Post by guess on Jul 21, 2011 21:41:11 GMT -5
The Basics
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Name: Kaede
Alias: Lucy, Nyu
Age: 19
Species: Diclonius
Gender: Female.
Height: 5'6
Weight: 131 lbs
Hair: Raggedly cut in layers that eventually slip down the small of her back, her hair is an odd shade of pink, that sits strangely against the bone that juts from her skull.
Eyes: A shade darker than her hair, Lucy's eyes are something phenomenal: reds, pinks, maroons swirl in tight circles around the sharp edge of her pupil, darkening and lightening according to mood, behavior, and personality.
Build: Rather athletic, she still maintains a sickly slenderness around the waist, and most predominantly around the shoulders, giving her haphazard, and unsleek figure.
Skin: pale, like bone, with a flush of color around the eyes.
Class (Ranking): Anti-hero!
Original or Canon: Canon (i'm getting the hang of it!)
Theme songs:
Save or Destroy; audiomachine
Bliss;; Cookie Monsta
Inevitable;; Brand X Music
Lineage & Relations:
Lineage:
Mother: N/A
Father: N/A
Siblings: N/A
Relations:
Crush: N/A
Love: Kouta
Rival: None, she feels superior to everyone.
Enemy: Any and everything excluding Kouta.
Appearance:
There's nothing here to hide: death never looked so slender and fragile -- so devoid of emotion and yet brimming over the edge with it. There are villains in the world, there are heroes, but this girl, with her thin wrists, tender fingers -- with her hair flowing behind her like a banner, slipping down in jagged, ragged edges, is nothing to be feared. So you think, so everything thinks. They see the sickness that dwells under the skin. They see what sadness has done to her shoulders, rounded out, no pride -- nothing there but softness, but the bones that lean down, too heavy to be held up. You, yes, you the bystander, the stranger on the train slipping your eyes over that girlish figure, see only the illusion.
Only the body, the deep slope of her chest that rounds out into breasts, the tuck of her belly, the curve of her waist: it's all there to be seen. Every scar, every bruise, faded to white -- a little dust on pale white skin. She's an anomaly: there's a gleam in her eye that cannot go unnoticed.
Hair, that ruffles and curls. Eyes that hide beneath the fringe; but there is a creature lurking there, a creature of shadow, of reds and maroons, pinks and blacks, swirling tight in concentric circles, making a play of life, a mockery of what is real, and what is a dream. No one notices the girl that hunches over in her seat -- but if she looked up, if her eyes met yours, you'd never forget: the hatred, the disgust, the revulsion. It's all there, that soul grown so twisted in rotted soil. Your fault, this dementia in the discolored eyes -- your fault, the twin protrusion of bone that pushes out from the curve of her skull. She is marked as a demon; her mouth in stiff, lips pressed tight in a line. Her nose is small, straight -- so many delicate parts: where neck curves, where heart beats: but she is also made of edges, as sharp as knives, cutting into your very existence.
The last sight: her smile, so quick and fleeting it's almost imagined before death has come and you can no longer see anything but blackness, anything but the suffocative dark that comes to swallow your soul.
Personality:
It's coming -- the darkness, the tempest, the storm, readying to break apart the world with two hands, no, no, with four, with six -- with whatever's within reach. She's coming, the creature of destruction, of hate, a child of war, a child of loneliness. No longer simply she, too unimaginable to be simply she --- ravaging winds: her turmoil. Pouring rain: her tears. There is nothing to stop her, once she moves; no threats, no words -- but the one, and those will never be spoken, not by him, never by him.
Stuck in a world of violence, consumed by the bitter self-loathing she feels for herself, for the resentment, and the utter disgust that the human race has pressed down on her tongue, Lucy has become the harbinger of doom, the one that calls out with a shriek of agony. There's nothing left now, but that pain, nothing left but the ravaged heart that burns to a blackened pit, gnarled and twisted. Only amusement is left; only selfishness. She'll cleanse the world, and love it for the burning fires that rise up around her -- she is without rationality.
Lost, hearing voices, confused, addled, angry: she is a danger, and it's growing, growing, echoing so forcefully in her head, she speaks while she sleeps, on the brink of death, the brink of purest insanity that beckons so sweetly to her. Would she give it all just to lose the pain of the world's betrayal? She victimizes herself, justifies herself -- she hasn't killed anyone, humans are not people -- betrays the very things she yearns for.
There is only love left behind; only Kouta, who she dares not be near. Only Kouta, a burning light in her world of darkness; him, who calls to her sweeter side, who knows what she can be. For him, the world shall be damned and born again -- for him, her weakness: she loathes and hates him as passionately as she loves him, as she wants to cling and press him close. But there are other levels within levels: there is Nyuu, the bright-eyed, innocent girl -- encouraged for his sake, created by his hand. Nyuu, who can only speak two words, who stares at the world with tender, kind-hearted eyes. Childlike-- the girl Lucy could have been had she not been tormented as a child. Nyuu who she cannot bare to completely eradicate, though she would be better off without her.
Masochistic, sadistic, psychotic, indifferent to anything that has nothing to do with her own agony, Lucy once had the potential to be a caring young girl, and turned out, quite frankly, for the worst.
Abilities & Weaknesses:
Powers/Abilities
- Agility;; slender, for the most part, Lucy is rather light on her feet -- coupled with the use of her vectors to seem to hover in the air, she has an advantage when it comes to defensive fighting (that is, of course, if she ever fought defensively)
- Vectors;; She has four invisible hands that reach up to two meters that can be used to do considerable damage -- whether it's to throw objects (including bodies, and larger) or to physically rip pieces of your organs out, they're dangerous within range. If she really concentrates, she can deflect bullets as well.
- Weaponry;; not necessarily weapons in general, but Lucy has always had an affinity for guns and the way they work. If she finds one laying around (or more likely, takes it from someone she's killed) she'll more than likely use it for sheer pleasure, not necessarily because she needs it.
Weaknesses/Physical Flaws/Psychological Flaws:
- Kouta;; because of her "love" for Kouta, she cannot bear killing in front him of, or hurting him in any way possible. Having become excessive and desperate, her reckless attitude toward her goodness when around him, could easily be exploited, and has, in the past.
- Nyuu;; vulnerable, weak, and naive, she is the other version of Lucy -- a split personality has rendered her in two. Though Lucy has the power and the ability to repress Nyuu into disappearing, she does not, fearing that the last of her goodness would break the last of her ties to Kouta.
- Hatred;; blinded by hatred, she often goes to extremes, losing whatever rationality she may have possessed originally. Frighteningly merciless, she does not seem to take particular joy in rending flesh from bone, but it does not stop her from doing so nonetheless.
- People-Complex;; as a result of how she was treated when she was younger, she had known cruelty to it's most darkest form -- has seen it in humanity as they maltreated and abused her. Monsters were born out of the human race, warping Lucy's mind so that she no longer viewed humans as people, but bugs to be squashed without consequence.
- Childish Tantrums;; due to the strange, and unorthodox way in which she was raised, even at the age of nineteen, Lucy is given over to tantrums that leave the world shaking; she is no way in control of her emotions, or her whims that follow it. Being unable to deal with the emotional implosion, she often projects onto others, venting physically what she cannot deal with emotionally.
- Immoral;; not necessarily "immoral" in the usual sense, Lucy is completely without compassion toward other people and will do whatever needs to be done to get what she wants -- whether it means crossing moral boundaries for other people, or not, she'll do it without blinking.
History:
Diclonius. A monster at birth. Secluded. Inferior. Dangerous.
These are the things that Lucy has always known; growing up in a world of humans is difficult when you're not the same, when instead of smooth curves, there's two horns jutting up through hair. It's hard, when it's in human nature to tease and abuse that which it doesn't understand -- school was hard, friends were no where. Alone, lonely, pushed to the edges of her sanity, she was bullied, teased and had no one to turn to -- so when she found an abandoned puppy that did not hate her, she fell in love for the first time: she wanted to prove that things weren't all that bad, that the world wasn't going to crash, that there was good things left. Except even in this she was left with nothing but blood on her hands: bullies found the puppy, tormented and tortured it, killed it --- and it left a gaping hole in her heart that spiraled out of control. A wound that unleashed her vectors, that slipped into human skin and tore apart what had destroyed the only thing in the world she loved. She spilled her hatred, and rage into it, killing her classmates and running away ---- running right into Kouta.
His kindness, and his compassion opened up her heart, planted the seed of love in a child who had only known a loveless existence. Memories of broken, torn puppies disappeared from her mind; her latest act dissipated as she fell head long into friendship, into love, into trust again. He cultivated the good in her, though it was just a handful of days -- just a little bit of friendship and fun. But perhaps there is something to the prejudice against Diclonius'; even this ended in blood -- as jealousy and anger tore apart her heart, and she, in a fit of madness, killed Kouta's family, scarring him for life as he repressed the memories of the trauma.
Years pass in a blur as she tears through the world -- as scientists come and capture her, put her in seclusion. But it doesn't last long. The girl grows into a woman, bred for hatred, a child of bitterness and warfare. Compassion is beaten out of her, superiority fed with every breath of stupidity that passes by her ears. She escapes -- yes, so difficult this task, as she unleashes her vectors and destroys anything that gets in her way: but for the end, where an .50 BMG round pierces the metal helmet encasing her head. She plunges into the water and washes up with no memory, a blank sheet. It's how Nyuu is born, a split personality cultivated later on to fit Kouta's needs -- it was he who found her. Fate had a terrible taste in jokes. Hunted, sought after -- secrets revealed.
So many things happen within the months that she remains by Kouta's side, remembering her usual self, the Lucy of reality, but unable to part from the Nyuu that Kouta truly loves. She cannot bare it -- so when things come to a head, she disappears from him, vowing to rid the world of creatures like herself, from humans who would do anything to get their hands on a useful weapon. She'll protect him, because she must, but Lucy refuses to admit that the awning reality of her insanity is gaping open beneath her feet and soon enough she won't be able to escape the darkness.
RP Sample:
Not enough noise -- too much noise. Their hearts were beating, too fast, too hard, rough, rasping, gasping as their breath slipped through their lips. They slept, while he paced, while he died, and revived -- his mouth open, ripped at the edges where claws had met fangs, and fangs had won. He smiles, but there is no beauty in it -- only the deranged look of conquest. He took no qualms in the death laid before him. He had no problem taking what was offered. A hand, a foot, a little bit of blood over his hands as he slipped underneath the rib cage. They couldn't help dying before him, and he couldn't help killing them. They begged, with their pretty little eyes, their nightmarish little eyes that flashed for help, wanting him to hurt them -- they deserved it didn't they?
In their eyes, he was freedom, for he destroyed their pathetic lives, while he lived on and on, and on -- the punisher, the redeemer, the alpha in broken insanity's skin. Muscles quivered on the edge of revulsion, shuddering away from the silver in the wall -- it maddened him with want, drove him to heights he coul0d barely contain. He stared at it, and there was nothing in his eyes but greed -- desire, affection, but it was all hot, like fire, burning the skin. No warmth, no softness, only the greedy nature of the Wolf in human flesh. He may have smiled, but it was lost amidst the lights that sparked through the cells, lost amidst the turning of his nostrils, the arch of his eyebrows as they called him and he came. Training. Again, the training. Again, the boredom. Sleepiness made everything alright. He turned away, but then thought -
Adrenaline made the world flow. The hot stench of a woman came and went -- they learned early to keep only male guards near him, to have feminine handlers kept out of reach of grasping hands, of hard, raging want. He couldn't help it anymore -- but he won, and it was enough for them that a few humans died for their pleasure.
This time, the smile was real -- it flashed with surpassing cunning, a darkness that spread out, out, encompassing in it's grasp a tranquil expression, riddled with desire, pulsing with the want for motion. Take me, he almost begged, and they chain slipped around his neck, his arms, his legs -- forcing him to shuffle, but he did not mind. Not at all, when there was the end so close to his hands. To the end, which gleamed so prettily within reach. Would he smile again? Would he melt another woman's heart? No, no, horrible creatures! Spoiled, you are -- he won't smile now; he only stares, and in the stare there is the heat, maddening, hateful. It is full of a growing malice, an ache for freedom that cannot be met; not yet, not yet.
So he walks, without help -- chains light against his skin, burning him as fiercely as his heart burned his chest, turning and turning, repulsed by the very need that quivered in his bones. He ached for the pain, for the thing which destroyed him little by little. "Time again, hm?" he growls out, his voice pitched low, rolling out in a drawl as sexual as putty melting in your hand. He would conform, to fit the mold of this play -- for a brief moment only. To seem to be perfect -- he had no patience for the art, only for the illusion of it all.
Light spills out across his tanned skin and he pitches his head back, his eyes casting about, wanting sunlight, and yet denied again and again. One day, one day -- there are no thoughts in his head for Isabella. There rarely are, now.
Filled with silver, with fighting and blood -- he's nearly forgotten who he was, forgotten everything but the glory of battle, the adrenaline that makes him edgy, outpacing the handlers that yank hard on the chains -- he snarls, and turns, his eyes flash, a piercing phenomena of silver and green, of blues and browns and hazels shriveling in an thready explosion: there is madness there, swallowed up by blackness, but it cannot stop him anymore. He's had enough, enough -- and he hauls the handlers forward, muscles ripple, rage slithers behind his eyes -- red, red, red, he sees it, smells it: the musk of femininity, but he cannot stop now, cannot stop the strength, the whim that pulls the handlers closer, closer yet. Pain drags at his neck where silver presses hard -- but he's become sadistic in his need for the silver. Ari'el takes it with pleasure, the hiss of it burning into his flesh, scarring his beautiful edges -- as long as that chain slips up enough -- and he loops it around a handler's neck, snarling, the sound erupting out of his chest, like thunder, like a heart on the verge of bursting.
He'll die here, now, now, with his hands full of blood. Training? No, no this is death, and more death. He smiles grimly, his eyes casting about for the glory -- catching on her's, yes, her's -- Isabella? -- and the chains slacken, the handlers rally, and the tasers come out to bring him to his knees: but his eyes never waver though his muscles seize and he collapses to his knees. He stares at the illusion until it disappears: no, not Isabella. Right?
But the wound is festering one. Mine, mine, mine -- it's enough to rise at the slightest bait, but he does not, and instead, out of character, waits for them to let him loose. Waits for them to be a safe distance before they feel confident in letting him go. For now, for now
Creator/Player Comments:
Laziness wins! Can I rp now? -^.^-[/center]
