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 Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2012 5:04 pm
 "You better ******** smile..."
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Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2012 5:07 pm
General Overview of Self:XXXXXXXX
XXXXX♦☠Height: 6'3
XXXXX♦☠Body Structure: Borderline skinny, with toning.
XXXXX♦☠Gender: Male
XXXXX♦☠Nationality: Russian
XXXXX♦☠Roleplay Color: #625D5D
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Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2012 3:00 pm
Winning Story to Obtain Mischa:XXXXXXXX
Anyone who knew Mischa, at least on a cordial level could tell when he was “smiling” and when he was smiling. The sewn scars, so embedded into Mischa’s physique taunted anyone who dared look at his face, wondering what misfortune had happened to him. Today, the strings, magically infused to never leave nor infect his body pulled at his lips, forcing them into an awkward smile that did not reach his eyes. He was quite wounded and quite upset. It was the anniversary weekend of when he was taken. The abuses he’d suffered surfaced on his mind, playing over and over like a broken record.
He ran a finger, perfectly manicured finger over a fresh wound, smearing the blood over his soft skin. Blood stains never seemed to leave the tips of his fingers. He quite frankly enjoyed the brown hue, a gentle reminder of what he was now capable of doing and what he loved to do. So many felt he was crazed, but that would be quite the opposite. He wasn’t broken. He was fixed! That attack set everything in front of him like a man holding a candle, simply pointing the way within the murkiness of the world. Everything was simple, everything made sense, and everything was controlled by the power of karma.
So why did he feel rather…uncomfortable? He hadn’t been sleeping of late. Often times he’d find himself waking at night, looking out at the moon and wishing nothing more than to slash the throat of a witch eater who dared cross his path. Other times, he simply wondered why there was an ache within his heart. He’d pushed aside emotions, safeguarding them within the deep caverns of his mind, so black and cold he didn’t think they were truly there, but would they ever resurface? Could they stand on the precipice of change and break from his locked chambers within? He hoped not. Life was so much easier now that he understood it. He didn’t want it taken away!
To make matters worse, this was haunting him, this week, the lack of sleep, the confusion on what he was feeling and it all brewed together, creating a potion for disaster. He’d not been able to summon his weapon when training and quite frankly, he’d only looked like a fool. He felt the disdain of anger and the wish to place his fingers around his opponent’s soft throat and squeeze. Squeeze so hard his eyes popped out. A wicked, true smile graced his scarred face. Killing was so sweet. There was so much control within it. Mischa felt true power, when he was on the brink of a kill. It’s what made him a shoe-in for the Reapers, even he had know it, just like everyone else. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and he certainly enjoyed the feeling of blood under the nail. So when it came for the roster of the Reapers, there his name was, in bold red, almost like they were telling him to kill them all…
Yet despite his victories today he seemed to be able to do nothing right. He was beaten in every skirmish, and left bruised, bleeding and bitter. It was uncharacteristic of him to brood, yet here he was, nursing his wounds like a lone, sick wolf, still hungry and enraged with the need to kill. There couldn’t have been a more foolish idiot to go up to him now.
Yet somehow, a fool was about. The witch was young, still unsure if she wanted to be a reaper or not. Mischa had a soft spot for her, but today, he was on no mood for little board games or laughter. He just wanted to sulk in his misery, curse his humanity and rise above this with a brutal death. He wanted to rip someone’s intestines out. The image sent a shiver down his spine, but the images were vanquished like a witch eater at the end of his scythe as she came up to him. Her eyes were round, large and purple; brimming with all the innocence of the world, spilling over each time she blinked.
He simply grunted.
“Hello sir!” she announced happily, her eyes rounding to happy arches as she smiled.
Her smile made him sick…
“The others were telling me about your scars…” she said softly, playing with the end of her short skirt. He wanted to scream at her, to tell her to bugger off and realize that her skirt left hardly anything to the imagination and that she looked like a whore, yet he couldn’t do that to her.
“Want to hear the story?” he asked bitterly, licking at the blood dripping from his arm. His blood red eyes locked with hers, and he could see fear, but so much curiosity in those amethyst orbs that he hoped she didn’t decline. He honestly knew he’d had her hooked like a fish.
She nodded, sitting down next to him, her eyes blinking every so often, waiting in anticipation.
Mischa leaned back, wincing as his open wounds protested the muscles moving under the ruptured veins and arteries. “Tomorrow, would be the day, several years ago. I had been a new witch, fresh out of the academy.” The images of the day filtered back to his mind. He’d been a bit buzzed on alcohol and so very tired. He could faintly remember the records he and his friends had been listening to. Black Sabbath and Cannibal Corpse. Two vastly different bands, but both damn good.
He took a drag on his cig, blowing the smoke out to form a smiling skull. “It was at night. The air hung thick with the threat of rain and the sun had long hid away from the sky. I was waking home.” He made sure to leave out the alcohol part. She was far too young for that. “I felt like I was being watched…but I couldn’t really tell. I’d turned around, looking about, moved faster to slower to fast again.” His voice came out in urgency, making the girl scoot closer with a sense of urgency. He knew she was enjoying this…
So much for innocence…
“My skin crawled as the sense of foreboding climbed on it like thousands of spiders.”
She gasped, shivering. “How gross! Do you know what that really feels like?” she asked.
“Of course, girl. Now though, I do it willingly.” Of course, it was a lie. He did have a pet spider, but it was only the one. The thought of thousands of them crawling about his skin did seem like an interesting night though…
She brought a hand to her face, her eyes so round he was surprised they wouldn’t fall out!
“That’s when I was kidnapped.” His voice darkened, the play he’d displayed prior now sucked out, snuffed like a candle’s flame. “I was taken into the dark, down into the sewers. I could smell the s**t and the piss. It stung my eyes and made me gag, yet that was the least of my concern. I would have gladly swam away, s**t stained and foul , but he had me good. My magic a loss on him as he bound me with his own.”
The girl winced at each curse, yet she didn’t tell him he’d been rude, and he certainly was never one to change who he was for the likes of “presentation.” He enjoyed the lime light, and it seemed a bit of vulgarity went a long way for him.
“He bound me in his shadow magic, against the wall, deciding to slice at my skin with his teeth, his nails, knives…needles. He evaluated the differences in blood flow or how the scars would form. I simply shivered…and cried.” He left a long pause, feeling her scoot closer again, her knee against his own. He had her right where he wanted…
“For hours that witch eater tortured me, breaking my will, my soul, and my body. But what was worst of all…” He pointed to his smile, permanently in place. “He wanted me to smile forever, even after he’d taken my heart. He wanted me broken, but happy about it…” The words spilled like acid from his mouth, the girl seemed to notice as her leg tensed.
“Pretty sight huh? Me and my shining, sparkling teeth. Makes me so handsome doesn’t it? Or perhaps it's my lack of two eyes?”
The girl seemed lost for words. Good.
“I was foolish, and young, and now I’m stronger. He made me see the world in ways I never thought I could. It’s all so simple now…yet you’re too foolish, just like the rest.”
“Excuse me-”
“Hush, girl. I’m not finished. You wanted the story…you get it.” That silenced her, much like a blade to the throat, only it was cleaner and she’d go home to her bed tonight…
“He was going to take my heart when she found me.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Laughing and smiling, like a ******** baby with a new toy. Her scythe came down on his face, bursting out his eye… his goo and blood splattering me. But it didn't stop there. Her weapon accidentally came into my own face, mutilating my eye. I’m sure I was shrieking then, but not in fear. It all made so much sense… You forgive the faults of humans, you forgive the misfortune and trespasses, but you don’t forgive this. A witch’s heart is like a soul, and only demons steal souls, don’t they girl?”
She nodded, still sucked into his words.
“You kill demons for stealing souls, you kill witch eaters for eating hearts. Simple, yes?”
She looked confused for a second. He rolled his eyes.
“Best be running home now, girl.” He said standing up, feeling his wounds burn and ache with each move, yet it wasn’t a mocking feeling anymore. He’d never felt more alive. He could withstand a beating each and every day, because he withstood that one, all those years ago. He’d stand it for the likes of foolish girls who just wanted a scary story… He’d stand it for the boys who broke her heart and the ones who she broke theirs. Simple. If only everyone could face such mutilation.
When she didn’t move, his eyes looked down at her, blank to her, but there was so much more going on. He lunged at her, shouting, “Or you’ll be next!”
She ran like a whimpering dog back to her pack. Mischa laughed, it was cold and icy and void of any true happiness, yet it was a laugh all the same.
“I think…I feel better now…” he said, tossing his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out. Tomorrow was the anniversary of the day he’d once hated, but now he loved…
And he’d continue to remind any fool just how happy he was…
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Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2012 3:02 pm
☠Personality and Background☠XXXXXXXX Mischa isn’t the kind to brood in a corner, nursing his cigarette. He’s much for social activity and loud music. In fact, he’s probably much more social than what people would initially gauge him to be. He enjoys smiling, (ever since his face was sewn into a permanent smile by a witch eater,) but instead of cowering away from the lime light, Mischa only went closer to it. His body was forever ruined by a single witch eater, yet that hasn’t ever gotten him down. Yet for all this attention-loving, he has a very dark side. He likes to push people's boundaries. He likes to see what makes them angry, sad or annoyed. He finds life to be a simple game, of which he wants to see all the outcomes on the faces of those he meets.
Mischa loves people, and would rather immerse himself within a crowd and listen to good music than hide away for what’s been done to him. He’s also contrary to his appearance, very forgiving. But even that has an extent of what he’s willing to forgive. He’d forgive a man for a brutal murder, as he relishes in the act of taking life as well (But only those who have taken a witch’s heart), but he’d never forgive a man for taking a witch’s heart.
While he does not hate anyone, he certainly has no true feelings one way or another toward witch eaters, or people in general. It’s either, they can be forgiven, or they die. Mischa feels that it’s all very cut and dry. Unlike his peers, he does not go out of his way to bring negative energy around him, like hating of majin or witch eaters, but rather he just goes about his life the way he wants. He understands that a witch eater has chosen to consume a heart, and thus he understands that their punishment must simply be death. Mischa believes in the saying “what you reap is what you sow.” There is no deeper or hidden reasoning behind anything, what you do, is simply what you’ve done and thus whatever comes after is no fault but your own, good or bad. End results always make him excited. Which is why he loves to explore the human mind so much and "test the waters" of how far he can push a person till they snap.
He also heavily believes in karma, and thus often will go out of his way after he’s killed a witch eater, or insulted someone, to do something very nice for someone else. While being a reaper doesn’t always mean killing, Mischa has certainly warped it that way. Being that he feels taking a witch’s heart is the only thing he cannot forgive, he believes that it is the utmost worst of crimes. To bring so much bad karma around oneself only means death as the answer.
He loves to tell jokes and be the center of attention. He's not always aiming to push people to negative energy. On the contrary! He only does that occasionally. Too much bad karma and death will find him. And he finds death so terribly boring! Most of the time, he's a rather relaxed figure with a misfortune background, but that doesn't make him unapproachable. He enjoys having friends and people to care for. It only makes killing that much more fun. To know he's saved those he likes, it just brings him more good karma.
Mischa does have many vices. He loves his cigarettes and will often take no care in how it affects others. If they’re coughing and giving him subtle hints, he’ll often just shrug it off and pretend it’s not happening. He’d make up the bad karma he’d given to them later. He indulges in the moment rather than thinks of the future. As he believes things are exactly what they seem and nothing more, he’s very quick to act and never one to think.
Mischa has a hard time understanding people when it comes to emotions. And he’s been called many a time by female admirers, “dense.” When he was attacked by a witch eater, most of his mind was brutally damaged with psychological pain as well as the physical. He became introverted with his emotions, even if he loves to surround himself with people, to the point where it’s almost as if he has no moral conscience. He doesn’t understand sympathy, or fear. And he certainly doesn’t understand courting; not to say he doesn’t like a good “romp” now and then, but romance is a ballgame he’s yet to play. With his lack of understanding, it makes him a great killer, but extremely morally ambiguous. While he fights on the side of “good” his methods are questioned even by his peers and no one can seem to really understand what exactly it is that he is thinking. He is not without emotion though. He tries to hide them within himself, but they always bleed out. He grows to care, to fear, to excitement like anyone else, but he just often has a different way of going from point a to point b. BackgroundMischa was an average student, with an average magical ability with rather average parents. His mother was a witch who taught at the local school and his father was a Cerberus Knight. Both were human, like himself and both showered him with love and were there to wipe his tears away when he came home from school for being bullied or any of the hardships typical children face.
It wasn’t until after graduation, when Mischa had become a recognized witch that his life became anything but “normal.” He had found his group that he fit in most with, which were the alternative kids, found smoking and even dabbled a bit in illegal drugs, but at least the music was loud and the company was good. He was coming home one night from a party when a man appeared out of the shadows with slender, beautiful black wings.
Mischa, tired and still only a new witch was taken against his will to be “eaten.” Only what happened to him wasn’t just a simple attack. He was tortured as an experiment for hours. The scars still shine against his skin today and the smile forever in place. The witch eater knew he wouldn’t die from the attack and that was exactly what the man wanted. He wanted a dull, lifeless witch with no witch’s heart to “smile” even when he knew in all logial capacity, they were no longer whole, so he had sewn a fake smile onto Mischa’s face that forever scarred him with an unending smile of supposed joy and laughter, yet this smile did not bring him laughter or joy, but only a panic so deep and a pain so cold that his mind suffered serious psychological damage. To be taken like this, to be mutilated against his will and to be defenseless left him feeling vulnerable to an instinctual panic and his body reacted only by shutting down its mind and reprogramming it to fight against what had happened.
While he was saved before the witch eater could devour his witch heart, he never would heal from the event. A reaper found him, as she’d been on the track for awhile of this specific witch eater and she’d disposed of him quickly, yet her calming words could not stop his tears. For the longest time, Mischa hid away from the world, listening to nothing but his own sorrow and feeling his face forever moist with tears, yet as time went on, he first got angry, and then enraged, but then acceptance finally came over him. He ventured back into the world, vowing to never allow something like that take another. He’d kill any witch eater who’d dare take a heart like that one attempted to take his, and he’d make sure he filled the world with nothing but good energy and good karma. To allow one moment to bring his life down like a crumbling wall in an earthquake was unacceptable. He’d grieved, but then he’d moved on. He became a reaper, in honor of the female who’d saved his life. But his mind was still broken from the event all those years ago. His peers noticed his lack of emotional understanding and his brutal and “simplistic” outlook on life and those who took hearts. Their hate though, allowed this to be accepted and he was a respected reaper and even utilized to do much dirty work, all of which he happily takes…
With a smile on his face.
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