As the class departed one by one, Kazuki yanked the pole out of the ground before mumbling something inappropriate under her breath.
The nerve of the old man.
While she wasn’t so much annoyed at being called a sarcastic ghost, she simply didn’t like having task forced upon her. Had it not been out of courtesy for her classmates, the pale deviant would have carried the rod so far up the man’s rear end it would end up piercing that silver tongue of his. The thought entertained her for a mere second before her eyes widened in disgust.
What cruel, heartless soul would do such a thing to a poor old man?
A playful smile danced across her face as she trailed after the group.
Senseless violence was a thing of the past.
--
When they had arrived at the classroom, Kazuki had been the second to last to enter the room. Standing by the doorway it seemed as if she was examining the beautiful exotic classroom around her, when in truth she was simply listening intently to the fit of coughing outside.
She didn’t derive any sickly pleasure from listening to the girl hack up a lung, but it did soothe her curiosity towards the individual quite well. Of course, as a given, all observations and opinions were kept strictly to herself and perhaps shared with whatever stray animal wandered near her house at night.
As to those prying individuals, she had a way of making people stay away.
Remembering the bastard’s request, she walked silently to the closet before opening its doors. To her surprise, inside the storage space rested a healthy teen male. She raised a brow in fascination before she tossed the flag mindlessly inside and shut the door. She was glad it had been her to find the boy in there, as any other individual would have succumbed to the temptation of various tasteless puns and jokes.
It also saved her from a possible heart attack when he burst out of the closet and introduced himself as Shourei Yang, an anal lover. She held her breath as her palm greeted her forehead in obvious frustration. This idiot was making it too easy. How did he survive all this time?
Not to mention he had cut off the bottle blonde with her bodacious swimsuit bod.
Apparently her name wasn’t Miss Wonderbra, but instead Ami Yukimura. Extremely mannered compared to the imbecile that went before her, but as if the bleach had soaked into her brain, her naïve and almost non-sensible definition of love had marked Shourei as somewhat intelligent.
She was barely able to contain her sigh of despair as she grouped herself with the anal-freak.
There had been such hope…
The runt that went next was surprisingly cute. His careless slip of tongue toyed with her curiosity the same way a stray dog with a limp did. She wouldn’t dig too much, after all, she herself knew some things are better left in the closet of the past. Like Shourei.
The runt named Shadouu Iruda, also gave a generic runt definition of love. The little runt had been promoted to slightly cordial runt.
She was almost tempted to throw him some scraps of food. She had a soft spot for the less fortunate.
Then there was there late and mysterious silent type, who seemed polite and formal enough to bask in shame for his tardiness. Sparing him the burden of another set of prying eyes, Kazuki stared at the sickly girl who introduced herself as Kenko Ikioi.
Her ideology for love was practical. So practical in fact, it seemed to offset her bubbly tone, but that was likely to just have been the cough. All in all, a blooming young flora.
Then came Ren Akimoto.
She shifted in her seat. To be honest, she housed no ill-will towards him, save for his disgusting scent. Wealth had a way of corroding people in ways invisible to them. Under the wealthy, everything was perverted. The mind, the soul, the body, but most of all the will.
All stripped away slowly dollar by dollar, cent by cent.
To be fair, it was a naïve and dangerous interpretation of wealth, especially in modern society, but it was something she adopted with a patient fervor. Everyone had something they hated in life, and well, she hated money.
It was for this reason she hated the Akimoto in general. While she had no reason to hate Ren as a person, she knew it would only be a matter of time.
Not to mention the boy before her seemed surprisingly haughty, even in his modesty.
Then there was the foreigner, Indigo Q’loer.
Like Ami, he was vested towards Creative Writing. He also shared a relatively naïve notion of love, although it was relatively more cohesive in derivation than the bottle blonde’s. All in all it was a fair interpretation as long as he accepted there was nothing such a true love.
Hell, even Ami’s definition could be justified if she knew deep down there was nothing known as true love.
The room was quiet for a few minutes as the girl stared mindlessly out the window, trying to figure out what she thought love was.
It was always so easy to judge others…
Plastering on a small smile, she silently stood from her seat.
“Oshita Kazuki, 20 years old, pursuing a major in Sports Administration and a minor in Philosophy,” folding her legs under the desk, she leaned forward before examining the desk.
“Love is something to be created, not found. It is similar to perfection, something that everyone pursues but rarely able to obtain,”
As she looked up, her eyes revealed that she was somewhat uncomfortable with speaking to a group.
Her slightly upturned eyes, softened her somewhat usually harsh presence.
“...and thus deception is born.”
The deception of self and the deception of others.
In the end, it is simply throwing in the towel and accepting to work with what you have.
“At least, that’s what I think.”
Bikko Member
- Last Seen: 6 mos ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 73 (0.02 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Bikko 10 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
9 yrs ago
I come back for nostalgia, stay for memories, and leave before I screw over someones story.
2
likes
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Yuuji neglecting GMing and all...
We've moved to Skype for chatting purposes, feel free to PM anyone in the group and ask them to add you.
We've moved to Skype for chatting purposes, feel free to PM anyone in the group and ask them to add you.
In
Magitech Girls! A mecha musume/magical girl and monster fighting RP!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
VitaVitaAR said
Ayaka sees your acts of theft! And reacts with general irritation at everything.
Wow, encouraging crime.
Good girls gone bad.
In
Magitech Girls! A mecha musume/magical girl and monster fighting RP!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Where is Rina getting her candy from? Because Junko wants to steal that too along with the desserts Ikuu brought.
Crafty little ten year olds and their greedy grabbing hands.
Crafty little ten year olds and their greedy grabbing hands.
In
Magitech Girls! A mecha musume/magical girl and monster fighting RP!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Everyone was so old…
Hidden underneath a large table, back pressed against the wall, Junko was counting the intimidating big people that worked their way into the room.
At first she had just wanted to sit there until somebody arrived for her to talk to. Her mother had brought her here and told her to wait patiently before giving her a firm kiss on the forehead and both cheeks. Then, just as quickly as the woman had come to drag her out of school, she disappeared. It was all very frightening.
Through her boredom and terror, she worked her way into an imaginary fortress under the table.
The first girl that had entered the room with her attractive purple hair was fuming silently about being dragged here. If there was any reason for her to not leave the shadows of the table, the girl that unconsciously stared daggers in her direction would definitely be it. She reminded Junko of her mother when she didn’t get enough sleep. Terrifying and cranky.
Fearing being scolded for no apparent reason, she sat silently and watched the girl from a distance.
Silence seized the room as all could be heard was the periodic mumblings or shifting positions of the purple-haired girl. Then a soft knock came from the door. Scurrying back closer to the wall then she had initially been, she waited until the figure stood still and started talking to the purple onee-san before peeping out.
The standing girl seemed to be attempting to communicate with fearsome onee-san. The respect Junko had for the stranger rose significantly. What a brave soul! Not even Papa dared engage Mama when she was silently sulking about work. She held her breath, hoping that purple-nee-san wouldn’t start yelling as a result. The thought was enough to send Junko’s heart into a nervous frenzy.
It was for that very reason when the door suddenly opened to give way to a blonde-nee-san, Junko jumped, bumping her head against the table. Rubbing the bump scornfully all the while fighting hard to push back tears and stop the trembling of her lower lip, the girl looked out to see if anyone had noticed her.
Luckily, it seemed she was still in the clear.
The crowd of possibly angst-filled teenagers was too much for her innocent ten year old self to handle. The unconscious fear of pimples and other facial blemishes held her back as she continued to watch trio silently.
Yet the poor girl did not know the horrors in store…
She felt a heavy atmosphere coming from the door before suddenly, more and more people streamed in. Even the youngest among the group that had arrived was likely just a few years older than her! Left trembling as the once silent room now bustled with anticipation, annoyance, and teenage angst, Junko brought her knees to her face.
She knew nothing of what they talked about. Not to mention there were three foreigners…
There was no way she could possibly peek out now that everyone had settled down.
So she simply waited under the table that housed the tasty desserts brought by a kind man. What she was waiting for exactly, she didn’t know. She also had no idea how the box of desserts had gotten itself onto her lap.
What she did know, however, was that the desserts were well made, better than anything her mother had ever bought her.
Sitting there in the shadows, the carefree ten year old started to stuff her face with both hands.
Hidden underneath a large table, back pressed against the wall, Junko was counting the intimidating big people that worked their way into the room.
At first she had just wanted to sit there until somebody arrived for her to talk to. Her mother had brought her here and told her to wait patiently before giving her a firm kiss on the forehead and both cheeks. Then, just as quickly as the woman had come to drag her out of school, she disappeared. It was all very frightening.
Through her boredom and terror, she worked her way into an imaginary fortress under the table.
The first girl that had entered the room with her attractive purple hair was fuming silently about being dragged here. If there was any reason for her to not leave the shadows of the table, the girl that unconsciously stared daggers in her direction would definitely be it. She reminded Junko of her mother when she didn’t get enough sleep. Terrifying and cranky.
Fearing being scolded for no apparent reason, she sat silently and watched the girl from a distance.
Silence seized the room as all could be heard was the periodic mumblings or shifting positions of the purple-haired girl. Then a soft knock came from the door. Scurrying back closer to the wall then she had initially been, she waited until the figure stood still and started talking to the purple onee-san before peeping out.
The standing girl seemed to be attempting to communicate with fearsome onee-san. The respect Junko had for the stranger rose significantly. What a brave soul! Not even Papa dared engage Mama when she was silently sulking about work. She held her breath, hoping that purple-nee-san wouldn’t start yelling as a result. The thought was enough to send Junko’s heart into a nervous frenzy.
It was for that very reason when the door suddenly opened to give way to a blonde-nee-san, Junko jumped, bumping her head against the table. Rubbing the bump scornfully all the while fighting hard to push back tears and stop the trembling of her lower lip, the girl looked out to see if anyone had noticed her.
Luckily, it seemed she was still in the clear.
The crowd of possibly angst-filled teenagers was too much for her innocent ten year old self to handle. The unconscious fear of pimples and other facial blemishes held her back as she continued to watch trio silently.
Yet the poor girl did not know the horrors in store…
She felt a heavy atmosphere coming from the door before suddenly, more and more people streamed in. Even the youngest among the group that had arrived was likely just a few years older than her! Left trembling as the once silent room now bustled with anticipation, annoyance, and teenage angst, Junko brought her knees to her face.
She knew nothing of what they talked about. Not to mention there were three foreigners…
There was no way she could possibly peek out now that everyone had settled down.
So she simply waited under the table that housed the tasty desserts brought by a kind man. What she was waiting for exactly, she didn’t know. She also had no idea how the box of desserts had gotten itself onto her lap.
What she did know, however, was that the desserts were well made, better than anything her mother had ever bought her.
Sitting there in the shadows, the carefree ten year old started to stuff her face with both hands.
Somewhere hidden deep within the shadows of the University City, in a quiet and practically abandoned neighborhood, there stood an old four story apartment.
There, light was welcomed in by the curtain-less windows, whose cold stained glass went warm with bashful affection. Late August was a time of sweet smells and soft smiles that echoed the remnants of secret summers, which were hidden freshly under the many folds of memory.
It was no different for the resident of this run-down apartment.
In fact, it was safe to say that August meant more to her than anyone else.
While the hand of the overhead clock continued to peel away at the eighth month, a fresh coat of golden orange paint made the room glow, promising to no one in particular that August was here to stay. It was through these trivial battles against time that she found comfort. Cast aside by happiness, left in the dust by despair, the girl known as Oshita Kazuki spent much of her time locking herself out of reality through these senseless acts.
Lying motionlessly in the center of the small room, was a pale figure barely covered in her childishly pink sheets. Her hair, like tiny ropes, was scattered in all directions as if to keep the girl from being spirited away. A single leg stuck out immodestly from beneath the sheets, as if tempting the sun to join her under the covers. A weak grin with a just the right pinch of pain, made her usually stern face strangely attractive.
Opening her mouth, she rolled from one side of her bed to another.
The sound of distant traffic echoed inside the silent room.
Even now, as time danced and cried in the city around her, she was lost in her dreamless sleep.
From within the realm of her empty dreams, Kazuki could hear something faint. A soft tune, one that sounded like wind chimes, reminded her that she was in fact still alive. It reminded her that there was a warm sun burning somewhere, a musical of senseless chatter that had to be listened to, a love to be found.
She opened her eyes to find the familiar cracked ceiling.
Mumbling something incoherent, the figure suddenly rose from bed in all dispassionate nudity, before making her way to the bathroom.
“Some bullshi-“
The bathroom door slammed shut, muffling the tired, but nevertheless, annoyed voice.
Standing before a mob of students, many of whom had that nauseating smell of money, Kazuki let out a sigh before rubbing her brow.
This was the first time she had step foot on campus during a welcoming event, and likely the last.
To think that people actually came to these things, what a j-
In the distance she heard the sizzling of cooking oil and banging of overworked woks, opening up the nose that she had refused to breathe through since entering this people pit, she took in a deep breath. The smell of food was majestic, her famished-self carried her from stall to stall, collecting small samples of the strange delicacies that she usually never had the chance to eat.
On the way, she nibbled intently off the small plate of goods, her once cold reflective eyes turning all mushy and intoxicated.
To think that people actually don’t come to these things, what a joke!
Finding herself having wandered near a tall flag, she remembered that she had come here for a reason. Reaching into her ripped jeans, she pulled out a folded piece of fancy paper.
She smiled before looking up at the flag that waved just overhead and those who surrounded it.
An old man, a boy that stinks of money, a runt, a sick girl, and a bottle-blonde.
“Hope I’m not late, Professor Gestalt.”
There was slight undertone of sarcasm, mostly because she didn’t care what he thought.
She wasn’t really interested in what he had to teach either.
She was here for the people, who for now, seemed interesting enough.
There, light was welcomed in by the curtain-less windows, whose cold stained glass went warm with bashful affection. Late August was a time of sweet smells and soft smiles that echoed the remnants of secret summers, which were hidden freshly under the many folds of memory.
It was no different for the resident of this run-down apartment.
In fact, it was safe to say that August meant more to her than anyone else.
While the hand of the overhead clock continued to peel away at the eighth month, a fresh coat of golden orange paint made the room glow, promising to no one in particular that August was here to stay. It was through these trivial battles against time that she found comfort. Cast aside by happiness, left in the dust by despair, the girl known as Oshita Kazuki spent much of her time locking herself out of reality through these senseless acts.
Lying motionlessly in the center of the small room, was a pale figure barely covered in her childishly pink sheets. Her hair, like tiny ropes, was scattered in all directions as if to keep the girl from being spirited away. A single leg stuck out immodestly from beneath the sheets, as if tempting the sun to join her under the covers. A weak grin with a just the right pinch of pain, made her usually stern face strangely attractive.
Opening her mouth, she rolled from one side of her bed to another.
The sound of distant traffic echoed inside the silent room.
Even now, as time danced and cried in the city around her, she was lost in her dreamless sleep.
From within the realm of her empty dreams, Kazuki could hear something faint. A soft tune, one that sounded like wind chimes, reminded her that she was in fact still alive. It reminded her that there was a warm sun burning somewhere, a musical of senseless chatter that had to be listened to, a love to be found.
She opened her eyes to find the familiar cracked ceiling.
Mumbling something incoherent, the figure suddenly rose from bed in all dispassionate nudity, before making her way to the bathroom.
“Some bullshi-“
The bathroom door slammed shut, muffling the tired, but nevertheless, annoyed voice.
Standing before a mob of students, many of whom had that nauseating smell of money, Kazuki let out a sigh before rubbing her brow.
This was the first time she had step foot on campus during a welcoming event, and likely the last.
To think that people actually came to these things, what a j-
In the distance she heard the sizzling of cooking oil and banging of overworked woks, opening up the nose that she had refused to breathe through since entering this people pit, she took in a deep breath. The smell of food was majestic, her famished-self carried her from stall to stall, collecting small samples of the strange delicacies that she usually never had the chance to eat.
On the way, she nibbled intently off the small plate of goods, her once cold reflective eyes turning all mushy and intoxicated.
To think that people actually don’t come to these things, what a joke!
Finding herself having wandered near a tall flag, she remembered that she had come here for a reason. Reaching into her ripped jeans, she pulled out a folded piece of fancy paper.
She smiled before looking up at the flag that waved just overhead and those who surrounded it.
An old man, a boy that stinks of money, a runt, a sick girl, and a bottle-blonde.
“Hope I’m not late, Professor Gestalt.”
There was slight undertone of sarcasm, mostly because she didn’t care what he thought.
She wasn’t really interested in what he had to teach either.
She was here for the people, who for now, seemed interesting enough.
It was always in late August that the inhabitants of University City started to speed around. In the air, one could smell the changing atmosphere. The prospect of fall and the whole city being painted in a mellow palette of autumn leaves were images the more active part of society wished to forget. They couldn’t afford to slow down after all, all it took was one cool autumn breeze to blow out the fiery embers of summer. So businesses went into overdrive. Flash sales, season clearances, anything to keep them busy and those around them buying. It was to this active wind of University City, and ultimately Chiharu, that freshman and those returning were caught in.
On the streets of the inner city, where majority of the freshmen dorms lie, traffic could be seen backed up for blocks on end. Out of the half a million people that populated University City, roughly eight hundred thousand migrated in and out yearly during this time.
It was for this reason that autumn was known in University City as the season of boxes.
Even those who weren’t driving and slamming their faces into the wheel of their car out of frustration, could be seen lugging around boxes. The sidewalks were packed with eager faces, individuals happy to finally step foot back (or for the first time) into the lively student community, and boxes. Obstructing, obscene boxes that seemed to house the very lives of those who carried them. From above, either in the dorms or the large office buildings, it looked like a mind boggling game of Tetris.
Everyone was just trying to fit in.
For those students that finally got settled down and unpacked, which weren’t many considering the packed conditions of the streets, Chiharu had special plans. The various clubs and organizations worked with local vendors to set up stalls around campus where students could eat and interact with one another all the while being bombarded by sign-up sheets. One could usually find teachers scattered about, either on duty or just supporting the clubs they administrated. In the middle of it all was the Dean of Admissions, the bastard who loved to screw with the hopes of dreams of teach-
The man’s pen suddenly stopped moving as a worn smile could be seen spreading across his face. Whirling the writing utensil skillfully around his in fingers he closed the notebook and looked up to examine the scene before him.
Just as he was describing before, the welcoming event at Chiharu blossomed with life and in the middle of it all was the beautiful and gracious Dean of Admissions, Inoue Asako. Her creamy brown hair was civilized and composed, her face sharp and refined to the T, a beautiful piece of eye candy that packed too much arsenic for even G-man himself to consume. She was, in his opinion, everything evil and everything beautiful in life. Just thinking about her was wrong, but it felt so right.
Sitting near the stall which served wonderful pieces of charcoal cooked skirt steaks was the man known as Robert S. Gestalt, or just Rob if you were a friend. To his students, he was simply Professor Gestalt or Captain Gestalt, or maybe Dadd-
Cutting himself off, the middle-aged man ran his bony hands through his graying hair, which just a couple years ago, use to be black with veins of gray. Now, well, it was gray with veins of black. Looking behind him to confirm it was still standing, the lanky man started eating off the plate that rested next to his notebook. Behind the man was a large flag, one that was a fiery red with a black sword and shield resting at the center. Under the crossing sword and shield were the letters FJA in a fancy cursive.
While classes didn’t officially start until tomorrow, the man started teaching today. It was here, at the skirt steak station, he waited for his students. He had sent out an e-mail weeks ago, even going through the trouble of hand writing a couple of letters to those who didn’t have access to a computer. It was because of this he expected everyone to arrive by three o’ clock sharp. What if they didn’t show up and claimed they never saw or received the e-mail? Lies. All lies. He knew, however he did, that every message he had sent out had been read by those who should have read them. Despite his usually disheveled appearance, the man was undeniable sharp to the point where it was almost mystical, similar to the Dean of Admissions herself. Sitting alone in his black blazer and crinkled blue dress shirt, he was the splintering some gazes away from the secretively busty woman.
Rather than looks of affection, however, he received looks of curiosity and pity. To many, he was just a poor old man eating steak alone, while the figure on the stage was the leader of youth and the new world. Why was he there? Which club was he supporting? What class did he teach? He smiled again, knowingly to himself. It was obvious enough who he was.
Just a mere side character to the genius known as their glorious Dean.
He was just a teacher waiting for his students; a writer waiting for his pen.
-Yuuji
On the streets of the inner city, where majority of the freshmen dorms lie, traffic could be seen backed up for blocks on end. Out of the half a million people that populated University City, roughly eight hundred thousand migrated in and out yearly during this time.
It was for this reason that autumn was known in University City as the season of boxes.
Even those who weren’t driving and slamming their faces into the wheel of their car out of frustration, could be seen lugging around boxes. The sidewalks were packed with eager faces, individuals happy to finally step foot back (or for the first time) into the lively student community, and boxes. Obstructing, obscene boxes that seemed to house the very lives of those who carried them. From above, either in the dorms or the large office buildings, it looked like a mind boggling game of Tetris.
Everyone was just trying to fit in.
For those students that finally got settled down and unpacked, which weren’t many considering the packed conditions of the streets, Chiharu had special plans. The various clubs and organizations worked with local vendors to set up stalls around campus where students could eat and interact with one another all the while being bombarded by sign-up sheets. One could usually find teachers scattered about, either on duty or just supporting the clubs they administrated. In the middle of it all was the Dean of Admissions, the bastard who loved to screw with the hopes of dreams of teach-
The man’s pen suddenly stopped moving as a worn smile could be seen spreading across his face. Whirling the writing utensil skillfully around his in fingers he closed the notebook and looked up to examine the scene before him.
Just as he was describing before, the welcoming event at Chiharu blossomed with life and in the middle of it all was the beautiful and gracious Dean of Admissions, Inoue Asako. Her creamy brown hair was civilized and composed, her face sharp and refined to the T, a beautiful piece of eye candy that packed too much arsenic for even G-man himself to consume. She was, in his opinion, everything evil and everything beautiful in life. Just thinking about her was wrong, but it felt so right.
Sitting near the stall which served wonderful pieces of charcoal cooked skirt steaks was the man known as Robert S. Gestalt, or just Rob if you were a friend. To his students, he was simply Professor Gestalt or Captain Gestalt, or maybe Dadd-
Cutting himself off, the middle-aged man ran his bony hands through his graying hair, which just a couple years ago, use to be black with veins of gray. Now, well, it was gray with veins of black. Looking behind him to confirm it was still standing, the lanky man started eating off the plate that rested next to his notebook. Behind the man was a large flag, one that was a fiery red with a black sword and shield resting at the center. Under the crossing sword and shield were the letters FJA in a fancy cursive.
While classes didn’t officially start until tomorrow, the man started teaching today. It was here, at the skirt steak station, he waited for his students. He had sent out an e-mail weeks ago, even going through the trouble of hand writing a couple of letters to those who didn’t have access to a computer. It was because of this he expected everyone to arrive by three o’ clock sharp. What if they didn’t show up and claimed they never saw or received the e-mail? Lies. All lies. He knew, however he did, that every message he had sent out had been read by those who should have read them. Despite his usually disheveled appearance, the man was undeniable sharp to the point where it was almost mystical, similar to the Dean of Admissions herself. Sitting alone in his black blazer and crinkled blue dress shirt, he was the splintering some gazes away from the secretively busty woman.
Rather than looks of affection, however, he received looks of curiosity and pity. To many, he was just a poor old man eating steak alone, while the figure on the stage was the leader of youth and the new world. Why was he there? Which club was he supporting? What class did he teach? He smiled again, knowingly to himself. It was obvious enough who he was.
Just a mere side character to the genius known as their glorious Dean.
He was just a teacher waiting for his students; a writer waiting for his pen.
-Yuuji
Kazuki stands at 5’ 10 and weighs 160 lbs. Her figure is modest and skin color, a ghostly white.
Oshita Kazuki
20
To say she has a terrifying and commanding presence despite her loose lips and deceptively frail figure would be a fair way to sum up not only Kazuki’s personality, but her approach to life. She does not live to control or command those around her, but should she so desire, she can easily conquer those with a weak will or constitution. Plagued with destructive habits and an unusual disinterest in life, she tends to associate herself with the less fortunate or those who have a lower standing in society. She believes true success has to do with the mind, that meritocracy stands above all else, and that cockiness should be dealt with the monstrosity known as despair and failure.
She loves to eat and play any sort of games. She doesn’t mind fooling around and wasting time as long as she enjoys the company of those she’s with.
By the time she left high school, Oshita Kazuki was a name that was respected by all those who know it. Be it basketball, soccer, or volleyball, she was an individual that never lost in anything she took seriously. She was born to dominate, someone that was trained to run down any obstacle that stood before her. Every team she was on made it to Nationals, whether they won or not varied from case to case. There was one thing that stood true throughout, however, it was always those who were considered the worse players in terms of skill and talent that succeeded when playing with Kazuki.
Then poof, she disappeared from the sports scene just as quickly as she had appeared. The name Oshita Kazuki can only be found in old newspaper clippings and next to the high school sports’ records that she still holds.
In
Magitech Girls! A mecha musume/magical girl monster-fighting RP signups and interest check!
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Name: Yoshida Junko
Age: 10
Gender: Female
Personality: Junko is a curious and eccentric little girl that isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She enjoys playing outside, playing pretend, drawing, and being read to. That being said, Junko is by no means a hard girl to deal with. Easy to shrug off, although it might leave her somewhat disappointed, Junko does what she’s told most of the time. Junko has a strange shyness around men and usually prefers to hang around other girls. Should there be no one for her to play with though, she’d allow herself some male company. One of the more outstanding rituals Junko practices is trying to learn something new every day. She tries her best to rotate between individuals weekly to avoid annoying them too much, so surprisingly she has a lot of friends. That and many find her slightly bubbly tone very irresistible. Since she is at the impressionable age of ten, Junko tends to be easily influenced by those around her. She also finds a great deal of entertaining in pretending to be others.
Brief Backstory:
Abilities: Has a surprisingly mature mindset when it comes to gaging social situations and a sixth sense in detecting those with malicious intents.
Age: 10
Gender: Female
Personality: Junko is a curious and eccentric little girl that isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She enjoys playing outside, playing pretend, drawing, and being read to. That being said, Junko is by no means a hard girl to deal with. Easy to shrug off, although it might leave her somewhat disappointed, Junko does what she’s told most of the time. Junko has a strange shyness around men and usually prefers to hang around other girls. Should there be no one for her to play with though, she’d allow herself some male company. One of the more outstanding rituals Junko practices is trying to learn something new every day. She tries her best to rotate between individuals weekly to avoid annoying them too much, so surprisingly she has a lot of friends. That and many find her slightly bubbly tone very irresistible. Since she is at the impressionable age of ten, Junko tends to be easily influenced by those around her. She also finds a great deal of entertaining in pretending to be others.
Brief Backstory:
Abilities: Has a surprisingly mature mindset when it comes to gaging social situations and a sixth sense in detecting those with malicious intents.
In
Fantasy and Japanese アニメーション 531 or FJA 531: Limited Seating
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Yep.
Co-GM says:
Hey, to anyone on right now, hop onto pirate pad.
It's seeing some life.
Co-GM says:
Hey, to anyone on right now, hop onto pirate pad.
It's seeing some life.
© 2007-2024