ＤＡＮＣＩＮ✫тαsтєвυםs↪ profiles

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ TENPI !
x x x x x x x x❛ ... hello ... MAY I CUT YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES? EHEHEHE ❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxAlexander William Wilson
Roger That ::
xxxAlex,Scissorhands
Candles on My Cake ::
xxx 20
One of A Kind ::
xxxA tattoo of a pair of red scissors on his back
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xGuns and Scissors
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x x Tenpi Member
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲ AB
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲ One is red the other is yellow
x x x x x x xHeight
➲ 6' 5"
x x x x x x xWeight
➲ 170 lbs
x x x x x x xHair
➲ Red Hair
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲ Tall and Lean with a nice six pack on his belly smile
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲ Cancer
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲ Bisexual




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( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き
☑ Scissors
☑ Basketball
☑ Books

( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ His Other Self
☒ His Parents
☒ Talking

( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ Changes into other self through the inhalation of smoke
□ He is turned on by sunglasses
□ Has never had a drop of alcohol in his system.
□ Fear of numbers. Hate numbers, they mean math.

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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head

Left alone in some sewer... Alex never felt fully wanted anywhere, abandoned from birth, tossed from foster home to foster home. In truth, Alex had no real home, they were like hotel rooms. He would stay there for a few nights and then be moved away to some other place. However, Alex did not let his life become all miserable and worthless and he didn't become dependent on drugs or alcohol, instead he found basketball. Alex spent hours and hours playing basketball at the nearby park and soon got noticed. Overall, as a kid Alex led up a pretty normal life. Except for when he met the OTHER Alex. You see, Alex deals with multi person disease and when he inhales smoke he changes into a mad man; however, Alex does not know that it is smoke that causes him to change and he is too scared to approach and confess to others about his disease. So instead Alex tries to silently deal with it. If only he got help... Anyways, his issue wasn't that big of an issue until Alex started smoking, though that didn't start until he was sixteen, but when he did... his life fell apart and his other self took over.

Alex, at age fifteen, was recruited for a prestigious, renown basketball program and was offered a fully paid trip. It was his ticket out of the foster care services and Alex gladly took it and traveled all the way to Japan to train with a basketball coach. Though, a year in Alex was facing a lot of stress, more than he had ever imagined and than started smoking in order to relive his stress. But little did Alex know, when he started smoking, his other self, that likes to go by the name of Scissorhand or Alexander, started taking over and ruining Alex's life. Piece by piece Scissorhand would tear apart at the life that Alex made and completely changed Alex's reputation. It was because of Scissorhand that Alex had to join the Tenpi gang and forget about basketball, the thing he loved most. There were nights where Alex would come back to see his hands bloodied, scissors in both hand, and dead bodies surrounding his own. Or days were he came back in a middle of a basketball game with someone dead at his feet, because of Scissorhand. Alex's life which was finally starting to go up, quickly plummeted back down and down. Scissorhand is a vicious murderer and although Alex wants to hate his other self for doing this to him... Alex can't. He doesn't have full recollection of what happens when Scissorhand takes over, but Alex does remember the feeling and he does remember the trill and the excitement when he got screams in response...

Alex has started to lose grip on himself, he has become this man who is rarely sociable and often just sits in dark corners reading a book or something, much like a vampire. While his other self, when taking, over goes wild, clubbing, partying, killing, cutting... Taking so many lives. But here is the funny thing... never once in Alex's twenty years of life has he ever had a drop of alcohol, why? Well... that'll be unfolded later on. For the last five years, ever since Alex lost his basketball position, Alex has been living within the Tenpi household. How does Alex feel about it? He hates it, but he knows he has to live with it. How does Scissorhand feel about it? He loves it, after all, the Tenpi gang allows this mad man often get away with a few murders, sometimes even assign him people to kill! How thrilling! Plus you get food, money, and a place to live? In Scissorhand's head, this life is so much better than being some scholarship basketball player. Poor Alex >:

↘ The World Revolves Around Me
Regular Self:
Quiet
Distant
Held Back
Competitive
Other Self:
Wild
Insane
Dirty
Scary

↘ My Mark On The World
crimson
darkred
black

➲ HIMERS

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ DAICHI !
x x x x x x x x❛ Uhm.... wh-what cup size do you... p-prefer? I... I probably have one that... that could cater to your n-needs. ❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxKari [pronounced: kah-ree] Bell Kinsley.
Roger That ::
xxx... Kari? Puppy, dog... Anything like such.
Candles on My Cake ::
xxxNineteen [19].
One of A Kind ::
xxxNo piercings, no tattoos, daddy wouldn't like that. However, he does have a pink-ish birthmark on his neck. Much similar to a hickey.
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xMainly throwing knives.
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x xJust a lackey, but might take over his father's business.
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲ O-
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲ Blue.
x x x x x x xHeight
➲ 5'7"
x x x x x x xWeight
➲ 129 lbs.
x x x x x x xHair
➲ Blonde.
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲ Slender.
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲ Pisces - March 7th.
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲ Bisexual.




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( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き
☑ My hobby; its quite entertaining.
☑ Bondage; ..... s-same as above.
☑ Sugary Coffee; it just tastes good.
☑ Animals; like domesticated ones. Bunnies, dogs, cats...
☑ Research; for my hobby.
☑ Knives; the various types peek my interest.

( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ Dead Animals; no thank you. That includes meat products.
☒ Bitter things; if I can't put sugar in it, I don't want it.
☒ Having my hobby mocked; its rude. Don't make fun of things you can't understand, idiot.
☒ Alcohol; I don't enjoy the bitter liquor.

( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ As I stated before, I'm fond of bondage. And pain, to a certain degree.
□ I'm gender confused, but I often go by my biological gender.
□ I'm mainly interested in modeling breasts, okay?
□ I fear being rendered useless.

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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head
Well, unlike most couples with big money, mom and dad are actually in love. They've been in love since they met. Such a sweet story, really. But that story hardly influences this one. There were three girls before a son finally was conceived. There was a rumor that a girl was to be born with the boy but... no such thing arrived when the boy was born. An heir to the father's successful business. What the father does, though, is unknown. But its legal. It was a joyous occasion when the family got the boy.

He had a pretty normal childhood, whatever was normal for a little rich boy. His friends were snooty and stuck-up. Always had the best things. Well, so did he but... they were just things. Often he would find himself among his sisters and their friends. Playing dress-up and the likes. It didn't influence him much. .... Okay, it influenced him a little. He was a smart yet stupid little cookie. The blond had learned about animals, and how some had both reproduction organs. Why not humans? He wanted to fix the genetic mistake, as he called it.

It took long years full of hours of education, and he still couldn't get his answer. There was one immediate difference between him and his sisters; the chest. That was a start. The first attempts were.... sloppy. He had done no research, and they came out imperfect. There just wasn't the right... feel to them. And being around his sisters were no help. They were all around the same cup. Private schooling, he begged for it, and his father complied. Middle school. The time when everyone's developing.

He associated with boys and girls. Girls were for research, of course. He didn't dare to get closer than that. They seemed to like having their breasts touched... Anyway, his exploration helped. But rumors went around. Saying he was a slut, whore, whatever. Saying that he slept with anyone. Which... wasn't true, seeing how he was a virgin everywhere. The rest of middle school, he was avoided. Research was halted.

High school was a different story. Hormones flew around. Everything he was going through, from research to grades, he was doing fine. But daddy found out about those rumors. And didn't like it one bit. Back to home-schooling. Kari decided that... being himself around his family wasn't a good idea. So, thus came his 'perfect son' persona. Rumors ceased. He was forgotten to his peers. Ah, oh well. During his few months of returned research, he gathered enough to perfect his model. Daddy still hasn't found out about the hobby. And Tenpi was following him. The gang of the snobs. He wouldn't be able to be himself with them. Ignoring their calls, he found himself heading for Daichi. Felt right at home.

↘ The World Revolves Around Me
- Around strangers

- Shy
- Obedient
- Careful
- Quiet

- Around those familiar with [family not included]

- Loud
- Flirty
- Sexual
- Playful
- Devious


↘ My Mark On The World
Sky Blue and Cadet blue.

➲ Tenth Ride Free

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ Dancing Tastebuds !
x x x x x x x x❛ Stripper/Thief ❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxEvangelique Vierra Noir
Roger That ::
xxxNickname: Eva
xxxStagename: Noir
Candles on My Cake ::
xxx25
One of A Kind ::
xxxPiercings: Earlobes x2
xxxxxxxxxxxxLower back dimples
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xMicrofilament wire (used in garroting/whipping)
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x xThief / Cat Burglar
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲ O-
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲ Violet
x x x x x x xHeight
➲ 5' 8"
x x x x x x xWeight
➲ 130lbs
x x x x x x xHair
➲ Violet
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲ "Trés" curvy!
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲ Aquarius
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲ 'Eteroflexible




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( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き
☑ Diamonds <3
☑ French things (a taste of ze homeland~ )
☑ Swimming
☑ Acrobatics/gymnastics
☑ Animals
☑ Preying on unsuspecting men

( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ Not getting my vay
☒ Love
☒ People taking vat I have already taken

( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ Master of pickpocket and slight of ze hand
□ Crushes? Any man wit' power~
□ I never wear ze same pair of panties tvice
□ Trypanophobia (fear of medical needles)

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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head
Ah, let's see... Euh... Zis language is 'ard... I guess vhere I start is ze beginning, no? (Translated from a thick French accent with a poor grasp of the common language):
My mother was a beautiful woman-- She was a retired Olympic gymnast who loved dance, music, and art. My father was a handsome and brilliant man-- He was one of the curators of the Louvre, and often watched my mother when she would visit the museum. It took a few months but he finally worked up the courage to ask her out on a date, to which she accepted. One date turned into several, turned into a relationship, turned into an engagement, turned into marriage. They had only one child, a beautiful, sweet, talented, bright, charming, cha-- Oh sorry, I will cut it short and just say me. We were a beautiful family living in a beautiful house in a beautiful country... But beauty is only skin deep, mon chere.

When I said that my father was a curator for the Louvre, I forgot to mention that it was only his daytime job; at night, he liked to take his love for the arts... and for the expensive... a bit more seriously and a lot more illegally. My father was a thief, and would shower these gifts and/or the money procured from them on my mother and I, making us want for nothing. My mother and I were unaware of the true nature of this money, but neither of us questioned our perfect existence. She was a stay-at-home mother who taught me acrobatics and gymnastics so that one day I might follow in her footsteps, and that is what I believed as well since I seemed to be just as skilled as she was.

Then my mother got sick. The doctors, unsure of her illness and growing deterioration, tried drug after drug, operation after operation, experiment after experiment, to make her well again, but such attempts were never cheap. This raised my father's need to steal all the more, and when I was sixteen, he told me the kind of man he actually was, and that I was to help him save my mother by stealing along side him. He taught me all he knew-- How to pickpocket, pick locks, and figure out the value of any object I would ever see. I added to my new arsenal of tricks with my gymnastic abilities, now able to scale buildings/houses with ease to reach my target. I had no moral dilemmas about stealing-- We never stole from those who couldn't afford it, and never hurt anyone we didn't need to. This was for my mother, and I would steal anything I was told to see that she got better.

France is only so big though, and the years of his illegal actions finally caught up with my father. He was set up in a sting operation when trying to sell a collection of gems he had stolen, and was immediately arrested on multiple charges of theft. I needed money not only for my mother now, but for my father's bail and court fees to keep him out of jail. My solution then was to steal something of great value, so why not something from the very museum my father had worked at? I can't recall if it was a Rembrandt or a Botticelli or what piece of art it was, but what I do remember was that I failed. The police had added extra security around the museum in case my father had an accomplice in his work, and ruined my plans. It wouldn't take long for them to figure out who I was and where to find me, so I knew I had to flee France-- What's more was that my father had escaped custody and was now on the run, and with no court-appointed guarantor or living will, my mother's plug was pulled. I could do nothing else but run.

I took the first flight I could find and left my country, ending up in Kyuuten trying to figure out what my next move was. I had enough money for a small apartment and figured that I could steal my way through this city as I had already done often enough. None of this came to fruition, for I was scooped up at the airport by some Mafia lowlifes that were abducting foreign girls for the slave trade; I thought they were a type of limo service, but the language is too confusing for me to figure out half the things people say! Well, I won't ask how he knew or why he did it, but I was rescued by Mr. Tall-Blue-and-Handsome! In exchange for his selflessness and bravery in my saving, he offered me a job at his newest establishment-- Room, board, and use of any/all of my talents. All I had to do was flaunt what I had and get men to eat out of the palm of my hand. My job was thievery! I couldn't pass up beautiful "blue-eyes," so I gladly accepted his offer. With the help of Ace, Bo, the other girls, and my daily interactions, I began to pick up the language and customs of Kyuuten (I still have a long way to go, mon dieu!), but it wasn't hard for me to adapt my "other skills" to this new place.
Ace keeps me on my toes, my customers keep me on my back, and I keep myself up to no good. C;

↘ The World Revolves Around Me
◇Flirtatious ◇Spoiled
◇Playful ◇Quick-learner
◇Two-faced ◇Adaptable
◇Stubborn ◇Realistic
◇Materialistic ◇Spiteful

↘ My Mark On The World
Ze valking, ze talking, ze francais*

➲ salsaplant

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ HISAKATA GUARD DOG !
x x x x x x x x❛ [******** off! ❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxToby Charles Kennedy
Roger That ::
xxxBambi, after the tattoo listen below. In the underground fighting rings, he goes by the slightly more intimidating name of 'Stag.'
Candles on My Cake ::
xxxTwenty-four
One of A Kind ::
xxxToby has three piercings on each ear: two cuffs, one 8mm gauge. He has a single tattoo of a stag on his lower back. Toby is freckly, and has an embarrassing birthmark that has a really odd resemblance to Africa on his inner left thigh.
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xToby uses a length of pipe or baseball bat for general use of ******** up his enemies, a butterfly knife in close-range duals, and is actually a reasonably decent fist fighter. He isn't exactly going to put you down for the count in a single punch but he can run like hell and dodge a heavy percentage of punches thrown. Once they're good and tired, he'll lash out, usually for the first vital region he can land. A knee to the gut or groin worked wonders, he can headbutt, and he has a real knack for breaking people's noses.
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x xOccupation/Position
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲A
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲Turquoise
x x x x x x xHeight
➲5"8
x x x x x x xWeight
➲137
x x x x x x xHair
➲Dirty Blonde.
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲Lean, slimly defined muscles. Lanky. Short.
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲Taurus
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲Homosexual




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( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き

☑ cigarettes; nicotine in the bloodstream keeps him calm. he's hardly seen without one lit, or at least an extra tucked behind his ear.
☑ being around others; not that he's social, per se, but being in a pack makes him feel more secure.
☑ deer; ...majestic sons of bitches.
☑ coffee; caffeine carries him in between hangovers and addictions. it helps.
☑ hoodies; hooray for low-key, warm clothes that hide how starved you really look.
☑ classic rock; slow songs and acoustic songs are especially good because they calm him down.
☑ people who talk a lot; it means he can get away with saying less.

( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ alcohol; not really his thing; he gets the worst god-awful hangovers. ironic considering he'll put up with withdrawals. either way, he always winds up drinking under pressure of the gang, especially for appearance in front of rivals, and always comes home feeling like bloody ********.
☒ dependency on another; he's needy, he knows it. doesn't mean he has to like it or ask for help when he really requires it either.
☒ owing debts to others; Toby's seen the business up close and personal, not to mention he's run up debt before. he tries to be more careful with his finance these days.
☒ paper trails; despite being unstable and basically an attack dog, he's got a decent planning horizon, which includes cleaning up after the big bosses. burning questionable documents is one good way to keep their business theirs.
☒ snorting; he'd rather light up or swallow a pill than take something up his nose. besides, he tends to sneeze anything out before he can get the effect. not exactly manly.
☒ police; enough said. in this town, they don't play around.
☒ public speaking; it's not really a fear like other people, but he'd really do anything to avoid it.


( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ Toby has a really erogenous neck, and ears. If you play around with his piercings, it'll drive him wild.
□ Toby can go long periods without saying a word. Nothing personal. He just doesn't have much to say.
□ Toby has a stutter. In one-on-one conversations where he's comfortable, it's often unnoticeable. But the worst is when he gets worked up, and makes himself look like a ******** idiot by stumbling over his words.
□ Toby collects post cards, usually of big tourist countries and cities; like Florence or Paris or Budapest. He keeps them in his nightstand among some packs of cigarette boxes. He's very private about them, as well as his desire to travel.
□ Of all his paranoia, the worst fear of his is returning to jail. He'd much sooner die.

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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head
Unlike most of the unfortunate souls who landed themselves in cages, Toby had a pretty substantial childhood. Born in the south west, he grew up under his Catholic single-mother's story; that his father had died in a war when he was three, when in actuality, the man just skipped town chasing a platinum blonde, grade-a bimbo. Not that his old man had a chance; hicks like them never got with people like her, who blew through the town like tumbleweed. All the same, Toby felt complete without him, and it didn't bother him, even once he started elementary school where everyone else had fathers. Truth be told, his mother did a fine job playing both genders, even if she didn't always make the best role model. You see, feeding two mouths, paying even a tiny shack like their's mortgage, and saving for college is a difficult thing to accomplish under one salary. A strictly legal salary, that is. And so among the corn and tobacco seeds sown in their farmland, there was a third crop that his dear mama told him 'not to worry his pretty little head about.' Weed. Mary Jane. Marijuana. Whatever you chose to call it, it was sprouting like wildfire underneath the hot prairie sun, nestled from prying eyes between ears of corn and the legal smoke's green leaves.

Now, his dear old mama had been smoking tobacco since before Toby could remember, so it seemed only natural that he do it too. His first taste of nicotine at the ripe age of twelve. It helped calm his nerves, especially when sitting out on the front porch shooting anything that moved. Including any person that dared come within a couple of yards of their crops. The only people that came over that way were teenagers looking for something to do and going where they didn't belong just for that reason. Getting shot at and running away swearing was the cool thing to do; high off the adrenaline. Luckily, he never really shot anything human, or he'd be dealing with a hell of a lot more prison time. Just magpies and s**t. It was his mom that put the pistol in his hand and taught him how to use it, so maybe it was her fault. But then, she put a lot of things in his hand; the rosary, for example, and indirectly, cigarettes. Though he was the one who liked the protective feeling of it in his hand, and had chosen to keep it on him whenever he could.

Fast forward into his late teens and his mother decided it wasn't quite fair to keep a growing boy tethered to working a farm, so she'd turn him loose to go have some fun. Not to mention, start a social life, seeing as if Toby was to get married, it would most certainly be a girl from their town. No one really ever left their little bubble. 'Get born, live, and die,' was what kids his age would say to each other. They'd say it as though they were joking, but secretly, each and every one of them knew. The bitter truth the phrase held, and how hollow their futures were. You had to be a real smart a** to get anywhere, and every cow farmer's son seemed to have the same brains as the other. And modern times or not, women around his hometown were not expected to aspire for anything other than marriage. Maybe that was why he didn't like them; they never had the guts to dream. Nobody really asked why he didn't go chasing skirts though, they just thought him to be antisocial. They didn't know the whole story though. About how he didn't want anyone to catch his eyes lingering on a boy too long. Down here, in the south, people didn't accept fags like him.

Other than his sexuality, Toby wasn't much different from teenage boys; only more self aware of the stupidity constantly surrounding him. And twitchy. He was hardly seen without smoke flowing freely from his nose or mouth, and feeling braver in his ripening age, had been experimenting freely with the weed he helped grow. Without it he was worse, but even with it, there was a certain weaselly look that gave him a permanent look of suspicion and fear. Maybe it was the cigarettes that caused it, but Toby never seriously considered quitting. Between his social life, there was one nifty little party trick he picked up and developed. Traps. Explosives. It started crudely, of course, as every beginner. A bit of gunpower, some gas, a match. Animal traps: welded irons, spring-load 'em. But a few books and trips to the library's computer, Toby was onto traps with timers, wires, batteries. He could make them on the cheap, using things from dollar stores and gas stations, mostly. He didn't use them violently; they were fun to toy with though, and even though he wasn't a very stable boy, he soon had a little crowd watching the trappings or miniature bombs go off like little fireworks.

But through his mother's careful planning, he got a bus ticket. College just wasn't for him, but nor was raising cattle. So taking a small cut of the money, he traveled to a new city. Starting fresh seemed like a good idea. Big city dreams instilled in him, but what he found was far less than his even tentative expectations. If you wanted to stay safe, you carried a weapon. End of story, no questions asked. The police ran crooked run-around deals with people in bandanas and dark sunglasses that sent shivers down Toby's spine. And perhaps the worst, even among all of this, was that he could not for the life of him find a job.

He'd been searching on and off for six months, smoking as much as ever, his shaky hands lighting cigarettes as fast as he could buy them and he as time without employment dragged endlessly on, he slowly acquired a taste for booze. For a while it bothered him, but after a while, Toby found a few shots could shut up the voice in the back of his head warning him he was making a big mistake. He was quickly becoming a bum, spiraling to the point of waking up with two days misplaced without a single memory or account of how he'd wound up passed out on a bus stop or in somebody's house. And just as he'd started getting it together and trying to sober up, his tenant told him he hadn't paid his bills in two months and if he didn't have the payment in three days, don't bother coming back because his things would be tossed out on the curb.

The frightened youth of course reacted painfully and predictably to the situation, searching for any conceivable way for quick cash. No bank would loan him, no person would look twice at the skinny male pleading for help on the street. Except for the men in bandanas and dark sunglasses. Two of them came out of nowhere, dragging him by his arms into an alleyway, and asking him for one good reason why they shouldn't kill him when he was on their street. The squirming male apologized profusely, but they wouldn't have it. And just when things were looking bleak, Toby started hysterically about that which changed everything: security systems, disabling things, he could make traps for them. Of course, this caused some confusion between the two gang members, and they demanded he explain. And he did. That he could set up bear traps and covered pitholes. That he could make all kinds of explosives, anything you wanted, from pikebombs to the stuff that caused nuclear wars (though the hyperly panicked Toby was embellishing bits of his story, this was, for the most part true). How he could put security systems down within minutes.

And so, they kept him alive, but dragged him, thrashing and screaming all the way to headquarters. Make some traps, they said. Sweating profusely from pressure and stress, he created three triggerable traps of varying design in an hour and forty minutes. They were impressed. Impressed enough to 'invite' him to join their family. Not that he had a choice.

His first and last crime was abrupt and lacked his superiors' planning. A robbery, one that involved his time bombs, was set in motion. Toby was just the brains behind the detonator; the other cronies just toted guns, stormed the bank's plaza and screamed murderous threats while holding everyone to the wall. He was just following the plan. Stumbling towards the back, sliding over the counter, and hurrying towards the safes, where he planted the bomb, connecting lose wires nimbly enough, considering how much his fingers were shaking. He was just following the plan. It was all he could force through his brain as he high-tailed it the hell out, as fast as he could, before the timer inevitably went off. Toby didn't see if anyone was near the site, but he could feel the heat blast down the hall and lick up his neck, and just as quickly a set of the muscle heads charge in for the cash billowing free.

Exactly where the police came in remains a blur for the young man. But when he came skidding out of the inner tunneling hallway of the bank, they were waiting, guns pointed, faces meaning business. The sound of yelling passed grudgingly through his ears, a combination of the noise of the blast deafening him and the looming shock that was left him feeling so numb. Toby stared blankly at them, mouth parted, shaking to the core before the mob of uniforms. The one with the megaphone hollered at him again, and this time, Toby caught what he was saying. "I SAID GET ON YOUR KNEES; HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM." The blonde dropped to the floor, but struggled against the cuffs, shoving and ramming anyone near him. But eventually they wrestled him and a few others into a car.

His first taste of jail time while waiting for his trail was not a pleasant one. Quite a number of the gang members he'd been working for were looking for a scapegoat for the robbery blowing up in their face, no pun intended, and Toby fit the profile. They were under pretty decent supervision though, and luckily, the most they could do was shoot their best menacing glares. But it was enough to get to the paranoid man. Not to mention he was craving nicotine.

The trial went badly. Seeing as more than half of the amateur thieves escaped, everyone was determined to have their justice. Sitting with his uncaring government-supplied lawyer who convinced him to plead guilty, and decided to conveniently leave out the fact he was more or less forced into making the bomb. Thirty seven years in the slammer, and they were being 'lenient' because the lawyer decided to include a few psychological analyzes of him in their defense, and he suggested that they may have 'taken advantage of his dependency on authority figures and paranoia.' He wouldn't know what that meant, but he cast a few sideways glances from his twisting fingers to the jury, and they looked at him like some sort of bizarre animal. Maybe they thought he was crazy.

If he thought anything up until this point was bad, it was nothing compared to Stallions Prison.

It was a madhouse. He didn't care what they said about 'carefully segregating perpetrators of violent and nonviolent crimes;' that was the bullshit they fed to the government. No one knew about the horrors of this god forsaken pile of rocks in the middle of nowhere. The only time anyone really had to stay in their cell was at night; leaving said 'perpetrators of violent crimes' to wander as they wished, a problem he soon faced first hand. And then there was the fighting ring the night watchman set up. There was a man that could get Toby shivering. Mostly, Toby managed to stay scarce under the bleachers or duck his head so he was never picked. But there were a few times where he was. Bare knuckle matches weren't his thing, but it wasn't like he could refuse. He played them; he could run like hell and dodge most of the punches the meatheads he faced threw. Idiots. Once they were good and tired, he'd lash out, usually for the first vital region he could land. A knee to the gut or groin worked wonders, and he soon learned he had a real knack for breaking people's noses. Not to mention, there were generally some decent rewards that came for winning. Anything within reason that he wanted? Well, if freedom was out of the cards, well, cigarettes it is. Eventually he learned the fight circuit enough to be a real competitor. He wasn't as big as the other guys, but he had a decent enough head on his shoulders. He wasn't the best, but he started ranking.

He got out five years later on good behavior with new fear of the law instill in him. That, of course, didn't stop him from rejoining a gang; this time, on his terms.



↘ The World Revolves Around Me
There is something determinedly rodent-like about Toby, right down to his height where he stands at five feet, eight inches. Short, certainly, and skinny to boot. There are traces along his chest of what may be muscle, but it's evident Toby doesn't stand much chance in a fair, one-on-one fist fight. Not that there are many in this city. But then again, bulky muscle never made a good runner; certainly not one that could keep up with an experienced, light footed, robber. Most likely the skinny body type of his stems partially due to poor nutrition and the occasional cocktail of drugs, of which, he favors weed, (like mother's milk to him) and various narcotics to 'calm him down.'

Like plenty of underlings, Toby's focus on his looks is minimal. The only reason he'd bother to finger through his dirty-blonde hair is to keep it from causing painful knots, but his follicles are resistant to any attempt to be tamed; instead standing in awkward angles and bunches. Toby's remedy to this is cutting any knots straight out, making himself look even more awkward. But as if he'd let anyone that close to his neck with a sharp object to do it for him.

There is very rarely a time when his yellow-green eyes are not pressed into a frown of suspicion or anger, and when they are it's usually nothing more than interest or intrigue... or on the rare occasion, there's a fleeting look of lust between the darkly-lashed irises. But despite passing fancies, Toby has thus far kept far out of the way from anyone who might pose as a sexual partner. Far too intimate, far too exposed... But seeing as there's something reminiscent of femininity about him, it doesn't matter that he's particularly plain. He figures if there's anything he needs, he could find someone to make a trade; 'companionship' for supplies. At least that's what he did last time he served time in the big house. He's only done it on the outside a couple times.

To say that Toby is jumpy would be an understatement. He is paranoid, and will find any excuse to worry even when no 'normal' person feels any. Whether this has gotten worse since joining the Hisakata is a matter of speculation, although in his current position, it's hard to say he's overreacting. Most people have trouble sleeping when they know there are at least two rival gangs who've got your number.

Withdrawn and serious, Toby would rather sit off on his own, often times crouching over little scraps of paper or napkins on which he sketches questionable designs of traps, often times resulting in the victim's violent death rather than actual capture. It's no secret he's got a knack for demolition, but Toby likes keeping his diagrams to himself, until, of course, he is forced to show them to the higher-ups.

Other than sketching out 'security systems' for the hideout, Toby has a second habit to keep him secure. Surprisingly, a devout Catholic since early on in his life, he prays the rosary and the Lord's prayer when he's nervous. Such religious activities tend to keep him calm, so he does keep the cross somewhere on him almost constantly.

The blonde doesn't like getting in other people's business, leaving himself to make ludicrous mental accusations. Better safe than sorry in this hellhole. He tends to be quiet, and shift any conversation directed at him away from his history. Toby is soft-spoken upon meeting, and typically submissive and automatically drifts to follow a leader, unless he sees no one he thinks has such qualities. In that case, he'd rather be alone in his struggle to survive. Toby is peculiar in that while he is quick to be a follower, he shifts constantly between being a team player and selfish tendencies; unless you have become extremely dear to him, or he sees something he can leech off you. There are rare occasions when Toby might pity you, and he'll feel the need to share his things with you, even if he is working for a rival. But at the end of the day, he is highly unpredictable when the going gets rough, so watch out.

He isn't unconfident, but he isn't very out of his shell either. When he talks it comes out jittery and awkward, spilling mostly into deranged fears, explosives, spikes and bear traps. Toby has virtually no filter, being brutally honest even when it's unappreciated; his blunt and coarse language are quick to say what others might be trying to keep at bay in their minds. Thus, he's found his best conversational partner to be himself; muttering feverishly about red wires and rival gangs, trap designs and as of recent, finding his next narcotic to shoot up. His paranoia pops up at strange and random times (unfortunately, they are often very inconvenient in timing for other people) over simple things. In order to make friends with others and increase his chances of survival, he definitely will have to defeat a growing list of phobias.
↘ My Mark On The World
#ccccff #ddbbff #6666aa #aa77ff

➲ The Wolf Bandit

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ TENPI !
x x x x x x x x❛ My eyes are up here, you creep. ❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxTomoko Natalia Arai
Roger That ::
xxxMomo, Tommy... But don't call her that unless you're sure you won't get a needle to the eye.
Candles on My Cake ::
xxx25
One of A Kind ::
xxxNone to be found.
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xAny kind of throwing weapon primarily, but throwing needles/spikes are her favorite. Because of her job, she's kind of a jack of all trades when it comes to weapons.
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x xI'm just a simple hit lady.
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲ AB+
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲ Crimson
x x x x x x xHeight
➲ 5'9"
x x x x x x xWeight
➲ 130 lbs.
x x x x x x xHair
➲ Black
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲ Small framed, but nice and curvy nonetheless.
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲ Pisces
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲ Heterosexual




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( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き
☑ Alcohol:: It keeps the stress away. Along with all of the other ******** up things in the world.
☑ Anything that ticks:: The ticking noise makes her feel relaxed.
☑ Horror movies:: Sometimes you need a little suspense to keep you sane, you know?
☑ Caffeine:: Nothing like an energy boost to help you forget about your horrible hangover.
☑ Historical dramas:: They flare up her inner history geek.
☑ Books:: Give her a good piece of literature, and Tomoko will be occupied for hours on end.
☑ Cold:: It's nice if you have someone to cuddle with~

( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ Guys who just can't take a hint.
☒ Rain:: She hates getting wet when it isn't for hygienic purposes.
☒ Silence in the wrong situation:: If she doesn't need a place to be quiet, and it is, then it just becomes...creepy.
☒ Smoke:: Not necessarily smoking, just smoke in general. If she's around it too long, she gets awful migraines.

( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ Backrubs are a gift from the Gods.
□ She prefers to keep her burlesque days to herself.
□ Her ex has an odd tendency to drop in on her without her knowing, and will dress her in more "flattering" outfits.
□ Her ex also owns the jazz club she sang/danced at.
□ She keeps an old poster/advertisement from the club in her closet. It has her and her friends from the dance group on it.
□ When she gets drunk, she gets really tired and should under no circumstances be left alone.
□ Tomoko has a very sensitive waist. One touch around there, and you've entered instant blush territory.
□ Taphophobia:: She has an intense fear of being buried alive.
□ Uh...crush? What the hell are you talking about?

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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head

Hello! Welcome to "The Life of Tomoko Arai." Take a seat, and enjoy the show…

Scene I: Kaede and Natalia Arai.

Our two lovers meet in the heat of August. The young man is the son of a wealthy mobster, the young woman a burlesque dancer whose popularity was rising within the underground world. The young man had seen her dance before. He thought it was enchanting, the way she moved on the stage. The two bump into each other in the street, the girl landing on the sidewalk with a huff. The boy immediately crouches down to the ground to check if the girl is alright. He helps the girl into a sitting position. She rubs her back lightly, fumbles out a ‘Thank-you’. Their eyes meet. Blushes swarm both of their faces, the pang of attraction impossible to ignore. He asks the girl’s name. “Natalia”, she says. She explains that she is late for a practice, he offers to escort her. She accepts, and the moment of destiny is completed. A relationship is developed. An engagement is announced, and a wedding follows suit. Next thing they know, their first child is being expected.

Scene II: Tomoko Arai.

It was a chilly February morning, around 4:00 am to be precise, when little Tomoko was brought into the world. Ever since she was little, Daddy going on long trips was normal, but Mom was always there for her. When her mother wasn’t dancing in a club, she took very good care of her only child. Her father, when he was home, also took rather good care of little Tomoko; it was just that as she grew older, it was like a gift when she got to see Dad at home for more than a few days. Though Daddy wasn’t home a lot, that didn’t mean that she wasn’t being trained by his mob friends… with his permission, of course. She was going to be a good little mob daughter, they made it their guarantee. The mafia was going to be in her blood, and she was going to embrace that lifestyle, whether she liked it or not. Though, as she grew older, the mob never really appealed to the dark haired girl. She was much more interested in what her mother had to offer. Thus, her love of dance was officially established.

Scene III: Dance and the Mob Converge.

Her mother taught her everything she knew about the burlesque world. It was a world of fantasy, filled with beautiful costumes and hair and makeup, where half-moon manicures were a must. Tomoko was just 15 when she started, and her mother found that she was a natural. By the time she was 18, she was in a group with other girls her age, dancing at the same club her mother had become popular in. She had even become a jazz singer, a talent that she and her mother hadn’t ever expected. The group became just as popular, with Tomoko being the leader of the little troupe. At 19, she fell in love with the club owner’s son. After a few months, a relationship blossomed. She danced with the group, sang when she didn’t dance, and he watched from the back of the audience. But when she wasn’t dancing or singing, her father was still putting her through training. She had become quite the marksman; she was a dancer with a deadly background. Her boyfriend knew about it. He said he loved her despite the iffy background. Eventually, her boyfriend took over control of the club, and Tomoko and the rest of the burlesque troop was stilling growing in popularity among the underground world. From there, life went on.

Scene IV: The Tenpi Gang.

Tomoko was 20 when it happened. Her father had disappeared, and was assumed dead by his mob friends. One “funeral” later, (it ain’t a funeral without the dead man), and Tomoko suddenly found herself in the midst of the Tenpi gang: the one her father had spent so much time away with. She was officially a hit lady, like her father had been training her for, without her even knowing it. Her mother greatly disapproved, and Tomoko was forced to end her career as a dancer and singer. She left her boyfriend for the sake of his own safety; if she lost someone else she loved because of the gang, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. Years have gone by, and Tomoko still wishes she had never left the club, but she didn’t really have a choice. It was what she was bred for, after all. So, she does what she’s told, and keeps on raising the kill count whenever the boss needs someone gone.


↘ The World Revolves Around Me
efficient
cooperative
calm
neutral
apathetic
intelligent
protective
touchy
secretive

↘ My Mark On The World
cadet blue.

➲ the pocket poet

[Whookie]

XXXXXX

➲ HISAKATA !
x x x x x x x x❛ Ideas pull the trigger, but instinct loads the gun.Words are the bullets, deeds are the target, the bulls-eye is heaven.
❜

░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀𝕔 xxx xxx𝔹𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤


Shout It to the World ::
xxxDeak Grigorii Oscaere
Roger That ::
xxxDeak is it.
Candles on My Cake ::
xxxTwenty-three years old
One of A Kind ::
xxxSkin damage along his face and one gauged ear (left)
Bustin' a** With ::
x x xI have to many to list. I guess what ever is nearest at the time or what i can scrap up in the middle of a brawl but I can say my favorite choice is my AK-47 rapid-fire machine gun
When I Get Outta Here... ::
x x x I create weapons on request for the gang and sometimes for myself when i'm free. I am The ARMOURER!
Lets Get A Little Deep ::
x x x x x x xBlood Type
➲ O
x x x x x x xEye Color
➲"Red" albino
x x x x x x xHeight
➲Six foot
x x x x x x xWeight
➲ 167
x x x x x x xHair
➲black
x x x x x x xBody Type
➲Slim/Toned
x x x x x x xZodiac
➲Aries
x x x x x x xSexuality
➲ Bisexual




██████████████████████████████

( ◆ ) ⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 好き
☑ Guns
☑Heavy artillery
☑Sweets
☑Picking at his scabs
☑daydreaming
☑Heroin
( ◆ ) ⓓⓘⓢⓛⓘⓚⓔⓢ 嫌い
☒ Chocolates
☒ mother like figures
☒ Cheaters
☒ Sluts
☒Coffee

( ◆ ) ⓔⓧⓣⓡⓐⓢ ねじれ
□ I tend to squeeze my inner thigh to the point of drawing blood when I'm low on my drug or squeeze something in my hand until is breaks...preferably glass.
□ I don't think before speaking .
□ Don't ask for my motives behind things. I just do what I feel .
□ I'm afraid of many things: spiders, roaches, scorpions, burning to death , and so much more
□ I guess you could call me clingy . If you and me are in the same room you can bet your a** their won't be a moment of silence...unless of course I'm thinking about guns.
□
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░ ▒ ▓ ▕ ✘▕ » 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕊xxx 𝔾𝔼𝕋xxx ᴅ ɛ ɛ ᴘ ɛ ᴦ


↘ Get Out of My Head
So you wish to know more about Deak's past, Huh? You sure you want to know? I'm bet your just curious about his gas mask is all, aren't yah? Well if you want to know that bit of information you have to stick with this tale from beginning to end, got it?

Now , Deak was conceived in a town called Алекса́ндровск-Сахали́нский (Alexandrovsk-Sakhalinsky....though I doubt you can pronounce it even with translated to English ) located on on the western shores of Northern Sakhalin at the foot of the Western Sakhalin Mountains near the Strait of Tartary . When he was brought into the world he came out as a cheerful, pretty, chubby baby boy. He had a mother and father and no siblings that he knew of. His mother (badly) played the role of a loving house wife while his father was a man of action and was always off fighting some god forsaken war. Like any woman, his mother grew lonely and horny with his absences and had numerous affairs with men who similarly represented his father. This wretched act had gone on all the way till Deak reached the age of twelve. He never said anything to anyone about his mother habits because personally... he just didn't care . His father was a war thirsty b*****d who he would never see home longer than a day or two and his mother was a depressed slut who obviously couldn't correctly handle her own needs let alone his. Not to say Deak took care of himself and learned on his own, it's quite the contrary, my friend.

He was twelve years old on that icy morning when his father came home unexpected. He had been relieved of duty due to his incapacity to follow the generals orders . He was told to retreat from the front lines with his comrades but soul decidedly charged forward which resolved in countless deaths except his own. His father was in a mad state. When the man came home all hell broke loose. His mother had been cuddling with the general store keeper at the time his father opened their bedroom door. All Deak could hear that morning was loud shouts and heavy things hitting the ground. The boy tried to go to sleep and block out what was going on around him but it was useless. He heard his mother scream one more time before the sound of footsteps came closer to his bedroom door. Deak sat their frozen as his father swung open his door with is mother in a headlock in one arm and the other lugging along the naked store keeper's body . His father had gave the coldest stare Deak to this day is still afraid off. The words his father spoke still ring a bell in his ear. "Did you know about this?" That may have been the one and only time Deak had ever experienced the feeling "guilt". It was like something was tugging at his heart and he couldn't think straight. The look his father gave hindered him to lie, it was like his father could see right through him. He shook his head yes ever so slowly. His mother sobbed quietly, wishing he had lied because their was him protecting him now. His father dropped his mother and the store keeper and slowly walked over to the foot of Deak's bed. "When I'm through with you... loyalty is what shall remain." Those were the words his father had spoke before he pounced on him and gave Deak the beating of a life time.

The only thing Deak remembers before he blacked out was his mother trying her best to pry his father off of him. Every punch the man gave to Deak was only a reminder to what it meant to be disloyal, to be a coward, to be lower than the value of s**t. His father had got his point across. Deak had actually learned a thing our two of what it meant to be a Oscaere

His mother ended up running away after that. When Deak came to after his punishment his father ordered him to clean the blood that stained the floors. He had asked where his mother was and his father's reply: "The whorish c**t left to get help." Deak stayed quite after that. He thought his father was acting a little to calm in a situation they were in, but his father had a plan ... for once in his life he had a plan. He ordered Deak to clean the rest of the house as his father tied up the store keeper and put him in a hallway closet . He then told Deak to pack up everything the two of them would need on the road. Deak did as he was told and didn't ask anymore questions. He was too scared to even open his mouth to breath.

When his mother finally came home with the authorities shock registered onto her face at the sight of clean house. The police began to ask her questions but before she could speak Deak's father hand came out a corner of the room holding an empty gasoline bin and a box of matches. "You thought you could get away with, huh?" The police had ordered him to drop his belongings but it was already to late for that."You don't desire me anymore is that it? You think I'm a monster? Well, I will make him just like me.HE IS ME! " He said as he quickly lit the match. Deak's mother let out a final scream as the man tossed the lit match on the the gasoline soaked couch. Fire erupted from the seat and spread rapidly. "Burn in hell." He had told her. He had poured the gasoline in such away that it divided the woman and police from him, keeping them trapped amongst the flames while his side held plenty exits. The corrupted man gave his wife one last solute before exiting the burning building, not caring about the innocent lives he also put in danger. It wouldn't be the fist time he had killed for the wrong cause.


Deak had stood on a hill that overlooked his small little home and waited like he was told to do. He watched his house intently and witnessed as a large warm glow quickly consumed it whole. He didn't say anything still as he stood their in his winter coat. He didn't cry or make a face. He only looked away when his father had reached the top of the hill as well. Deak quietly handed him one of the bags he had packed and they were on their way to start a new.

Years had passed since that fatal incident. Years that Deak spent with his mad dad. Every now and then his mind would wonder back to the burning house. He would contemplate whether or not his mother survived, she could have always found a way through the flames and started a life a new. Sadly, It was more likely she went down with the house. His father never did admit to the murder or that she was even in the house but it wasn't hard for Deak to put two and two together. The time he spent with his father was agonizing and fulfilling at the same time. When he was under his mother's influence he was known as the pretty boy. He always dressed well to attract attention for his mother but never did much besides that. Because of this, pleasing his father was a challenge. He was weak, short, had no muscle, and clumsy. he couldn't run very far and strategy wasn't his forte .With time his father changed all of that. Deak mainly did his training as the two of them made their way out of Russia. His father had committed a crime after all. Deak learned plenty while on the run. his endurance grew and he learned how to us his surroundings to his advantage. His father taught him many war based skills and noticed Deak's dexterity towards guns. He also noticed his son's crazy habit for accuracy and from then on out based all of his education on that. Since Deak's Father had connection with some distant japanese relatives near Japan that was where they journeyed to. Deak never knew he had some Jap in him. That explained why he looked a tad bit different then the rest of his companions back home. It took them three years to reach Japan . They had made many stops in places like Mongolia and Pakistan so Deak could be able to expand his knowledge of guns and other types of weaponry. Deak had developed a liking... no a love... no an obsession for the craft! Every thought that went through his mind was based on artillery. his father had given his his very first gun at the age of fifteen. It was a AK-47 rapid-fire machine gun. and he couldn't help himself but to play around with the gun. he would break it apart and see how each individual piece worked then put it all back together with such ease. It got to the point his father would even time him. Those were the moments his father was most proud of him.

When they finally entered Kyuuten the two of them stuck out like sore thumbs. He and his father wore ragged clothing but what made it worse was his gun he wore strapped against his back. It was every you saw a young teenager handling such weaponry. What he looked like to other was surprisingly the last thing on his mind. Deak went from a handsome softy to a rugged tactful young man. His real and only problem was the language barrier they now had to face. Like any other country (besides America) he was taught how to speak and write in English as a second language. He had barely got that down and now he had another to add to the list. Thankfully , there was some english speaking locals and his relatives were as well. He spent the next year mastering English and japanese.

By the time he was sixteen he had become a professional weaponry specialist and was fluent in three languages. His father had "retired" and sent Deak out into the city to do all his work. It turned out Deak's relatives were dealers in drugs and dabbled in human trafficking...no wonder they weren't afraid to let a criminal into their home...Deak didn't really have an opinion on the matter. He would stay loyal to his father, he knew too well the pain of disobeying. Deak helped keep the children and adult being trafficked in line and didn't hesitate to shoot down those who ran from him. Deak barely dealt drugs . his father had introduced to him a -what he called - "body amplifier" but really it was plain old Heroin but Deak loved it all the same. Even with all his hard work and training Deak was still ungraceful as ever. Heroin changed that, changed it all for the better.When he was on it he found himself thinking faster and his hands moved quicker. His shooting accuracy was sky high and he found himself seeing weaponry in a whole knew light.He would get inspired and construct artillery of his very own and his clumsiness would be discarded. His father came up with the idea that he sell his work. Deak hated to part with his inventions at first but soon got over it and sold his work to anyone who asked for them which were mostly gangs and criminals .

Things went smoothly for the next couple of years . The only big change that happened before his father's (natural) death and his joining of the Hisakata was the self inflicted action of degrading his own face. It was an accident of course.He was in his little old workshop in the basement of his relatives. Now Deak knew a good deal of information about the periodic table and the use of chemicals. It was his first time trying to create a flame thrower from scratch. He didn't look up the process of making one nor had the pleasure of handling one.. This only lead to disaster but at the time Deak thought he knew what he was doing - actually... HE DID KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING! It was his damned clumsiness that got in the way. At the time Deak didn't realize how dependent he was on Heroin. He was going through withdrawal and tried to mix certain chemicals ( I know nothing about chem >XD ) to make a special flammable gas. He always liked to add his own little touch to his work. His head hovered over the concoction he was making - another mistake of his was he never took any safety procedures when working. He wore no goggles, no gloves, no nothing . His hand awkwardly jolted upward making him dump a lethal amount of gasoline into a test tube filled with other chemicals. The next thing he knew his face was being consumed by a toxic gas that had submerged from the bottle and swarmed around his face. He still remembers the pain that erupted all over his face . He remembers how he fell to the ground, trashing around as the skin on his face peeled away around his mouth and check bone regions. His eyes were spared because naturally that is the first thing the body shields from harm. He squirmed around and cursed in his native language. He even cried though that didn't help ease the tingling sensation on his face. It took a while before anyone answered his pleas for help. By the time they found him he was unconscious in a heap next to the stairway and the palms of his hands had been covering his ruined face.

When he finally came to his whole head was wrapped in bandages. He couldn't feel his lips nor tongue and could barely open his eyes. His father had told him he suffered from third degree burns and deep scarring tissue forming on the check bones and worked it's way down. Th skin along the sides of his face (sideburns) were died a harsh red color that never faded. Deak was astonished at what had happened to him but the experience didn't change anything. His still continued with his hobby. The only thing that was new was his persistence to wear gas masks to protect his severely damaged skin and hide his embarrassing scars from others.

Maybe it was the influence of his mother but Deak found himself hating his own reflection. It had been a while since he ever really looked at himself as the pretty boy. With his gas mask on people strangely still found him alluring . It had to be his eyes since it was the only thing a person could see of him or maybe they thought his gas mask was kinky. Deak found himself giving into others will and slept around with anyone who desired him. It took a while but he eventually realized Sex is something he could do with out. He doesn't mind the act but doesn't find anything special about it either...

His father's death came when Deak was twenty. It was a sad occurrence, His father went peacefully in his sleep so Deak couldn't complain much. After his father passed his work load increased. His relatives took over his "business" and started to sell his work for more income. One group in particular always seemed to get his goods for free. It seemed his relatives had ran into a debt with the Hisakata gang. They were who his relatives got their supplies from. Turns out in order to treat Deak for his injures from the incident back they had to get a loan from the Hisakata . Deak's addiction to Heroin didn't help the situation. The debt was too high for his relatives to bear so Deak took matter into his own hands. He pledged his loyalty once devoted to his father to the Hisakata . He joined them and solely made weapons for the gang only as long as his families debt was erased Deak would be a dog. He became a gang member and remains one to this day.

↘ The World Revolves Around Me
Loyal
I wouldn't say brave but determined
Tends to talk about the strangest things
Embarrassed easily (mainly about face)
energetic
Tactful
↘ My Mark On The World
#C57077 & Black

➲ adasiy