincts kicked in, and he fought and kicked, his lungs burning by the time he was allowed to resurface. This happened to each child, four or five at a time, the ones above surface too busy trying to cough air back into their lungs to try and save one another. Eventually, as the water rose to their shoulders, the water clones started to ask questions, starting from, "Which Oukami cooks the best dumplings?" which eventually led up to, "Which Oukami is worth dying for."
Everytime, Takara would list a few names, seeking solace in the memory of his family's warmth until eventually the answer lead up to, "Everyone," every time. Every child answered as such, and after what seemed like forever and one resucitation, Takara found the room drained with the opening of the door, the children walking out single file to leave the basement. So oxygen deprived and water-shocked were the children that they barely recognized that though a band of eight walked in, only seven walked out.
Upon leaving the basement, Takara and the others understood finally why everyone was so much kinder- it was a relief to find warm and familiar faces than that of the unnamed strangers, Takara even shedding a few tears of relief as his adoptive mother cooed and toweled him down.
Training continued in this way, and when Takara was eight, he and his "sister" were given their weapons, his being his adoptive mother's twin fans. His training in the Basement began to be more extensive, forced to read through scrolls as he practiced with senbon, as well as the open and closed forms of his fans. Each reading forced him into more detail about acupuncture and sensitive points in the human body, Takara's small body being pushed as he was forced to put more effort in pressing the heavy fans. The stranger that trained him in the Basement changed every time so that he didn't get too comfortable with one, each of their torture regimens varying in levels of pain.
By chance, when Takara was eleven, he had to take his sister's place for one man especially enthusiastic about punishments, stating that for every miss of pressure point or mistake in his form, he would have a needle struck into one of his pressure points, to send inside him pain. Takara got much better at handling the heavy fans after that.
This entire time, Takara had been attending school as a normal student, along with other kids his age. When he was twelve, however, the year he was supposed to graduate, he suddenly dropped out from the Academy. The reasoning was, with his schooling, Basement trainings became more refocused on loyalty. As his fingers were broken, he was asked personal questions, no more about cooking and more about if this relative had done shady things, or if that relative was doing another thing. They were all truths that Takara had learned to deny or agree, his mind being melded to find a way to cause the least damage to his family. He learned this lesson after his first mistake, admitting that he had in fact seen dubious documents in his auntie's room, to which the punnishment was the breaking of his forearm.
So severe was it that Takara passed out from pain, awaking to a crying and worried woman- the very aunt he had outed. Regret immediately washed over Takara that he didn't even mind the fact that he wound up dropping out the rest of the Academy school year in order to continue his loyalty training, the rest of his time spent with his aunt to apologize for betraying her.
Takara returned to the Academy the following year, and though he was evidently the oldest, years of torture training affecting his growth to the point where his size was similar to the others. At the moment his loyalty training has started to lighten up, and has started to focus more on poison and getting himself used to his own brand so that he doesn't accidentally kill himself with the wrong swipe of a fan. As of now, Takara will still vomit at the accidental intake of his poison, which is a better substitute than straight up slowly dying.
A year after this, when he and his "sister" were five, the two were taken to the Basement. Needless to say, it was exciting for the two of them, as all of the shinobi that walked out from the room often walked out exhausted but even more loving than before. They wondered, much like innocent children often do, what wonders awaited them. Upon arrival, they were greeted by two other branches of Oukami children around the same age, both branches having three children each. A total of eight children found themselves locked into a steel room, barren spare a small window above the steel door, which none of them could reach due to their size.
The children had fun at first, sharing their experience with the Oukami home, speaking with crude language about their past orphanages, small whispers in their sleep having bred the children to despise their lives before Oukami. After a while of sitting and laughing, however, the children grew bored and tired, calling out for food, trying to bang on the steel walls or door, some tears being shed. At this, the wave of water began from the small window, rushing too quickly to be natural, rising quickly from their ankles to their knees, and soon, their waist.
The first child to go under was Takara, the water having formed into five respective clones, all of which were more water than person, one of which pulled down the blonde child underwater. Needless to say, basic instincts kicked in, and he fought and kicked, his lungs burning by the time he was allowed to resurface. This happened to each child, four or five at a time, the ones above surface too busy trying to cough air back into their lungs to try and save one another. Eventually, as the water rose to their shoulders, the water clones started to ask questions, starting from, "Which Oukami cooks the best dumplings?" which eventually led up to, "Which Oukami is worth dying for."
Everytime, Takara would list a few names, seeking solace in the memory of his family's warmth until eventually the answer lead up to, "Everyone," every time. Every child answered as such, and after what seemed like forever and one resucitation, Takara found the room drained with the opening of the door, the children walking out single file to leave the basement. So oxygen deprived and water-shocked were the children that they barely recognized that though a band of eight walked in, only seven walked out.
Upon leaving the basement, Takara and the others understood finally why everyone was so much kinder- it was a relief to find warm and familiar faces than that of the unnamed strangers, Takara even shedding a few tears of relief as his adoptive mother cooed and toweled him down.
Training continued in this way, and when Takara was eight, he and his "sister" were given their weapons, his being his adoptive mother's twin fans. His training in the Basement began to be more extensive, forced to read through scrolls as he practiced with senbon, as well as the open and closed forms of his fans. Each reading forced him into more detail about acupuncture and sensitive points in the human body, Takara's small body being pushed as he was forced to put more effort in pressing the heavy fans. The stranger that trained him in the Basement changed every time so that he didn't get too comfortable with one, each of their torture regimens varying in levels of pain.
By chance, when Takara was eleven, he had to take his sister's place for one man especially enthusiastic about punishments, stating that for every miss of pressure point or mistake in his form, he would have a needle struck into one of his pressure points, to send inside him pain. Takara got much better at handling the heavy fans after that.
This entire time, Takara had been attending school as a normal student, along with other kids his age. When he was twelve, however, the year he was supposed to graduate, he suddenly dropped out from the Academy. The reasoning was, with his schooling, Basement trainings became more refocused on loyalty. As his fingers were broken, he was asked personal questions, no more about cooking and more about if this relative had done shady things, or if that relative was doing another thing. They were all truths that Takara had learned to deny or agree, his mind being melded to find a way to cause the least damage to his family. He learned this lesson after his first mistake, admitting that he had in fact seen dubious documents in his auntie's room, to which the punnishment was the breaking of his forearm.
So severe was it that Takara passed out from pain, awaking to a crying and worried woman- the very aunt he had outed. Regret immediately washed over Takara that he didn't even mind the fact that he wound up dropping out the rest of the Academy school year in order to continue his loyalty training, the rest of his time spent with his aunt to apologize for betraying her.
Takara returned to the Academy the following year, and though he was evidently the oldest, years of torture training affecting his growth to the point where his size was similar to the others. At the moment his loyalty training has started to lighten up, and has started to focus more on poison and getting himself used to his own brand so that he doesn't accidentally kill himself with the wrong swipe of a fan. As of now, Takara will still vomit at the accidental intake of his poison, which is a better substitute than straight up slowly dying.
Allies:
His loyalty will always stand with the Oukami clan, but will also become an ally to any who ask of it. It is more whimsical, his allegiance with others, able to turn on you in mere seconds after finishing a deal. He is more likely to be loyal if he's made to sign an actual agreement instead of just saying it out loud.
Enemies:
Anyone against his allies.
Other:
Though his bones have been fully rehealed, there was a stint in the process and one of his legs are slightly shorter than the other. It's not enough to truly affect him, but has required retraining in sneaking around.
Suna no Denkimushi
The Electric Bug of the Sand
Generic Information
Name:
Oukami Yue
Age:
Fifteen
Birthplace:
Unknown, presumed to be Sunagakure
Clan:
The Oukami clan is relatively small compared to other great clans, but have at least a handful spread in many of the other villages. Most of this is madeup of the fact that many of their members are orphans adopted from their respected villages, or children bred by said adopted orphans. A people whose origins were rooted in betrayal, they are raised to lie and cheat, and while they may pledge allegiance to their respective homes, their final loyalty stands with their family. As such, the clan is often taught at a young age to think ahead, to plan routes that will in the end help more than harm their people, if not affect them at all. Though they do not have any Kekkai Genkai to be known of, much less known at all by the populous, their line has become famous for trickery and lies.
Weight/Height:
120lbs/5'2"
Rank:
Genin (C)
Combat Information
Kekkei Genkai:
N/A
Chakra Nature:
Water Release
Techniques:
Suiton: Mizurappa
Suiton: Hōmatsu Rappa
Suiton: Teppōdama
Suirō no Jutsu
Weapons/Tools:
Yue carries the standard shinobi weapons, and as a typical Oukami is rather adept at the use of senbon. The main weapons he was given, however, was his especially effeminate features along with two barbed whips. The whips are often infused with poison and, although it doesn't really develop an electric shock, feels like one if hit. In case of emergencies, Yue carries four other blades on his body- two on both his forearms, one hidden on his left leg, and the last inside his right shoe.
Weaknesses/Strengths:
BLUH iLL fiNISh ANoTHER TImeE
Personal Information
Personality:
Backstory:
Allies:
Enemies:
For: Tokyo Ghoul- District Eight
Name:
Nonozumi Miko
Nicknames:
Nono, "Noh Mask"
Age:
Twenty
Gender:
Male
Rank:
A
Kagune:
Shaped like a scorpion's tail, its design is almost as bland and forgettable as Nonozumi without his mask. The only difference to an actual scorpion's tail is it's ability to stretch out several meters and retract back to a smaller size, as well as the fact that it has three "stingers" one located a knock under the one at the standard scorpion spot, an another one between those, but on the other side. Uniquely, Nono releases a stinging poison with his stingers, creating a dull sensation for a short period of time. Sort of that feeling you get when you go to the dentists, with the same half to full hour of effect as well as the numb sensation. You can still swing the affected area around, but you just can't feel whatever you're doing.
RC Type:
Bikaku
Personality:
Nono is quiet and joking all at once, the very sort of average person that would go unnoticed. He practiced this quite a bit, which makes killing out in the open that much more easy- something that Nono doesn't do, but has toyed with the idea of. He's the type of guy that would seem quite dull to talk to in real life but says stupid stuff (like "omg" or "lmao"- he says that in real life that's how stupid he is), and would be the type to eagerly make cute emoticons at the end of his text messages. o w o )b He doesn't text humans in school though, just ghouls and people from the internet.
Biography:
He goes to the university and studies literature, just for the sake of studying. He doesn't make a large group of friends and is easily forgettable, thus making his other life that much easier. He made the mistake of trying to hunt CCG Doves without knowing what they actually were and received a killer scar on his back, as well as a rep as the "Noh Mask".
"Hey daddy, why don't we play some games?"
Ghoul Mask:
Her mask is actually a complete opposite of what is pictured above, covering the top half of her face rather than the lower half. Pictured as so, it features a plain white mask cut with a shape around her mouth, decorated with a crudely drawn eye.
Ghoul Mask:
Her mask is actually a complete opposite of what is pictured above, covering the top half of her face rather than the lower half. Pictured as so, it features a plain white mask cut with a shape around her mouth, decorated with a crudely drawn eye.
Name:
Totsuka Chou
Nicknames:
N/A
Age:
Seventeen
Gender:
Female
Rank:
N/A
Kagune:
Chou's Kagune spreads out and is patterned beautifully, almost so that it reminds many of butterflies. She, and hardcore butterfly fanatics, know full well however that its pattern is a moth's, and while she has a bit of a complex about it, she doesn't complain about how it protects her. Able to shield her by covering over her body or attack by releasing shards that come out in groups (usually of six to ten, but when Chou's just letting loose, it kinda doesn't matter). As versatile as it sounds though, it comes with a few openings in between attacks, not to mention in addition to her own childish inexperience. Despite being wings, she cannot fly with them, though manages to convince otherwise with her graceful leaps able speed.
RC Type:
Ukaku
Personality:
Chou behind the mask is very docile and flirtatious, quick to show a sliver of her pale skin or "accidentally" bump herself against unsuspecting victims. As she kills, however, there's a noticeable switch, the most important being her absolute silence and focus. She hunts her meals in the lower red district of the city, using charms she learned from watching other women to seduce men into her hideout. A meticulous eater, she makes sure to clean to the bone, meaning she doesn't feed often as she often has a meal waiting at home. One could say that Chou lives for the sake of living, eat for the sake of eating, sleep for the sake of sleeping. She tries not to leave her hideout during the day often, having lived this long without learning much about humans and unsure about how well she would fit in.
Biography:
The basics of Chou's upbringing is that she was born with two other sisters in a trio, each of them receiving the same traits from dainty features to large wings. They survived as their father- who wasn't necessarily their father, simply a man who found them in a box- hunted food, giving to them the bare minimum. It was from these small scraps that Chou learned how to savour things to the bone, enjoying her small piece as her sisters planned larger, fighting their father to receive more.
Stuff happened, and one of the triplets disappeared, the father not saying a thing about it and continuing to feed them their scraps. On the second month, Chou's sister was convinced what they were eating was not human, and was in fact their sister. Their stomachs were a mess that night, but Chou didn't vomit, savouring whatever kept her alive, even if it was her sister.
Two nights after the revelation, her sister woke her up to run away.
The two barely made it a few blocks down before meeting with another ghoul. They defeated him, but at a cost, Chou's sister having lost her entire left side. Though Chou wanted to help her live, her sister confessed she had always hated pain and asked of Chou the same funeral they had given their other sister. And so, that was how Chou ate the other triplets.
She made sure to do with her sister as her other meals and savour her, at the end finally reaching the cleanest she could make of her bones, and crying about how awful it was. She moved out of the nook in the alley she had made her home in, making her way from nook to nook to nook, moving always to prevent herself from vomiting her sisters out. She lasted a month before hunger overwhelmed her, and she ate a girl walking in the late streets.
It was from this that Chou started her pattern of slow eating and hiding, her late night frequenting introducing her to the power of prostitution, and considering she preferred the taste of men moreso than women anyways, she used that as her means of ware. Spending most of her time indoors, Chou started a habit of carving her bone collection into kitchen utensils, selling them to drunkards in the night to get them off her hands. While she still has a large collection, she eats meagerly enough for the CCG to take notice.
For: The Impossible City
"Who's tripping down the streets of the city
Smiling at everybody she sees?
Who's reaching out to capture a moment?
Everyone knows it's Windy"
Smiling at everybody she sees?
Who's reaching out to capture a moment?
Everyone knows it's Windy"
Name:
Nikhil "Windy" Kareem
Age:
Sixteen
Race:
Blessed Human
Windy's family- or rather, his grandmother- was blessed by a fairy once upon a time, and they've all had their streak of good luck. Windy especially, it seems, has been paid tenfold with luck after the discovery of his voice loss.
Personality:
Windy, more often than not, will be caught with a large cheerful smile as he rollerblades through town. The smell of flowers on his person as well as the matching ring of bells may cause some discomfort, but to Windy, it is but a reminder that everything is great and it is so nice to be happy. Although the boy can't speak, he is able to communicate his energy and enthusiasm easy enough with bright eyes and wide gestures. Despite his lack of a voice, Windy is always up for speaking out against unfairness, be it bullying amongst children or harassment against cats. Having had his fair share of sadness, Windy is eager in spreading happiness instead.
Short bio:
Windy's choice of effeminate attire and lack of voice were not things that were forced upon him. Sort of. As a child, he was without a voice, and at first his parents thought it was a developmental thing. After all, when he was born, he did cry out very healthily. Upon research on the matter, however, it was discovered that Nikhil seemed to have lost his voice. It was as though someone, or something, had up and stolen it away. It was a sad time for the family, but it was also around the time that Windy's luck took a turn for the better.
The much, much better.
Though mute, Windy expressed joy in everything he did, from chores to actual playing. There wasn't a time where he wasn't without a smile on his face. In a sense, he almost spoiled his parents with the sight of his smile, and they tended to easily console him upon the sight of anything other than it. It was how he was so easily able to convince his parents on a more feminine wardrobe, showing them the slightest hint of a frown before they caved.
There's no telling exactly why Windy started to dress like a girl, and neither does he share it. At first, his parents thought it was a gender matter, in which he was a girl at heart, but Windy seemed to be okay with being addresses as a boy and with the pronouns regarding that. In truth, it was merely a matter of comfort and freedom, as well as aesthetics. There was something about the way a skirt billowed behind him while he ran that he couldn't quite get while wearing shorts.
He was fourteen when he arrived at Arom, the age where he decided to leave home to find bigger adventures, to which his family regretfully allowed. It was a tradition in his father's side, and after all, he was blessed so surely he would be fine. Upon arrival at the town, Windy seemed to enamor anyone he associated with, his simple smile soothing even the weariest of hearts. And although perverts were little to none in Arom, the ones that did approach him were warded off by the almost angelic glow that shone on his person.
He decided to stay at Arom given it's homeliness, spending his money on a pair of skates which he fell for at first sight. It was these skates that made him collide by chance against an older woman in charge of the floral shop, which, due to circumstances, led him to living in the room space a floor above, as well as working to pay off rent. He sends letters and pictures to his parents monthly, in a sort of diary form, and they reply almost immediately, always worrying about his health.
He is at the peak of puberty now, and although he still dresses effeminately, it is starting to become obvious to others that he is a male. But there is also a certain allure in his confusing gender- in some angles he seems more womanly, in others not so much- that captivates the eyes of those that appreciate the human body. In fact, the foggy line between man and woman that Windy plays with can resemble him to that of one of heaven's gender less angels.
Other:
-Rides rollerblades throughout town more often than not.
-Works for a florist and is in charge of deliveries, if any.
-Slightly allergic to cats and dogs, but doesn't stop him from petting every one that comes across.
-Mute.
-Extremely Lucky.
"There are things worse than a broken bone."
Name:
Jonah Ramuels
Age:
Twenty-five
Race:
Human(???)
Personality:
Intimidating and snarky, Jonah is always up for a bit of sarcasm and bad jokes. He's mostly got that tired air about him, but from the way he smiles, it's also evident that he is quite the... sleeper. He frequents in flirting and touching- but not in the clingy sense. Just slight touches here and there, the kind that send shivers down spines. As much of a sleaze as he is, however, it is evident that the guy is pretty hard working when it comes down to things involving money, to the point where he's surprised others by his change in attitude. It seems as though, in things of importance, money comes before sex.
Short bio:
Jonah doesn't disclose much about his past, though anyone that's seen him half-naked (read as: everyone) can see the markings on his back that are a sign equal to that of a contract. If pressed, Jonah merely states that he didn't have the magical abilities he has now until he was thirteen years of age. Anything past that, Jonah doesn't indulge.
He arrived at Arom one day, and many remember him due to the fact that he was practically half naked, covered in bruises and marks and carrying what looked to be a large rolled up carpet. He was eighteen then, and it wasn't until three years later did people see what exactly he had been stowing. Of course, no one connected the fact that the doll Jonah was working to refurbish being the thing he carried into town, but nonetheless, it was around the time that he was more keen in letting people see. He tended to work odd jobs for people here and there, barely staying a month at any particular job, leaving straight after the first paycheck almost.
It was another year until the townsfolk saw the doll move. At first, Jonah kept it with him at all times, the doll moving beside him in his magic work and sometimes staying out during his part time jobs, but as time passed the two eventually stopped sticking so close to one another. Jonah became more open in ordering it around, though admittedly the man still worries about chipping and tearing.
Other:
-Is capable of magic. Potions are his specialty.
-Stands at a threatening six foot three.
-is particularly fond of cats, usually ones with yellow eyes.
-More often than not has candy on him.
-Sleeps with a person every night.
-He mainly works odd jobs though sells potions on the side.
-Has never been accused of being a scam.
For: ??????
"Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!"
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!"
Name: Argo Shepherd
Age: Eighteen
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Standing at a meager five foot even and weighing at a solid ninety pounds, Argo is small in size. His skin is pale, to the point that some parts are a pink-ish hue. His shoulders, for instance, pink at the hint of sunlight, as do his knees, his cheeks, his ears and his nose. He has a head full of soft, dull blonde hair, as though bleached repeatedly. Argo assures, however, that it is natural, and as photographs of younger years show, it seems indeed to be genuine. His eyes are an ocean green with hints of a blueish hue. Considering his curls it is very hard to see, but Argo has a mole right under his left eye. The young man usually composes himself with a posture of perfection, standing with his back straight and feet planted on the ground, though he does have the bad habit of tip toeing now and again.
Pact: Argo made a trade with a spirit named Uego. She is sweet at times, like a mother eager to get all up in her kids' business, but if shown disrespect will show the other side of the coin- that is to say, Uego gets really, really, nasty. She enjoys the company of others, but only shows affection if shown affection tenfold back. Uego took Argo's voice upon entering the Nightmare, granting Argo the gift to create bubbles. When made small, Argo is able to create a massive amount, their popping causing damage to anything the residue touches. He is only able to create a finite amount of bubbles, unable to make anything past the number until more bubbles pop. Argo also has the option of creating a bubble large enough to hold him and provide a suitable defense.
Personality: Argo tends to be on the overly friendly side, and sometimes a bit too touchy-feely for others' comfort. Small in size but loud in spirit, Argo is very energetic and eager, often voicing his thoughts prior to mulling them over in his head. When he sings his favourite Christian hymns, however, his blonde curls almost trick the eye into a halo, his sea green eyes reminiscent to an untouchable angel. Other than that, however, Argo acts as your typical ten-year-old.
"Long life? Hm... well, I reckon it's luck, creativity, and two spoonfuls of honey."
Name:
Mendax "Prox" Proditor
Age:
Twenty-seven
Sex:
Male
Sexuality:
Still Unknown
Appearance:
His long white hair is always tied up in a high ponytail, and though his father told him and his fellow peers often remind him, he always forgets to trim his bangs every few days. He's got a tall, lean build, with most of his weight being muscles and honey, as well as cheap bread and questionable fruit.
Height:
6'3
Weight:
200lbs
Personality:
Prox is easily excitable about the simplest of things, often more interested about that sale of five-herbs-in-one-payment deal than whether or not he actually had money to pay for it. Despite this, he's somehow always prepared, down to exact change or napkins for an accidental spill. Blaming it on the stars, Prox is rather double-sided in all matters of his personality, one second a chatterbox and the next quiet, one second alert and alive, while the next, quickly fast asleep. In between his wishy-washiness and "words of wisdom" (most of which include misquotes from books he never read), Prox easily comes off as trustworthy, to the point where one might want to coddle him, despite the giant he is.
History:
Born to an heiress of a bakery and a travel-bound lover, Prox was destined to live a life of adventure. More so because the romance was an affair, and his mother- who had run away with the traveler- died of overexertion. So, in the tender age of nine months old, Prox was armed with his father and the vastness of the world.
So you would think.
His father settled down to take care of Prox, their names made up in choosing through documents the traveler had gathered, in a language unfamiliar, dead, and beautiful. As Prox grew up, he adopted a nickname given to him by other children, excitedly showing it off to a weary father chained by mortgage and living. He ended up working at the Andria Colosseum, finding it a relief and a substitute for packing his bags and leaving.
When Prox was six, his father finally unpacked the luggage that they had always kept packed, and Prox finally showed signs of Red Magic in his temples. This confused the ex-traveler, for he was no magician, and neither was his late lover... then again, it had never been discussed. So, his father celebrated this newfound magic, saying it was another present from his mother along with his fair complexion, and he brought Prox often to his work where the child- ever abundant with curiousity- learned more about his and other Magicians' abilities.
Prox joined the colosseum when he was in his late teens, tapping out his father and assuring him that the world had been waiting long enough. And with a hearty goodbye, the traveler went out once more, and Prox became heavily involved with fighting. It was hard, both the loss of his father and being beaten repeatedly in the span of months, but he was a quick learner, and eager to train. Picking up jogging as well as sparring with his peers, his father's legacy and his eagerness and his own cheery attitude easily made him a favourite, even if the others show it by treating him like a child behind the curtain.
Now, Prox is no longer the youngest member and enjoys mentoring or training with others, yet somehow always finds himself being treated younger than the actual young members.
Likes:
- Jogging
- Singing
- Honey
- His hair
- Seeing Magic happen
- Honey
Dislikes:
- Shouting, Having to shout
- Mysteries
- Intense Heat
Starting Faction:
Colosseum Fighter
Magic Shade:
Red
Manifestation:
The entire back of his head, including the hair that grows out of it. (If that's alright? I can always change it//laffs)
Musical Theme(s):
(im kidding omg)
Other:
- He's done some research on his name.
- And on his background.
- Tone deaf, but in a cute way. Sort of. Not really.
- Enjoys buying luggage bags???
OP
LetterA Sukeban Swag
Member
Seen
5 mos ago
For: Portwood Institute for Talented Youths
PITY - Application for Academic Year 2015/2016
Student Name:
Gender:
Nationality:
Age:
D.O.B.:
Appearance
Reference
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Ethnicity:
Height:
Weight:
Powers & Abilities
Power Name:
Power Description:
Abilities:
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
About You
Family:
Personal Statement:
PITY - Application for Academic Year 2015/2016
Student Name:
Yanna Analynn "Jinkee" Torres
Gender:
Female
Nationality:
Filipino American
Age:
Seventeen
D.O.B.:
May 08, 1998
Appearance
Reference
Hair Color:
Dark Brown
Eye Color:
Green
Ethnicity:
Asian/Pacific Islander
Height:
5'0"
Weight:
92lbs
Powers & Abilities
Power Name:
Mucus Manipulation
Power Description:
I can secrete mucus sort of like a frog but less poison and more corrosion, hehehe!
Abilities:
Let's get this Big One out of the way- when it comes to life or death situations, Mucus wraps around me like a bubble and protects or heals me. Thing is, most of the time Mucus doesn't know the difference between life and death so if my heart rate goes a little too intense for its liking- i.e, getting hype at an event- if I don't think about it, I may find myself wrapped up in a Big Ball of Protective Mucus.
For the most part, I don't have a bubble and it stays dormant. Mucus can be secreted from my body, or straight up replace my body parts. In the few years I had the power, it's let me do a few things- Construct or Deteriorate.
In terms of Constructing, if I so wish it, my body can become entirely mucus. It helps when say, I get an arm clipped off, I can use the mucus to (I hate using this word) regenerate the missing limb. I can do the same for simpler things, like cuts or bruises- who knows, maybe I'll be able to iron out my wrinkles when I get older! Assuming, of course I live that long.
I can do the same to other people, Constructing, though not at as big as scale. I assume though, that if I were to form my bubble and let them stay inside with me, I could heal a broken bone or two.
Moving on to Deteriorating, sometimes the mucus has about it a corrosive ability. From college ruled lined paper to car doors (which was, by the way, an accident), the mucus that I choose to spread over it can burn it off. I can do the same to myself in that I can like, let an arm go but why would I do that? And I could probably, I mean I can do the same to other people, but again, why would I do that?
The two are just a few basic ones in terms of my abilities. If I try, I can form the mucus into tentacle like coverings over my arm, and it helps flinging the mucus around. That way, instead of being up close and personal, I can use Deterioration at a distance. I'm also trying stuff out like coating things in mucus for like an added kick- example, coating a rock in corrosive mucus and throwing it so that it eats away at nearby things. Like a grenade, except less explosive. The corrosion works quickly though, and I've got a bad throwing arm, so it's more trouble than it's worth.
Given that mucus is fluid, I'm gonna chalk up my flexibility to that and not to my mom's side of the family. I can also harden the mucus if I want, but only as hard as a bouncy ball. Good for durability when it comes to falling off things, if the Bubble doesn't pop up first. For the most part hardening it doesn't do much except make it glitter all pretty like under the light.
For the most part, I don't have a bubble and it stays dormant. Mucus can be secreted from my body, or straight up replace my body parts. In the few years I had the power, it's let me do a few things- Construct or Deteriorate.
In terms of Constructing, if I so wish it, my body can become entirely mucus. It helps when say, I get an arm clipped off, I can use the mucus to (I hate using this word) regenerate the missing limb. I can do the same for simpler things, like cuts or bruises- who knows, maybe I'll be able to iron out my wrinkles when I get older! Assuming, of course I live that long.
I can do the same to other people, Constructing, though not at as big as scale. I assume though, that if I were to form my bubble and let them stay inside with me, I could heal a broken bone or two.
Moving on to Deteriorating, sometimes the mucus has about it a corrosive ability. From college ruled lined paper to car doors (which was, by the way, an accident), the mucus that I choose to spread over it can burn it off. I can do the same to myself in that I can like, let an arm go but why would I do that? And I could probably, I mean I can do the same to other people, but again, why would I do that?
The two are just a few basic ones in terms of my abilities. If I try, I can form the mucus into tentacle like coverings over my arm, and it helps flinging the mucus around. That way, instead of being up close and personal, I can use Deterioration at a distance. I'm also trying stuff out like coating things in mucus for like an added kick- example, coating a rock in corrosive mucus and throwing it so that it eats away at nearby things. Like a grenade, except less explosive. The corrosion works quickly though, and I've got a bad throwing arm, so it's more trouble than it's worth.
Given that mucus is fluid, I'm gonna chalk up my flexibility to that and not to my mom's side of the family. I can also harden the mucus if I want, but only as hard as a bouncy ball. Good for durability when it comes to falling off things, if the Bubble doesn't pop up first. For the most part hardening it doesn't do much except make it glitter all pretty like under the light.
Drawbacks & Weaknesses:
Overall, Focus is a big Must when it comes to using my ability.
Construct and Deteriorate look the same and feel the same, so I have to be focused otherwise I'll end up burning someone's leg off instead of healing it. That said, when my arms are in the tentacle covering, it's at a medium between C and D. I have to take care that Deteriorate is only at the ends where it's shooting out and not near my body, unless of course I want to accidentally have my arms eaten away.
There's a limit as well on what I can Construct. I can't revive the dead- there's like a half second limit on me fixing a hole in a heart, but given that the mucus has other tissues and organs to move past, no doubt I won't be making that limit in time. Same thing for other fatal shots- once you're dead, your dead. The rule goes for me, too, the mucus won't work when I'm in the dead. That's it, Game Over.
Time is very important when it comes to Deteriorate- sure, I anything the mucus touches "catches on fire" immediately (figuratively speaking), but burning through things like metals and rock takes a while, you know? Think of like pouring boiling water in the middle of a block of ice- it's hot, but takes some time for the thing to make a hole, gets mo ba?
I also have to eat a lot to keep up this sort of thing- although it's mucus, it's still sort of technically part of me. Though I know hunger takes its toll on any person, it goes twice as bad for me- control becomes shaky at best and at worst I start sweating Deteriorate everywhere. It's not a pretty sight.
The cold also totally hampers my abilities, it freezes up my mucus without me wanting it to. And it's harder than the mucus' typical limit of a bouncy ball, it gets hard to move around and even simple things like bending forward starts to hurt a lot- like having rubber bands wrap tightly around you and pinch at skin... except everywhere.
One of the greatest things about having mucus abilities is that I can heal myself the best using Construct. One of the worst is that I can hurt myself the easiest with Deteriorate. It makes sense- it corrodes anything it touches, and I'm usually the closest thing it can touch. It sucks I'm not immune to my own ability, but Construct deflects Deteriorate most of the time, so I just gotta stay focused half the time.
Construct and Deteriorate look the same and feel the same, so I have to be focused otherwise I'll end up burning someone's leg off instead of healing it. That said, when my arms are in the tentacle covering, it's at a medium between C and D. I have to take care that Deteriorate is only at the ends where it's shooting out and not near my body, unless of course I want to accidentally have my arms eaten away.
There's a limit as well on what I can Construct. I can't revive the dead- there's like a half second limit on me fixing a hole in a heart, but given that the mucus has other tissues and organs to move past, no doubt I won't be making that limit in time. Same thing for other fatal shots- once you're dead, your dead. The rule goes for me, too, the mucus won't work when I'm in the dead. That's it, Game Over.
Time is very important when it comes to Deteriorate- sure, I anything the mucus touches "catches on fire" immediately (figuratively speaking), but burning through things like metals and rock takes a while, you know? Think of like pouring boiling water in the middle of a block of ice- it's hot, but takes some time for the thing to make a hole, gets mo ba?
I also have to eat a lot to keep up this sort of thing- although it's mucus, it's still sort of technically part of me. Though I know hunger takes its toll on any person, it goes twice as bad for me- control becomes shaky at best and at worst I start sweating Deteriorate everywhere. It's not a pretty sight.
The cold also totally hampers my abilities, it freezes up my mucus without me wanting it to. And it's harder than the mucus' typical limit of a bouncy ball, it gets hard to move around and even simple things like bending forward starts to hurt a lot- like having rubber bands wrap tightly around you and pinch at skin... except everywhere.
One of the greatest things about having mucus abilities is that I can heal myself the best using Construct. One of the worst is that I can hurt myself the easiest with Deteriorate. It makes sense- it corrodes anything it touches, and I'm usually the closest thing it can touch. It sucks I'm not immune to my own ability, but Construct deflects Deteriorate most of the time, so I just gotta stay focused half the time.
About You
Family:
• Alyanna Garcia Torres, Mother, 37
• Victor "Beboy" Allan Torres, Father, estranged
• Maria Analynn "Lia" Torres, Sister, 20
• Anton Maria Fe Torres, Brother, estranged
• Lola Betty Ramas Garcia, Grandmother, estranged
• Victor "Beboy" Allan Torres, Father, estranged
• Maria Analynn "Lia" Torres, Sister, 20
• Anton Maria Fe Torres, Brother, estranged
• Lola Betty Ramas Garcia, Grandmother, estranged
Personal Statement:
I don't suppose you're asking for a backstory are you? There's not much to tell- not for me, anyways. My mother on the other hand was a teen mom to my dad back home in the Philippines. Like good Catholics, the two got married and decided to raise the kid. Thankfully, the two had been dating before the whole pregnancy thing, so at least they'd already gotten a preview of the Married Life. I was born three years after Lia, my sister, was. The two of us became one another's best friends for the brief five years before my brother was born- she taught me how to chase chicken and how not to give money to the squatters in the city and how to climb bookshelves. After Anton was born, the duo didn't become divided, rather, it stayed a duo. Just... with different persons.
The age difference between Lia and Anton was huge, and she found herself taking care of the baby more often than playing with me. I mean, I helped take care of him, too, but I also couldn't help but find it a bit unfair that not only was my mother distracted by the new addition, but it also detracted Lia from playing with me. With my two people I normally played with, who else was I supposed to turn to, my father?
And I would've, if he wasn't so hard to talk to. He was the Discipline in the family, the one with the belt and the one with the loud voice- it was hard talking to Authoritative Power like that, especially to a kid like me. Instead, I opted for playing with the kids in the neighborhood and getting into trouble. Looking back on it, I guess if I hadn't caused so much trouble I wouldn't have gotten punished as much as I did.
Three years later, my parents decided to go to America for a few months to try and land a house and job. We spent those months with the rest of the family in my father's house, dictated by Lola Betty, a woman with a sweet name and smelled of tobacco. She didn't smoke, but her husband did when he was nervous and boy was that man always nervous. Lola Betty knew how she liked the house run and the addition of three runts meant an additional amount of chores that could get done quicker and better. Nevermind that Anton was only three, we had to wax the floors with him in our arms or back.
Needless to say, I was glad to get out of that place and into America. I remember, it was February and I was eight, just about to finish fourth grade. When I arrived in New Jersey, it was snowing and cold. Like, really cold! Unbearably cold! Looking back on pictures always make me laugh because we had to layer in thick mountain gear for the simple suburbs.
My time in the American school system went pretty well- the lessons in Philippines were a bit more advanced, so I had better grasp of some things than other students did most times. I was terrible at math which was sucked because science was really cool and I couldn't grasp the maths behind it. If there was one thing I was good at though it was sports and literature- I liked reading and climbing the rope in gym.
The only trouble I had sometimes was fitting in- we moved from our apartment in South Jersey to a bit farther up in Pennsylvania where we hit the jackpot of white suburbia. I was in sixth grade, so thankfully everyone was also transitioning to the middle school, but not so thankfully I didn't know how to talk to white kids. It may sound silly to you reading this, but there's a big difference when it comes to talking or eating or studying with other ethnic kids compared to white kids.
I've got the social skills of a butterfly though, and managed to awkwardly force myself into some friendships here and there. They were shallow for the most part, either with girls who prepped for gym by wrapping their hands around their thighs and complaining about how wide they were getting, or with girls who were shaped similarly to me and smoked weed with boyfriends twice their age. In this safe balance, I never worried much about my weight (I mean, I worried a little, but like who doesn't) and also jacked up my troublemaking skills by hanging with high schoolers and sneaking out of the house.
My abilities showed up when I was in eighth grade, the same time I got my period. I'd gotten it that morning and was feeling sluggish, and got smacked in the face with a volleyball. It hit so hard that I remember there being an imprint on the bridge of my nose for a week, not to mention the nosebleed I got afterward. After washing my face off and heading out, I felt much better, and it wasn't until my bad habit of pushing my glasses up did I realize that I forgot to put them on. It was like one of those book or movie revelations- everything seemed to work in slow motion as I ran to the bathroom where I'd left them. I'd always admired green eyes, and like a miracle, I got them- they weren't like the natural ones some of the white girls in school had though. It was an unnatural hue, like they'd glow in the dark- they did eventually, in pitch blackness.
Afterwards, the abilities continued rising. I broke a bone falling from a tree, but on our trip to the hospital it finished healing. It didn't worry my mom- less hospital bills, she used to say- it didn't worry her until I started... burning things. At first, it was the pillows or the bed, which I easily covered by using towels and the excuse that I was afraid of leaking on my period. She noticed though, after she caught me in a lie- I was just grabbing the car door and burned it off. Though my mom told him not to, my father called Lola Betty regarding the matter- she, a hardcore Catholic, immediately told him to leave me and my cursed body. He took Anton with him, only ten years old, afraid that I would infect him. My mom ended up taking me out of school, and I was homeschooled by my sister who changed her major from Pharmaceuticals to Science Education, just so she could know how to teach me easier.
Homeschooling was fun, I learned a lot more with the frequent field trips, both with my abilities and science (we skimped on maths because I was obviously reluctant on taking it). Lia was a big supporter on letting me explore my powers, and I was happy to have someone to share it with- even when I burned off her arm did she talked me through healing her. I was sixteen, she was nineteen, and it was the first time my big Protective Bubble appeared. The healing was terrible and shaky, and she said trying to use it was like "Having jello for a hand", but as she practiced with it, got a better handle. You can still tell I did some damage though, her tan skin sprinkled with different sized spots of pitch black.
Even though she acts okay, to me the sight of her arm reminds me of how... easily out of control it can get. And how I'm really shitty at healing. I'm a creative kid- I like reading, the arts, climbing trees and flying kites, and I always try to get creative with my powers. But it's hard when it's just me, you know? I have to cover myself with healing mucus before going to bed, which is actually just a mattress now because my mom said that it was cheaper to buy just that than a whole new bed every time I burn through one. I can't watch movies that excite me too much or else I'll get covered in a big protective ball of mucus, and frankly, I've gotten tired of climbing the same old trees. I'm ready for a real school, with teachers who sort of understand what I'm going through and not just a sister and mother who Care Very Much. It almost seems like fate that I got a letter from this school, and I hope my application is suitable enough for PITY to take me in.
The age difference between Lia and Anton was huge, and she found herself taking care of the baby more often than playing with me. I mean, I helped take care of him, too, but I also couldn't help but find it a bit unfair that not only was my mother distracted by the new addition, but it also detracted Lia from playing with me. With my two people I normally played with, who else was I supposed to turn to, my father?
And I would've, if he wasn't so hard to talk to. He was the Discipline in the family, the one with the belt and the one with the loud voice- it was hard talking to Authoritative Power like that, especially to a kid like me. Instead, I opted for playing with the kids in the neighborhood and getting into trouble. Looking back on it, I guess if I hadn't caused so much trouble I wouldn't have gotten punished as much as I did.
Three years later, my parents decided to go to America for a few months to try and land a house and job. We spent those months with the rest of the family in my father's house, dictated by Lola Betty, a woman with a sweet name and smelled of tobacco. She didn't smoke, but her husband did when he was nervous and boy was that man always nervous. Lola Betty knew how she liked the house run and the addition of three runts meant an additional amount of chores that could get done quicker and better. Nevermind that Anton was only three, we had to wax the floors with him in our arms or back.
Needless to say, I was glad to get out of that place and into America. I remember, it was February and I was eight, just about to finish fourth grade. When I arrived in New Jersey, it was snowing and cold. Like, really cold! Unbearably cold! Looking back on pictures always make me laugh because we had to layer in thick mountain gear for the simple suburbs.
My time in the American school system went pretty well- the lessons in Philippines were a bit more advanced, so I had better grasp of some things than other students did most times. I was terrible at math which was sucked because science was really cool and I couldn't grasp the maths behind it. If there was one thing I was good at though it was sports and literature- I liked reading and climbing the rope in gym.
The only trouble I had sometimes was fitting in- we moved from our apartment in South Jersey to a bit farther up in Pennsylvania where we hit the jackpot of white suburbia. I was in sixth grade, so thankfully everyone was also transitioning to the middle school, but not so thankfully I didn't know how to talk to white kids. It may sound silly to you reading this, but there's a big difference when it comes to talking or eating or studying with other ethnic kids compared to white kids.
I've got the social skills of a butterfly though, and managed to awkwardly force myself into some friendships here and there. They were shallow for the most part, either with girls who prepped for gym by wrapping their hands around their thighs and complaining about how wide they were getting, or with girls who were shaped similarly to me and smoked weed with boyfriends twice their age. In this safe balance, I never worried much about my weight (I mean, I worried a little, but like who doesn't) and also jacked up my troublemaking skills by hanging with high schoolers and sneaking out of the house.
My abilities showed up when I was in eighth grade, the same time I got my period. I'd gotten it that morning and was feeling sluggish, and got smacked in the face with a volleyball. It hit so hard that I remember there being an imprint on the bridge of my nose for a week, not to mention the nosebleed I got afterward. After washing my face off and heading out, I felt much better, and it wasn't until my bad habit of pushing my glasses up did I realize that I forgot to put them on. It was like one of those book or movie revelations- everything seemed to work in slow motion as I ran to the bathroom where I'd left them. I'd always admired green eyes, and like a miracle, I got them- they weren't like the natural ones some of the white girls in school had though. It was an unnatural hue, like they'd glow in the dark- they did eventually, in pitch blackness.
Afterwards, the abilities continued rising. I broke a bone falling from a tree, but on our trip to the hospital it finished healing. It didn't worry my mom- less hospital bills, she used to say- it didn't worry her until I started... burning things. At first, it was the pillows or the bed, which I easily covered by using towels and the excuse that I was afraid of leaking on my period. She noticed though, after she caught me in a lie- I was just grabbing the car door and burned it off. Though my mom told him not to, my father called Lola Betty regarding the matter- she, a hardcore Catholic, immediately told him to leave me and my cursed body. He took Anton with him, only ten years old, afraid that I would infect him. My mom ended up taking me out of school, and I was homeschooled by my sister who changed her major from Pharmaceuticals to Science Education, just so she could know how to teach me easier.
Homeschooling was fun, I learned a lot more with the frequent field trips, both with my abilities and science (we skimped on maths because I was obviously reluctant on taking it). Lia was a big supporter on letting me explore my powers, and I was happy to have someone to share it with- even when I burned off her arm did she talked me through healing her. I was sixteen, she was nineteen, and it was the first time my big Protective Bubble appeared. The healing was terrible and shaky, and she said trying to use it was like "Having jello for a hand", but as she practiced with it, got a better handle. You can still tell I did some damage though, her tan skin sprinkled with different sized spots of pitch black.
Even though she acts okay, to me the sight of her arm reminds me of how... easily out of control it can get. And how I'm really shitty at healing. I'm a creative kid- I like reading, the arts, climbing trees and flying kites, and I always try to get creative with my powers. But it's hard when it's just me, you know? I have to cover myself with healing mucus before going to bed, which is actually just a mattress now because my mom said that it was cheaper to buy just that than a whole new bed every time I burn through one. I can't watch movies that excite me too much or else I'll get covered in a big protective ball of mucus, and frankly, I've gotten tired of climbing the same old trees. I'm ready for a real school, with teachers who sort of understand what I'm going through and not just a sister and mother who Care Very Much. It almost seems like fate that I got a letter from this school, and I hope my application is suitable enough for PITY to take me in.
Shit. Shit, shit, sh- "Shit!"
"Watch your language," chided a lighter skinned Asian, with deep black straight hair. In comparison, Jinkee's light brown curls looked like a mess- a sweaty, frizzy mess. But hair was of no importance, not now. Not when there were far more important things to be worrying about.
The younger of the two clenched her fist and fought the shock in her legs, finally running towards her sister. It was so slow, so unbearably slow, and she wished she could run faster- Lia was holding back tears. "Ate, Ate Lia," whimpered Jinkee as she knelt over her sister, shaking. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure. What should she do? What was she supposed- Fuck, why did this, Shit, Shit, Shit-
"Yanna."
Hearing her given name focused Jinkee, and though her sister's voice was shaking and small, it was still firm. That gave Jinkee a bit of hope- at least one of them here had their head on straight. "Yanna, listen to me," started Lia who interjected her sentence with a wince. Instinctively, Jinkee reached for her arm, only to reach air, and panic set in her body.
"You can heal this, Yanna."
She couldn't.
"Take a deep breath, come on. Over my arm."
Hands shaking, Jinkee reached over her sister's missing limb, trying to call up her power. It wasn't working. It wasn't working, why did she think it would work fuck-
"Ate we need, a hospital- quick-"
But before she could pull away to reach for her phone, Lia's working hand grabbed at her wrist. Tight.
"Yanna. You can do this. You can fix me."
Whispering, Lia added, "Just take deep breaths. Like we practiced." Jinkee could barely hear her over the buzzing in her hair, tears stinging at her eyes. Her hands held Lia's arm, and she shook with how much force she was trying to force out. And when that didn't work, she did what she hadn't done in a while-
Dear Lord if You're out there somewhere fix this fix her I promise I'll never practice this around her ever again please save her You can do anything right You work miracles aren't I a miracle help me Lord do something anything do something do something fix this fix it dear Lord I will pray every night I will use the rosary every night I will go to church every Sunday Lord I know You're out there please, please-
And when she felt a tugging, her eyes opened and found herself in a green world- looking out was like looking through green glass. Her hair floated around her, the coolness of the mucus acting with fluidity, like water. Looking down, Jinkee noticed what had been tugging at her- Lia, with her arm almost fully healed.
The shock and joy was so surprising that the bubble popped and disappeared, leaving the two of them in the grass, covered in green mucus. Looking at her sister's arm, Jinkee felt a pang of guilt stab at her stomach, the dark spots covering it a mark of her failure. She reached for Lia's arm once more, ready to bargain with God and try a second time, only for Lia to reach out for her first.
"That was awesome!" she cheered, resting her darkened hand on Jinkee's shoulder- "I've never seen that one before, that was really cool!" Jinkee couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Her sister, who practically'd almost lost an arm was there patting her wet curls and complimenting her. Meanwhile she, who hadn't done much but have a panic attack, was still having one despite the problem having mostly passed.
Feeling herself being pulled, Jinkee let herself fall against Lia's shoulder, taking a deep breath. Under all the smell of singed skin and hair, Jinkee could still smell the shampoo she used earlier that morning. Lia's hand rose to pet down at her mucus covered hair, and it was only then did the two share tears. Jinkee didn't know where the mucus end and the tears begun as they fell on her cheek, but she didn't care.
"You did good, Yanna. You did amazing."
(hehe storm)
"Watch your language," chided a lighter skinned Asian, with deep black straight hair. In comparison, Jinkee's light brown curls looked like a mess- a sweaty, frizzy mess. But hair was of no importance, not now. Not when there were far more important things to be worrying about.
The younger of the two clenched her fist and fought the shock in her legs, finally running towards her sister. It was so slow, so unbearably slow, and she wished she could run faster- Lia was holding back tears. "Ate, Ate Lia," whimpered Jinkee as she knelt over her sister, shaking. Her hands hovered in the air, unsure. What should she do? What was she supposed- Fuck, why did this, Shit, Shit, Shit-
"Yanna."
Hearing her given name focused Jinkee, and though her sister's voice was shaking and small, it was still firm. That gave Jinkee a bit of hope- at least one of them here had their head on straight. "Yanna, listen to me," started Lia who interjected her sentence with a wince. Instinctively, Jinkee reached for her arm, only to reach air, and panic set in her body.
"You can heal this, Yanna."
She couldn't.
"Take a deep breath, come on. Over my arm."
Hands shaking, Jinkee reached over her sister's missing limb, trying to call up her power. It wasn't working. It wasn't working, why did she think it would work fuck-
"Ate we need, a hospital- quick-"
But before she could pull away to reach for her phone, Lia's working hand grabbed at her wrist. Tight.
"Yanna. You can do this. You can fix me."
Whispering, Lia added, "Just take deep breaths. Like we practiced." Jinkee could barely hear her over the buzzing in her hair, tears stinging at her eyes. Her hands held Lia's arm, and she shook with how much force she was trying to force out. And when that didn't work, she did what she hadn't done in a while-
Dear Lord if You're out there somewhere fix this fix her I promise I'll never practice this around her ever again please save her You can do anything right You work miracles aren't I a miracle help me Lord do something anything do something do something fix this fix it dear Lord I will pray every night I will use the rosary every night I will go to church every Sunday Lord I know You're out there please, please-
And when she felt a tugging, her eyes opened and found herself in a green world- looking out was like looking through green glass. Her hair floated around her, the coolness of the mucus acting with fluidity, like water. Looking down, Jinkee noticed what had been tugging at her- Lia, with her arm almost fully healed.
The shock and joy was so surprising that the bubble popped and disappeared, leaving the two of them in the grass, covered in green mucus. Looking at her sister's arm, Jinkee felt a pang of guilt stab at her stomach, the dark spots covering it a mark of her failure. She reached for Lia's arm once more, ready to bargain with God and try a second time, only for Lia to reach out for her first.
"That was awesome!" she cheered, resting her darkened hand on Jinkee's shoulder- "I've never seen that one before, that was really cool!" Jinkee couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. Her sister, who practically'd almost lost an arm was there patting her wet curls and complimenting her. Meanwhile she, who hadn't done much but have a panic attack, was still having one despite the problem having mostly passed.
Feeling herself being pulled, Jinkee let herself fall against Lia's shoulder, taking a deep breath. Under all the smell of singed skin and hair, Jinkee could still smell the shampoo she used earlier that morning. Lia's hand rose to pet down at her mucus covered hair, and it was only then did the two share tears. Jinkee didn't know where the mucus end and the tears begun as they fell on her cheek, but she didn't care.
"You did good, Yanna. You did amazing."
(hehe storm)
OP
LetterA Sukeban Swag
Member
Seen
5 mos ago
For: Kite, The Realm Within One's Heart
Name:
Argo "Coco" Dolus
Age:
Twenty-seven
Sex:
Male
Appearance:
If anything, Coco doesn't look his age. Shorter than the average person, he stands at an inch under five feet even, matching with an airy eighty three pounds. He's got a full head of soft black hair and large dark eyes that only serve to make him seem younger. His skin is soft and naturally tanned, littered here and there only with a rainbow of bruises, and despite the softness of his cheeks, Coco's hands are rough and calloused. He is thin- unhealthily so- but is also rather athletic in the flexible sense. He has a fluidity about his movements that make him seem as though he's dancing. Prior to arriving in Kite, he was blind in one eye- the right- and although it was healed, the scar cutting through his bottom lashline is still visible. Coco's obsession with the number three derives from the number of moles on his body- three on his face (two over his glabella, and one right over the left side of his lip), six on the back of his right thigh in the shape of the Lyra constellation), and nine littering each arm (two on his left shoulder and two on his left forearm, then three forming a line over his right middle knuckle, and two more over his elbow).
Personality:
For the most part, Coco is rather agreeable, in the sense you tell him what to do and he'll nod his head and do it. There's a limit to his deference, however, and in order for him to stay loyal, he has to be reminded of the other side's power. Like a cheating snake waiting for his time, Coco will strike and rebel if the one bossing him around shows signs of weakness, or hesitation. Coco prefers the company of others, as he doesn't trust himself alone. He is very good at using his face and voice to express emotions, and can often be found mirroring other people's body language. He laughs easily, and has pitched up his voice for so long, it's a surprise whenever he speaks in his low tone. Overall, Coco can act much like any other child, but underneath, his own age and experiences aren't forgotten.
Background:
Powers:
Upon arrival at Kite, Coco has realized something strange about his body. Yes, he is still small and flexible, and yes he feels a bit lighter despite at the same time still being hungry, but there was something else. His eye, for one, was healed and though the upgrade was jarring at first, he found it worked much like his left. What did work differently was his body. He'd never felt freezing cold before except for when eating ice cream, but sometimes his body would become chilled. Other times his body would flare up with heat- unbearable, fiery heat like the hot summers of his homeland. He can transfer these temperatures onto other things, and can either be cold enough to freeze something he touches, or light it on fire. Either one is an uncomfortable feeling though- like having rubber bands tightly wound around your body.
Personal Motive:
Some peace would be nice, he thinks. He wants some time where he doesn't have to worry much about eating or money, and just sit for a while. Coco doesn't know if he wants to go home or stay in Kite, but he does know he just wants some down time.
Mementos:
Coco carries around with him a small white Bic lighter that he can't light unless with his left hand. There's a blue smudge of ink on its side, and he's not sure if it was once writing or just a smudge. He's also got a chain necklace with a cross charm on it that he likes touching- it's one of the nicer things he found in the trash. Probably isn't real gold, but who cares, it feels right around his neck.
Name:
Argo "Coco" Dolus
Age:
Twenty-seven
Sex:
Male
Appearance:
If anything, Coco doesn't look his age. Shorter than the average person, he stands at an inch under five feet even, matching with an airy eighty three pounds. He's got a full head of soft black hair and large dark eyes that only serve to make him seem younger. His skin is soft and naturally tanned, littered here and there only with a rainbow of bruises, and despite the softness of his cheeks, Coco's hands are rough and calloused. He is thin- unhealthily so- but is also rather athletic in the flexible sense. He has a fluidity about his movements that make him seem as though he's dancing. Prior to arriving in Kite, he was blind in one eye- the right- and although it was healed, the scar cutting through his bottom lashline is still visible. Coco's obsession with the number three derives from the number of moles on his body- three on his face (two over his glabella, and one right over the left side of his lip), six on the back of his right thigh in the shape of the Lyra constellation), and nine littering each arm (two on his left shoulder and two on his left forearm, then three forming a line over his right middle knuckle, and two more over his elbow).
Personality:
For the most part, Coco is rather agreeable, in the sense you tell him what to do and he'll nod his head and do it. There's a limit to his deference, however, and in order for him to stay loyal, he has to be reminded of the other side's power. Like a cheating snake waiting for his time, Coco will strike and rebel if the one bossing him around shows signs of weakness, or hesitation. Coco prefers the company of others, as he doesn't trust himself alone. He is very good at using his face and voice to express emotions, and can often be found mirroring other people's body language. He laughs easily, and has pitched up his voice for so long, it's a surprise whenever he speaks in his low tone. Overall, Coco can act much like any other child, but underneath, his own age and experiences aren't forgotten.
Background:
Coco was born in the ghettos of Philippines, the third of five children. He lost his youngest brother to the ocean after a fishing trip when he was six, and his eldest brother was sent to live with their aunt in the city so he could go to school. Every summer the eldest visited and gave the three brothers lessons. For the most part the family made their money the same way the others in the neighborhood did, by gathering trash and trying to sell them off. Sometimes their mother would make something edible that they could sell, and if they were lucky and the food became too spoiled for sale, the brothers could split it between themselves to eat.
When Coco was nine, he met his first American. He was tall- taller than his father who he once thought to be the tallest man in the world- and had a pink head with glittering gold hair. He teased with his two brothers that the man was like a very large baby. A very large and hairy baby. Needless to say, the American piqued the interest of the neighborhood kids, they followed him around with curiosity. The man, as it turns out, was a photographer for some magazine. He took a shining to Coco's older brother and spent a lot of time with him- and despite Coco's expressed interest in learning photography as well, he was never included in their time together.
And perhaps he didn't want to know. When he was eleven and the man came once more for his yearly visit, Coco saw something strange and foreign from the window of the man's run down apartment. He wasn't sure if his older brother had been doing this every time or it was just that one time and he'd just happen to see it, but Coco was sure that it was disgusting. Shooed away by the landlord, the young boy scampered off.
A year later he confronted the man. He spoke softly. His voice was deep and convinced Coco he made a mistake, he wasn't a bad guy. But when the man tried to urge him into his room to have a talk, something rattled in Coco's bones. It didn't feel right. He was still small then- smaller than he is now- but he was energetic. In his tugging and pulling an fighting and wailing, Coco was in an adrenaline rush. He didn't even realize he blacked out till he woke up in his bedroom with searing pain in his right eye. Apparently in the struggle he'd gotten hit with a bottle, shards cutting into his eye.
His mother thought he lashed out and often apologized to the man when he came by. She was happy that he was still willing to give Coco's older brother lessons despite Coco's "outburst", and expressed it by sharing with him food that they barely had. Coco became more reliant with his younger brother, who helped rehabilitate his new half sight and played games with him. They often went around trying to sell rubbish in the city, spending whatever meager coins they earned on hot foods that they split between themselves.
When the eldest came home that summer, he noticed the divide- Coco and his younger brother always together, the older of the two seen more with other kids their age. He tried to make peace between them, befriending Coco and his older brother. This happened over a span of a few years, and when it seemed as though Coco's reliance shifted towards the eldest, the younger brother started to worry. See, in the family, there was a line of command- naturally from mother to father down to the brothers. Because of Coco's situation however, rather than oldest to youngest, the commands went from eldest, second eldest, younger brother, then Coco. Not usually having been this way, the younger brother obviously enjoyed being able to push on his chores to someone else for a change. So when Coco started being reliant on the eldest, the younger brother became intimidated. He caused a situation where he reminded Coco that he was the one Coco needed. That the eldest was weak and unreliable.
Despite his efforts, Coco was taken away at the age of eighteen by a man from the city. At this point, it was evident that Coco had long stopped growing and had started forming his way of life- rely and cheat. The city man found his childish appearance and all-knowing eye to be mysterious, paying off his parents in exchange for Coco. He never heard from his family again, much less saw them spare in the crowds of the city where the faces melted into familiar ones.
It was his first time in the city, and it was no different from the ghettos spare the tall buildings and the many automobiles. There was still trash everywhere and peddlers everywhere and children as small and hungry as he was. Coco lived his life in the city as the city man's money maker- he was dressed in fancy clothes and thick paint and made to dance or sing (though he only knew the small rhyming songs for street games so that act was cut). Foreigners visited and though Coco had long been disillusioned by blonde hair and pink skin, it would've been a lie to say he didn't enjoy being petted and called lovely. It was here that the chopped up English he had learned was smoothed out and cleaned. He learned bits and pieces of other languages too (he likes to say danke, though he doesn't know what languages it is), but his English really smoothed out. He even faked accents now and again, though they were bad and his Filipino ring still came through. Somehow the whole thing was called off after two years into it, and Coco found himself wrapped up in a blanket and being carried away by the city man. Apparently the money that'd been put in was supposed to be for his eye surgery which even he didn't know about, and someone had reported him for child trafficking (which was strange to Coco who didn't know what the word meant and also didn't know there were other children involved).
The two found themselves in the streets and quickly lost the money they'd earned with the city man's panicked spending and though Coco danced, the people simple walked by- there was nothing interesting to watch there. Just another hungry child desperately making money. Coco pushed the city man to rob several convenience stores and even suggested to do it himself, but the strong money maker of a man had fallen into paranoia. He couldn't decide between "Yes rob them, give me their money" or "No, we'll get caught don't do it." So Coco got angry and broke the man's legs with a pipe in his sleep before running off on his own.
It became a sort of back and forth of him being handed from one tricky mind to another, Coco learning the way they spoke or thought so that he could become a fitting right hand. Any time they showed a bit of hesitation or weakness- be it in physicality or mentality- Coco would leave.
Once, he found himself alone without him meaning to- a robbery had gone botched and the police saved him, the "hostage", from his source. Coco cried and followed after the police officer who tried to lead him to his parents, and managed to escape. He was twenty four and lost, not having planned this escape. An array of bad luck hit him like a storm. His natural mysterious charm failed to attract any one willing to take him in- a child began to be seen as a burden and no one dared think Coco was anything more. He made his living by picking the pockets of dead people in the gutters, selling rubbish for a coin. It seemed he hit the jackpot, however, when he found a body with a box of unopened cigarettes and a lighter. Each cig was a coin more than usual, and to celebrate, he kept the lighter with him. It seemed to bring him luck, as immediately after he sold his last cigarette, a woman offered him half her sandwich. She then took him under his wing and Coco's familiar rotation started up once more.
When Coco was nine, he met his first American. He was tall- taller than his father who he once thought to be the tallest man in the world- and had a pink head with glittering gold hair. He teased with his two brothers that the man was like a very large baby. A very large and hairy baby. Needless to say, the American piqued the interest of the neighborhood kids, they followed him around with curiosity. The man, as it turns out, was a photographer for some magazine. He took a shining to Coco's older brother and spent a lot of time with him- and despite Coco's expressed interest in learning photography as well, he was never included in their time together.
And perhaps he didn't want to know. When he was eleven and the man came once more for his yearly visit, Coco saw something strange and foreign from the window of the man's run down apartment. He wasn't sure if his older brother had been doing this every time or it was just that one time and he'd just happen to see it, but Coco was sure that it was disgusting. Shooed away by the landlord, the young boy scampered off.
A year later he confronted the man. He spoke softly. His voice was deep and convinced Coco he made a mistake, he wasn't a bad guy. But when the man tried to urge him into his room to have a talk, something rattled in Coco's bones. It didn't feel right. He was still small then- smaller than he is now- but he was energetic. In his tugging and pulling an fighting and wailing, Coco was in an adrenaline rush. He didn't even realize he blacked out till he woke up in his bedroom with searing pain in his right eye. Apparently in the struggle he'd gotten hit with a bottle, shards cutting into his eye.
His mother thought he lashed out and often apologized to the man when he came by. She was happy that he was still willing to give Coco's older brother lessons despite Coco's "outburst", and expressed it by sharing with him food that they barely had. Coco became more reliant with his younger brother, who helped rehabilitate his new half sight and played games with him. They often went around trying to sell rubbish in the city, spending whatever meager coins they earned on hot foods that they split between themselves.
When the eldest came home that summer, he noticed the divide- Coco and his younger brother always together, the older of the two seen more with other kids their age. He tried to make peace between them, befriending Coco and his older brother. This happened over a span of a few years, and when it seemed as though Coco's reliance shifted towards the eldest, the younger brother started to worry. See, in the family, there was a line of command- naturally from mother to father down to the brothers. Because of Coco's situation however, rather than oldest to youngest, the commands went from eldest, second eldest, younger brother, then Coco. Not usually having been this way, the younger brother obviously enjoyed being able to push on his chores to someone else for a change. So when Coco started being reliant on the eldest, the younger brother became intimidated. He caused a situation where he reminded Coco that he was the one Coco needed. That the eldest was weak and unreliable.
Despite his efforts, Coco was taken away at the age of eighteen by a man from the city. At this point, it was evident that Coco had long stopped growing and had started forming his way of life- rely and cheat. The city man found his childish appearance and all-knowing eye to be mysterious, paying off his parents in exchange for Coco. He never heard from his family again, much less saw them spare in the crowds of the city where the faces melted into familiar ones.
It was his first time in the city, and it was no different from the ghettos spare the tall buildings and the many automobiles. There was still trash everywhere and peddlers everywhere and children as small and hungry as he was. Coco lived his life in the city as the city man's money maker- he was dressed in fancy clothes and thick paint and made to dance or sing (though he only knew the small rhyming songs for street games so that act was cut). Foreigners visited and though Coco had long been disillusioned by blonde hair and pink skin, it would've been a lie to say he didn't enjoy being petted and called lovely. It was here that the chopped up English he had learned was smoothed out and cleaned. He learned bits and pieces of other languages too (he likes to say danke, though he doesn't know what languages it is), but his English really smoothed out. He even faked accents now and again, though they were bad and his Filipino ring still came through. Somehow the whole thing was called off after two years into it, and Coco found himself wrapped up in a blanket and being carried away by the city man. Apparently the money that'd been put in was supposed to be for his eye surgery which even he didn't know about, and someone had reported him for child trafficking (which was strange to Coco who didn't know what the word meant and also didn't know there were other children involved).
The two found themselves in the streets and quickly lost the money they'd earned with the city man's panicked spending and though Coco danced, the people simple walked by- there was nothing interesting to watch there. Just another hungry child desperately making money. Coco pushed the city man to rob several convenience stores and even suggested to do it himself, but the strong money maker of a man had fallen into paranoia. He couldn't decide between "Yes rob them, give me their money" or "No, we'll get caught don't do it." So Coco got angry and broke the man's legs with a pipe in his sleep before running off on his own.
It became a sort of back and forth of him being handed from one tricky mind to another, Coco learning the way they spoke or thought so that he could become a fitting right hand. Any time they showed a bit of hesitation or weakness- be it in physicality or mentality- Coco would leave.
Once, he found himself alone without him meaning to- a robbery had gone botched and the police saved him, the "hostage", from his source. Coco cried and followed after the police officer who tried to lead him to his parents, and managed to escape. He was twenty four and lost, not having planned this escape. An array of bad luck hit him like a storm. His natural mysterious charm failed to attract any one willing to take him in- a child began to be seen as a burden and no one dared think Coco was anything more. He made his living by picking the pockets of dead people in the gutters, selling rubbish for a coin. It seemed he hit the jackpot, however, when he found a body with a box of unopened cigarettes and a lighter. Each cig was a coin more than usual, and to celebrate, he kept the lighter with him. It seemed to bring him luck, as immediately after he sold his last cigarette, a woman offered him half her sandwich. She then took him under his wing and Coco's familiar rotation started up once more.
Powers:
Upon arrival at Kite, Coco has realized something strange about his body. Yes, he is still small and flexible, and yes he feels a bit lighter despite at the same time still being hungry, but there was something else. His eye, for one, was healed and though the upgrade was jarring at first, he found it worked much like his left. What did work differently was his body. He'd never felt freezing cold before except for when eating ice cream, but sometimes his body would become chilled. Other times his body would flare up with heat- unbearable, fiery heat like the hot summers of his homeland. He can transfer these temperatures onto other things, and can either be cold enough to freeze something he touches, or light it on fire. Either one is an uncomfortable feeling though- like having rubber bands tightly wound around your body.
Personal Motive:
Some peace would be nice, he thinks. He wants some time where he doesn't have to worry much about eating or money, and just sit for a while. Coco doesn't know if he wants to go home or stay in Kite, but he does know he just wants some down time.
Mementos:
Coco carries around with him a small white Bic lighter that he can't light unless with his left hand. There's a blue smudge of ink on its side, and he's not sure if it was once writing or just a smudge. He's also got a chain necklace with a cross charm on it that he likes touching- it's one of the nicer things he found in the trash. Probably isn't real gold, but who cares, it feels right around his neck.
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